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Looking back, I’d forgotten that Monday was a bank holiday. It certainly didn’t feel like a four-day week. We’ve known for months that the end of an era is approaching at work, but it still isn’t clear as to what comes next. So while there is plenty to do, and everyone is getting on with their initiatives, there is also a sense of treading water until we know what direction to swim in.
This was a week in which I:
Next week: Hearing from Gordon Brown.
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Finished reading Letter from an Unknown Woman and Other Stories by Stefan Zweig. This was perfect to read just before bed to take my brain off to another time and place; undemanding but poignant. I love his writing.
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August has been a strange month to work through. The office has been quieter than usual as people have been off for their summer holidays. Unintuitively, the emptier the office is, the harder it is to concentrate, as your ears tune in to individual conversations. I’m hoping that things will get bustling again as the calendar flips to September.
This was a week in which I:
Parties are a public service, you’re doing people a favor by throwing them. Someone might meet their new best friend or future lover at your gathering. In the short term, lovely people may feel less lonely, and that’s thanks to you. In the long term, whole new children may ultimately exist in the world because you bothered to throw a party. Throwing parties is stressful for most people, but a great kindness to the community, so genuinely pat yourself on the back for doing this.
Next week: A bank holiday, and everyone getting back to work and school.
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The temperature dropped by about ten degrees, bringing clouds and even a little bit of rain. I went in search of a pair of jeans for the first time in a couple of months, putting away the shorts for a while. I promise I’ll never complain about regular old ‘mildly warm’ British weather ever again. It’s lovely right now.
Work-wise, this week was a challenge. There are some big changes happening that bring some uncertainty, and by the end of the week I felt that I was even further away from knowing what’s coming next than I was at the start. It’ll all get resolved soon.
My evenings and weekends feel a little gummed up. I’ve got lots of personal projects that I need to make progress with, but time seems to slip by. “Okay, I didn’t get it done tonight but it’s the weekend soon and I’ll do it then” quickly becomes “I ran out of time this weekend so I’ll have to try and get that done in the evenings after work”, and the cycle continues. When I was younger, my solution was to stay up very late on weeknights and compromise my sleep. But I’ve finally learned how much sleep I really need and I’ve been trying to get more of it. It’s not that nothing’s getting done on my personal projects; maybe I just have unrealistic expectations about what’s doable in the time available.
This was a week in which I:
Dan: Everybody loves history, and what I point out is the reason everybody loves history is because there’s a history of every thing. So whatever you’re interested in, fashion, motorcycles, sports, whatever, there’s a history and the history of that teaches you the same thing. You asked me what you would study to understand the life today. If you want to understand fashion today, you have to understand how it got that way.
So that’s how I would teach it, by the way, in the schools. I would find out what the students are interested in individually and I would tell them to learn the history of the thing that they’re already interested in. Because the facts, [like that] Columbus discovered America and all that stuff is a bunch of random stuff that people decided we should know. But what you really learn is how things go from A to B to C to D and you can learn that studying whatever you’re interested in.
Next week: Welcoming back a colleague from a long holiday, plus two Album Club nights.
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Finished reading Steve Marriott: All Too Beautiful by Paolo Hewitt and John Hellier. I’ve been a big Small Faces fan since I was a teenager in the 1990s. I knew the basic story arc of Steve Marriott’s life, but this filled in lots of the detail. The book makes the point that if Marriott had survived a few more years beyond his horrible death in 1991, he would surely have had a big renaissance through the Britpop crowd. An informative read, but I found the writing style really grating in places.
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I’ve been thinking more about these weeknotes, pondering whether it’s time to explore a different format. Six years ago, I made a note that I was inspired by Ton Zijlstra’s format, and it’s served me well. But I’ve stopped looking forward to documenting my week as much as I used to.
Part of my reluctance to change is that I feel like I have less time than I did before, and that writing more freely will take more of it. Somehow — and I don’t know how — I used to sit down to write, edit and publish on a Sunday night, whereas my routine is now to try and write on my commutes at the start of the following week. Sometimes I don’t finish things off until Thursday. I want to keep up the practice as I enjoy writing; a weeknotes routine forces the discipline of putting sentences together and exercising the writing muscles, and I suspect that my writing is better elsewhere because of it. I look back on my old weeknotes regularly, and know that some friends and family read them. But maybe the old format has become stale. I’m also conscious of trying not to drift too much into oversharing about work whilst still saying just enough for these to be useful for me to look back on, and to create the odd connection with people — like you — out there on the Internet. I’m only ten weeks away from a big weeknotes milestone, so maybe I’ll shake things up when I get there.
Summer feels like it is going by so fast, probably in part because we had our family holiday already. It’s been another very hot week. Everywhere, the grass and plants are hay-coloured, and the ground is hard, dusty and broken due to the lack of water. I’ve been looking at the trees around us and can’t tell whether the yellow leaves are an early sign of autumn or water stress. On Sunday night it was interesting to watch the national and local weather forecasts on TV, as the presenters reflected what now seems to be the national mood: that it would be brilliant if it rained at some point soon. It’s not often that you’ll find people in the UK longing for rain.
This was a week in which I:
Next week: Dinner with friends, and the return of F1.
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Back to work after being out of the office for a couple of weeks. I’d left myself a reminder to go to the right location, as we’d had a seating shuffle while I’d been away. We had an extraordinary number of people saying that they were cold at their new desks, but, weirdly, the complaints were distributed across the whole office. From the data, we could see that it had been gradually getting colder everywhere in our space over the past few weeks. I’m not sure what the opposite of ‘boiling frogs’ is (‘freezing frogs’?) but the desk move seemed to be the psychological trigger for people to notice the temperature dip.
A lot of my week was spent catching up with the team, meeting with senior colleagues about various strands of work we need to do, and developing ideas on how we can do things differently and more effectively.
On Wednesday night I said goodbye to my eldest son, who was getting up early the next day for his trip to Texas. Unbelievably, he’s now already in his second1 year. He took a road bike with him so that he can get some general fitness miles in. I suspect that the flat roads, heat and headwinds of South Texas will be brutal for road cycling. I’ll miss him, but not as much as I’ll be happy that he’s getting on and doing his thing.
This was a week in which I:
On July 9, S&P Global cut Oracle’s credit rating from BBB to BBB-minus, one notch above junk, and conceded in the rating action that it had “misjudged the magnitude of the investments needed.” The agency named the concentration plainly: OpenAI accounts for roughly half of Oracle’s $638 billion backlog. Half the order book of one of America’s flagship enterprise-software companies now depends on a single money-losing startup honoring a $300 billion contract.
Next week: Anniversary.
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I was about to use the word ‘proscribed‘ in an email. Something made me pause to double check what it means. It turns out that it means literally the complete opposite of what I thought.
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We spent this week on holiday in Tuscany, Italy, with eight of our friends. Our summer break was planned to be early this year as our eldest son heads back to university next week. This holiday came and went in a flash, as they always do. Our home for the week was Il Gelsomino Bianco, a villa in the Brancoli hills, north of Lucca. A stone in the wall of the guest house was marked with the year 1729, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the whole villa was at least that old.
The journey to our destination started out great. We had flights booked at a reasonable hour from Heathrow which didn’t involve us getting up earlier than the crack of dawn to be there. I looked out of my bedroom window as my family were getting ready and spotted our next-door-but-one neighbours getting into a taxi along with their suitcases. It turned out that, incredibly, they were booked on exactly the same flights as us.
When we got to Pisa airport, despite pre-booking our car with Budget and thinking that we had covered all bases, there was — as there always is — something that they wanted to upsell us on. This time it was windscreen cover “which for some reason is not offered on the website”. They also wanted more for an automatic car, which I declined. When we got to the vehicle, we found it to be very tired, very dirty, and smaller than we had asked for, so much so that we were unable to get our cases in. It was about 36°C out and I was feeling tired and stressed from the queuing and upsell efforts. This precipitated a minor meltdown, with me grumpily asking everyone to get out of the car while I took the hot walk back to the desk to complain. The seemingly unsurprised sales rep barely said a word as he quickly updated my booking and gave me the keys to a much better, bigger, roomier, cleaner automatic car. It was almost as if he had expected me to come back.
Our week was primarily filled with days by the pool and evenings in the courtyard, talking, playing games and listening to music. Being on holiday with people you love is the best way to spend time with them. Whenever we get together for the odd afternoon or evening, there’s always a sense that you’ve barely had time to get into good conversation, particularly when there are lots of you there. With a holiday together there are plenty of chances to talk, covering things beyond a superficial level.
The biggest downside to the villa was the incessant mosquitoes that made a meal of every one of us. We were bitten within minutes of sitting in the garden. Soon, we were in the routine of slapping on repellent and lighting citronella candles and coils in order to keep them away. The best defence seemed to be Smidge, a brand that was new to me, but the one bottle that we had soon ran out. Who knows if any of the rest of it worked? By the end of the holiday, we all still looked as though we had been attacked with an itching pox.
I managed to get out for a few 10 km runs across the week we were there. Some of the runs were on the mountain roads around the villa, which seemed to get steeper the closer I got to the top of each one. At one point I was feeling good and thought I might run down one mountain path to the main road at the foot of the hill and then back up the road to our villa. But I was foiled as I reached the end, with roadworks blocking the path. Although I was going back up to the same point, retracing my steps felt harder and less motivating. We did a couple of early-morning trips to Lucca to run the 4.2 km circumference of the city walls, which gave beautiful views of the towers within the city and the architecture beyond it.
Lucca itself was lovely, but the heat and lack of breeze meant that spending time walking around felt like a bit of an endurance test. On the first full day of our holiday we did a three-and-a-half-hour guided walk, which gave us some insight into the city, but it felt as though there were too many people in the group, and I was too hot and tired to take it in. We did learn that the city is the birthplace of Giacomo Puccini, and that the taller your building, the greater your status.
Lucca is home to the Mixi Gastropub, which is really a restaurant that serves excellent burgers, including a great selection of vegetarian ones made with Beyond Meat. They opened up a whole section of the restaurant for us, and the food was so good that we came back a couple of days later.
For our last meal, we ate at Buca di Sant’Antonio in Lucca with the hope that we would get a special, authentic dinner to celebrate our holiday. Choosing to eat outside was a mistake; even at night the heat was super-oppressive, with barely any breeze under the big sun umbrellas that seemed to trap the air. The food was expensive and far from great, leaving me feeling a little disappointed. But it was probably the only bad meal that we had.
My favourite dinner was at Molin della Volpe. We sat out in the beautiful modern courtyard and enjoyed some contemporary Italian food, including a vegetarian risotto with curry sauce. I was very pleased with myself when I used a translation tool to work out how to say “I am vegetarian; can you please recommend first and second courses for me that the chef likes to cook?” in Italian and was understood. (Or, at least, the waitress was very sympathetic despite my dreadful attempt.)
In the middle of the week we took a long drive to Diacceroni to take part in a pasta-making course. On the way, we found that almost no Italian drivers observe the speed limits for any given road, probably because the limits generally feel as though they are set too low. We found ourselves doing 50 km/h along a long, straight road, with a queue of traffic behind us. Sometimes, vehicles would pull out and overtake three or four cars before zooming on up the street. It didn’t fluster me, but it did feel weird to be staying within the speed limit while everyone else was seemingly goading me to go much faster.
Diacceroni is located in a beautiful valley, but again it was so hot. Our instructor for the morning was a Scottish lady who had made her home in Italy and was an expert in pasta-making. She showed us how to make ravioli and tagliatelle and told us to keep the off-cuts, all of which were cooked for our lunch. We dined al fresco, but really it was a bit too hot to be outside.
We made a couple of trips to Ponte a Moriano, the nearest town to our villa, which was on the way to Lucca. We discovered Gelateria Sauro, an excellent ice cream shop that had lovely gelato flavours served in the usual cones or cups, as well as a big selection of delicious-looking arctic rolls that were sold by weight.
The nearby Caffetteria Graziella was great for a quick local coffee. Outside the cafe was a vending machine selling ‘Italian Brainrot’ figures. All of the youngsters with us seemed to know exactly what these were — weird, AI-generated chimeras with funny names — having seen them on TikTok.
We took a late-afternoon trip to Viareggio with the intent of sitting on the beach to enjoy a drink and a meal. But it was spoiled by the fact that almost all of the sand was divided up into private sections, linked to the cafes, bars and spas that were facing the street. Even though we turned up after 5pm, long after most of the beachgoers had left for the day, the different bars wanted to charge us a small fortune to use their chairs, umbrellas and loungers. As far as we could see, there was a sole patch of sand that we could sit on for free, in front of a small Ferris wheel. We gave up and went for a drink before heading back for a burger at Mixi in Lucca.
The week was over far too quickly. It’s good to be away from the mosquitoes, but I’m already missing the days lounging around with my friends. We’ll need to book up our trip for next year; any ideas would be very welcome.
When I wasn’t socialising, playing in the pool, or sitting around listening to music, I continued to read Paolo Hewitt and John Hellier’s biography of Steve Marriott. I’m very much not in love with the writing style, which comes across as clichéd and twee at times, but I’m still enjoying it.
I also read a few interesting articles, including:
Next week: Back to work, and a cultural outing to the Barbican Centre.
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We only have another couple of weeks together as a family before our eldest heads back to start his sophomore year at college in Texas. Our youngest finished school last week, so my wife suggested that I take the week off and do something with both of the boys. Now that they are both into road cycling, the obvious ‘something’ was to plan a big bike ride. I wanted a distance that would be achievable for everyone, but significant enough to justify getting away somewhere. So I dug into the archives and decided to recreate the Berkhamsted Cycling Club Isle of Wight trip of 2022.
After packing our bags and putting the bike carriers on the car on Sunday, we set off early on Monday morning for a drive to Winchester. We got there just before 11am, found a pleasingly not-too-busy park-and-ride car park and unloaded the bikes. Our plan was to ride 53 km before stopping for lunch at The Bush Inn in Ovington.
The route took us through some winding alleys before heading onto lovely country lanes. The weather was perfect — hot, but not crazy hot — and we soon found ourselves wheeling into Ovington and the welcoming, beautiful pub garden. I introduced my youngest son to a mud, a 50:50 mix of orange juice and Diet Coke, which is a hundred times better than it sounds and is a finely-tuned refreshment for a summer’s ride. After lunch, we made our way back to the car park, got the bikes back on the roof and headed off to Portsmouth.
We stayed at the Holiday Inn Express in Gunwharf Quays, which is ideally situated next to a smart shopping centre with lots of choices of places to eat, albeit the same high-street names that you find everywhere. The hotel staff had no problem with us bringing our bikes in and leaving them in our rooms. I had to leave the boys with all of our unloaded bikes and bags before I drove off into the underground car park, finding a different route to get back to them. We found somewhere outdoors where we could sit and have a pizza. Afterwards, the boys wanted to go back to their room and relax. I did the same; I attempted to catch up with some Patreon videos, but fell asleep after about twenty minutes and decided to go to bed. Given that we were planning to get up just after 6am the next day, this turned out to be a great idea.
After an early breakfast and a check that everyone was feeling fit, we cycled the short distance to the Wightlink ferry terminal. I knew that our planned 110 km loop from Fishbourne, clockwise around the island, was a little daunting for both of the boys. It was to be the longest ride my eldest son had tackled, and my youngest hadn’t ridden this kind of distance since Easter. But we were all looking forward to it.
The route was spot-on. There were plenty of hills, most of which the boys sprinted up, then waited at the top for me to catch them up. We made a pit stop about 38 km into the ride at Ventnor Botanic Garden for a cold drink and a cake, which came at just the right time. The garden is at the bottom of a street called Zig Zag Road, which indicated a rapid descent as well as a difficult climb back out.
The next section of the ride was my favourite, zipping along the main road with big climbs and stunning views of the white cliffs at the south-west edge of the island. At some point one of the boys made me smile when they said, “I’m really enjoying this.” Me too.
Our planned lunch stop was 73 km in, at Off The Rails in Yarmouth. I had great memories of the food from when we did the trip with the bike club four years ago and had been excited for the boys to experience it too. We arrived hungry, parked our bikes up — and then our hearts sank as we found that it is only open from Wednesday to Sunday. We figured that we would go back up to the main road that we had just turned off, to look for somewhere else to eat. After exploring a couple of pubs and finding that they weren’t happy for us to bring our bikes through to the gardens, we settled on The Gossips Café. They had a gigantic menu and bench-style seating adjacent to the street, which allowed us to prop up our bikes against a fence and keep them within arm’s reach while we ate.
Tackling the last part of the ride was tough, with so much distance and climbing in our legs already. We had an enforced stop at Cowes Floating Bridge as we waited for the chain ferry to reach us. After that, it wasn’t long before we were rolling down the hill to catch the return ferry from Fishbourne.
A couple of weeks ago, on a Saturday morning club ride, I was introducing myself to someone in our group who I hadn’t ridden with before. I pointed out that my son was just ahead in our group, and she exclaimed “Wow, that’s the dream!” I think it took her pointing it out to me to realise that she’s absolutely right — it’s great that the boys are into something that I love, and we get to do it together. I feel so lucky to have been able to make some memories with both of the boys for a couple of days. We drove home happy.
The rest of the week was filled with a few chores such as getting our oven professionally cleaned and dropping off a replacement rim and a set of spokes at the bike shop so that they could build me a new wheel to replace the cracked one that they had pointed out to me when I last visited. I also took the time to get out of the house on my own, wandering to The Rex to see the matinee showing of The Invite (2026), which was just as funny as I had hoped it would be. Superb casting and excellent dialogue. I had such a good time that later that evening I decided to watch another film: Shithouse (2020), which was showing as a suggestion on MUBI. Despite the movie being about the experience of someone in their first year at college, I couldn’t tempt my eldest son to join me in watching it. I rounded off the day by sitting down and finishing my book. A day like this gives me hope that I’ll be just fine when it’s time to retire.
Please don’t “use AI to polish” your blog posts. It makes them sound like every other blog post on the internet and therefore makes them very boring to read. I like your idiosyncratic little voice ok? Your silly little grammars. You’re the only you there is.
Next week: A change of scenery.
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