Jonathan Hitchcock (@vhata)

Cape Town, South Africa

The below is an off-site archive of all tweets posted by @vhata ever

May 2009

"Playing the blame game" may not be fun to do, but it's oh so fun to say.

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a fault inside the space module turned the routine exploration mission into a test for survival for the ill-fated crew #apolloFriday

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Cut into bite-size pieces, fry until light brown, saute garlic and mushrooms, add broth and simmer, serve over cooked pasta. #conPolloFriday

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Now tweeting about tweeting about tweeting: http://url.omnia.za.net/...

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Skype conference call with the SF office - coworker didn't begin with the traditional VoIP greeting "Can you hear me?" - Isn't that illegal?

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@gabyrosario: you got your Jonathans mixed. I'm 3rd-Jonathan (crass, dull, obtuse). @WendyRobb surely meant 4th-Jonathan (@arbitraryuser).

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Best thing about tequila is, it takes all the blame while you keep mum about the beer, wine, whiskey and shooters foisted on you last night.

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The Cape Town GeekDinner only just moved from smoke signals to a mailing list (http://is.gd/F2An) - should be on twitter by 2012 sometime.

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The idea that only a union between a man and a woman is valid... if Proposition 8 supports love it so much, why don't they just MARRY it?

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The littlest Yola engineer, @darb's minion, hard at work: http://yfrog.com/0xc5nj

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You know you're working for an internet startup when the whole damn office is tweeting the painting: http://is.gd/ComL & http://is.gd/Cok0

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Yeah, trying to clean smudges off walls when your clothes are now basically 80% paint... Not so much. Also, new idea: protective smocks!

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Drinking champagne and painting the office. The former explains why the latter degenerated into tic-tac-toe on the boardroom wall.

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Oh! A one-week belated hat-tip to the sterling fellow wearing the "Fly Emirates" shirt on my Qatar Airways flight to Cape Town. Attaboy.

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Now that I'm far away from the dearth of public toilets in the UK, maybe I should stop deliberately chronically dehydrating myself.

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I so do not use humour as a defence mechanism. It's more like my primary mode of attack.

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I have no use for "before" and "after" photos. I can't remember starting, and I've certainly never finished anything.

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You know how you smell someone's coffee and go "man I'd love some of that"? That just happened to me, only, it was my own coffee. #firstcup

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Personal goals for yesterday: fly home to Cape Town. Status: achieved. Personal goals for today: leave the house. Status: doubtful.

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Been travelling for 27 hours. Missed connecting flight. Can't tell the difference between the swine flu symptoms they describe and jetlag.

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Well, I've worked it out. My exhaustive research is conclusive: Doha International Airport *is* the most boring place in the world.

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Still in Rugby, home of Rupert Brooke ("a corner of some foreign field"). But seriously, where are his shoes? http://twitpic.com/51jde

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In Rugby town, where this little nancy boy picked up the ball and ran. I'd like to see him up against Springboks: http://twitpic.com/4zkoy

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You'd think I could trust the first meal my mother cooked me while I'm staying with her, eh? You also thought it was chicken, eh? TOFU? PAH!

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I should come clean and admit that this wedding has my sister marrying a New Zealander. Yes, folks, I'm stuck in Flight of the Conchords.

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Oh, that was another one.

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Sister's wedding (cont). Finished ushing. Speeches gushing (while babies' mothers are shushing). Run out of words that rhyme with "rushing".

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Sister's wedding. This suit actually makes me look dashing, when I'm supposed to be ushing. *strut*

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Only upside to having to wear a suit to the wedding: find three friends with suits and sunglasses and you can play Reservoir Dogs.

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In the kitchen, icing a cake for my sister's wedding, while the bridesmaids try on dresses. This is not how I saw my life panning out.

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Thanks to whoever delayed the train to Oxford for me, but it was unnecessary. Would've been tight, but I'd have made it. I'm good like that.

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This wedding is clearly not going to be quite what I had expected, then.

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"Usher's velvety voice complements his pimping and preening to produce some Bone Thugs-esque rapping with a meticulously groomed veneer."

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Now I have to psyche myself up to be an usher at my sister's wedding. Do they ush differently in the UK? I haven't done much ushing before.

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I realise my last tweet was four days ago and said I was lost. I'm not lost any more. (Well, not in any banal geographical sense.)

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Putting the "vent" back into "Lost in Covent Garden. WHERE THE HELL IS HOLBORN? Stupid London. Stupid signs. Stupid map. Stupid.

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