Rupert Goodwins' Diary

Friday 06/08/2004
So, farewell then, Munir Kotadia. You'll have seen his name on many fine reports, especially on matters of computer security, but no more. Just because he's young, unencumbered and seemingly able to switch careers like some of us switch from Grolsch to Stella, he's decided to chuck it all in and zoom over to India for a while to live like a maharajah on thruppence-ha'penny a week while looking for himself (or, as we suspect is more likely, a cute Indian girly. Although his insistence on "at least a yacht. Or a brewery with a rowboat" as a dowry might limit the field).

There is unfortunately not enough room on the Internet to give you a full run-down of those previous activities of his that never made it to the news pages. It is sadly impossible to tell the world of his previous foray into PR that he gave up because he made too much money while spending too much time horizontal on the sofa listening to daytime TV he couldn't be bothered to sit up and actually watch. We always suspected this to be the case, but it's nice to have it verified. Neither can we relate the day he was sitting in the Pommeler's Rest pub -- cheap beer for cheap hacks -- and realised that he'd just redecorated his bedroom in the exact same décor as the lounge bar.

We'll miss him -- perhaps not quite as much as we might otherwise do, as quite a number of us seem to have promised to pop out and visit.

Apologies are due in advance -- there will be no Rupert's Diary next week, as I am deliberately placing myself in a part of the country where the phrase IT is merely an affirmation that one would like a cup of Earl Grey with one's black pudding breakfast. I shall be out of reach of cellphones, broadband, GPRS, 3G, WiFi, WiMAX, UWB, boys with forked sticks and editors with bulging veins on their foreheads. There may be malt whisky involved -- who can say.

Later, dudes.