Stochastic Processes

Entropy is a fascinating topic, which is central to much of Thomas Pynchon's oeuvre, including V. and Gravity's Rainbow. (Short Primer: Thomas Pynchon, whose photograph has rarely been published, and who has occasionally been confused with JD Salinger, studied engineering physics at Cornell University, where he also attended a course in Englist literature given by a certain Vladimir Nabokov.)

Stochastic processes are also central to digital communications network planning, in particular packet radio networks, or even fixed packet networks, such as the internet, or its ancestor, Darpanet, whose vagaries used to enchant me as an engineering student.

It was thus with a wry smile that I greeted my Middle Empire Mata Hari's news that her internet randomness had collided with someone else's, as well as mine. Every few months I get an E-Mail from someone taking the internet's apparent ability to bridge time and space a little too literally. I myself wrote to an erstwhile friend a few months ago, whose initial response was "How did you find me?" Notwithstanding the facts that a) it had taken all of a dozen keystrokes on Google and b) I had found her very nice indeed, she did adroitly cast me as Bill at the Wedding. However, I don't think I'm the Man, though I may be mutating into more of a neuromantic.

Entropy is also very useful for conspiracy theorists. Thomas Pynchon enjoys the same reclusive lifestyle as did Greta Garbo, and they have never been photographed together. Furthermore, one of Greta Garbo's most famous roles was that of Mata Hari...

What was Garbo's most enduring quote?

La Hacquinière - Part 6 - La Frileuse

La Frileuse is the tiny stream that (sometimes) runs in front of the house. (Good Feng Shui.) Indeed, l'avenue de la Hacquinière used to be called l'avenue du Ravin de la Frileuse. According to my trusty Robert & Collins, "frileux/se" means "sensitive to the cold" -- another rare example of English being less concise than French.

There were torrential rains for the last couple of days; so torrential, indeed, that la Frileuse awoke from its torpor and almost drowned out the sound of the birds singing as I cleaned the garage.

Now, if I could get dailymotion.com to accept video shot in portrait format...

Airports - Part 1 - Not Leaving

“So many destination faces going to so many places
Where the weather is much better
And the booze is so much cheaper.
Well I help her with her baggage - for her baggage is so heavy -
I hear the plane is ready, by the gateway, to take my love away.
Airport – you’ve got a pretty face,
Airport - you've got a smiling face,
you took the one I love so far away.”

- '70s marvels The Motors

Unlike most people I know, I enjoy going to the airport and not catching a flight. This is possibly what the French would call a "déformation professionnelle." In any case, I enjoy the artificial calmness and the suppressed excitement, the sense that one is at the crossroads of thousands of destinies and, more terrestrially, the women in sharp uniforms. This is represented perfectly in Brian Eno's Music for Airports (must remember to rip this from vinyl.)

On a recent winter morning, due to "Industrial Action" (the French language enjoys the equally oxymoronic "Movement Social") my easyjet flight to Geneva was cancelled. Notwithstanding the fact that I'd risen at 5 AM to get to the airport, I did enjoy my hot chocolate whilst admiring aircraft weaving through the fog on the tarmac.

If you're at Orly Sud, take the escalator leading towards the chapel/mosque/synagogue, and go up one more level. There's a quiet, reasonably-priced café there, with an unspoilt view onto the tarmac.

Celia - Part 2

By popular request, a fairly recent picture of my niece Celia, at approximately six months.

Aside from her sunny disposition, Celia has no fear of heights, and indeed has a healthy liking for Tonton's shoulder, from whence she can survey the environs.

Tonton also enjoys her being on his shoulder, as the likelihood of being drooled upon is greatly reduced.

La Hacquinière - Part 5 - Easter

I confess: I am spending the weekend with an attractive 18 year-old psychology student from Mauritius. The energy level is rejuvenating, the looks we attract in public ego-boosting.

My cousin Sandrine did entice me to make two vain attempts to go to Easter Mass. The first attempt involved the In Excelsis Catholic Youth site, which told us that there was a Saturday service in the XIth century church at Gometz-le-Chatel, one kilometre away across the fields. This church is rarely open and, as we discovered yesterday, remains closed on Easter weekends. I shall not bookmark In Excelsis. The second attempt was this morning at Limours -- we turned up at 11:00 sharp, to find the church literally overflowing. All was not lost, as Sunday is market day: free Easter eggs on the stalls, and four different lettuces for all of € 2.50.

So now we're back at La Hacq, Sandrine hard at work on MSN and Skype, whilst I deal with Israeli clients, Indian music videos in the background. Tonight is Board Game Night, and the tension and excitement are rising...

Youth is wasted on the young, but the path to youth takes a whole life.

La Hacquinière - Part 4 - Public Service Announcement

I recently noted a grave omission in a Paris area listing of open WiFi access points.

This site claims that there are no open hotspots at La Hacquinière, which is patently untrue, as Grand Céleste is wide open on Channel 2, though it doesn't quite reach the street, meaning you'll have to climb into the woods to log on.

The neighbours' Wanadoo access point does reach the street, however, and if you ask nicely I'll give you their silly WEP code I cracked.

This is clearly another blatant example of Parisians' inability to see anything beyond the périphérique.

(What did you expect, a picture of a base station?)

La Hacquinière - Part 3 - Go West Young Man

Our family home in Ottawa featured a raspberry jungle along the west side of the house, obscuring my bedroom window, but certainly protecting me from burglars and other delinquents. The canes yielded some 30 or 40 pounds of raspberries every summer, or so I believe, as in latter years none of us was ever there during the summer to enjoy them.

When I first bought La Hacquinière, my parents were kind enough to smuggle over some Maple saplings, which I planted at the back of the property, and which the native oak trees appear to be tolerating.

With my parents’ impending sale of the Ottawa house it became urgent to indulge in some more infringement of various farm and wildlife laws. At great personal risk, my parents, on two separate occasions, smuggled in raspberry canes which, planted at the back of the property (where we plant anything we don’t want the Gendarmes to see) appear to have withered to naught.


When the big move finally occurred last summer, my father entrusted me with four last canes, which I carefully packed in one of the steamer trunks with which we had crossed the Atlantic forty years ago. Back at la Hacq, I carefully planted the canes on the west side of the house, and watched the leaves crumble with the autumn. Three days ago, with new leaves sprouting, it appeared that the raspberry canes had survived their travails.

Perhaps there is still hope for my bonsai bear.

Hotel Rooms - Part 7

The Beijing Park View Crown Palace Hotel enjoys a delightful view onto a motorway intersection, but nevertheless it’s a superb hotel, particularly as my pal Ms Q got me in for € 50 a night, simultaneously fulfilling my lifelong ambition of one day working for Big Blue.

A minor drawback is the distance from the city centre (Beijing is BIG) but that’s more than offset by the low taxi fares and the quick trip to the airport.