Another "Machines Behaving Badly" tournament tomorrow. It is approximately our 13th annual, maybe number 15 overall since we did the silly class twice a couple of years. I should be excited, it is a fun event. Gleeful kids, parents proud of what their young'uns have accomplished, a chance to see some old friends.
Maybe it is just bad timing.
I write to express my whimsical side. But sometimes you go through stretches where the harder realities of the life can't be ignored.
At my age you can pretend to be a kid in some ways but the truth is that my generation are the Grown Ups of the world. When things need to be done there is no dodging obligations.
My work, my wife and kids, all doing great. Some other components of the family, less so.
So apologies if a few whiffs of maudlin creep in around the edges over the next couple of months.
But for tonight I will go to sleep pondering the minutia of Swiss brackets versus double elimination, and which frequencies to use, and how we will work in volunteer drivers from the audience.
Tomorrow hyperactive kids will drive their flimsy robotic chariots into battle, either to the giddy heights of victory or to the sudden abrupt surprise of a mangling encounter with spinning machinery. Bad puns are likely. Monty Python sound effects a near certainty.
Combat robotics as technical education. And as performance art. And as therapy.