Journal tags: ar

I was messing about with some images on a website recently and while I was happy enough with the arrangement on large screens, I thought it would be better to have the images in a kind of carousel on smaller screens—a swipable gallery.

My old brain immediately thought this would be fairly complicated to do, but actually it’s ludicrously straightforward. Just stick this bit of CSS on the containing element inside a media query (or better yet, a container query):

display: flex;
overflow-x: auto;

That’s it.

Oh, and you can swap out overflow-x for overflow-inline if, like me, you’re a fan of logical properties. But support for that only just landed in Safari so I’d probably wait a little while before removing the old syntax.

Here’s an example using pictures of some of the lovely people who will be speaking at Web Day Out:

While you’re at it, add this:

overscroll-behavior-inline: contain;

Thats prevents the user accidentally triggering a backwards/forwards navigation when they’re swiping.

You could add some more little niceties like this, but you don’t have to:

scroll-snap-type: inline mandatory;
scroll-behavior: smooth;

And maybe this on the individual items:

scroll-snap-align: center;

You could progressively enhance even more with the new pseudo-elements like ::scroll-button() and ::scroll-marker for Chromium browsers.

Apart from that last bit, none of this is particularly new or groundbreaking. But it was a pleasant reminder for me that interactions that used to be complicated to implement are now very straightforward indeed.

Here’s another example that Ana Tudor brought up yesterday:

You have a section with a p on the left & an img on the right. How do you make the img height always be determined by the p with the tiniest bit of CSS? 😼

No changing the HTML structure in any way, no pseudos, no background declarations, no JS. Just a tiny bit of #CSS.

Old me would’ve said it can’t be done. But with a little bit of investigating, I found a nice straightforward solution:

section >  img {
  contain: size;
  place-self: stretch;
  object-fit: cover;
}

That’ll work whether the section has its display set to flex or grid.

There’s something very, very satisfying in finding a simple solution to something you thought would be complicated.

Honestly, I feel like web developers are constantly being gaslit into thinking that complex over-engineered solutions are the only option. When the discourse is being dominated by people invested in frameworks and libraries, all our default thinking will involve frameworks and libraries. That’s not good for users, and I don’t think it’s good for us either.

Of course, the trick is knowing that the simpler solution exists. The information probably isn’t going to fall in your lap—especially when the discourse is dominated by overly-complex JavaScript.

So get yourself a ticket for Web Day Out. It’s on Thursday, March 12th, 2026 right here in Brighton.

I guarantee you’ll hear about some magnificent techniques that will allow you to rip out plenty of complex code in favour of letting the browser do the work.

When I talk about large language models, I make sure to call them large language models, not “AI”. I know it’s a lost battle, but the terminology matters to me.

The term “AI” can encompass everything from a series of if/else statements right up to Skynet and HAL 9000. I’ve written about this naming collision before.

It’s not just that the term “AI” isn’t useful, it’s so broad as to be actively duplicitous. While talking about one thing—like, say, large language models—you can point to a completely different thing—like, say, machine learning or computer vision—and claim that they’re basically the same because they’re both labelled “AI”.

If a news outlet runs a story about machine learning in the context of disease prevention or archeology, the headline will inevitably contain the phrase “AI”. That story will then gleefully be used by slopagandists looking to inflate the usefulness of large language models.

Conflating these different technologies is the fallacy at the heart of Robin Sloan’s faulty logic:

If these machines churn through all media, and then, in their deployment, discover several superconductors and cure all cancers, I’d say, okay … we’re good.

John Scalzi recently wrote:

“AI” is mostly a marketing phrase for a bunch of different processes and tools which in a different era would have been called “machine learning” or “neural networks” or something else now horribly unsexy.

But I’ve noticed something recently. More than once I’ve seen genuinely-useful services refer to their technology as “traditional machine learning”.

First off, I find that endearing. Like machine learning is akin to organic farming or hand-crafted furniture.

Secondly, perhaps it points to a severing of the ways between machine learning and large language models.

Up until now it may have been mutually benificial for them to share the same marketing term, but with the bubble about to burst, anything to do with large language models might become toxic by association, including the term “AI”. Hence the desire to shake the large-language model grifters from the coattails of machine learning and computer vision.

While I’ve been listening to Hounds Of Love, I’ve also been reading Orbital by Samantha Harvey.

Here’s a passage from an early chapter as the crew of the International Space Station watch a typhoon forming:

How wired and wakeful the earth seems suddenly. It’s not one of the regular typhoons that haphazardly assault these parts of the world, they agree. They can’t see it all, but it’s bigger than projections had previously thought, and moving faster. They send their images, the latitudes and longitudes. They are like fortune tellers, the crew. Fortune tellers who can see and tell the future but do nothing to change or stop it. Soon their orbit will descend away to the east and south and no matter how they crane their necks backward at the earth-viewing windows the typhoon will roll out of sight and their vigil will end and darkness will hit them at speed.

They have no power – they have only their cameras and a privileged anxious view of its building magnificence. They watch it come.

The penultimate track on Hounds Of Love is the magnificent Hello Earth with its eerie Georgian chant for a chorus, and magnificent uilleann piping from the late great Liam Óg O’Flynn on the bridge. It too features a narrator watching from space:

Watching storms

Start to form

Over America.

Can’t do anything.

Just watch them swing

With the wind

Out to sea.

All you sailors, (“Get out of the waves! Get out of the water!”)

All life-savers, (“Get out of the waves! Get out of the water!”)

All you cruisers, (“Get out of the waves! Get out of the water!”)

All you fishermen,

Head for home.

Matching the song to the book feels like pairing a fine wine with a delicious morsel.

The album Hounds Of Love by Kate Bush turned 40 years old this month. It has really stood the test of time. It still sounds like nothing else.

It’s kind of two albums in one.

There’s the A side with all those perfect pop songs—Running Up That Hill, Hounds Of Love, Cloudbusting, The Big Sky—each one brilliant and self-contained.

Then there’s the B side, The Ninth Wave. It’s like its own concept album within an album. It’s weird and challening, but I love it.

At times it’s downright frightening but the whole thing ends on a joyous note with The Morning Fog. There’s something about the clarity of the closing lines that brings me to tears:

I’ll tell my mother
I’ll tell my father
I’ll tell my loved one
I’ll tell my brothers
How much I love them

That’s after the magnificence of The Jig Of Life which happily crosses over with my love of Irish traditional music.

But, as with traditional Irish music, Hounds Of Love was not something I was into when I was growing up. Quite the opposite.

See, my brother was really into Kate Bush. And if my brother was into something, then I didn’t want anything to do with it. We didn’t really get along.

Mostly that worked out fine. I don’t think missed out on much by avoiding the Electric Light Orchestra, the Alan Parsons Project, and other Partridge-esque bands. But I was wrong to avoid Kate Bush.

It was only by the time I got to art college that I was able to listen to Hounds Of Love objectively, encouraged to do so by a girlfriend at the time who was a huge fan.

Now I’m listening to it again.

Ah, those closing lines …there’s just something about them.

If you work at a clever company, then you should let them know about sponsoring Web Day Out.

All the details are in this PDF sponsorship pack. Basically there are three (and only three) spots available, at three different levels of sponsorship.

One of the best things about the venue for Web Day Out is that always having an excellent auditorium, the Studio Theatre has a really nice space for the breaks. It would be the perfect spot to set up a stand and chat with all the smart attendees.

All the attendees will, by definition, be smart because they got tickets for Web Day Out—a steal at just £225+VAT.

I was going to save this announcement for later, but I’m just too excited: Harry Roberts will be speaking at Web Day Out!

Goddamn, that’s one fine line-up, and it isn’t even complete yet! Get your ticket if you haven’t already.

There’s a bit of a story behind the talk that Harry is going to give…

Earlier this year, Harry posted a most excellent screed in which he said:

The web as a platform is a safe bet. It’s un-versioned by design. That’s the commitment the web makes to you—take advantage of it.

• Opt into web platform features incrementally;
• Embrace progressive enhancement to build fast, reliable applications that adapt to your customers’ context;
• Write code that leans into the browser, not away from it.

Yes! Exactly!

Thing is, Harry posted this on LinkedIn. My indieweb sensibilities were affronted. So I harangued him:

You should blog this, Harry

My pestering paid off with an excellent blog post on Harry’s own site called Build for the Web, Build on the Web, Build with the Web:

The beauty of opting into web platform features as they become available is that your site becomes contextual. The same codebase adapts into its environment, playing to its strengths, rather than trying to build and ship your own environment from the ground up. Meet your users where they are.

That’s a pretty neat summation of the agenda for Web Day Out. So I thought, “Hmm …if I was able to pester Harry to turn a LinkedIn post into a really good blog post, I wonder if I could pester him to turn that blog post into a talk?”

I threw down the gauntlet. Harry accepted the challenge.

I’m sure you’re already familiar with Harry’s excellent work, but if you’re not, he’s basically Mr. Web Performance. That’s why I’m so excited to have him speak at Web Day Out—I want to hear the business case for leaning into what web browsers can do today, and he is most certainly the best person to bring receipts.

You won’t want to miss this, so be sure to get your ticket now; it’s only £225+VAT.

If you’re not ready to commit just yet, but you want to hear about more speaker announcements like this, you can sign up to the mailing list.

I read recently read two books that had writers as their main protagonists:

• Death Of The Author by Nnedi Okorafor, and
• Yellowface by Rebecca F Kuang.

They were both perfectly fine. But I found it hard to get really involved in either narrative. The stakes just never felt that high.

Not that high stakes a pre-requisite for a gripping narrative. I enjoyed the films The Social Network and Like A Complete Unknown. Those stakes couldn’t be lower. One is about a website that might’ve ripped off its idea from another website. The other is about someone who’d like to play different kinds of music but other people would rather he played the same music. It’s a credit to the writers and directors of both films that they could create compelling stories from such objectively unimportant subjects.

Getting back to those two books, maybe there’s something navel-gazey when writers write about writing. Then again, I really like non-fiction books about writing from Ann Lamott, Stephen King, and more.

Perhaps it’s not the writing part, but the milieu of publishing.

I’m trying to think if there are any great films about film-making (Inception doesn’t count). Living In Oblivion is pretty great. But a lot of its appeal is that it’s not taking itself too seriously.

All too often when a story is set in its own medium (a book about publishing; a film about film-making) it runs the risk of over-estimating its own importance.

The most eye-rolling example of this is The Morning Show, a television show about a television show. It genuinely tries to make the case for the super-important work being done by vacuous morning chat shows.

Half of the line-up of speakers for Web Day Out is already on the site. One more is already confirmed.

I’m ridiculously excited about the way the line-up is taking shape, and judging by the zippiness of ticket sales, so are lots of my peers. Seriously, don’t wait to get your ticket or you might end up missing out completely.

I’ve already got a shortlist of other people I could imagine on the line-up, but I’m open to more suggestions. If you’d like to speak at Web Day Out—or you know someone you think would be great—send an email to jeremy@clearleft.com

I won’t be checking my work email while I’m away on holiday next week but it would be lovely to come back to an inbox of exciting suggestions.

A couple of pointers…

I’d rather not have too many people like me on the line-up. White dudes are already over-represented in this industry, especially at conferences.

If you’ve never given a talk before, don’t worry. I’d love to help you put your talk together and coach you in presenting it. I have some experience in this area.

No product pitches. That includes JavaScript frameworks and CSS libraries.

If I get even a whiff of “AI”, your proposal doesn’t stand a chance. There are many, many, many other events that are only too happy to have wall-to-wall talks about …that sort of thing.

If you end up speaking at Web Day Out you will, of course, be paid. We will, of course, cover travel and accommodation too. We can’t afford the travel costs of bringing anyone in from outside Europe though (and we’d like to keep the carbon footprint of the event as small as possible).

Web Day Out has an opinionated agenda all about showing what’s possible in web browsers today. Some potential topics include:

• view transitions,
• invoker commands,
• anchor positioning,
• scroll-driven animations,
• progressive web apps,
• web components.

The emphasis should be on using stuff in production rather than theoretical demos.

If you’ve got a case study about using the web platform—perhaps migrating away from a framework-driven approach—that would fit the bill perfectly.

How’s all that sounding? Know someone who could deliver the goods? Let me know!

I’m going to cut right to the chase: Clearleft is putting on a brand new conference in 2026. It’s called Web Day Out. It’ll be on Thursday, March 12th right here in Brighton. Tickets are just £225+VAT. You should be there!

If you’ve ever been to Responsive Day Out or Patterns Day, the format will be familiar to you. There’s going to be eight 30 minute talks. Bam! Bam! Bam!

Like those other one-day conferences, this one has a laser-sharp focus.

Web Day Out is all about what you can do in web browsers today. You can expect talks that showcase hands-on practical uses for the latest advances in HTML, CSS, and JavaScript APIs. There will be no talks about libraries, frameworks or build tools, and I can guarantee there will be absolutely no so-called “AI”.

As you might have gathered, this is an opinionated conference.

If you care about performance, accessibility, and progressive enhancement, Web Day Out is the event for you.

Or if you’ve been living in React-land but starting to feel that maybe you’re missing out on what’s been shipping in web browsers, Web Day Out is the event for you too. And I’m not talking about cute demos here. This is very much about shipping to production.

I’ve got half of the line-up assembled already:

• Jemima Abu,
• Rachel Andrew,
• Lola Odelola, and
• Richard Rutter.

Jemima’s talk gives you a flavour of what to expect at Web Day Out:

In this talk, we’ll take a look at how to use HTML and CSS to build simpler alternatives to popular JavaScript components such as accordions, modals, scroll transitions, carousels etc We’ll also take a look at the performance and accessibility benefits and real-life applications and use-cases of these components.

Web Day Out will be in The Studio Theatre of the Brighton Dome, which is a fantastic intimate venue. That means that places are limited, so get your ticket now!

After spending a week immersed in the language and the landscape of Glencolmcille, Jessica and I were headed to Miltown Malbay for the annual Willie Clancy music week.

I could only get us accommodation from the Monday onwards so we had a weekend in between Donegal and Clare. We decided to spend it in Galway.

We hadn’t booked any travel from Glencolmcille to Galway and that worked out fine. We ended up getting a lift from a fellow student (and fellow blogger) heading home to Limerick.

Showing up in Galway on a busy Saturday afternoon was quite the change after the peace and quiet of Glencolmcille. But we dove right in and enjoyed a weekend of good food and music.

But I missed speaking Irish. So on the Sunday afternoon we made a trip out to Spiddal for lunch just so we could say a few words as Gaeilge.

We also got some practice in every morning getting coffee at the Plámás cafe. You get a ten-cent discount for ordering in Irish. What a lovely little piece of behaviour design—a nice gentle nudge!

From Galway we made our way down to Miltown Malbay where the Willie Clancy festival was in full swing. We were staying out in Spanish Point, so we could escape the madness of the town each evening. Mind you, there was plenty going at the Armada hotel too.

The hotel was something of an extravagance but it was worth it—we had a beautiful view on to the beach at Spanish Point and our room was tucked away far from the wild shenanigans in the hotel bar (not to mention the céilís on the other side of the hotel!).

I have to admit, I got quite overwhelmed the first day I ventured into Miltown proper. It’s easy to have a constant state of FOMO, constantly searching for the best session. But once I calmed down and accepted the situation, I had a lovely time at some really nice sessions.

Last time we were in Miltown Malbay was three years ago …and three years before that. Maybe we’ll be back in another three years.

I don’t know, though. It kind of felt like going to the South By Southwest after it got crazy big and the host town could no longer bear the weight of the event.

Still, I thoroughly enjoyed our two-week excursion down a stretch of the Wild Atlantic Way from Donegal to Galway to Clare.

I had never been to Donegal before my trip to Glencolmcille to spend a week there learning Irish.

I had heard it’s beautiful there. But pictures don’t really do it justice. When our bus was winding its way down into the valley, it looked breathtaking, laid out before us like a green haven where we’d spend the week immersed in the language as well as the landscape.

The reason I say that pictures don’t do it justice is that the light is constantly changing, like in the Lake District or the Dingle peninsula. The beauty is formed of equal parts geography and meteorology.

We had a day to explore before the language courses begin. We strolled along the beach. We walked down winding paths to find ancient burial tombs and standing stones.

Then it was time to knuckle down and learn Irish.

Oideas Gael provides seven levels of learning, increasing in experience. Jessica went in at level one and I was amazed by how much she had picked up by the end of the week. I figured I’d go in at level three or maybe four, but after hearing a description of all the levels, I actually decided to try level five.

It turned out to be just right. There was lots to learn, and I definitely need to make sure I keep working on it, but the teacher was great and my classmates were lovely.

Tar éis an cursa, tá níos mó ealois agam, tá níos mó taithí agam, ach an rud is tábhachtaí, tá níos mó féin-mhuinín agam. After the course, I have more knowledge, I have more experience, but most importantly, I have more self-confidence.

And after a day of learning Irish, it was nice to unwind in the evening with a pint in the local pub, where there was also a session every single night. Not only were the musicians top-notch, they were also very welcoming to this blow-in mandolin player.

All in all, it was a wonderful and fulfilling week.

Beidh mé ar ais arís! I’ll be back again!

A bunch of the UX London speakers have been saying very nice things about the event over on LinkedIn. I’m going to quote a few of them for my future self to look at when I’m freaking out about curating the next event…

Valentina D’Efilippo:

Still buzzing … UX London smashed all expectations!

Huge shoutout to Jeremy Keith and the entire Clearleft team for their tireless efforts in making this event truly special. Three days packed with inspiration, insights, and true gems – I left feeling inspired, grateful, and already looking forward to next year’s event!

Eleni Beveratou:

Huge thanks to my fellow speakers for the inspiring talks, and to the team at Clearleft (Jeremy Keith, Louise Ash, and so many more!) for putting together such a brilliant event.

Videha Sharma:

I’ve loved learning and sharing this week! Feeling super inspired and looking forward to building new friendships!

Carolina Greno:

Last week in UX London I got to witness event planning mastery, I was in awe. Things ran smoothly and people were united under a premise: to share knowledge and build community.

This doesn’t happen by chance, it’s the mastery that pros like Jeremy and Louise bring to the table.

Sayani Mitra

Bold, thought-provoking talks. Hands-on workshops that challenged and stretched thinking. And a real sense of community that reminded me why spaces like this matter so much.

Nina Mathilde Dyrberg:

The conference was packed with inspiration, thoughtful conversations, and a strong focus on accessibility and inclusivity. Thank you Luke Hay, Jeremy Keith, Louise Ash, and the whole Clearleft team for creating such a welcoming and inspiring space!

Craig Abbott:

Jeremy Keith, Richard Rutter, Louise Ash, Chris How, Sophie Count, Luke Hay and the rest of Clearleft, take a bow! Hands down one of the best conference experiences I’ve had!

The curation was excellent, the talks complimented each other so well, it was almost like we’d all met up and rehearsed it beforehand!

ÌníOlúwa Abíódún:

A huge thank you to Jeremy Keith, Louise Ash and the Clearleft team for the opportunity and the brilliant conference you’ve put together.

It’s been inspiring to experience every moment of it.

Laura Dantonio:

Shoutout to the organisers for curating such a rich experience—3 themed days focused on Discovery, Design, and Delivery.

We remember through stories. And this event was full of them. Already looking forward to next year.

And I’m just going to quote Rachel Rosenson’s post in its entirety:

Spoke at UXLondon last week—and while the talks were great, it was something off-stage that really stuck with me.

After the Day 1 talks wrapped, a bunch of us speakers grabbed a drink, and someone pointed out: Every single speaker that day—every one—was a woman. 5 talks. 4 workshops. All women.

And it wasn’t a “Women in Tech” day. It was just… the conference.

No one made a fuss. No banners. No “look at us go!”

Just incredible women, giving incredible talks, like it was the most normal thing in the world. (Spoiler: it should be.)

Jeremy Keith mentioned how frustrating it is that all-male line-ups are still so common—and how important it is to actively design for inclusion. Major props to Jeremy and the Clearleft team for curating a line-up that was intentional without performativity.

It was refreshing. No tokenism. No checkbox energy. Just great voices on great stages. And a big honor to be one of them.

I don’t use large language models. My objection to using them is ethical. I know how the sausage is made.

I wanted to clarify that. I’m not rejecting large language models because they’re useless. They can absolutely be useful. I just don’t think the usefulness outweighs the ethical issues in how they’re trained.

Molly White came to the same conclusion:

The benefits, though extant, seem to pale in comparison to the costs.

Rich has similar thoughts:

What I do know is that I find LLMs useful on occasion, but every time I use one I die a little inside.

I genuinely look forward to being able to use a large language model with a clear conscience. Such a model would need to be trained ethically. When we get a free-range organic large language model I’ll be the first in line to use it. Until then, I’ll abstain. Remember:

You don’t get companies to change their behaviour by rewarding them for it. If you really want better behaviour from the purveyors of generative tools, you should be boycotting the current offerings.

Still, in anticipation of an ethical large language model someday becoming reality, I think it’s good for me to have an understanding of which tasks these tools are good at.

Prototyping seems like a good use case. My general attitude to prototyping is the exact opposite to my attitude to production code; use absolutely any tool you want and prioritise speed over quality.

When it comes to coding in general, I think Laurie is really onto something when he says:

Is what you’re doing taking a large amount of text and asking the LLM to convert it into a smaller amount of text? Then it’s probably going to be great at it. If you’re asking it to convert into a roughly equal amount of text it will be so-so. If you’re asking it to create more text than you gave it, forget about it.

In other words, despite what the hype says, these tools are far better at transforming than they are at generating.

Iris Meredith goes deeper into this distinction between transformative and compositional work:

Compositionality relies (among other things) on two core values or functions: choice and precision, both of which are antithetical to LLM functioning.

My own take on this is that transformative work is often the drudge work—take this data dump and convert it to some other format; take this mock-up and make a disposable prototype. I want my tools to help me with that.

But compositional work that relies on judgement, taste, and choice? Not only would I not use a large language model for that, it’s exactly the kind of work that I don’t want to automate away.

Transformative work is done with broad brushstrokes. Compositional work is done with a scalpel.

Large language models are big messy brushes, not scalpels.

One persistent piece of slopaganda you’ll hear is this:

“It’s just a tool. What matters is how you use it.”

This isn’t a new tack. The same justification has been applied to many technologies.

Leaving aside Kranzberg’s first law, large language models are the very antithesis of a neutral technology. They’re imbued with bias and political decisions at every level.

There’s the obvious problem of where the training data comes from. It’s stolen. Everyone knows this, but some people would rather pretend they don’t know how the sausage is made.

But if you set aside how the tool is made, it’s still just a tool, right? A building is still a building even if it’s built on stolen land.

Except with large language models, the training data is just the first step. After that you need to traumatise an underpaid workforce to remove the most horrifying content. Then you build an opaque black box that end-users have no control over.

Take temperature, for example. That’s the degree of probability a large language model uses for choosing the next token. Dial the temperature too low and the tool will parrot its training data too closely, making it a plagiarism machine. Dial the temperature too high and the tool generates what we kindly call “hallucinations”.

Either way, you have no control over that dial. Someone else is making that decision for you.

A large language model is as neutral as an AK-47.

I understand why people want to feel in control of the tools they’re using. I know why people will use large language models for some tasks—brainstorming, rubber ducking—but strictly avoid them for any outputs intended for human consumption.

You could even convince yourself that a large language model is like a bicycle for the mind. In truth, a large language model is more like one of those hover chairs on the spaceship in WALL·E.

Large language models don’t amplify your creativity and agency. Large language models stunt your creativity and rob you of agency.

When someone applies a large language model it is an example of tool use. But the large language model isn’t the tool.

Today is Global Accessibility Awareness Day:

The purpose of GAAD is to get everyone talking, thinking and learning about digital access and inclusion, and the more than One Billion people with disabilities/impairments.

Awareness is good. It’s necessary. But it’s not sufficient.

Accessibility, like sustainability and equality, is the kind of thing that most businesses will put at the end of sentences that begin “We are committed to…”

It’s what happens next that matters. How does that declared commitment—that awareness—turn into action?

In the worst-case scenario, an organisation might reach for an accessibility overlay. Who can blame them? They care about accessibility. They want to do something. This is something.

Good intentions alone can result in an inaccessible website. That’s why I think there’s another level of awareness that’s equally important. Designers and developers need to be aware of what they can actually do in service of accessibility.

Fortunately that’s not an onerous expectation. It doesn’t take long to grasp the importance of having good colour contrast or using the right HTML elements.

An awareness of HTML is like a superpower when it comes to accessibility. Like I wrote in the foreword to the Web Accessibility Cookbook by O’Reilly:

It’s supposed to be an accessibility cookbook but it’s also one of the best HTML tutorials you’ll ever find. Come for the accessibility recipe; stay for the deep understanding of markup.

The challenge is that HTML is hidden. Like Cassie said in the accessibility episode of The Clearleft Podcast:

You get JavaScript errors if you do that wrong and you can see if your CSS is broken, but you don’t really have that with accessibility. It’s not as obvious when you’ve got something wrong.

We are biased towards what we can see—hierarchy, layout, imagery, widgets. Those are the outputs. When it comes to accessibility, what matters is how those outputs are generated. Is that button actually a button element or is it a div? Is that heading actually an h1 or is it another div?

This isn’t about the semantics of HTML. This is about the UX of HTML:

Instead of explaining the meaning of a certain element, I show them what it does.

That’s the kind of awareness I’m talking about.

One way of gaining this awareness is to get a feel for using a screen reader.

The name is a bit of a misnomer. Reading the text on screen is the least important thing that the software does. The really important thing that a screen reader does is convey the structure of what’s on screen.

Friend of Clearleft, Jamie Knight very generously spent an hour of his time this week showing everyone the basics of using VoiceOver on a Mac (there’s a great short video by Ethan that also covers this).

Using the rotor, everyone was able to explore what’s under the hood of a web page; all the headings, the text of all the links, the different regions of the page.

That’s not going to turn anyone into an accessibility expert overnight, but it gave everyone an awareness of how much the HTML matters.

Mind you, accessibility is a much bigger field than just screen readers.

Fred recently hosted a terrific panel called Is neurodiversity the next frontier of accessibility in UX design?—well worth a watch!

One of those panelists—Craig Abbott—is speaking on day two of UX London next month. His talk has the magnificent title, Accessibility is a design problem:

I spend a bit of time covering some misconceptions about accessibility, who is responsible for it, and why it’s important that we design for it up front. It also includes real-world examples where design has impacted accessibility, before moving onto lots of practical guidance on what to be aware of and how to design for many different accessibility issues.

Get yourself a ticket and get ready for some practical accessibility awareness.

Meetings can be frustrating. But they don’t have to be.

A lot of the frustration comes from unmet expectations. You go into the meeting expecting one outcome, and when it doesn’t materialise, you declare the meeting a waste of time. But had you gone into that same meeting with different expectations, perhaps you would emerge from it in a happier state.

We were talking about this at Clearleft recently and I suggested that a simple little taxonomy of meetings might be a good starting point for avoiding frustration.

Divergent meetings

In a divergent meeting the goal is to generate ideas. These meetings often happen early in a project.

Quantity matters more than quality. Plenty of “yes, and…” rather than “no, but…” to create lots of suggestions. This is not the meeting to point out potential problems with the suggestions.

Convergent meetings

In a convergent meeting the goal is to come to a decision.

The meeting might begin with lots of options on the table. They need to be winnowed down. Poke at them. Dissect them. Ideally dismiss lots of them.

This is not the time to introduce new ideas—save that for a divergent meeting.

Just having those two categories alone could save you a lot of grief. The last thing you want is someone participating in a convergent meeting who thinks it’s a divergent meeting (or the other way around).

Those two categories account for the majority of meetings, but there’s one more category to consider…

Chemistry meetings

In a chemistry meeting there is no tangible output. The goal is to get to know one another.

In a large organisation this might be when multiple departments are going to work together on a project. At an agency like Clearleft, a chemistry meeting between us and the client team is really useful at the beginning of our partnership.

Again, the key thing is expectations. If there are people in a chemistry meeting who are expecting to emerge with a framework or a list or any kind of output, they’re going to be frustrated. But if everyone knows it’s a chemistry meeting there’s no expectation that any decisions are going to be made.

There you have it. A tiny taxonomy of meetings:

1. divergent
2. convergent
3. chemistry

This tiny taxonomy won’t cover every possible kind of meeting, but it probably covers 90% of them.

Ideally every meeting should be categorised in advance so that everyone’s going in with the same expectations.

If you find yourself trying to categorise a meeting and you think “Well, it’s mostly convergent, but there’s also this divergent aspect…” then you should probably have two separate shorter meetings instead.

And if you’re trying to categorise a meeting and you find yourself thinking, “This meeting is mostly so I can deliver information” …that meeting should be an email.

I have little understanding for people using large language models to generate slop; words and images that nobody asked for.

I have more understanding for people using large language models to generate code. Code isn’t the thing in the same way that words or images are; code is the thing that gets you to the thing.

And if a large language model hallucinates some code, you’ll find out soon enough:

With code you get a powerful form of fact checking for free. Run the code, see if it works.

But I want to push back on one justification I see repeatedly about using large language models to write code. Here’s Craig:

There are many moral and ethical issues with using LLMs, but building software feels like one of the few truly ethically “clean”(er) uses (trained on open source code, etc.)

That’s not how this works. Yes, the large language models are trained on lots of code (most of it open source), but they’re not only trained on that. That’s on top of everything else; all the stolen books, all the unpaid creative work of others.

Even Robin Sloan, who first says:

I think the case of code is especially clear, and, for me, basically settled.

…goes on to acknowledge:

But, again, it’s important to say: the code only works because of Everything. Take that data away, train a model using GitHub alone, and you’ll get a far less useful tool.

When large language models are trained on domain-specific data, it’s always in addition to the mahoosive amount of content they’ve already stolen. It’s that mohoosive amount of content—not the domain-specific data—that enables them to parse your instructions.

(Note that I’m being very delibarate in saying “parse”, not “understand.” Though make no mistake, I’m astonished at how good these tools are at parsing instructions. I say that as someone who tried to write natural language parsers for text-only adventure games back in the 1980s.)

So, sure, go ahead and use large language models to write code. But don’t fool yourself into thinking that it’s somehow ethical.

What I said here applies to code too:

If you’re going to use generative tools powered by large language models, don’t pretend you don’t know how your sausage is made.

For the past couple of years, myself and Jessica have been going to the Belfast Tradfest in the Summer. It’s an excellent event with great workshops, sessions, and concerts. And it helps that Belfast is such a lovely city to spend a week in.

What struck me the first time we were participating in workshops there was the great mix of age ranges. It always warms my heart to see young people getting really into the music.

Then I found out about their bursary sponsorship scheme:

For many young musicians, financial barriers stand in the way of this invaluable experience. Your support can make a real difference by sponsoring a bursary that covers the cost of tuition for a deserving student.

Last year, I decided to forego one month’s worth of donations to The Session—the contributions that help cover the costs of hosting, newsletters, geocoding, and so on. Instead the money went towards bursary sponsorships for Belfast Tradfest.

It was a great success that managed to cover places for quite a few young musicians.

So we’re doing it again.

Normally, I wouldn’t mention the ins-and-outs of TheSession.org over here on adactio.com but I thought you might like to partake in this year’s fund drive:

For the month of April 2025, any donations made to The Session will go towards bursary sponsorships for young musicians to attend workshops at this year’s Belfast Trad Fest:

thesession.org/donate

Maybe you’ve liked something I’ve written here. Maybe you enjoyed Resilient Web Design, the free book I published online. You can also read HTML5 For Web Designers and Going Offline for free now too.

I’ve never asked for any recompense for my online ramblings, but if you’ve ever wanted to drop me some money to thank me for something I’ve put out there, now’s your chance.

Any contribution you make will go towards fostering the next generation of traditional Irish musicians, something that’s very dear to my heart.

The Wikimedia Foundation, stewards of the finest projects on the web, have written about the hammering their servers are taking from the scraping bots that feed large language models.

Our infrastructure is built to sustain sudden traffic spikes from humans during high-interest events, but the amount of traffic generated by scraper bots is unprecedented and presents growing risks and costs.

Drew DeVault puts it more bluntly, saying Please stop externalizing your costs directly into my face:

Over the past few months, instead of working on our priorities at SourceHut, I have spent anywhere from 20-100% of my time in any given week mitigating hyper-aggressive LLM crawlers at scale.

And no, a robots.txt file doesn’t help.

If you think these crawlers respect robots.txt then you are several assumptions of good faith removed from reality. These bots crawl everything they can find, robots.txt be damned.

Free and open source projects are particularly vulnerable. FOSS infrastructure is under attack by AI companies:

LLM scrapers are taking down FOSS projects’ infrastructure, and it’s getting worse.

You try to do the right thing by making knowledge and tools freely available. This is how you get repaid. AI bots are destroying Open Access:

There’s a war going on on the Internet. AI companies with billions to burn are hard at work destroying the websites of libraries, archives, non-profit organizations, and scholarly publishers, anyone who is working to make quality information universally available on the internet.

My own experience with The Session bears this out.

Ars Technica has a piece on this: Open source devs say AI crawlers dominate traffic, forcing blocks on entire countries .

So does MIT Technology Review: AI crawler wars threaten to make the web more closed for everyone.

When we talk about the unfair practices and harm done by training large language models, we usually talk about it in the past tense: how they were trained on other people’s creative work without permission. But this is an ongoing problem that’s just getting worse.

The worst of the internet is continuously attacking the best of the internet. This is a distributed denial of service attack on the good parts of the World Wide Web.

If you’re using the products powered by these attacks, you’re part of the problem. Don’t pretend it’s cute to ask ChatGPT for something. Don’t pretend it’s somehow being technologically open-minded to continuously search for nails to hit with the latest “AI” hammers.

If you’re going to use generative tools powered by large language models, don’t pretend you don’t know how your sausage is made.

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.