Journal tags: 20

213

sparkline

Web Day Out × State Of The Browser

If you’re the kind of person who likes Web Day Out, you’re probably also the kind of person who likes State Of The Browser.

Web Day Out is all about what you can in web browsers right now, with an emphasis on immediately practical techniques and technologies. State Of The Browser is similar, but with room for fun demos that push the boundaries.

State Of The Browser is on Saturday, 28 February.

Web Day Out is on Thursday, 12 March.

It would be a shame if you had to choose between these two excellent events.

Well, you don’t have to!

If you buy a ticket for Web Day Out you can get a whopping 50% off the ticket price for State Of The Browser. Or if you can’t make it in person, your Web Day Out ticket gets you a free online ticket!

You might be thinking, “Well, much as I’d love to go to both events, I don’t think I can convince my boss to give me two conference days.” Worry ye not! State Of The Browser is on a Saturday, so unless you’re working an extremely extended work week, you still only need to take one day away from your desk to go to two events.

So don’t delay: get your ticket for Web Day Out. Then you’ll get an email with details on how to get your 50% discount for State Of The Browser (or your free online ticket, whichever you prefer).

But wait! What if you already bought a ticket for State Of The Browser? Check your email. You’ve been sent a very, very generous discount code for Web Day Out to thank you for getting your ticket nice and early.

I’ll see you at State Of The Browser in London …and then I’ll see you at Web Day Out in Brighton!

2025

Here’s the new year, same as the old year. Well, not the same, but pretty similar.

At the end of 2024, I wrote:

It was a year dominated by Ukraine and Gaza. Utterly horrific and unnecessary death courtesy of Putin and Netanyahu

See what I mean?

2025 added an extra dose of American carnage with Trump’s psychotic combination of cruelty and incompetence directed at the very foundations of the country. I’ve got to be honest, I’m tired of the USA living rent-free in my head so I’ve issued an eviction notice. It’s not that I don’t have sympathy and empathy for what’s happening there, but a majority of the country voted for this …again. Like a dog voting to have its nose rubbed in its own shit. Maybe this time the lesson will stick.

Anyway, leaving world events aside (yes, please!), I also said this at the end of last year:

For me personally, 2024 was just fine. I was relatively healthy all year. The people I love were relatively healthy too. I don’t take that for granted.

Again, same. No major health issues in 2025. My loved ones are well. My gratitude grows.

I’ve already written about how much music I played in 2025. I’m hoping to continue that trajectory in 2026 with lots of sessions. We’re four days into the year and I’ve already had two excellent sessions. There are another three lined up this week.

One of the highlights of 2025 was my trip with Jessica to Donegal. Learning Irish by day, playing in sessions by night, all while surrounded by gorgeous scenery. I’ve already got a return trip planned for 2026. I’m also planning to be back in Belfast for the annual tradfest.

Other 2025 highlights include:

Most of my travel in 2025 was either for music or family.

I made three trips to the States to see the in-laws: California, Florida, and most recently, Arizona. I can’t say I feel very comfortable going to the States right now, especially to Florida, where people openly display their intolerance on their T-shirts, and Arizona where they openly display their guns.

I went back to my hometown of Cobh a few times during the year to visit my mother.

Aside from those family trips, I went to Belfast, Donegal, Galway, and Clare in Ireland, Cáceres in Spain, Namur in Belgium, and Amsterdam. Only that last one was work-related. I always make sure to get to CSS Day.

Meanwhile here on my website, I posted 695 times in 2025. That includes 345 notes, 262 links, and 86 blog posts. Here are some I’m quite fond of:

All in all, 2025 was a grand year for me. It wasn’t all that different from the year before. I’m at an age where the years aren’t all that differentiated from one another. I’m okay with that because I’m also at an age where I know what brings me joy and satisfaction, and I can focus on those things.

So here’s to 2026, which I hope I will spend doing more of what I did in 2025: playing music, speaking Irish, eating good food, hanging out with friends, reading good books, travelling to interesting places, and staying relatively healthy.

I’m sitting playing my lovely red mandolin and smiling at the camera. Mé seanding on the street pointing over my shoulder at a red brick building behind me. A selfie in an auditorium with big screens displaying the Clearleft logo. Myself and Jessica dressed in black with our instruments in our backs taking a selfie in a bus shelter. A selfie with Jessica with green grass and a sandy beach in the background under a blue sky with a few clouds. A selfie of me wearing a blue shirt and blue hoodie on a sandy beach next to the ocean under a sky that is half clear and half cloudy.

Music in 2025

I really like it when people post their end-of-year music round-up. Colly, Jon, and Naz have all posted about music they listened to in 2025.

I recognise almost none of the albums that they’ve listed. That’s because my musical brain has been almost entirely conquered by Irish traditional music.

2025 was a year filled with music for me. Mostly it was music that I was playing. I think I might’ve spent more time playing music than listening to music this year. I like that ratio.

Brighton has a healthy session scene. Most weeks I get to play in more than one. Even better, I had some great tunes outside of the pub environment, calling around to people’s houses or having them over for a nice cup of tea with some jigs’n’reels.

Most of my travel in 2025 was music-based. The Willie Clancy Summer School in County Clare. Belfast Trad Fest in Northern Ireland. The Cáceres fleadh in Spain. The inaugural Namur Irish Music Festival in Belgium.

There’s nothing better than being in a good session, and I enjoyed some great ones this year. I think my mandolin-playing has benefited from it too.

I also got hold of some albums released in 2025…

The second Copley Street album is, unsurprisingly, excellent.

The second volume of Mná na bPíob is, also unsurprisingly, also excellent.

But I think my favourite album of 2025 is Òran na hEala by Maurice Bradley. Terrific tunes, superb piping, and equally superb fiddle playing.

I’ve been in a session two with Maurice Bradley during previous tradfests in Belfast. I was looking forward to seeing him there again this year to tell him how much I like the album. Alas, he passed away shortly after the album was released. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam. A great loss to Irish music.

Oh, I did get one album released in 2025 that isn’t traditional Irish music, and it’s really, really good:

Deep Black Water by Salter Cane.

Okay, that’s cheating because I’m in the band, but honestly, I think the album is genuinely excellent. Every track is a banger, in my somewhat-biased opinion. Have a listen for yourself and see what you think.

My wish for 2026 is that I’ll have plenty of opportunities to play those songs live. In between all the sessions.

Books I read in 2025

I read 28 books in 2025. Looking back over that list, there are a few recurring themes…

I read less of the Greek mythology retellings than last year but I seem to have developed a taste for medieval stories like Matrix, Nobber, and Haven.

I finally got ‘round to reading some classics of post-apocalypse fiction like Earth Abides and I Am Legend.

I read lots of short story collections: Salt Slow, Bloodchild And Other Stories, The Bloody Chamber And Other Stories, Folk, and The End of the World is a Cul de Sac. There’s quite a dollop of horror in some of those.

I’m clearly hankering for the homeland because I read a lot of books set in Ireland: The Country Girls, Haven, Prophet Song, The End of the World is a Cul de Sac, and Nobber.

And there’s the usual smattering of sci-fi from the likes of Nnedi Okorafor, Adrian Tchaikovsky, Arkady Martine, Becky Chambers, and Emily St. John Mandel.

Here’s what I thought of these 28 books, without any star ratings

Earth Abides by George R. Stewart

I started this one in 2024 and finished it in the first few weeks of 2025. It’s a classic piece of post-apocalypse fiction from 1949. It’s vivid and rich in detail, but there are some odd ideas that flirt with eugenics. There’s a really strange passage where the narrator skirts around describing the skin colour of his new-found love interest. I get the feeling that this was very transgressive at the time, but it’s just a bit weird now.

The Last Song Of Penelope by Claire North

The final book in Claire North’s Songs Of Penelope trilogy is the one that intersects the most with The Odyssey. There’s a looming sense of impending tragedy because of that; we’ve spent the last two books getting to know the handmaids of Ithica and now here comes Odysseus to fuck things up. I enjoyed the whole trilogy immensely.

Short Stories In Irish by Olly Richards

This is a great way to get used to reading in Irish. The stories start very simple and get slightly more complex as throughout the book. None of the stories are going to win any prizes for storytelling, but that’s not the point. If you’re learning Irish, I think this book is a great tool to augment your lessons.

Sea Of Tranquility by Emily St. John Mandel

Nothing will ever top the brilliance of Station Eleven but I still enjoyed this time-travel tale set in the interconnected Emily St. John Mandel cinematic universe.

The Heart In Winter by Kevin Barry

A very Irish western. The language is never dull and the characters are almost mythological in personality.

Matrix by Lauren Groff

One woman’s life in a medieval convent. What’s really engrossing is not just the changes to the protaganist over her lifetime but the changes she makes to the community.

Hera by Jennifer Saint

I didn’t enjoy this quite as much as Jennifer Saint’s previous books. Maybe that’s because this is set almost entirely in the milieu of gods rather than mortals.

A Psalm For The Wild-Built by Becky Chambers

A short book about a tea-making monk meeting a long-lost robot and going on a road trip together. It’s all quite lovely.

Bloodchild And Other Stories by Octavia Butler

A superb collection of short stories. Bloodchild itself is a classic, but every one of the stories in this collection is top notch. Some genuinely shudder-inducing moments.

Salt Slow by Julia Armfield

Staying with short story collections, this one is all killer, no filler. Julia Armfield knows how to grab you with a perfect opening line. Any one of these stories could be the basis for a whole novel. Or a David Cronenberg film.

The Voyage Home by Pat Barker

The third book in Pat Barker’s retelling of the aftermath of the Trojan war is just as gritty as the first two, but this one has more overt supernatural elements. A grimly satisfying conclusion.

Folk by Zoe Gilbert

A collection of loosely-connected short stories dripping with English supernatural folk horror. The world-building is impressive and the cumulative effect really gets under your skin.

Death of the Author by Nnedi Okorafor

The description of the Nigerian diaspora in America is the strongest part of this book. But I found it hard to get very involved with the main character’s narrative.

Bear Head by Adrian Tchaikovsky

The sequel to Dogs Of War and just as good. On the one hand, it’s a rip-roaring action story. On the other hand, it’s a genuinely thought-provoking examination of free will.

A History Of Ireland in 100 Words by Sharon Arbuthnot, Máire Ní Mhaonaigh, and Gregory Toner

Every attendee at Oideas Gael in Glencolmcille received a free copy of this book. I kept it on the coffee table and dipped into it every now and then over the course of the year. There are plenty of fascinating tidbits in here about old Irish.

Haven by Emma Donoghue

Medieval monks travel to the most inhospitable rock off the coast of Kerry and start building the beehive huts you can still see on Skellig Michael today. Strong on atmosphere but quite light on plot.

Doggerland by Ben Smith

Fairly dripping with damp atmosphere, this book has three characters off the coast of a near-future Britain. The world-building is vivid and bleak. Like The Sunken Land Begins to Rise Again by M. John Harrison, it’s got a brexity vibe to the climate crisis.

Bee Speaker by Adrian Tchaikovsky

I found this third book in the Dogs Of War series to be pretty disappointing. Plenty of action, but not much in the way of subtext this time.

Yellowface by Rebecca F Kuang

Surprisingly schlocky. Kind of good fun for a while but it overstays its welcome.

Nobber by Oisín Fagan

Gory goings-on in a medieval village in county Meath. For once, this is a medieval tale set in harsh sunlight rather than mist-covered moors. By the end, it’s almost Tarantino-like in its body count.

Orbital by Samantha Harvey

A fairly light book where nothing much happens, but that nothing much is happening on the International Space Station. I liked the way it managed to balance the mundane details of day-to-day life with the utterly mind-blowing perspective of being in low Earth orbit. Pairs nicely with side two of Hounds Of Love.

The End of the World is a Cul de Sac by Louise Kennedy

Louise Kennedy is rightly getting a lot of praise for her novel Trespasses, but her first book of short stories is equally impressive. Every one feels rooted in reality and the writing is never less than brilliant.

A Prayer for the Crown-Shy by Becky Chambers

The second short book in the Monk and Robot solarpunk series. It’s all quite cozy and pleasant.

Our Wives Under The Sea by Julia Armfield

I said that each short story in Julia Armfield’s Salt Slow could be a full-length novel, but reading her full-length novel I thought it would’ve been better as a short story. It’s strong on atmosphere, but it’s dragged out for too long.

I Am Legend by Richard Matheson

Another classic of post-apocalyptic fiction that looks for a scientific basis for vampirism. It’s a grim story that Richard Matheson tells in his typically excellent style.

The Country Girls by Edna O’Brien

Reading this book today it’s hard to understand how it caused such a stir when it was first published. But leaving that aside, it’s a superb piece of writing where every character feels real and whole.

The Bloody Chamber And Other Stories by Angela Carter

If I’m going to read classic short horror stories, then I’ve got to read this. Twisted fairy tales told in florid gothic style.

Rose/House by Arkady Martine

An entertaining novella that’s a whodunnit in a haunted house, except the haunting is by an Artificial Intelligence. The setting feels like a character, and I don’t just mean the house—this near-future New Mexico is tactile and real.

Prophet Song by Paul Lynch

I haven’t finished this just yet, but I think I can confidentally pass judgement. And my judgement is: wow! Just an astonishing piece of work. An incredible depiction of life under an increasing totalitarian regime. The fact that it’s set in Ireland makes it feel even more urgent. George Orwell meets Roddy Doyle. And the centre of it all is a central character who could step right off the page.

There you have it. A year of books. I didn’t make a concious decision to avoid non-fiction, but perhaps in 2026 I should redress the imbalance.

If I had to pick a favourite novel from the year, it would probably be Prophet Song. But that might just be the recency bias speaking.

If you’re looking for some excellent short stories, I highly recommend Salt Slow and The End of the World is a Cul de Sac.

About half of the 28 books I read this year came from the local library. What an incredible place! I aim to continue making full use of it in 2026. You should do the same.

Five years

My favourite bit of the archive on this site is the link that says “on this day”. It’s of no interest to anyone except me, but I love going through this little time tunnel.

Using that link this month gives me a flashback to March five years ago when The Situation was unfolding.

I remember the build-up at the end of February. We were in Galway for a birthday weekend getaway. One morning in the hotel I saw the papers were running a story that seemed so Irish to me: because of this emerging virus, people were no longer to give the “sign of peace” at mass (that’s the bit where you awkwardly shake hands with the people around you). I chuckled. Nervously.

Then we were leaving Ireland, in the taxi to the airport in Dublin the radio was on. A medical professional was urging the cancellation of the St. Patrick’s Day parade because a grand total of 2 or 3 people in the country had this virus. The DJ reacted with incredulity. It sounded like a pretty far-fetched idea to me too, because St. Patrick’s Day was just over two weeks away.

The St. Patrick’s Day parade was cancelled.

Throughout The Situation I was keeping track of things in Ireland. It was like seeing an A/B test unfolding. Everything that England was doing wrong, Ireland was doing the opposite. It wasn’t quite New Zealand, but they put scientists front and centre of their decision-making precision. Whereas here, policy was driven by wishful thinking.

I was writing about it all here on my website. I also started recording a tune every day for 200 days. Here’s the first one. See how fresh-faced I am? I decided to stop shaving during lockdown. After six weeks, I looked like this.

But to really recall what that time was like, I recommend reading Jessica’s account of 2020. The first entry is called A Journal of the Plague Week and it was published five years ago. The final entry was A Journal of the Plague Week 52 a year later.

25, 20, 15, 10, 5

I have a feeling that 2025 is going to be a year of reflection for me. It’s such a nice round number, 25. One quarter of a century.

That’s also how long myself and Jessica have been married. Our wedding anniversary was last week.

Top tip: if you get married in year ending with 00, you’ll always know how long ago it was. Just lop off the first 2000 years and there’s the number.

As well as being the year we got married (at a small ceremony in an army chapel in Arizona), 2000 was also the year we moved from Freiburg to Brighton. I never thought we’d still be here 25 years later.

2005 was twenty years ago. A lot of important events happened that year. I went to South by Southwest for the first time and met people who became lifelong friends (including some dear friends no longer with us).

I gave my first conference talk. We had the first ever web conference in the UK. And myself, Rich, and Andy founded Clearleft. You can expect plenty of reminiscence and reflection on the Clearleft blog over the course of this year.

2010 was fifteen years ago. That’s when Jessica and I moved into our current home. For the first time, we were paying off a mortgage instead of paying a landlord. But I can’t bring myself to consider us “homeowners” at that time. For me, we didn’t really become homeowners until we paid that mortgage off ten years later.

2015 was ten years ago. It was relatively uneventful in the best possible way.

2020 was five years ago. It was also yesterday. The Situation was surreal, scary and weird. But the people I love came through it intact, for which I’m very grateful.

Apart from all these anniversaries, I’m not anticipating any big milestones in 2025. I hope it will be an unremarkable year.

2024

There goes 2024.

It was a year dominated by Ukraine and Gaza. Utterly horrific and unnecessary death courtesy of Putin and Netanyahu.

For me personally, 2024 was just fine. I was relatively healthy all year. The people I love were relatively healthy too. I don’t take that for granted.

Looking back on what I did and didn’t do during the year, here’s something interesting: I didn’t give a single conference talk. I spoke at a few events but as the host: Patterns Day, CSS Day, and UX London. That’s something I really enjoy and I think I’m pretty darn good at it too.

I was wondering why it was that I didn’t give a talk in 2024. Then Rachel said something:

I really miss An Event Apart.

That’s when I realised that An Event Apart would usually be the impetus behind preparing a conference talk. I’d lock myself away and spend ages crafting a presentation to match the calibre of that event. Then, once I had the talk prepared, I could give modified versions of it at other conferences.

With An Event Apart gone, I guess I just let the talk prep slide. Maybe that’ll continue into 2025 …although I’m kind of itching to give a talk on HTML web components.

In most years, speaking at conferences is what allows me to travel to interesting places. But even without being on the conference circuit I still travelled to lovely places in 2024. Turin, Belfast, Amsterdam, Freiburg, west Cork, Boston, Pittsburgh, Saint Augustine, Seville, Cáceres, Strasbourg, and Galway.

A lot of the travel was motivated by long-standing friendships. Exploring west Cork with Dan and Sue. Celebrating in Freiburg with Schorsch and Birgit. Visting Ethan and Liz in Boston. And playing music in Pittsburgh with Brad.

Frostapolooza was a high note:

I felt frickin’ great after being part of an incredible event filled with joy and love and some of the best music I’ve ever heard.

Being on sabattical for all of August was nice. It also meant that I had lots of annual leave to use up by the end of the year, so I ended up taking all of December off too. I enjoyed that.

I played a lot of music in 2024. I played in a couple of sessions for pretty much every week of the year. That’s got to be good for my mandolin playing. I even started bringing the tenor banjo out on occasion.

I ate lots of good food in 2024. Some of it was even food I made. I’ve been doing more and more cooking. I’ve still got a fairly limited range of dishes, but I’m enjoying the process of expanding my culinary repertoire a bit.

I read good books in 2024.

All in all, that’s a pretty nice way to spend a year: some travel, seeing some old friends, playing lots of music, reading books, and eating good food.

I hope for more of the same in 2025.

2024 in photos

Here’s one photo from each month in 2024

Thank you to @wienerlibrary@zwezo.o-k-i.net for last night’s screening of The Zone Of Interest with director Jonathan Glazer. Pasta Piedmontese Thank you so much to the wonderful speakers and team that made #PatternsDay3 so good! Wednesday session Strolling through the Black Forest. Listening to the brilliant Maggie Appleton at #UXlondon. Flyboys I’m sure my on-stage behaviour at Frostapalooza was total cringe, but I don’t care because I was having a great time! Cairo in Lawrence Of Arabia, Naboo in Attack Of The Clones, Minos’s palace in Kaos. Angels in the architecture Spent the morning rocking out with Salter Cane. Galway session

Words I wrote in 2024

People spent a lot of time and energy in 2024 talking about (and on) other people’s websites. Twitter. Bluesky. Mastodon. Even LinkedIn.

I observed it all with the dispassionate perspective of Dr. Manhattan on Mars. While I’m happy to see more people abondoning the cesspool that is Twitter, I’m not all that invested in either Mastodon or Bluesky. Or any other website, for that matter. I’m glad they’re there, but if they disappeared tomorrow, I’d carry on posting here on my own site.

I posted to my website over 850 times in 2024. sparkline

I shared over 350 links. sparkline

I posted over 400 notes. sparkline

I published just one article.

And I wrote almost 100 blog posts here in my journal this year. sparkline

Here are some cherry-picked highlights:

Books I read in 2024

I’ve been keeping track of the books I’m reading for about seven years now. I do that here on my own website, as well as on bookshop.org.

It has become something of a tradition for me to post an end-of-year summary of the books I’ve read in the previous twelve months. Maybe I should be posting my thoughts on each book right after I finish it instead. Then again, I quite like the act of thinking about a book again after letting it sit and stew for a while.

I should probably stop including stars with these little reviews. They’re fairly pointless—pretty much everything I read is right down the middle in the “good” category. But to recap, here’s how I allocate my scores:

  • One star means a book is meh.
  • Two stars means a book is perfectly fine.
  • Three stars means a book is a good—consider it recommended.
  • Four stars means a book is exceptional.
  • Five stars is pretty much unheard of.

No five-star books this year, but also no one-star books.

This year I read about 29 books. A bit of an increase on previous years, but the numbers can be deceptive—not every book is equal in length.

Fiction outnumbered non-fiction by quite a margin. I’m okay with that.

The Wager by David Grann

“A tale of shipwreck, mutiny and murder” is promised on the cover and this book delivers. What’s astonishing is that it’s a true story. If it were fiction it would be dismissed as too far-fetched. It’s well told, and it’s surely only a matter of time before an ambitious film-maker takes on its Rashomon-like narrative.

★★★☆☆

Bridge by Lauren Beukes

I think this might be Lauren’s best book since Zoo City. The many-worlds hypothesis has been mined to depletion in recent years but Bridge still manages to have a fresh take on it. The well-rounded characters ensure that you’re invested in the outcome.

★★★☆☆

The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood

Part of my ongoing kick of reading retellings of Greek myths, this one focuses on a particularly cruel detail of Odysseus’s return.

★★★☆☆

Elektra by Jennifer Saint

Keeping with the Greek retellings, this was the year that I read most of Jennifer Saint’s books. All good stuff, though I must admit that in my memory it’s all starting to blend together with other books like Costanza Casati’s Clytemnestra.

★★★☆☆

Children Of Memory by Adrian Tchaikovsky

The final book in the trilogy, this doesn’t have the same wham-bam page-turning breathlessness as Children Of Time, but I have to say it’s really stuck with me. Whereas the previous books looked at the possibilities of biological intelligence (in spiders and octopuses), this one focuses inwards.

I don’t want to say anymore because I don’t want to spoil the culmination. I’ll just say that I think that by the end it posits a proposition that I don’t recall any other sci-fi work doing before.

Y’know what? Just because of how this one has lodged in my mind I’m going to give it an extra star.

★★★★☆

Stone Blind by Natalie Haynes

I think this is my favourite Natalie Haynes book so far. It also makes a great companion piece to another book I read later in the year…

★★★☆☆

The Great Hunger by Patrick Kavanagh

I picked up this little volume of poems when I was in Amsterdam—they go down surprisingly well with some strong beer and bitterballen. I was kind of blown away by how funny some of these vignettes were. There’s plenty of hardship too, but that’s the human condition for you.

★★★★☆

Europe In Autumn, Europe At Midnight, Europe In Winter, and Europe At Dawn by Dave Hutchinson

I read the Fractured Europe series throughout the year and thoroughly enjoyed it. I’ll readily admit that I didn’t always follow what was going on but that’s part of the appeal. The world-building is terrific. It’s an alternative version of a Brexity Europe that by the end of the first book starts to go in an unexpected direction. Jonathan Strange meets George Smiley.

★★★☆☆

The Odyssey by Homer translated by Robert Fagles

Seeing as I’m reading all the modern retellings, it’s only fair that I have the source material to hand. This is my coffee table book that I dip into sporadically. I’ve got a copy of the prequel too.

I am not going to assign stars to this.

Faith, Hope and Carnage by Nick Cave and Seán O’Hagan

Fairly navel-gazing stuff, and you get the impression that Nick Cave thinks so too. Just as Neil Young would rather talk about his model trains, Nick Cave would rather discuss his pottery. The music stands on its own, but this is still better than most books about music.

★★☆☆☆

Julia by Sandra Newman

Now this is an audacious move! Retelling 1984 from Julia’s perspective. Not only does it work, it also shines a light on some flaws in Orwell’s original (and I say that as someone who’s read everything Orwell ever wrote). I’m happy to say that the execution of this book matches its ambition.

★★★☆☆

Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell

So if I’ve been reading alternative perspectives on Homer and Orwell, why not Shakespeare too? This is beautifully evocative and rich in detail. It’s also heartbreaking. A gorgeous work.

★★★★☆

Pandora’s Jar: Women in the Greek Myths by Natalie Haynes

I didn’t enjoy this as much as I enjoyed Natalie Hayne’s novels. It’s all good informative stuff, but it feels a bit like a collection of separate essays rather than a coherent piece.

★★☆☆☆

Best Of British Science Fiction 2023 edited by Donna Scott

I was lucky enough to get a pre-release copy of this from one of the authors. I love a good short story collection and this one is very good indeed.

★★★☆☆

Ithaca and House Of Odysseus by Claire North

Remember how I said that some of the Greek retellings started to blend together? Well, no fear of that with this terrific series. Like Margaret Atwood’s retelling, Penelope is the main character here. Each book is narrated by a different deity, and yet there is little to no supernatural intervention. I’m really looking forward to reading the third and final book in the series.

★★★☆☆

The Shadow Of Perseus by Claire Heywood

This is the one I was hinting at above that makes a great companion piece to Natalie Hayne’s Stone Blind. Two different—but equally sympathetic—takes on Medusa. This one is grittily earthbound—no gods here—and it’s a horrifying examination of toxic masculinity. And don’t expect any natural justice here.

★★★☆☆

Dogs Of War by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Adrian Tchaikovsky has a real knack for getting inside the animal mind. This story is smaller in scale than his Children Of Time series but it succeeds in telling its provocative tale snappily.

★★★☆☆

Reading 84K by Claire North

I described Dave Hutchinson’s Fractured Europe series as Brexity, but this Claire North’s book is one that pushes Tory austerity to its dystopian logical conclusion. It’s all-too believable, if maybe a little over-long. Grim’n’good.

★★★☆☆

Ariadne by Jennifer Saint

The first of Jennifer Saint’s books is also my favourite. There’s a fantasically vivid description of the arrival of Dionysus into the narrative.

★★★☆☆

The Female Man by Joanna Russ

I’ve been meaning to read this one for years, but in the end I didn’t end up finishing it. That’s no slight on the book; I just wasn’t in the right frame of mind for it. I’m actually kind of proud of myself for putting a book down—I’m usually stubbornly completionist, which is stupid because life is too short. I hope to return to this at some future time.

Atalanta by Jennifer Saint

Another vividly-written tale by Jennifer Saint, but maybe suffers from trying to cram in all the varied accounts of Atalanta’s deeds and trials—the character’s motivations are hard to reconcile at different points.

★★★☆☆

Polostan by Neal Stephenson

This was …fine. It’s the first in a series called Bomb Light. Maybe I’ll appreciate it more in its final context. As a standalone work, there’s not quite enough there to carry it (including the cutesiness of making a young Richard Feynman a side character).

★★☆☆☆

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin

This too was …fine. I know some people really love this, and maybe that raised my expectations, but in the end it was a perfectly good if unremarkable novel.

★★★☆☆

The Fates by Rosie Garland

Pairs nicely with Jennifer Saint’s Atalanta. A decent yarn.

★★★☆☆

Earth Abides by George R. Stewart

I’ve just started this post-apocalyptic classic from 1949. Tune in next year to find out if I end up enjoying it.

Okay, so that was my reading for 2024. Nothing that completely blew me away but nothing that thoroughly disappointed me either. Plenty of good solid books. If I had to pick a favourite it would probably be Maggie Farrell’s Hamnet. And that Patrick Kavanagh collection of poems.

If you fancy going back in time, here are my previous round-ups:

Last Minute

I went along to this year’s State Of The Browser conference on Saturday. It was great!

Technically I wasn’t just an attendee. I was on the substitution bench. Dave asked if I’d be able to jump in and give my talk on declarative design should any of the speakers have to drop out. “No problem!”, I said. If everything went according to plan, I wouldn’t have to do anything. And if someone did have to pull out, I’d be the hero that sweeps in to save the day. Win-win.

As it turned out, everything went smoothly. All the speakers delivered their talks impeccably and the vibes were good.

Dave very kindly gave shout-outs to lots of other web conferences. Quite a few of the organisers were in the audience too. That offered me a nice opportunity to catch up with some of them, swap notes, and commiserate on how tough it is running an event these days.

Believe me, it’s tough.

Something that I confirmed that other conference organisers are also experiencing is last-minute ticket sales. This is something that happened with UX London this year. For most of the year, ticket sales were trickling along. Then in the last few weeks before the event we sold more tickets than we had sold in the six months previously.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m very happy we sold those tickets. But it was a very stressful few months before that. It felt like playing poker, holding on in the belief that those ticket sales would materialise.

Lots of other conferences are experiencing this. Front Conference had to cancel this year’s event because of the lack of ticket sales in advance. I know for a fact that some upcoming events are feeling the same squeeze.

When I was in Ireland I had a chat with a friend of mine who works at the Everyman Theatre in Cork. They’re experiencing something similar. So maybe it’s not related to the tech industry specifically.

Anyway, all that is to say that I echo Sophie’s entreaty: you should go to conferences. And buy your tickets early.

Soon I’ll be gearing up to start curating the line up for next year’s UX London (I’m very proud of this year’s event and it’s going to be tough to top it). I hope I won’t have to deal with the stress of late ticket sales, but I’m mentally preparing for it.

2023

I try to get back to Ireland a few times a year to see my mother. At some point in each trip there’s a social gathering with her friends or family. Inevitably the talk turns to ailments, illnesses, and complaints. I sit there quietly and nod politely.

2023 was the year I joined in.

If it wasn’t relaying my experience of visits to the emergency room, it was talk of my sinuses acting up and keeping me awake at night with their noises. Nasal polyps perhaps? And lately I’ve been having this wheezy asthma-like issue at night, what with this chesty cough I’ve been trying to sha… you get how uninteresting this is, right?

So I’ve got some nagging health issues. But I consider myself lucky. In the grand scheme of things, they aren’t big deals. Even the allergy which requires me to carry an epi-pen is to the easily-avoidable Ibuprofun, not to some ubiquitous foodstuff.

In fact I’ve had just enough health issues to give me a nice dose of perspective and appreciate all the times when my body is functioning correctly. I often think of what Maciej wrote about perspective:

The good news is, as you get older, you gain perspective. Perspective helps alleviate burnout.

The bad news is, you gain perspective by having incredibly shitty things happen to you and the people you love. Nature has made it so that perspective is only delivered in bulk quantities. A railcar of perspective arrives and dumps itself on your lawn when all you needed was a microgram. This is a grossly inefficient aspect of the human condition, but I’m sure bright minds in Silicon Valley are working on a fix.

Hence my feeling fortunate. 2023 was a perfectly grand year for me.

I went on some great adventures with Jessica. In the middle of the year we crossed the Atlantic on the Queen Mary II with our friends Dan and Sue, then we explored New York, and then we relaxed on Saint Augustine Beach for a week. Lovely!

The week in Ortigia, Sicily was great. So was the week in Cáceres, Spain. And the week spent playing music in Belfast during the trad festival was a blast.

There was lots of music closer to home too. Brighton is blessed with plenty of Irish music sessions and I’m doing my best to get to all of them. Playing mandolin in a session is my happy place.

Other music is also available. The band had an excellent year with the addition of our brilliant drummer, Matthew. We made such fast progress on new material that we managed to get into the studio to record an album’s worth of songs. Expect a new Salter Cane album in 2024!

On the work front, my highlights were event-based. I curated and hosted UX London. I spoke at a bunch of other events, and I think I did a good job. I spoke at no online events, and that’s the way I’d like to keep it. I thrive on giving talks at in-person gatherings. I hope I can continue to do that in 2024.

I very much enjoyed having a four-day work week in 2023. I don’t think I could ever go back to a five-day week. In fact, for 2024 I’m dabbling with a three-day work week. I’m luckily I can afford to do this. Given the choice, I’d rather have more time than more money. I know not everyone has that choice.

My hope for 2024 is for pretty much more of the same as I got in 2023. More music. More travel. But fewer health issues.

When I was summarising 2022, I said:

I’ve got my health. That’s something I don’t take for granted.

I’ve still (mostly) got my health. I definitely don’t take it for granted. Here’s to a happy and healthy 2024.

2023 in numbers

I posted 947 times on my website in 2023. sparkline

That’s a bit less than 2022.

March was the busiest month with 98 posts. sparkline

August was the quietest month with 57 posts. sparkline That’s probably because I spent a week of that month travelling across the Atlantic ocean on a ship, cut off from the internet.

I published 2 long-form articles in 2023—transcripts of talks.

I wrote 96 entries in my journal (or blog, if you prefer). sparkline

I shared 393 links. sparkline

I wrote 456 short notes. sparkline

In those notes, I posted 247 photos during the year. sparkline

I travelled to 20 destinations. sparkline

Press “play” on my Indy map for the year to see those travels.

Sometimes the travel was for work—speaking, hosting, or attending conferences. Sometimes the travel was to see family. Sometimes the travel was to spend a week working from a different country—Italy and Spain in 2023; I’d like to do more of that in 2024.

I played mandolin in a lot of sessions in 2023. I plan to play just as much in 2024.

Progress

The opening of my talk Of Time And The Web deals with our collective negativity bias. The general consensus is that the world has become worse. Crime. Inequality. Poverty. Pollution. Most people think these things are heading in the wrong direction.

But they’re not. Every year the world gets better and better. But it’s happening gradually. Like I said:

If something changes gradually, we don’t notice it. We literally exhibit something called change blindness.

But we are hard-wired to notice sudden changes. We pay attention to moments of change.

“Where were you when JFK was assassinated?”

“Where were you on September 11th?”

Nobody is ever going to ask “where were you when smallpox was eradicated?”

I know it might seem obscene to suggest that the world is getting better given the horrific situation in Gaza and the ongoing quagmire in Ukraine. But the very fact that the world is united in outrage is testament to how far we’ve come.

I try to balance my news intake with more positive stories of progress. Reasons to Be Cheerful is one good source:

We tell stories that reveal that there are, in fact, a surprising number of reasons to feel cheerful. Many of these reasons come in the form of smart, proven, replicable solutions to the world’s most pressing problems. Through sharp reporting, our stories balance a sense of healthy optimism with journalistic rigor, and find cause for hope. We are part magazine, part therapy session, part blueprint for a better world.

Most news outlets don’t operate that way. If it bleeds, it leads.

Even if you’re not actively tracking positive news on a daily or weekly basis, the end of the year feels like a suitable time to step back and take note of our collective progress.

Future Crunch has 66 Good News Stories You Didn’t Hear About in 2023:

The American journalist Krista Tippett says that we’re all fluent enough by now in the language of catastrophe and dysfunction, and what’s needed are more of what she calls ‘generative narratives.’ This year, we found over 2,000 of those kinds of stories, and shared them with tens of thousands of readers in a weekly email. Not dog-on-a-surfboard, baby-survives-a-tornado stories, but genuine, world changing stuff about how millions of lives are improving, about human rights victories, diseases being eliminated, falling emissions, how vast swathes of our planet are being protected and how entire species have been saved.

The Progress Network reports that something good happened every week of 2023:

Despite the wars, emergencies, and crises of 2023, the year was full of substantive good news.

Positive.news has its own round-up. What went right in 2023: the top 25 good news stories of the year:

The ‘golden age of medicine’ arrived, animals came back from the brink, the renewables juggernaut gathered pace, climate reparations became reality and scientists showed how to slow ageing, plus more good news.

On the topic of climate change, the BBC has nine breakthroughs for climate and nature in 2023 you may have missed:

Record-setting spending on clean energy in the US. A clean energy milestone in the world’s power sector. A surge in lawsuits against polluters. A treaty for the oceans 40 years in the making.

This year has seen some remarkable steps forward in tackling the nature and climate crises.

That’s the kind of reporting we need more of. As Kate Marvel wrote in the New York Times, “I’m a Climate Scientist. I’m Not Screaming Into the Void Anymore.”:

In the last decade, the cost of wind energy has declined by 70 percent and solar has declined 90 percent. Renewables now make up 80 percent of new electricity generation capacity. Our country’s greenhouse gas emissions are falling, even as our G.D.P. and population grow.

There’s a pernicious myth that a crisis mindset is necessary to drive change. I think that might be true for short-term emergencies, but it’s counter-productive for long-term problems.

Speaking for myself, I am far more likely to take action if I can see that progress has already been made, and that my actions won’t be pointless. Constant doomerism isn’t just lazy, it’s demotivational. See my excoriating words when reviewing Paolo Bacigalupi’s The Water Knife:

Instead of asking what the future might actually be like, it instead asks “what’s the absolute worst that could happen?” Frankly, it’s a cop-out.

As we head in 2024 it’s worth taking stock of the big-picture improvements we’ve collectively made so that we can continue the work.

If the news headlines continue to get you down, take some time to browse around Our World In Data.

And if you find yourself instinctively rejecting all these reports of progress, ask yourself why that might be. As I said in my talk:

We have this phrase: “sounds too good to be true.”

But we don’t have this phrase: “sounds too bad to be true.”

Words I wrote in 2023

I wrote close to a hundred entries in my journal—or blog—in 2023. Here are some entries I like:

  • Blood — One hundred duck-sized Christs is better than one horse-sized Jesus.
  • Tragedy — Greek tragedies are time-travel stories.
  • Reaction — Weekend action, weekend reaction.
  • Conduct — Kindnesses and cruelties.
  • Lovers in a dangerous time — Europe, 1991.

I wrote some actually useful stuff about web design and development too.

That last one really resonated with people, which is very gratifying. It was so nice seeing the web mentions come in when people wrote responses on their own blogs.

It feels like there’s been a resurgence in this kind of blog-to-blog conversation since Elongate. Personal publishing is reviving as Twitter is dying (I’m not going to call it X—if he’s going to deadname his own daughter, I’m going to do the same to his company).

If you have your own website, I’m looking forward to reading your words in 2024.

Books I read in 2023

I read 25 books in 2023. That’s exactly the same amount that I read in 2022.

15 of the 25 books were written by women—a bit of a dip from last year.

I read a lot more fiction than non-fiction this year. I’m okay with that.

There was plenty of sci-fi as usual, but 2023 was also the year I went down a rabbit hole of reading retellings of the Homeric epics. I’ve had a copy of The Odyssey on my coffee table while I’ve been diving into the works of Madeline Miller, Natalie Haynes, Pat Barker, and more. I’m really enjoying this deep dive and I don’t intend to stop anytime soon.

It’s funny; reading different takes on the same characters and interweaving storylines is kind of like dipping into the Marvel Cinematic Universe, just a few millennia older. In some ways, it feels like reading fantasy, but as Ursula Le Guin points out, things aren’t so black and white:

The Trojan war is not and you cannot make it be the War of Good vs. Evil. It’s just a war, a wasteful, useless, needless, stupid, protracted, cruel mess full of individual acts of courage, cowardice, nobility, betrayal, limb-hacking-off, and disembowelment. Homer was a Greek and might have been partial to the Greek side, but he had a sense of justice or balance that seems characteristically Greek—maybe his people learned a good deal of it from him? His impartiality is far from dispassionate; the story is a torrent of passionate actions, generous, despicable, magnificent, trivial. But it is unprejudiced. It isn’t Satan vs. Angels. It isn’t Holy Warriors vs. Infidels. It isn’t hobbits vs. orcs. It’s just people vs. people.

I’ve been reading some Ursula Le Guin this year too, and that’s something else I intend to keep on doing. Like the retellings of Troy, her work just keeps on giving.

Anyway, in my usual manner, here’s my end-of-year summary of what I’ve read, along with a pointless rating out of five.

To recap, here’s my scoring system:

  • One star means a book is meh.
  • Two stars means a book is perfectly fine.
  • Three stars means a book is a good—consider it recommended.
  • Four stars means a book is exceptional.
  • Five stars is pretty much unheard of.

The Star Of The Sea by Joseph O’Connor

A nautical tale of The Great Hunger. It’s a tricky subject but this book mostly tackles it well. It’s fairly dripping in atmosphere.

★★★☆☆

Who Fears Death by Nnedi Okorafor

Another rivetting tale from Nnedi Okorafor, this one set in a world that seems quite different from ours, where magic is a powerful force.

★★★☆☆

The Rosewater Insurrection by Tade Thompson

The second book in the trilogy—this time it’s war. Once again, the setting and the vibe are unlike any other alien invasion story. I’m looking forward to reading the final installment.

★★★☆☆

Understanding Privacy by Heather Burns

On the one hand, this book feels like homework because it really is required reading for any web designer or developer. On the other hand, Heather does an excellent job in making what could be a very dry topic as interesting as possible. The contrasts between the US and Europe are particulary eye-opening.

★★★☆☆

Children Of Time by Adrian Tschaikovsky

Absolutely top-notch hard sci-fi! It feels like two of the biggest characters in the book are time and evolution. For a tale that’s told over thousands of years, the pace never lets up. Now I get why this book won so many awards. It’s quite a feat of story-telling. I loved it!

★★★★☆

The Hacker Crackdown: Law and Disorder on the Electronic Frontier by Bruce Sterling

A fairly by-the-numbers retelling of the early days of computer hackers. To be honest, I found the pre-computer part (detailing telephone hacks) to be the most interesting bit.

★★☆☆☆

Circe by Madeline Miller

Everyone was going on about how great this book was so my expectations were high. They were exceeded. This book is just wonderful. When I finished it, I found myself craving more. That set me on the path of reading other retellings of Homeric characters, but none of them could quite match the brilliance of Circe.

★★★★☆

Make Something Wonderful: Steve Jobs in his own words by The Steve Jobs Archive

An assembly of speeches, memos, and emails. It’s refreshingly un-hagiographic, given the publisher. And of course it’s beautifully typeset.

★★★☆☆

The Song Of Achilles by Madeline Miller

After reading and loving Circe, I went back to Madeline Miller’s previous story of the Trojan War. The Song Of Achilles didn’t quite match Circe for me, but it came very close. Once again, everything is described vividly and once again, it stayed with me long after I finished reading it.

★★★★☆

A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes

Another retelling of the Trojan war. This is an episodic book that weaves its threads together nicely. Sometimes it’s a little on-the-nose about its intentions but it mostly works very well.

★★★☆☆

Rocannon’s World by Ursula K. Le Guin

Le Guin’s first novel is far from her best work but it’s still better than most sci-fi. A good planetary romance.

★★★☆☆

The Intelligence Illusion by Baldur Bjarnason

Refreshingly level-headed and practical. If you work somewhere that’s considering using generative tools built on large language models, read this before doing anything.

★★★☆☆

Planet Of Exile by Ursula K. Le Guin

The second of Le Guin’s Hainish books. Another planetary romance that’s perfectly fine but not in the same league as her later work.

★★★☆☆

City Of Illusions by Ursula K. Le Guin

The third of the Hainish novels, this one gets pretty trippy. I enjoyed the sensation of not knowing what was going on (much like the protaganist).

★★★☆☆

Babel by R.F. Kuang

This was such a frustrating read! On the one hand, the world-building as absolutely superb. The idea of magic being driven translation is brilliant. So is the depiction of a British empire that exploits and colonises foreign languages. But then the characters in this world are not well realised. The more the book went on, the less believable they seemed.

There’s also a really strange disconnect in the moods of the book; one minute it’s gritty revolutionary fare, the next it’s like Harry Potter goes to Oxford.

It didn’t work for me. And I know that my opinion can be easily dismissed as that of a mediocre middle-aged white man, but I really wanted to like this. I was totally on board with the politics of the book, but the way it hammered me over the head constantly didn’t do it any favours.

A message like “racism is bad” or “colonialism is bad” might work as subtext, but here, where it’s very much the text-text, it doesn’t succeed.

★★☆☆☆

That Old Country Music by Kevin Barry

A collection of short stories set in the west of Ireland. Good stuff.

★★★☆☆

The Silence Of The Girls by Pat Barker

Back to the Trojan war in the first of a series by Pat Barker. She takes a naturalistic tone with the dialogue, modernising it. It works quite well. By this time, having read Madeline Miller’s The Song Of Achilles and Natalie Hayne’s A Thousand Ships, I really felt like I was looking at the same series of events from different angles.

★★★☆☆

An Immense World by Ed Yong

Another great accessible science book from Ed Yong, this time about senses in the animal world. It sometimes feels a bit like a series of articles rather than a single book, but when the articles are this good, that’s absolutely fine.

★★★☆☆

The Water Knife by Paolo Bacigalupi

Okay, this might get a bit ranty…

The plot and the writing style in this book are perfectly fine, gripping even. It’s got that Gibsonesque structure of having two or three different characters in very different settings being propelled towards an inevitable meeting point (it happens pretty much exactly at the half-way point in this book).

But this is a cli-fi book that fails. It will not encourage anyone to take action other than turn into a doomer. Instead of asking what the future might actually be like, it instead asks “what’s the absolute worst that could happen?” Frankly, it’s a cop-out.

The book takes a similar tack with its characters. It assumes everyone’s terrible and will do terrible things. It’s lazy.

So you’ve got an unrelenting series of people behaving terribly in a horrific setting. It gets boring.

I was trying to cut the book some slack, but when there was a rare scene of actual consensual sex, it quickly turned into an adolescent male fantasy.

Reading this was like reading the opposite of Kim Stanley Robinson. Avoid.

★★☆☆☆

The Women Of Troy by Pat Barker

Back to Troy we go for the second in Pat Barker’s series. More good stuff.

★★★☆☆

How to Make the World Add Up: Ten Rules for Thinking Differently About Numbers by Tim Harford

A recommendation from Chris. He thought I’d enjoy this and he was not wrong. Tim Harford strikes just the right tone as he relays stories of statistics gone wrong as well as statistics done right.

★★★☆☆

Translation State by Ann Leckie

I’ll read anything by Ann Leckie. I loved her Imperial Radch series and this book is set in the same universe. There’s a strange juxtaposition of body horror in places with a Becky Chambers style cosiness. It’s partly a courtroom drama, but one where the courtroom gets very dramatic indeed. And there are lots of questions around identity and belonging. I liked it.

★★★☆☆

Trespasses by Louise Kennedy

Full disclosure: the author is a cousin of a friend of mine. She told me how much of this book was based on actual family history. It’s set in Belfast in the 70s and it is very vivid in a very kitchen-sink kind of way. It feels all-too real. Recommended.

★★★☆☆

Children Of Ruin by Adrian Tchaikovsky

The sequel to Children Of Time doesn’t quite hit the same high bar, but it’s still an excellent rip-roaring space adventure that continues the themes of evolution and time. Thoroughly enjoyable.

★★★☆☆

Clytemnestra by Costanza Casati

My final foray to ancient Greece for the year. This is a debut novel that’s absolutely on par with the other Homeric writers I’ve been reading. Even though you know where things are headed, you can’t turn away. In other words, it’s a classic Greek tragedy.

★★★☆☆

Extra(ordinary) People by Joanna Russ

I had’t read any Joanna Russ before, which was something I’ve been meaning to rectify. I picked up a second-hand copy of this slim volume of short stories that was published by The Women’s Press back in the 80s but which is now out of print. Stories are vaguely connected and they all explore identity, gender, disguises and passing. But it’s the opening award-winning story Souls that’s the real stand-out. Well worth reading.

★★★☆☆

So that was my reading year. There were some disappointments in the sci-fi category, with both Babel and The Water Knife, but generally the quality was high.

I didn’t really read enough non-fiction to choose a best one of the year.

When it came to fiction, there was a clear winner: Circe by Madeline Miller.

If you fancy reading any of the books I’ve reviewed here, there’s a list of them on bookshop.org. Or go to your local library.

If you’re interested in my round-ups from previous years, here they are:

Nailspotting

I’m sure you’ve heard the law of the instrument: when all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.

There’s another side to it. If you’re selling hammers, you’ll depict a world full of nails.

Recent hammers include cryptobollocks and virtual reality. It wasn’t enough for blockchains and the metaverse to be potentially useful for some situations; they staked their reputations on being utterly transformative, disrupting absolutely every facet of life.

This kind of hype is a terrible strategy in the long-term. But if you can convince enough people in the short term, you can make a killing on the stock market. In truth, the technology itself is superfluous. It’s the hype that matters. And if the hype is over-inflated enough, you can even get your critics to do your work for you, broadcasting their fears about these supposedly world-changing technologies.

You’d think we’d learn. If an industry cries wolf enough times, surely we’d become less trusting of extraordinary claims. But the tech industry continues to cry wolf—or rather, “hammer!”—at regular intervals.

The latest hammer is machine learning, usually—incorrectly—referred to as Artificial Intelligence. What makes this hype cycle particularly infuriating is that there are genuine use cases. There are some nails for this hammer. They’re just not as plentiful as the breathless hype—both positive and negative—would have you believe.

When I was hosting the DiBi conference last week, there was a little section on generative “AI” tools. Matt Garbutt covered the visual side, demoing tools like Midjourney. Scott Salisbury covered the text side, showing how you can generate code. Afterwards we had a panel discussion.

During the panel I asked some fairly straightforward questions that nobody could answer. Who owns the input (the data used by these generative tools)? Who owns the output?

On the whole, it stayed quite grounded and mercifully free of hyperbole. Both speakers were treating the current crop of technologies as tools. Everyone agreed we were on the hype cycle, probably the peak of inflated expectations, looking forward to reaching the plateau of productivity.

Scott explicitly warned people off using generative tools for production code. His advice was to stick to side projects for now.

Matt took a closer look at where these tools could fit into your day-to-day design work. Mostly it was pretty sensible, except when he suggested that there could be any merit to using these tools as a replacement for user testing. That’s a terrible idea. A classic hammer/nail mismatch.

I think I moderated the panel reasonably well, but I have one regret. I wish I had first read Baldur Bjarnason’s new book, The Intelligence Illusion. I started reading it on the train journey back from Edinburgh but it would have been perfect for the panel.

The Intelligence Illusion is very level-headed. It is neither pro- nor anti-AI. Instead it takes a pragmatic look at both the benefits and the risks of using these tools in your business.

It has excellent advice for spotting genuine nails. For example:

Generative AI has impressive capabilities for converting and modifying seemingly unstructured data, such as prose, images, and audio. Using these tools for this purpose has less copyright risk, fewer legal risks, and is less error prone than using it to generate original output.

Think about transcripts of videos or podcasts—an excellent use of this technology. As Baldur puts it:

The safest and, probably, the most productive way to use generative AI is to not use it as generative AI. Instead, use it to explain, convert, or modify.

He also says:

Prefer internal tools over externally-facing chatbots.

That chimes with what I’ve been seeing. The most interesting uses of this technology that I’ve seen involve a constrained dataset. Like the way Luke trained a language model on his own content to create a useful chat interface.

Anyway, The Intelligence Illusion is full of practical down-to-earth advice based on plenty of research backed up with copious citations. I’m only halfway through it and it’s already helped me separate the hype from the reality.

Hosting DIBI

I was up in Edinburgh for the past few days at the Design It; Build It conference.

I was supposed to come back on Saturday but then the train strikes were announced so I changed my travel plans to avoid crossing a picket line, which gave me an extra day to explore Auld Reekie.

I spoke at DIBI last year so this time I was there in a different capacity. I was the host. That meant introducing the speakers and asking them questions after their talks.

I’m used to hosting events now, what with UX London and Leading Design. But I still get nervous beforehand. At least with a talk you can rehearse and practice. With hosting, it’s all about being nimble and thinking on your feet.

I had to pay extra close attention to each talk, scribbling down potential questions to ask. It’s similar to the feeling I get when I’m liveblogging talks.

There were some line-up changes and schedule adjustments along the way, but everything went super smoothly. I pride myself on running a tight ship so the timings were spot-on.

When it came to the questions, I tried to probe under the skin of each presentation. For some talks, that involved talking shop—the finer points of user research or the design process, say. But for the big-picture talks, I made sure to get each speaker to defend their position. So after Dan Makoski’s kumbaya-under-capitalism talk, I gave him a good grilling. Same with Philip Lockwood-Holmes who gave me permission beforehand to be merciless with him.

It was all quite entertaining. Alas, I think I may have put the fear of God into the other speakers who saw me channeling my inner Jeremy Paxman. But they needn’t have worried. I also lobbed some softballs. Like when I asked Levon Sharrow from Patagonia if there was such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism.

I had fun, but I was also aware of that fine line between being clever and being an asshole. Even though part of my role was to play devil’s advocate, I tried to make sure I was never punching down.

All in all, an excellent couple of days spent in good company.

Hosting was hard work, but very rewarding. I’ve come to realise it’s one of those activities that comes relatively easy to me, but it is very hard (and stressful) for others. And I’m pretty gosh-darned good at it too, false modesty bedamned.

So if you’re running an event but the thought of hosting it fills you with dread, we should talk.

Workaround

Two weeks ago, I wrote:

I woke up today to a very annoying new bug in Firefox. The browser shits the bed in an unpredictable fashion when rounding up single pixel line widths in SVG. That’s quite a problem on The Session where all the sheet music is rendered in SVG. Those thin lines in sheet music are kind of important.

Paul Rosen, who makes abcjs, the JavaScript library that renders sheet music on The Session, managed to get a fix out pretty quickly. But I use an older version of the library and updating it would introduce some side-effects that would take me a while to work around. So that option wasn’t available to me.

In this situation, when the problem is caused by a browser bug, the correct course of action is to file a bug with the browser. That had already been done. Now all I could do was twiddle my thumbs and wait for the next release of the browser, which would hopefully ship with the fix.

But I figured I may as well try to find a temporary workaround in the meantime.

At first, I looked at diving into the internals of the JavaScript—that’s where the instructions are given for drawing the SVGs.

But then I stopped and thought, “If the problem is with the rendering of the SVG, maybe CSS can help.”

I started messing around with SVG-specific CSS properties like stroke, fill, and so on. With dev tools open, I started targeting the paths that acted as bar lines in the sheet music, playing around with widths, opacities, and fills.

It was the debugging equivalent of throwing spaghetti at the wall. Remarkably, it actually worked.

I found a solution with this nonsensical bit of CSS:

stroke: currentColor;
stroke-opacity: 0;

For some reason, rather than making all the barlines disappear, this ensured they were visible.

It’s the worst kind of hacky fix—the kind where you have no idea why it works, but it does.

So I shipped it.

And at pretty much exactly the same time, a new version of Firefox dropped …with the bug fixed.

I can’t deny that there was a certain satisfaction in being able to work around a browser bug. But there’s much more satisfaction in deleting the hacky workaround when it’s no longer needed.

2022

This time last year when I was looking back on 2021, I wrote:

2020 was the year of the virus. 2021 was the year of the vaccine …and the virus, obviously, but still it felt like the year we fought back. With science!

Science continued to win the battle in 2022. But it was messy. The Situation isn’t over yet, and everyone has different ideas about the correct levels of risk-taking.

It’s like when you’re driving and you think that everyone going faster than you is a maniac, and everyone going slower than you is an idiot.

The world opened up more in 2022. I was able to speak at more in-person events. I really missed that. I think I’m done with doing online talks.

There was a moment when I was speaking at Web Dev Conf in Bristol this year (a really nice little gathering), and during my presentation I was getting that response from the audience that you just don’t get with online talks, and I distinctly remember thinking, “Oh, I’ve really missed this!”

But like I said, The Situation isn’t over, and that makes things tricky for conferences. Most of the ones I spoke at or attended were doing their best to make things safe. CSS Day, Clarity, State Of The Browser: they all took measures to try to look out for everyone’s health.

For my part, I asked everyone attending dConstruct to take a COVID test the day before. Like I said at the time, I may have just been fooling myself with what might have been hygiene theatre, but like those other events, we all wanted to gather safely.

That can’t be said for the gigantic event in Berlin that I spoke at in Summer. There were tens of thousands of people in the venue. Inevitably, I—and others—caught COVID.

My bout of the ’rona wasn’t too bad, and I’m very glad that I didn’t pass it on to any family members (that’s been my biggest worry throughout The Situation). But it did mean that I wasn’t able to host UX London 2022.

That was a real downer. I spent much of 2022 focused on event curation: first UX London, and then dConstruct. I was really, really proud of the line-up I assembled for UX London so I was gutted not to be able to introduce those fabulous speakers in person.

Still, I got to host dConstruct, Leading Design, and Clarity, so 2022 was very much a bumper year for MCing—something I really, really enjoy.

Already I’ve got more of the same lined up for the first half of 2023: hosting Leading Design San Francisco in February and curating and hosting UX London in June.

I hope to do more speaking too. Alas, An Event Apart is no more, which is a real shame. But I hope there are other conferences out there that might be interested in what I have to say. If you’re organising one, get in touch.

Needless to say, 2022 was not a good year for world events. The callous and cruel invasion of Ukraine rightly dominated the news (sporting events and dead monarchs are not the defining events of the year). But even in the face of this evil, there’s cause for hope, seeing the galvanised response of the international community in standing up to Putin the bully.

In terms of more personal bad news, Jamie’s death is hard to bear.

I got to play lots of music in 2022. That’s something I definitely want to continue. In fact, 2023 kicked off with a great kitchen session yesterday evening—the perfect start to the year!

And I’ve got my health. That’s something I don’t take for granted.

One year ago, I wrote:

Maybe 2022 will turn out to be similar—shitty for a lot of people, and mostly unenventful for me. Or perhaps 2022 will be a year filled with joyful in-person activities, like conferences and musical gatherings. Either way, I’m ready.

For the most part, that played out. 2022 was thankfully fairly uneventful personally. And it was indeed a good year for in-person connections. I very much hope that continues in 2023.