jonbeckett73

Shamelessly taken from the Rifleman's Creed. Wonderful words. Listening to Levon, by Elton John. Beer stands on the table next to me. Having a night off.

Just thought I would say hello - it seems like ages since I wrote on LiveJournal (I have a hard time figuring out where to devote blogging efforts - I have a personal blog, a technical blog, a Tumblr account, and of course LiveJournal).

Did I mention that I'm on Twitter too? And Friendfeed?

It's all a bit mad really, isn't it.

I have tried out more social networks than I've had hot dinners. Some of them still exist, many more do not. Twitter seems to win at the moment because it's so damn simple to use. Facebook has turned into a school reunion organiser, and Tumblr is difficult to work out - although the amount of wonderful art on there is spectacular.

I'm not really writing about anything, am I...

I forgot Vox! I used to have an account on Vox too. I've had lots of accounts on Vox actually, and Yahoo 360 (which is no more). Plurk - had an account there too...

Yes, I am mad.

I just realised how long it has been since I last looked in on LiveJournal. Althought I follow one person's posts through Google Reader (antidamen - you rock), I have been more or less flattened by work in recent months - leaving very little "me" time to share with the communities of LiveJournal, Twitter, Tumblr, and so on. It's frustrating.

Just wanted to shout a big "HELLO!" really, and remind you all that I still exist... hopefully I'll be back and posting again soon!

While looking for ways to avoid work for a few minutes, I stumbled back into LiveJournal...

Cross posted from Cheese and Beans



Tonight is a night off from both my professional and freelance work - the first time out I have taken in a week or so. It’s time.

Taking a friend’s advice, I have installed Spotify on my old Mac at home (the one with the dodgy battery that desperately needs a visit to Apple to use it’s AppleCare “fix me now” tokens). I am therefore listening to Nik Kershaw, rocking out in a scruffy T-Shirt, and jeans with nothing on my feet in our spare room.

The oven is warming up, ready to cook baked potatoes. I just drank an espresso (which was probably a mistake, given that I haven’t eaten since lunchtime - 9 hours ago).

I’m aware that this blog has been sadly neglected for several weeks - and cannot guarantee any change to that soon. I’m also aware that the various blogs on the blogroll are not being read either. I often find myself taking a quick glance at recent posts, and then feeling guilty that I should be doing something more productive.

While I know there is value in “doing nothing”, I am perhaps my own worst enemy when it comes to forcing myself to do it. I can’t remember the last time I sat in front of the television and watched a programme all the way through. I always have things to do… things to get done.

I am permanently either submerged in whatever I am doing, or distracted while doing less important things. It’s a weird place to be.

Even this evening - while attempting to do nothing - I am racing to write this, with the thought of reading and commenting on blogs later, catching up with writing emails to friends around the world, cooking dinner, washing up… it never ends.

I'm wondering about not continuing to cross-post into LiveJournal... while I like the community aspects of it, I have no readership here, and cannot see the community here growing at all.

It's difficult.

The wheels fell off our broadband connection at home a couple of days ago in spectacular style, and it's starting to feel like somebody has cut my air supply off.

The online world has become a preferred place to seek entertainment, knowledge, community, and friends over the last few years - and given the various demands on my day, it has become increasingly persuasive.

The computer at home is always on - email is checked minutes after getting up while running between the shower and making the kids lunch and breakfast. Throughout the working day the iPhone in my pocket vibrates to announce new emails and reminders. Quiet moments will invariably find me checking Twitter to find out what friends are doing, or catching up on my runaway blogroll.

Retuning home on an evening I am usually doing freelance work for some client or another, and the connection will become more entrenched - with conduits open in the background to Twitter, Windows Live Messenger, Yahoo Messenger, AOL Instant Messenger, ICQ, IRC, Skype, Facebook, LinkedIn, and more. The computer speakers will continually murmur a soft heartbeat of the worldwide community sharing their day with each other.

Tonight that connection is down. Gone. Closed. Silent.

Given the various commitments I have to paying clients for freelance work, I will have to find a suitable cafe with internet access tomorrow, and set up camp for several hours. There is a Starbucks and Costa Coffee in town. The cafe in the park also has internet access. The choice may well come down to whichever has the best atmosphere.

Sitting in a cafe to work at a laptop will be a new experience for me. Will I be stared at in a condescending or envious manner by fellow customers? Will the staff be nice? Will I contemplate using the cafe as a regular weekend haunt away from home to get work done?

Sunday mornings at Starbucks ? Maybe. Maybe not.

cross posted from my personal blog, over at Cheese and Beans

A new Moleskine notebook arrived through the post a couple of days ago - my original one is slowly filling up, and I realised I would hate to be without one now.

The level of attachment I now experience to such a seemingly trivial thing has been a surprise - I can now understand why people become obsessive over notebooks, diaries, pens, ink and the act of journalling, scrapbooking, and writing. Flicking back through the pages of thoughts, ideas and notes I scribbled over the last couple of years is sometimes bittersweet. A lot has happened.

The little book had been with me from the start of my London adventure. We had no children, and often looked no further ahead than the next week. We arrived late home from work, ate meals at crazy times, listened to loud music, and went out when we pleased. The book's regular trips on main-line and underground trains had recorded nice people, happy people, angry people, sad people, busy people... cold days, rainy days, hot days... pretty ladies, and grumpy old men.

The first moleskine will now sit on a shelf - perhaps the first of many that will chart our first years of parenthood. When the children are grown up and I am long gone, the books may well be the most direct access they have to their Dad - what he thought about, what he worried about, how he saw the world around him.

After much planning and preparation, last night we managed to escape together for a night out in town with Wendy's brother. It was our second night out together since the girls arrived in February last year, and a reminder that we should do it more often (I'm guessing all parents say the same thing).

The evening started at the "Slug and Lettuce", a very swish bar in the centre of town where the food was wonderful; although we're not exactly subjective any more - anything that we haven't made ourselves is going to seem spectacular. I had originally opted for a "Mexican Burger", but (in true male fashion) hadn't read any further down the menu than it. When the waitress informed me that they were out of Chilli, I just pointed at anything. My brother in law then ordered some kind of burger that sounded huge and fantastic, so I interrupted the waitress and said "I want one of those too!"".

The burger was satisfyingly huge, tasty, and probably heart attack inducing. Suffice to say we will be going back.

At about half past nine the so far great experience took a huge hit - as most town pubs are want to do, they cranked up the music to 11, and made conversation almost impossible. Slightly annoyed, we decided to leave. Mindful of our total lack of recent knowledge of the various pubs in town - several of which had changed hands and been revamped, we wandered into the night to try "The George and Dragon" out.

All I can say is "wow". What an amazing place! I'll have to take a camera next time, because words don't really do it justice. They have subdivided what was a huge, cavernous pub into lots of quiet corners - it has to have been done in a computer, because although you are always "away" from too many people, you can see them through holes in walls, between pillars, and so on.

Just to cap off a great night out, while leaving I heard somebody shout "Jonathan!", and discovered some great friends that we don't see anywhere near enough having dinner out too. Excited high speed conversation was made congratulating each other on escaping our respective children for the night, and huge hugs and toothy grins were shared by all as we said our farewells.

To many, last night would have seemed like a humdrum night out - just something to eat, followed by a drink. When you have been buried in children, work, more children and more work for the last year, it was the best night out either of us could remember.

We ended the night playing Wii Fit until 2:30am, but that's another story.

Nestled in the corner of our garden, in their own arc and run, are three new additions to our menagerie - three chickens.

I am reliably informed by Wendy that they are a White Star (named "Rosie" by our youngest daughter), an Amber Star (named "Wendy" by our middle daughter), and a Black Star (named "Sophie" by our eldest daughter). I can't imagine I will ever remember their names - they will forever remain "the white one", "the brown one", and "the black one".

We got them from a nearby farm, and the children think they are wonderful. Later this afternoon, after clearing some of the devestation caused by winter from the garden, we will be releasing them from captivity to explore their new world. The biggest surprise so far has been the difference in nature between these chickens and the leghorns we had previously. Where the leghorns would run from you, fly vertically, and were expert escape artists, these are docile, friendly, and inquisitive.

More photos (and perhaps video) will inevitably follow.

Cross posted from my shiny new blog - Cheese And Beans

With the advent of my 36th birthday earlier this week, I have been wondering how much I have changed over the years - how I am different than I was before.

Physically, I'm starting to show my age.

My hairline is ever so slowly creeping up my forehead. I'm not about to go bald, but I am starting to look like Dracula when I get out of the shower. Various bumps and lumps are starting to appear. My skin has officially lost the elasticity it once had - even my dimples are turning into creases.

Various injuries sustained over the years make my knees sound particularly tuneful when walking up stairs - I'm guessing it's the various tendons inside that sound similar to rope being pulled through the middle of my leg (if you can imagine that) - mostly owing to the spectacular kneecap dislocation I achieved a few years ago.

Getting drunk is no longer an option. Recovery takes far longer than it ever did before, and I'm more aware of the time I waste when feeling rough.

On the good side, I am perhaps fitter and stronger than I have ever been. My eyes are still above 20/20, but I am still colour blind.

Mentally, I grow far more cynical and disenfranchised each year. At 21 I was full of crackpot ideas, theories, thoughts, and opinions. I'm slowly turning into my father-in-law, who will often remark "it'll never fly" when witnessing my attempts at building furniture.

When I was 21, I read books about all manner of wacky subjects - life on other planets, neuroscience, particle physics. When you do find me with a book now, it will invariably be a novel by William Gibson, or Douglas Coupland.

The most unexpected aspect of getting older is that I find it far easier to talk to people - especially women. I'm not sure if it's a case of "don't care any more", or just that I have been places, done things, and seen a lot of stuff now. I am confident in who I am. Most of my close friends - both real world and internet - are female. When I was younger I was painfully shy and self critical.

In some ways I miss the optimistic dreamer that I once was - but I also value the experiences, knowledge, wisdom, and people I now know (and in many cases love to bits).

How do you think you have changed since you were young?

cross posted from my shiny new personal blog - Cheese and Beans

I was pulled up by Wendy last night for becoming more rubbish than normal at this whole business of being a Dad. The worst part is that I already knew.

Our sudden requirement for a new car, a black hole in our bank account the size of Texas, and the never ending requirement to put new shoes and clothes on our children had focussed my mind entirely on making money. The most obvious route to making that money has been the freelance web design work I have been doing recently - but in taking on the work, I saw only the money I might earn - not the effort required, the amount of time it would take me away from my family, or the effect it might have on me as a person.

I began thinking about taking on freelance work late last year. It came as quite a surprise that projects fell into my lap immediately - one after another - and continue to do so. While the interest in hiring my skills has been both exciting and flattering, it was also dangerous. I remember a line from a book I once read...

If you want to make somebody work twice as hard for only a little more money, call them a "Manager"

I think it applies to skilled professions too - like web design and development for instance. Tell somebody they are good at something, and they will invariably go above and beyond the call of duty to satisfy your requests. When the time they are spending on that is already their own time because they have a day job, it's a recipe for disaster.

I think the solution is going to be learning when to say "no". When a late request comes in for something to be changed "as soon as possible", that doesn't mean "right now". "As soon as possible" needs to be on my terms - balanced not only against the workload I already have, but also against the time I spend with my family - which should perhaps be regarded as the most valuable resource I have.

I have now seen the result of not investing time into my family, and it's not great. Arriving home from work with the prospect of several hours additional work ahead of you - at least in my case - means you go head down, and try to get things done. This would be fine if your family comprised of rational, self sufficient people - but of course no family is.

Asking a three year old to tidy up does not actually result in much getting done - she will invariably be distracted by a painting stuck to the door as she carries a jigsaw back to the playroom, start singing a song about it, and then go off to play with the teddy she forgot she stuffed in her shoe earlier. The five year old will complain at this point that nobody is helping tidy up, or that she "didn't get this out"... the eight year old will sulk because you've just switched the television off in the middle of "Power Rangers", and stomp off to her bedroom. When you have other things to do, the natural reaction is to go on the warpath.

But they are children. They are doing what children do. It's easy to forget that.

The other thing that's easy to forget is that your better half has spent the entire day waging war with the children, and is pretty much shattered by the time you get home. She's invariably walked four or five miles during the day - to playgroup and back, and to school and back twice... She's dealt with five hundred requests of "can we have", and "I want", and countless claims of "[insert child name] hurt me!". When I arrive home, I should be affording her the chance to have a break - not locking myself away night after night to chase a second career.

Where am I going with this?

I guess I just need to learn how to slow down a little - how to tell those who might hire me that "ASAP" is actually next week at the moment, and the fact that I have nothing planned for the next several nights is nothing to do with them... those nights are for Wendy, the children, and myself.

I gone done and did it. Again. (and yes, I am quite aware of how many grammar rules the first sentence breaks. I also know this footnote should not have started with "and").



Henceforth, my personal blog exists here;

www.cheeseandbeans.com

This will be the last time such a move takes place. After something like 8 years of writing a blog of various sorts online, this is the first time I have purchased a domain name specifically for a personal blog. I am also moving my technical blog to it's own home online, although that's another subject for another time.

The reasons for this final move are many. When I began picking up freelance work some months ago, I had reduced my online "footprint" significantly - giving some projects away (PluggedOut comes to mind), putting some projects on life support (ThoughtCafe), and closing accounts all over the place (Posterous, Tumblr, MySpace).

I had not considered that the traces I leave on the internet - my words, photos, thoughts, views, and crackpot opinions - would be read by those who might one day hire my services. It therefore became obvious that if I choose to participate in the blogosphere, I need to do it on my own terms. I need to have my own websites which extend the little brand and influence I have beyond the bounds of the work that I do.

If you start to see me taking more care with the words and photographs I am sharing, it's entirely intentional.

In blogging terms, after eight years I guess I'm finally growing up.

I couldn't figure out how to attach the digital camera to myself in order to shoot video on the way to work (I'll probably have to buy a bracket for the bike or something), so I did the next best thing - and got the iPhone out of my pocket every 1/4 mile or so. Enjoy...

Here's Wendy telling me that our clever new car is telling her there may be ice on the ground...



Leaving with the kids for the school run (I ride a mountain bike to work)...



Off through the suburban streets of small town England...



Past big houses where important people used to live - now filled with new media companies...



Some random road junction along the way...



And suddenly we are out in the fields - away from the town...



Into the estate where the office hides in a quiet corner...



Past the trees I have photographed so many times before...



Past the big house where somebody very important probably lived a long time ago...



And finally stood on the steps of the office, looking back down the estate...



In summary, isn't the iPhone camera rubbish!?

I promised a while ago to draw a few people...



... how long until she notices :)

The other day somebody posted a comment on a photo of one of our kids that nearly caused me to go nuclear on the spot.

It's worth pointing out that this "somebody" was somebody I knew, who knows me well, and I know their line in sarcasm - and their comment was probably a perfectly reasonable thing to ask about the photo in question.

It made me realise that the GORT style "MUST PROTECT AT ALL COSTS" thing that I've noticed lots of other parents have (usually the ones I aspire to be like) has somehow got switched on inside me. It's kind of nice to know that the paternal instinct has appeared, even though they are not our birth children - but also scary as hell. When will I next switch into berserk maniac killer robot mode, I hope it's not too near a room full of even tempered super parents.

Luckily this time I deactivated before doing anything I would later regret.

After reading Antidamen's blog post, I'm joining in - here's some of my handwriting - analyse away...

I love reading - I just wish I could find more time to devote to it. For the past several months, most waking hours have been spent buried in work of some kind or another - either the day job, or freelance. I'm thinking that perhaps if I share the list of books I would like to read some time soon (most of which I already own, or have borrowed from friends), it might shame me into doing something about it...

“We” by Yevgeny Zamyatin

In a glass-enclosed city of absolute straight lines, ruled over by the all-powerful "Benefactor", the citizens of the totalitarian society of OneState live out lives devoid of passion and creativity - until D-503, a mathematician who dreams in numbers, makes a discovery: he has an individual soul. Set in the twenty-sixth century AD, We is the classic dystopian novel and was the inspiration for George Orwell's 1984. It was suppressed for many years in Russia and remains a resounding cry for individual freedom, yet is also a powerful, exciting and vivid work of science fiction.

“Starbook” by Ben Okri

"Starbook" tells the tale of a prince and a maiden in a mythical land where a golden age is ending. Their fragile story considers the important questions we all face, exploring creativity, wisdom, suffering and transcendence in a time when imagination still ruled the world. A magnificent achievement and a modern-day parable, "Starbook" offers a vision of life far greater than ourselves.

“Stranger in a Strange Land” by Robert Heinlein

Stranger in a Strange Land, winner of the 1962 Hugo Award, is the story of Valentine Michael Smith, born during, and the only survivor of, the first manned mission to Mars. Michael is raised by Martians, and he arrives on Earth as a true innocent: he has never seen a woman and has no knowledge of Earth's cultures or religions. But he brings turmoil with him, as he is the legal heir to an enormous financial empire, not to mention de facto owner of the planet Mars. With the irascible popular author Jubal Harshaw to protect him, Michael explores human morality and the meanings of love. He founds his own church, preaching free love and disseminating the psychic talents taught him by the Martians. Ultimately, he confronts the fate reserved for all messiahs. The impact of Stranger in a Strange Land was considerable, leading many children of the sixties to set up households based on Michael's water-brother nests.

“Brave New World” by Aldous Huxley

Far in the future, the World Controllers have finally created the ideal society. In laboratories worldwide, genetic science has brought the human race to perfection. From the Alpha-Plus mandarin class to the Epsilon-Minus Semi-Morons, designed to perform menial tasks, man is bred and educated to be blissfully content with his pre-destined role. But, in the Central London Hatchery and Conditioning Centre, Bernard Marx is unhappy. Harbouring an unnatural desire for solitude, feeling only distaste for the endless pleasures of compulsory promiscuity, Bernard has an ill-defined longing to break free. A visit to one of the few remaining Savage Reservations where the old, imperfect life still continues, may be the cure for his distress…

“Lord of the Flies” by William Golding

William Golding's classic tale about a group of English schoolboys who are plane-wrecked on a deserted island, is just as chilling and relevant today as when it was first published in 1954. At first, the stranded boys cooperate, attempting to gather food, make shelters, and maintain signal fires. Overseeing their efforts are Ralph, "the boy with fair hair," and Piggy, Ralph's chubby, wisdom-dispensing sidekick whose thick spectacles come in handy for lighting fires. Although Ralph tries to impose order and delegate responsibility, there are many in their number who would rather swim, play, or hunt the island's wild pig population. Soon Ralph's rules are being ignored or challenged outright. His fiercest antagonist is Jack, the redheaded leader of the pig hunters, who manages to lure away many of the boys to join his band of painted savages. The situation deteriorates as the trappings of civilization continue to fall away, until Ralph discovers that instead of being hunters, he and Piggy have become the hunted: "He forgot his words, his hunger and thirst, and became fear; hopeless fear on flying feet." Golding's gripping novel explores the boundary between human reason and animal instinct, all on the brutal playing field of adolescent competition.

“The Blind Watchmaker” by Richard Dawkins

Acclaimed as the most influential work on evolution written in the last hundred years, The Blind Watchmaker offers an inspiring and accessible introduction to one of the most important scientific discoveries of all time. A brilliant and controversial book which demonstrates that evolution by natural selection - the unconscious, automatic, blind yet essentially non-random process discovered by Darwin - is the only answer to the biggest question of all: why do we exist?

“Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep” by Philip K. Dick

World War Terminus had left the Earth devastated. Through its ruins, bounty hunter Rick Deckard stalked, in search of the renegade replicants who were his prey. When he wasn't 'retiring' them with his laser weapon, he dreamed of owning a live animal - the ultimate status symbol in a world all but bereft of animal life. Then Rick got his chance - the assignment to kill six Nexus-6 targets, for a huge reward. But in Deckard's world things were never that simple, and his assignment quickly turned into a nightmare kaleidoscope of subterfuge and deceit - and the threat of death for the hunter rather than the hunted...

“Neuromancer” by William Gibson

Neuromancer is the most influential science fiction novel of our time. Cyberspace and virtual reality were invented in this book. It changed forever the way we look at tomorrow. The Matrix unfolds like neon origami beneath clusters and constellations of data. Constructs, AIs, live here. Somewhere, concealed by ice, Neuromancer is evolving. As entropy goes into reverse, Molly's surgical implants broadcast trouble from the ferro-concrete geodesic of the Sprawl. Maelcum, Rastafarian in space, is her best hope of rescue. But she and Case, computer cowboy, are busy stealing data from the almighty Megacorps. If the Megacorps don't get them both, perhaps Case will fall prey to the cheap treachery of Linda Lee, someone as lost as himself.

“Pandora’s Star” by Peter F. Hamilton

In AD 2329, humanity has colonised over four hundred planets, all of them interlinked by wormholes. With Earth at its centre, the Intersolar Commonwealth now occupies a sphere of space approximately four hundred light years across. When an astronomer on the outermost world of Gralmond, observes a star 2000 light years distant - and then a neighbouring one - vanish, it is time for the Commonwealth to discover what happened to them. For what if their disappearance indicates some kind of galactic conflict? Since a conventional wormhole cannot be used to reach these vanished stars, for the first time humans need to build a faster-than-light starship, the Second Chance. But it arrives to find each 'vanished' star encased in a giant force field - and within one of them resides a massive alien civilisation.

“The Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho

The Alchemist presents a simple fable, based on simple truths and places it in a highly unique situation. And though we may sense a bestselling formula, it is certainly not a new one: even the ancient tribal storytellers knew that this is the most successful method of entertaining an audience while slipping in a lesson or two. Brazilian storyteller Paulo Coehlo introduces Santiago, an Andalucian shepherd boy who one night dreams of a distant treasure in the Egyptian pyramids. And so he's off: leaving Spain to literally follow his dream. Along the way he meets many spiritual messengers, who come in unassuming forms such as a camel driver and a well-read Englishman. In one of the Englishman's books, Santiago first learns about the alchemists--men who believed that if a metal were heated for many years, it would free itself of all its individual properties, and what was left would be the "Soul of the World." Of course he does eventually meet an alchemist, and the ensuing student-teacher relationship clarifies much of the boy's misguided agenda, while also emboldening him to stay true to his dreams. "My heart is afraid that it will have to suffer," the boy confides to the alchemist one night as they look up at a moonless night.

“His Dark Materials” by Philip Pullman

Lyra's life is already sufficiently interesting for a novel before she eavesdrops on a presentation by her uncle Lord Asriel to his colleagues in the Jordan College faculty, Oxford. The college, famed for its leadership in experimental theology, is funding Lord Asriel's research into the heretical possibility of the existence of worlds unlike Lyra's own, where everyone is born with a familiar animal companion, magic of a kind works, the Tartars are threatening to overrun Muscovy, and the Pope is a puritanical Protestant. Set in an England familiar and strange, Philip Pullman's lively, taut story is a must-read and re-read for fantasy lovers of all ages. The world-building is outstanding, from the subtle hints of the 1898 Tokay to odd quirks of language to the panserbjorne, while determined, clever Lyra is strongly reminiscent of Joan Aiken's Dido Twite.

“War and Peace” by Leo Tolstoy

Considered by many to the greatest novel ever written, Tolstoy's masterpiece is a story of family life set against the backdrop of war. The novel begins in 1805 in the crowded and gossip-filled rooms of a St Petersburg party and follows the fortunes of the aristocratic Bolkonsky and Rostov families as Napoleon's armies sweep through Europe, culminating in the French invasion of Russia in 1812 and Napoleon's defeat. Tolstoy's vast novel takes in both the epic sweep of national events and the private experience of individuals, from the keen young soldier to Napoleon himself, and at the heart of it all the complicated triangle of affection that binds his central characters.

I have too much stuff going around in my head at the moment to write any of it down in any coherent manner - so expect more photos until the maelstrom calms a little.

Another night down, another night closer to paying for our new car, and another night of churning out illustrations that will eventually grace a corporate website.

For the first time since I have been freelancing, I was approached today by a possible client on the strength of my portfolio. To say I am pleased is an understatement - especially as the work I am able to display online is only a small fraction of the work I actually do. So far I have not actively scouted for any of the work I am doing. Of course, as I complete more freelance work, I will have more to show - a bigger "shop window".

Week days are spent mired in the world of Microsoft, C#, web services, workflow, and all manner of other stuff that 99% of people have never heard of. Weekends are spent running round like an idiot fulfilling social obligations, and ferrying the children on their never ending itinerary, which leaves evenings and late nights to help freelance clients realise their ambitions on the web.

We decided several months ago that I should give it at least six months to a year - doing the web work on the side - before making any kind of long term decision about my future. It will be a difficult call to make when the time comes (if it ever does) - deciding between a career as a professional software developer, or a freelance web designer and developer.

My continuing inspiration is a friend in the US who followed the opposite path - leaving a world of web development behind to chase her dream of making wonderful things from glass and silver. She had the courage to make the leap, but then she also has another half earning money. Our situation is different - I am now the sole supporter of our family of five, and it concentrates the mind wonderfully.

Over the past several evenings while working early into the morning on occasion, I have wondered about the pursuit of money - or rather, my own pursuit of it recently. At what point do I slow down - how much free time should you make for yourself - and your family ? I'm not so sure there is a right or wrong answer, so long as you find some time... this evening I ate dinner with everybody, talked through the children's day, and helped the eldest with her homework before returning to the study to knuckle down.

Right now I am writing these words in a period of reflection at the end of a long day, and continuing the tradition of being a "personal blogger" - the very same class of contributor to the web that the intelligencia will tell you is becoming extinct.

When I grow weary, I am reminded of the Dylan Thomas poem - do not go gentle into that good night...