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How To Make a Blog Post Fail

Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, and witness the marvel of modern mediocrity: the failed blog post!  Yes, you too can create a digital disaster, a literary letdown, a post so poor it makes soggy toast look like a gourmet meal. Follow these simple steps and you’ll be the talk of the internet (for all the wrong reasons). Title: Make It Mysterious (and Meaningless!) Choose a title like “Untitled” or “Blog Post #7.” If you must use words, make sure they have nothing to do with your topic. “How To Knit a Blog Post” is a good start, especially if you’re writing about quantum physics. Opening Line: Confuse and Lose Begin with a sentence that has nothing to do with anything. “Yesterday, my left shoe ran away with a teaspoon.” This ensures readers are immediately baffled and possibly concerned for your footwear. Structure: Who Needs It? Paragraphs are for the...

Stop doing and start...doing?

Wait! What? That doesn't even make sense. Or does it? Ok, now I'm even confusing myself. Let's see if we can unravel my thoughts here. First off I've mentioned before (here as well as other platforms) that I am guilty of running to the next "new" thing. Usually this involves apps for my phone and/or iPad. I've tried multiple apps for todo's, food tracking, note taking, social media posting, journaling and a host of other categories. I'm ashamed to think of the amount of money I've spent on different apps and different ways to track daily functions (oh yeah....habit tracking is another category). Currently, my routine hasn't changed much as of late. I'm still using a pocket notebook for notes, todo's, grocery list items, etc. I still use the app Today for repeat items (medicines, bills, etc). I use Day One for digital journaling (still worried about people reading my...

What is lost in the individual tends to be society’s gain and vice versa.

Everything, including you, is just happening without any effort whatsoever.

There are no distractions. Only a seamless continuum of experience.

Good afternoon.

Things That Make a Blog Post Work

Let us begin, readers, with the most important thing a blog post needs: words.  Without words, a blog post is just a blank page, and while blank pages are very useful for shopping lists and origami, they are not terribly entertaining to read. Unless you are a psychic octopus. A Title That Grabs You By The Eyebrows If your blog post is called “Untitled Document 17,” you may as well call it “Please Ignore Me.” A good title should leap off the screen, do a little jig, and whisper, “Read me, you magnificent sausage!” For example: “How to Train Your Goldfish to Play Chess.” (Disclaimer: Goldfish are notoriously bad at chess.) An Opening Line That Smacks You With a Wet Kipper The first sentence should be so arresting that the reader drops their tea. For instance: “I once wrestled a giraffe in a library.” Now you want to know more,...

Blogging Like The 90’s

Here’s how the Chambers English dictionary defines a blog… “A document containing personal observations, often in the form of a journal, that is published to the World Wide Web” That seems nice to me. But I’d rather not use a knackered old PC if you don’t mind. Things have moved on. Including my old PC. But my point is: this bloglet contains personal observations. Or ‘fings wot I fort abart’. You might agree with me. Or, you might think I’m talking bollocks.  Either is fine. Discourse and debate are fine human traits. Debate is encouraged. Even rebate if you like.  But my main point here is, blogs (or weblogs to give them their full name) first got popular in the early Nineties. And people wrote them using personal observatories. They’d stand viewing the word before them. Observing. Like observers.  But these days, many blogs out there fall into what’s known...

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Went to DC for Night OUT with the Nationals. Thomas Jefferson won the running of the presidents. The Nationals most certainly did not win.

New Topographics

This is a photo of nowhere in particular in St Ives, Cornwall. Which is the point. In the 1970s, a bunch of American photographers got tired of mountains and sunsets. They pointed their cameras at car parks, warehouses, bins. They called it New Topographics. Everyone else called it depressing. But look again. This isn’t just a rooftop. It’s a retired viewing platform, now employed as a canvas for teenage declarations and seagull meetings. The cone? Flat on its back. Possibly in therapy. New Topographics says: the world isn’t always pretty — but it is fascinating, if you stop long enough. Which I did. With a Leica. And a squint. The result is sharp, slightly damp, and smells faintly of the sea.

The Photography Thing

Welcome, readers, to the pixelated playground of my photography!  Here, I point my camera at places and spaces—sometimes empty, sometimes full, but always suspiciously standing still. My lens is a nosy neighbour, peering at car parks, concrete corners, and the odd lamppost with the curiosity of a cat at a fishmonger’s window. Inspired by the New Topographics movement (which is not, as my Aunt Mabel thought, a new brand of breakfast cereal), I seek the poetry in pylons, the drama in drainage ditches, and the romance in retail parks. If you like your landscapes less “rolling hills” and more “parking lot existentialism,” you’re in the right place. So, dust off your sense of wonder, adjust your spectacles, and join me as we celebrate the beauty of the banal. After all, even a skip can be a masterpiece—if you squint hard enough.

Five Writing Tips That Are Snacks in Disguise

Here’s five reasons to eat snacks while writing… The Biscuit Break Brainstorm Before you write a single word, fetch a biscuit.  Not just any biscuit—a biscuit with a name you can shout dramatically, like “DIGESTIVE!” or “BOURBON!” Hold it aloft. Now, as you nibble, let your mind wander. Every crumb is a plot twist. Every dunk in tea is a subplot.  If you eat the whole packet, congratulations: you’ve just written a trilogy in your head. (Disclaimer: Biscuit crumbs in your keyboard may result in unexpected poetry.) The Cheese String of Suspense Writing suspense is like unpeeling a cheese string. Don’t yank it all at once!  Tease out the story, strand by delicious strand. If you get impatient and gobble the whole thing, your twist will be lost, and so will your cheese. Remember: the slower you peel, the longer your snack—and your suspense—lasts. The Popcorn Plot Popper Every story...

The Troll on the Trail

Somewhere between Newport and Sandown, soaked to the skin and starting to squelch due to the persistent rain, I found myself on a footbridge.  Naturally, this seemed like the perfect moment to pretend to be a bridge troll. I mean, why wouldn’t you? Perfectly normal behaviour…  Just as I adopted the classic crouch and prepared to yell something cryptic about passage fees and riddles, two cyclists rounded the bend. I panicked and shouted the first thing that came to mind: “Bit damp today, isn’t it?” “Erm, yeah. Sort of. A bit,” one replied, with the wary tone of someone encountering a woodland spirit they didn’t want to offend. They cycled off quickly, giving me a wide berth. Possibly to avoid my weather-based curses. Possibly just because I looked like a lunatic. Either way, I remain the unofficial (and soggy) troll of the trail.

““In my estimation, the wisest among us are those who live without answers to ultimate questions, understanding that each moment is sufficient unto itself.”” — Robert Saltzman

There’s what you should do, what you shouldn’t do and what you’re going to do anyway.

Body feeling battered this morning so attempting to take it easy today before work tomorrow.

Currently.

Good morning.

A Brief Collapse Over Chips

Yesterday, I walked 12.5 miles in the sun. And the wind.  It was the kind of wind that undoes your thoughts mid-sentence and tries to fold your map into an origami swan. We went from Yarmouth to Alum Bay, which sounds like the start of a folk ballad but is actually just a very long way with not enough cafés. By the time we got back to Ryde, I had earned two things: a meal and a lie-down. Unfortunately, my body decided to combine the two. We sat down at the pub, I blinked, and when I opened my eyes again, time had been replaced by a static channel. I’d had another one — a proper syncope special: instant off switch, mild reboot, bonus confusion. Mary handled it brilliantly, like a woman who’s married to a malfunctioning lamp. I came round thinking, “Where the hell am I?” Still not sure,...

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Stopped for dinner in Shirlington tonight.

The Expert On The Bus

We were sitting quietly on a bus to Yarmouth, Isle of Wight, when he got on. The Expert. He took the seat behind us and immediately launched into a full dissertation on cheating in cycling. “That Lance Armstrong. He cheated a bit.” Groundbreaking insight. We pulled out of Newport bus station. Without missing a beat: “Dunno why he’s going this way. You can’t turn up the road.” The driver turned up the road. “Ah, we are going this way then. Thought we would.” Mary and I exchanged glances. The kind that said: we are in the presence of greatness. In his own head, at least. As we passed Carisbrooke Castle: “There’s the castle.” Thank you, Professor Obvious. We hit traffic near some roadworks — clearly marked with signs, cones, diversions, the lot. “Ah, we’ll be held up here. There’s roadworks.” Astonishing. “Busy, innit?” he added. It wasn’t just us. You...

• 🐛 Fixed a bug that would throw an error on a public status page when "filtering" was enabled in settings. • 🐛 Fixed an error on the billing page when you were subscribed to the old payment provider (Paddle).

Challenging but amazing yoga session this morning and then six hours hacking and wrestling the garden into shape. Exhausted but invigorated.

Good morning.

My Brain Has a Jammed Caps Lock

DEAR READER, I AM WRITING THIS IN THE HOPES THAT YOU WILL UNDERSTAND THE PLIGHT OF A MAN WHOSE BRAIN HAS, QUITE LITERALLY, JAMMED ITS CAPS LOCK. IT HAPPENED SUDDENLY, LIKE A SNEEZE IN A LIBRARY OR A HIPPOPOTAMUS IN A TEACUP. I sat down to write, armed with a cup of tea (milk, sugar, two biscuits, one of which was already half-eaten), when suddenly—bam!—every thought in my head started shouting. “WRITE!” “CREATE!” “USE MORE EXCLAMATION MARKS!!!” It was as if my inner monologue had been possessed by a cheerleader with a megaphone. I tried to type gently, hoping to calm the caps lock, but the words came out like this: “THE MOON IS MADE OF CHEESE!” “THE ELEPHANTS ARE DANCING THE CHARLESTON!” “WHY IS THERE A FISH IN MY SLIPPERS?” And then—nothing. silence. My brain, having exhausted its supply of capital letters, sat down in a corner and refused...

first post

One of the finest things you can do as a writer is to set up a new blog, and to write your first post for public consumption on it when you are as arsed as pissholes.

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R.I.P. to my car. Insurance says it’s too expensive to repair and call it a total loss.

Dear First Draft: We Need to Talk

Dear First Draft, It’s not you, it’s me. Well, actually, it’s mostly you. Let’s be honest — you’re a bit of a mess. You turn up unannounced, wearing odd socks and a hat made of spaghetti, and insist on sitting in the best chair. You spill ink on the carpet, leave half-eaten metaphors on the table, and your grammar is, frankly, a crime in seventeen countries (and one disputed territory). I know, I know. You’re supposed to be this way. All the experts say, “Don’t worry about your first draft! Just get it down!” But First Draft, you don’t just get it down — you get it everywhere. On the walls. On the ceiling. On my mug. I found a dangling participle in my cereal this morning. It was soggy. Let’s talk about your theme, shall we? Or rather, your themes. There are at least three, and none of them...

““You can only be afraid of what you think you know.”” — Jiddu Krishnamurti

The Old Guy And His Stories

We were strolling between Sandown and Shanklin on the Isle of Wight. The weather was glorious — sunny, warm, with a coastal breeze just strong enough to topple an ice cream if it didn’t have a Flake for ballast. Along the path, we came across a group of elderly walkers. A mix of men who hadn’t stood up straight in years and women who’d made peace with their wrinkles. They were standing in a circle, possibly because no one could remember which direction they were meant to be heading. Each one was armed with walking poles — although in this lot’s case, they looked more like leaning poles. Or polite anti-fall devices. As we approached, they did a slow sideways shuffle. Either to make room for us, or in the hope it might jog their memories. Then I heard it. Old Guy: “Ooh, I could tell you a story about...

Who am I? What am I? In all honesty, only everything that is happening.

Swift Shift

“Manage your macOS windows like a pro” "Swift Shift lets you move/resize windows with your mouse without searching for tiny arrows or window titles. It's the fastest way to organize your workspace to your liking." - just press and hold (custom) modifier keys and move your windows around. Gone are the days looking for a tiny free spot to grab a title bar 🤩. www.swiftshift.app/

Good afternoon.

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The wife and I walked the dogs by the river this evening. The Ospreys have moved back as they do every year.

Movies In My Head

Lots of people have dreams. And plenty have nightmares. Nothing unusual there. I have nightmares. Loud, visually vivid devils that leave me feeling displaced when I wake up — like a sock missing its left one. Now, PTSD lives in my head rent-free. I tried charging it rent, but it just laughed and slammed the door. It’s that bugger that triggers the nightmares. My brain, you see, is trying to process the trauma. And not doing a great job of it. I thought about firing it. But firing your own brain? Awkward. Needs more thought. Ironically. The nightmares are like little horror films. I like horror films. Just not these ones. They’re surreal, weird, and traumatic in ways I can’t predict. Especially if they involve biscuits going missing. I find myself wishing my mental director would make something more entertaining. A romantic comedy, maybe. Or at least a detective thriller...

The Biscuit Detector

Reg’s Time Machine was a bit flawed, But he had a new plan, Because he was a little bit bored, And his wife Pam made a flan, Now Reg was a major biscuit fan, Pam was strict with the tin, And swept crumbs up with her dustpan, But Reg needed a win, He spent hours in his special shed, Designing a great tool, The tool followed where the biscuits led, Reg would get biscuit fuel, He fired up the biscuit finder, And found a custard cream, Something broke the winder, No more biscuits it seemed,  It was Tuesday and Reg was sad, Switched the finder back on, And old Reg was now really glad, It found a chocolate Bourbon.  So Reg had biscuits on each Tuesday, Pam said he was very good, His finder kept up the biscuit play, Reg kept it in his hood. 

““The cure for the pain is in the pain.”” — Rūmī

🕖 Now — Redacting Twitter

I quit Twitter at the end of 2022, but over the years, I accumulated many references to it, including links to tweets in my research documents. Occasionally, I check if the authors are still on Twitter, but more often than not, they have left the platform. Therefore, I decided to systematically remove all my links to x.com (or twitter.com) when I see them.

How to Write Without Strangling the Sentences

Let us begin with a confession: I have strangled sentences.  Yes, I have throttled them, twisted them, and left them gasping for breath on the page. Sometimes, I even tickled them until they giggled and fell apart.  But today, readers, I am here to teach you how to write without committing such grammatical atrocities. Step One: Set Your Sentences FreeSentences are like small, excitable dogs. If you keep them on too tight a leash, they’ll whimper and refuse to fetch your meaning. Let them run! Let them sniff the bushes of metaphor and roll in the mud of simile. If they come back covered in nonsense, at least they’re happy. Step Two: Avoid OverfeedingSome writers stuff their sentences with so many adjectives and adverbs that the poor things can barely waddle across the page. “The extremely, incredibly, astonishingly fat cat sat on the very, very, very old mat.” See? The...

We will remain forever blind to the unintended consequences of our actions be they good or ill.

“Why do you meditate?” “To see what happens.”