could the last person in Brexit Britain with access to electricity please turn out the lights, just as, you know, a symbolic thing, while the rest of us huddle under The Hanging Tree trying to chew open a can of chickpeas that expired in 1983
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I like trains. I like sitting by the window, the big windowframe of British trains, the glass panel that frames the outside world. Sometimes the train is still and another train clatters past, and my panel becomes a panel from …
One of the things that’s come to bother me over the last year is seeing people falling into constantly being on the road and giving talks, pausing only to dump a tweetstorm before going somewhere else and doing talks, week …
As noted, there was an earbud-related disaster yesterday. Now, I have long used the rule “two is one and one is none.” Because things fail and shit happens. I have two of pretty much everything I consider critical, with the …
Georges Simenon used to write a novel in eight days, producing between six thousand and eight thousand words a day. He’d start at dawn each day and be done by 10.30am, drenched in sweat. In his younger days, it’s said, …