The exercise:
Write about: new technology.
Got a FreeStyle Libre yesterday to test out for a couple of weeks. So far? It's nice to be able to test so easily without any finger pricks.
It is also a little odd to feel like I'm part robot.
The exercise:
Write about: new technology.
Got a FreeStyle Libre yesterday to test out for a couple of weeks. So far? It's nice to be able to test so easily without any finger pricks.
It is also a little odd to feel like I'm part robot.
2 comments:
That looks like a nice device! I can see that it would be quite useful if it can reduce the number of times you have to stab yourself each week ;-) Immediate thoughts from a product-owner perspective: that website needs to do something about its footnotes (including the fact that at least one of them is a duplicate of an earlier one!), and once every eight hours is a bit tight -- oversleep one day and you basically reset your three-month window for getting a picture of your overall blood glucose. But overall I think it's a great idea :)
Right, let's see where Genius has got too...
New Technology
Genius left the Arrivals hall in Whitehall by an innocuous-looking door that might have led out to the bins and rubbish disposal in any other place, but in fact opened into a long, low-ceilinged corridor with polished concrete walls and floors. The end of the corridor was distant but visible, and most notable was that there were no doors or windows along the corridor: just tall, free-standing mirrors. It was believed by foreign governments that the seat of magical government, a parallel and co-ordinating entity, was underneath Whitehall and the Houses of Parliament. That would be obviously stupid as a decent bomb strike could take out both governments in one go, especially with the river being so close by. So in fact Whitehall was just a hub to the magical offices that were distributed widely around the country, and the civil government were provided with emergency access in case of war. These mirrors provided a simple, and easy to destroy, portal-like access to the various offices.
Genius selected a mirror about a third of the way along, on the left, and stepped through. He checked himself when he arrived; some mirrors switched right and left and could leave you disoriented, or feeling like Alice in Wonderland for a while. This mirror appeared to have behaved itself, and he was normal, for the standard of a normal that a MILF achieved. He was now in what appeared to the reception area to a car-sales showroom: the carpet was nylon and crackled with static electricity, the receptionist's desk was white formica and sub-IKEA standard, there was a rubber plant in a pot in one corner and the wall behind the receptionist's desk held a bunch of slightly mis-hung governmental inspection certificates.
"'Oo're you?" asked the receptionist inspecting her nails for chips in her nail polish. "Only Big Dave's not 'ere today and 'is Nibs is off with 'is missus playing golf, though if you ask me it's not golf what they're playing, right?" She smiled; a red lipsticked hole in a pale white face. Genius was immune to the glamour she wore and could see that she was actually a Vermidian, a worm-like guardian creature with a ravenous hunger.
"Hi Julie," he said. "I'm on business." He produced his governmental warrant card, a slip of laminated paper that would immolate any thieves trying to pick it up, and waved it at her. For a moment nothing happened and then a door clicked open in a wall where there previously hadn't been a door.
"Welcome to the DVLA New Technology Division," said Julie in a deeper voice, something that seemed much more appropriate for the type of eldritch horror she really was. "Four committees are sitting at the moment, and you are advised to avoid conference room B unless you have appropriate security clearance and safety gear. The third floor of the Benthic library is closed for cleaning, but the Librarian will retrieve items of interest on request."
"Thanks," said Genius. He considered asking for a moment what safety gear was needed but then reminded himself that if he needed to know he would have been already told.
Greg - yeah, I'm finding the 8 hour thing a tad stressful. Not really a problem during the week, as I have to get up for work, but I need to be careful on the weekend. So far the closest I've come to the limit is 15 minutes!
That is... quite the receptionist. I can only hope to one day attain that level of hidden, lurking lethality!
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