Guarded by the Minotaur, who snarls in fury, and encircled within the river Phlegethon, filled with boiling blood, is the Seventh Level of Hell. The violent, the assassins, the tyrants, and the war-mongers lament their pitiless mischiefs in the river, while centaurs armed with bows and arrows shoot those who try to escape their punishment. The stench here is overpowering. This level is also home to the wood of the suicides- stunted and gnarled trees with twisting branches and poisoned fruit. At the time of final judgement, their bodies will hang from their branches. In those branches the Harpies, foul birdlike creatures with human faces, make their nests. Beyond the wood is scorching sand where those who committed violence against God and nature are showered with flakes of fire that rain down against their naked bodies. Blasphemers and sodomites writhe in pain, their tongues more loosed to lamentation, and out of their eyes gushes forth their woe. Usurers, who followed neither nature nor art, also share company in the Seventh Level.
The Dante’s Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
You wouldn’t think it possible with the weather from the past few days, but I’ve been persuaded to go Californian and buy a pair of Rollerblades.
After a boozy Friday night I crawled out of bed and made it to the rollerblade shop on Mill Rd and got a lovely pair of Cylon boots with detatchable wheels on the bottom. Meeting some people at the Beehive Centre proved too much like exercise so we gave up after an hour and went drinking again.
Two words to strike fear into the heart of adult and child alike: Root Canal.
I’ve had an abcess for a while ever since I had to get eight fillings in one go and decided to find an NHS dentist to take care of it. Little did I know that it’d involve five injections of anaestethic, much drilling, and a good looking dentist poking around in the soft tissue of my gum for fourty minutes all made worse by having my appointment at eight in the morning.
The only thing that kept me sane was munching on Ibuprofen for the rest of the day. I’m probably over my limit, but I’ve a low tolerence for pain and a high tolerence for drugs.
Six days rest not before I go back for more drilling. Good time to watch Marathon Man again.
Getting back into the work thing now. We moved out the a shiny new office in the Science Park over the weekend, and surprisingly everything more or less worked when I get in. I’ve gone from a very cramped, open-plan office to a lovely view of the UUnet building out a window, half-sized partitions, and more then a foot’s distance from my boss. The only thing is, it’s supposed to be closer, but it seems like it takes me longer to cycle in the morning.
Well here it is – a diary I’ve been planning to keep for the past god-knows how long. Hopefully Blogger will make it a little simpler than writing a lot of bloody HTML.
Just back to Cambridge from a weekend home in Dublin where much alcohol was imbibed and many brain cells destroyed. The only problem was Ryanair – The Low Service Airline. I got into Stansted Airport in plenty of time for my 7:10pm flight when it was delayed, not for fifty minutes, not even for an hour, but for four long hours. Airports are depressing places at the best of times, but having to wait until 11:30pm while three flights to Dublin leave ahead of you, without even a cup of tea from the airline is enough to make you go looking for the nearest clock tower.