Typing and Typolgy

I've just finished transcribing 5972 handwritten words - some of it not entirely legible, some of it about things I don't understand. As a result, my head is currently full of porridge. When the porridge turns back into brain, I may be able to think better.

Last night I went out with H. There were no decent films on, so we sat in Portsmouth's two gay pubs, he with his cider and me with my bacardi-and-coke, disagreeing about everything from theories of teaching to the justifyability of war. We sat drinking tea in his room afterwards having a very interesting discussion on the concept of 'subspecies' - I'll write about that at some point later.

H is a very switched on and educated man, and, like a lot of people with detailed knowledge and good skeptical attitudes in his specialisms, he's curiously nieve in other areas. He knows more than me about tribal conflict in Africa and religious tension in the Middle East, but can't explain where these problems come from, or why tensions can be dormant for generations, then suddenly flare up into genocide.

I suppose it's unsurprising. If the history books you read attribute tyranny to the evil of the tyrant, economic revival to the charisma of a president, and war to the spontainous collective insanity of the country, then you'll get a picture of history as one mysterious event after another. A tale told by a madman, full of anacdote and hand waving, signifying nothing.

Right. I now have backache from hunching over this keyboard for hours, and a computer that needs a few dozen programs reinstalling. I could do that, or I could have an afternoon nap. Hmmm.

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