Hello, Chorlkey... nice to see you pop in for a bit.

Why thank you, kind rabster. Why so gravelly?
Acksherly, I did a bit of popping last week but have now fully completed my peregrinations abroad so should get the chance to pop in for lots of bits from now on :-)

Just had some aggregate delivered, you see...

Meanwhile, I wish the person calling the phone in the next office would get used to the idea there's nobody there...

(rab) And what did it come to, in total?

[Bigsmith] on the other hand, half of the bus drivers in Bath are Polish, so they probably don't get it.

I usually thank the bus driver, just with a "Thanks". Mind you, in Cardiff, they come in for a lot of abuse including being stoned and shot, so I feel sorry for them.

I have more contact with bus drivers than is good... too much public transport usage! And a "cheers" or "thanks" usually suffices, 'cause generally they're very moody. I've only ever met one nice one, and he was actually a scheduler/office worker or summat who'd been drafted in to drive the last bus of the day. Still, he gave me a lift about 8 miles off-route and didn't crash into anything, so I'm not complaining.

I once got on a local bus in Pontypridd, driven by the usual driver, who was very nice ordinarily. Unfortunately he had just broken up with his girlfriend and seemed to have a deathwish - as we drove along some roads with very steep drops without stopping the whole trip it was a wee bit scary..

In Edinburgh the whole 'to-thank-or-not-to-thank' dilemma is solved by having exit doors in the middle of the bus. Communication with the drivers seems to be strictly discouraged, in fact, by virtue of them sitting in a perspex isobooth. Your fare is poured into a slot, whereupon the driver presses a button to signal its descent down the chute of destiny into the locked safe of eternity (they don't, famously, give change). The ticket appears from a hole in the wall. The whole thing works so that even eye contact with the driver is a near impossibility... I quite like it that way.

In a more civilised and less cost-conscious world we'd have bus conductors and the driver could get on with his job undistracted, and undelayed.

I had the eerie experience last night of travelling on a coach whose driver had the exact same name as me. I'd never met anyone else with my name before. It's decidedly creepy.

My colleagues googled me and discovered someone with my name that they claim also looks exactly like me. I dispute this (not only because he's over 50 and American). But I'm still slightly disturbed.

Someone with my name draws Harry Potter fan art. Someone else is a pop star. And another one is head of a Meat Board (?) or something, if I remember correctly. But I'm the best one. :)

Whereas I (as could a great many people I suspect) can be fairly sure that my name is unique, even if we discount my middle name. Anybody with my surname is a member of my father's-side family and due to cultural/ethnic reasons, the probability of any of them sharing my first name is extremely low.

According to google, I have one phonetic namesake (ie her name is spelled wrong) who's a successful college runner in the US. Anyone who knows me will know she's not me as I'm crap at running, whereas I am rather brilliant at writing - she doesn't have any google-indexed articles published on the Institute of Biology's website.

[LotUS] Are they all Lords of the Under-Stairs?

[auto-googling] - I'm a professor in Vermont. What's slightly more surprising is that I'm female.

I'm not going to bother googling - there are at least three more of me who work for the same company as I do (and the bastards never forward me messages or post they get by mistake). On another subject I've started this last week or so re-playing my old collection of CD singles in alphabetical order. The batch in hand currently are by Claytown Troupe, Close to the Hype, a couple by Marc Cohn, and Tommy Conwell & the Young Rumblers. Happy memories....

One of my old piano teachers claimed to have *another* student also called Jonathan Ellis...

However, he lacked (1) the same middle name as me, and more importantly (2) the ability to learn something such as Chopin's Polonaise in A flat in less than a week, be able to hack the second half of Rachmaninov's cello sonata in four days or - as happened today - when accompanying a baroque-music oboe class in which the student was playing on a modern instrument and the teacher on a Baroque instrument which was tuned a semitone flatter - to sight-read the same piece both in the original A minor and transposed into A flat minor, switching between them every two minutes depending on which one of the two was playing which instrument at the time.

Which is why I make a reasonably survivable living that pays the bills and mortgage working freelance at the RNCM: whereas he gave up the piano completely, went to study law, and had two houses and no mortgages within the first four years after completing his studies... *sigh*