My Programming Language Was Solder.

At Some Time In The Recent Past Someone Had Decided To Brighten The Ancient Corridors Of The University By Painting Them, Having Some Vague Notion That Learning Should Be Fun. It Hadn’t Worked. It’s A Fact Known Throughout The Universes That No Matter How Carefully The Colors Are Chosen, Institutional Decor Ends Up As Either Vomit Green, Unmentionable Brown, Nicotine Yellow Or Surgical Appliance Pink. By Some Little-understood Process Of Sympathetic Resonance, Corridors Painted In Those Colors Always Smell Slightly Of Boiled Cabbage—even If No Cabbage Is Ever Cooked In The Vicinity.

The Truth Is A Fog, In Which One Man Sees The Heavenly Host And The Other One Sees A Flying Elephant.

I Became A Journalist At 17. A Few Hours Later, I Saw My First Dead Body, Which Was Somewhat... Colourful. That's When I Learned You Can Go On Throwing Up After You Run Out Of Things To Throw Up.

Real Education Happens When You Pick Up A Fact Here, And Another Fact There, And Put Them Together And Get An Insight.

You Get A Wonderful View From The Point Of No Return.