Pervis al Najjar should type her as it were the spider
U. Catchpole
Trimming off the rest of this post is unnecessary.
I will guarantee anonymity except in cases of blatant abuse.
I will achieve anonymity by tallying the results in
uncorrelated tabulations and then deleting the emails.
(I know this loses interesting correlation data, but if
resondents want anonymity it's hard to avoid.)
I know that this anonymity promise depends on trust and that
you have no particular reason to trust me. Someday, I hope.
I will post results Saturday.
xxxxxxxx beginning of survey xxxxxxxx
yes( ) ( )no Should RoadRunner be subjected to some kind of UDP?
yes( ) ( )no ... active UDP (cancels) ?
yes( ) ( )no ... passive UDP (drop messages) ?
yes( ) ( )no ... all-groups UDP? (as opposed to specific groups)
yes( ) ( )no Are you a Usenet sysadmin? How big:_ How long:_
yes( ) ( )no Should another server be subjected to UDP? Who:_
yes( ) ( )no Should UDPs be used more often?
yes( ) ( )no Should UDPs be used less often?
yes( ) ( )no Would you have answered this survey without anonymity?
xxxxxxxx end of survey xxxxxxxx
--
once more. The ship was a dirty old tramp. The Captain
and the Mates had long ago lost any enthusiasm for the sea
and their ship. Little cleaning work was done. I was un-
popular because I did not gamble or talk of affairs with
women. I was feared because the attempts of the ship's
bully to assert his superiority over me resulted in him
screaming for mercy. Two of his gang fared even worse,
and I was hauled before the Captain and reprimanded for
disabling members of the crew. There was no thought that
I was merely defending myself! Apart from those very
minor incidents, the journey was uneventful, and soon the
ship was making her slow way up the English Channel.
I was off duty and on deck as we passed The Needles and
entered the Solent, that strip of water bounded by the Isle
of Wight and the mainland. Slowly we crept up past Netley
Hospital, with its very beautiful grounds. Up past the busy
ferries at Woolston, and into the Harbor at Southampton.
130
The anchor dropped with a splash, and the chain rattled
through the hawse-holes. The ship swung head to stream,
the engine room telegraph rang out, and the slight vibra-
tion of the engine ceased. Officials came aboard, examined
the ship's papers and poked about in the crew's quarters.
The Port Medical Officer gave us clearance, and slowly the
ship steamed up to her moorings. As a member of the crew,
I stayed aboard until the ship was unloaded, then, paid off,
I took my scanty belongings and went ashore.
"Anything to declare?" asked the Customs Officer.
"Nothing at all," I replied, opening my case as directed.
He looked through my few possessions, closed the case, and
scribbled his sign on it in chalk.
"How long are you staying?" he asked.
"Going to live here, sir," I replied.
He looked at my Passport, Vi