R.I.P. Iain M. Banks (1954–2013)

Iain M. Banks

Fuck every cause that ends in murder and children crying.

—Iain M. Banks, Against a Dark Background

Seriously, though, if you need a non-evil alternative to Google, try DuckDuckGo. Or Qwant. Or searX. Or pretty much anything.

Alison and Rob work for Grayzr. They're back in the London office for the year but they've been all over the world, fast-tracked for the executive heights, apparently. I switched from Google to Grayzr last month but I feel shy about telling them for some reason. Hol calls them corporate bunnies.

Last year, when Alison and Rob dropped in while driving back from Scotland, Hol happened to be here for the week and I remember this exchange, over tea and cake:

'... No, we're thinking about buying a place out there.'

'Oh, good grief,' I heard Hol mutter.

'Yeah,' Rob said, 'but not on one of the islands. Those are a bit... you know.'

Alison nodded. 'Yeah. No. But there are lots of beautiful apartments near the Burj, though. Really tasteful. Cheap now but a really good investment in the medium-to-long. Honestly, Grayzr Arab Street is growing scary-fast, even faster than vanilla Grayzr. Ground-flooring there would be a sound move, strategically.'

Hol looked at both of them. 'Seriously?' she said. 'Fucking seriously?'

'And there's more autonomy out there,' Rob added. 'You're not exposed to the beady gaze of Head Office the way you are in Londinium.'

Hol looked at them for a bit, then nodded. 'You should move to Saudi,' she told them. 'They take an even more hands-off approach there.'

... I believe the remark might have caused a certain frostiness.


—Iain Banks, The Quarry, op. posthumus

Hey, we're famous (PDF).