write.as/jonbeckett

We went out for a few drinks with co-workers last night – to a bar in town that was refurbished some months ago. It's worth noting how rarely we make it out with friends any more – mostly because we can't afford it.

After getting home from work, jumping in the shower, and getting changed, we left the children to eat home-made pizza, and stepped out into the damp night air. Mercifully the rain held off for our walk into town, and in no time at all we arrived at the door of the unrecognisable bar – now festooned in rowing memorabilia, and re-branded as “The Oarsman”.

At the bar, I looked along an impressive selection of craft beers, and spotted something that stopped me in my tracks. An IPA called “Lagunitas”.

My cousin and Uncle used to live in Lagunitas (it's a small town on the north edge of the San Francisco Bay, if you're wondering). Actually, there's a much longer story about how they ended up living there involving missed ships, road-trips, weddings, George Lucas, Muir Woods, and all sorts of other twists and turns. I'm not sure if I've told that story before.

Anyway.

How on earth has a bar in a small town in Buckinghamshire, England, acquired a barrel of Lagunitas IPA ? I didn't get around to asking the bar staff, but I did drink two pints of it – more out of curiosity than anything.

I'm still wondering about it now. The universe plays strange games with us sometimes, doesn't it.

In other news, I begin a week long vacation today. I have no idea what I might fill the next few days with. Perhaps some running, very probably countless hours of chores, and perhaps some coffee in town. I guess we'll have to wait and see. You never know – I might actually start catching up properly with the various blogs I try to follow. Stranger things have happened.

I've been wrestling with the idea of changing the name of this blog over the last few days – away from my name to something vaguely interesting and different. Of course that presumes the content is about to become interesting and different – and that presumption would be incorrect. I've been emptying my head into this thing for the last however many years, and I can't imagine I'm about to change any time soon.

I'm not really sure why the idea occurred to me to change the blog name. I suppose it just seems a little boring, and little bit vain – naming your blog after yourself. At least it's easy to find though, right? I can't imagine who would be LOOKING for it (apart from the inevitable lunatic looking for muck to fling at me), but.. I don't really know where I was going with this anyway.

What COULD I change it to? The only names I can come up with are either insufferably “clever”, or cretinous in the extreme.

wp:list * Majestically Mundane (I like alliteration) * Forgettably Unforgettable (kind of recursive) * One Man Went to Blog (sounds too much like he went to the toilet) /wp:list I'll stop right there. It's not great, is it.

If I name it, there's also the question of that to do with Instagram, Twitter, and all the other online idiocy. Even though I don't use them (well... I do use Instagram when the mood takes me) the OCD in the back of my brain would kick in, and not be happy if they don't all align like some fantasy squadron of social media battleships – sailing into seas unknown.

So no – I'm not going to rename it. And you just spent five minutes reading about something I'm not going to do. This might actually be a fruitful source of blog posts when I have nothing to report – “things I didn't do today”, or “things I'm not going to do tomorrow” – I might be on to something...

I went to the running club with Miss 19 again tonight – we're now half-way through the “Couch to 5K” programme. We ran three lots of nine minutes, with one minute walking in-between, which added up to a little under four kilometres. Next week we move on to twelve minutes running at a time, which I imagine will take us over the ultimate finish line – then it's a case of slowly taking away the intervals and turning it into one long run.

It's been interesting to see how the programme is run, and see everybody around me progress from week to week. I've had to keep almighty quiet about how far I probably could run, because I don't want to be “that asshole”. This evening I ran near the front of the group for a time, and quietly listened to everybody breathing as they ran around me – and noticed how hard some people were working. It was a pretty inspiring feeling – being surrounded by so many people busting their arse to improve themselves.

At one point – perhaps half-way through the run, we turned down several alleyways and I completely lost my bearings – commenting to the lady running next to me “I have absolutely no idea where we are”. Thankfully the river appeared from the evening mist to one side of us, and my brain did some sort of navigational form-fitting exercise. I carried on running, grinning at my own idiocy.

I'm back home now, still sitting in my running shorts. I'll have a quick shower before bed (he says, looking at the clock, and realising that it's already half past his bedtime).

Where the HELL has the evening gone? This keeps happening. How am I supposed to read all those books, watch all those movies, and all the other things when the clock is obviously speeding up when I'm not looking ?

I'm not doing NaNoWriMo this year. I'm keeping it at the end of a very long stick. There's a very strong possibility that I may never do NaNoWriMo again. If you're wondering what on earth “NaNoWriMo” is, it's a pnemonic for “National Novel Writing Month” – an annual challenge on the internet to write a 50,000 word novel during November.

I did it last year – it's ticked off my bucket list. I would like to say “I got the t-shirt”, but I can't – even though they sell them – I didn't like the design, and thought they were over-priced. I did get a certificate – that I printed out, and that probably ended up in the bin a few days later. I didn't like the design of the certificate either.

I suppose in some ways my successful completion of NaNoWriMo last year felt a bit like “ The Emperor's New Clothes”. I had held the challenge up like some sort of talisman for years – an insurmountable goal that only the most idiotic might throw themselves at. The writing equivalent of an ascent of the south face of Annapurna. I wrote the required 50,000 words in the first two weeks, and then had to keep quiet about it because I didn't want to make anybody feel bad. Of course my words were utter garbage, but there were a lot of them – enough to get me over the finish line laughably easily.

Maybe I'm discrediting my own superpower – the ability to generate vast quantities of forgettable rubbish. Perhaps this whole blogging lark served as a warm-up act to the main event. I wonder if it could go on my CV? “Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound write unimaginable quantities of harmless, directionless guff at the drop of a hat”.

This whole “writing” thing is kind of addictive though. On more than one occasion over the last year I've sat down with the computer and thought “I'm going to invent some sort of minimal writing environment that cuts out distractions”. Of course then I tinker with the computer all evening, and don't actually write anything. The latest product of this ridiculous bent was the discovery that you can run MS-DOS in a window on any computer, run WordStar, WordPerfect, or Word, and pretend it's 1990 all over again.

If you're visiting this blog post via Wordpress, you'll have noticed a rather drastic re-design has happened. Given that autumn colours are surrounding us at the moment, and the site was rather stark, I thought “sod it”. I might have thought more colourful words actually, but didn't want to swear in the first paragraph.

This isn't the first time I have switched the design of the blog, and it won't be the last. My main requirements for choosing “themes” are that they be legible, and free. I'm not making a living from this – I'm not running a business based on it – it's more a case of holding my sanity together by emptying my head into it. I suppose adding a theme is a bit like decorating the bucket you're about to throw up into.

I'm not very good at analogies.

So... what else has been going on in my world today? The usual, I'm afraid (another way of saying “very little”). I filled the washing machine several times, I ate leftover pizza from last night, I cleared up around the house, and I fell down several internet rabbit holes in-between.

I wonder – if Tim Berners Lee invented the World Wide Web again, would he call it the “World Wide Warren” ? I think it's a much better name. A world wide web of rabbit holes filled with wonderful things we never knew before, and didn't think we needed to know. Of course half the rabbit holes would be filled with an army of people we might wish to avoid, but you can't have everything.

In true butterfly effect fashion, that one word change could percolate through everything we know – when a page doesn't appear, it would be because the rabbit hole has become blocked – or even caved in. Security throughout the warrens would of course be imposed by the Owsla (go and read Watership Down if that means nothing to you), and those inhabiting the tunnels would begin to follow the teachings of El-ahrairah (which I suppose roughly translates to the Flying Spaghetti Monster).

Talking of Watership Down, there's a rather famous poster seen in butchers shops in the ealy 1980s in England that's always made me laugh:

“You've read the book, you've seen the movie, now eat the cast!”

We attended yet another fund-raiser quiz last night – this time for the local hockey team. My other half put a call out on social media for team mates, and we quickly found ourselves with a table of seven – we would have been eight, but our middle daughter was waiting tables – or rather, up-selling bottles of wine and packets of peanuts to the various parents in attendance.

We finished LAST out of perhaps ten teams – off the back of WINNING the junior school fund-raiser quiz two weeks ago. Go figure. To be honest, we knew by half-way through the evening that we had no chance, and convinced each other that it was more about having a cheap night out than anything else. I drank far too much wine, and had quite an impressive headache first thing this morning.

The peanuts were called “Nobby's Nuts”, which caused all manner of entirely predictable propositions as they were offered around the table – “do you like Nobby's Nuts?” – or just plain “do you want some of my nuts?”. Yes, we all have the humor of a thirteen year old after a few glasses of wine.

Today has been all about watching the Rugby World Cup on the television, and getting washing done. Our poor old washing machine must dread weekends. It's been forced through about five loads so far today, and as Curly said in City Slickers – “day ain't over yet”.

I knocked on Miss 19's bedroom door earlier this evening, and enquired if we were going running. Given that she was still in her pajamas, and that I was struggling to stay awake, I was half-hoping that she would murmur something about leaving it until tomorrow. Except she didn't – of COURSE she didn't, because the universe doesn't work that way. And that's how I found myself stepping out into the cold night air an hour later in running shorts and a reflective waterproof.

We always run in the dark of night. It has nothing to do with Batman, or being trainee ninjas – but everything to do with anxiety. The only way we can run is if nobody can see us (or rather, nobody can see her – she dresses in black running kit on purpose). I don't think she figured out that I changed the route tonight on purpose – taking us along a section of the main-road into town for a few hundred yards – in full view of all the traffic. Granted, the drivers probably couldn't see her, but we were still there – running past their cars. She didn't say anything, but it felt like a victory.

When we got home the younger girls had just finished making pizza, and were preparing to cook it – I took my cue to jump in the shower. And before you say it, yes, of course I know the pizza counter-acted any benefit the running may have imparted. So did the cider I drank while eating it.

So. It's Saturday night, 10pm. While some people's night is just getting going in the various pubs and clubs in town, I'm sitting in the dark of the junk room in a comfortable pair of old tracksuit bottoms and a scruffy t-shirt, typing this into the old computer. I'm doing my best not to annoy or offend anybody, after a spectacular foot-in-mouth moment earlier.

I think – sometimes – because I'm a bit of an open book, I tend to presume others are an open book too – and that's a mistake. The reality is probably that most people's lives are far more complex than we can even begin to imagine. As much as we like to think of ourselves as having empathy, or understanding, we don't live each other's lives – we don't walk in each other's shoes – so we can never really presume to know that much about each other. It's SO easy to make snap judgements, and yet we know they are usually wrong.

ANYWAY.

It's time to watch a movie before collapsing into bed. Maybe a hot chocolate might also be in order to erase the effects of the cider I drank earlier (which is now hanging from my eyelids like a comedy anvil).

After work this evening I headed out with Miss 19 and put another few kilometres in the bank. I'm not sure what she's been eating – it might have something to do with her being nearly thirty years younger than me – but she FLEW tonight. Of course she complained that this hurt, or that hurt, but she FLEW.

So. Running done. Kitchen cleared up. Kids ominously quiet. Time to sit in the junk room listening to spotify and attempt to come up with a few insightful or entertaining words. Except of course I don't really do insightful or entertaining any more – it's more humdrum, chores, frustrations, and the struggle is real.

I sometimes look at other people's blogs, and think “how do they DO that” – and then I realise they don't work, and appear to have a magically bottomless bank account, which funds restaurant meals, endless clothes shopping expeditions, and a camera that cost more than our car to take photos of it all – filed everywhee with a “#nofilter” tag.

I'm not bitter. Just jaded I suppose. Cynical. Tired.

No matter how hard I try, I always seem to end up back where I started. Getting ahead is temporary – I have learned that now. It always seems to involve luck rather than hard work. Maybe the world just works that way – some people work their arse off and get nowhere, whereas some people fall on their feet continually. Maybe that Bruce Willis movie “Unbreakable” was right – balance extends to everything.

Spotify just stopped. I wonder if that means I've listened to all of it now ?

(a few moments pass while I pick another playlist)

I just noticed the “Favourite Coffeehouse” playlist has vanished. Dammit. You know sometimes you just want a not-too-terrible playlist on in the background that you don't hate too much? That was the favourite coffeehouse playlist for me. What am I going to do now? I'm not sure I can be bothered to curate anything.

In other news, I downloaded all of the old Infocom text adventure games to my laptop at lunchtime. I'm about to go sit on the sofa in the living room with it and open the mailbox to the west of an old white house. If you guessed the game, you win the nerd lottery.

I have been sitting in the dark of the junk room in front of the keyboard for an hour. Nothing seems to be making it through my fingers and into the keyboard. I'm not entirely sure why – I don't think I have a lot on my mind.

I put in a request for a week off work – for the week after next – half term week. After a seemingly endless slog through two long software and web development projects over the last couple of years I have amassed a huge number of holiday days. It's time to burn through some of them.

I have no idea what I might do with the time off – the museums in London are always a good day out (and free!). There are lots of galleries too – all within walking distance of each other. Half the challenge will be exploding the kids out of bed to come with me.

I've got half an eye on doing a park run soon too. I'm not sure if my eldest daughter will be up for it, but if she is I suppose we'll use it as our weekend training run – and do intervals as-per-normal. I've never done a park run before, so have no pre-conceived ideas of how they are organised. I have a bar-code printed out that identifies me – apparently I can buy a key fob or wrist band with the barcode on to make things a little easier.

How is it nearly 11pm already? Yes, I know the kitchen and lounge were wrecked when I got in from work, but they didn't take THAT long to clear up, did they ? Perhaps they did.

Maybe I should switch the computer off, grab a book, and have an early night (he says, not missing the irony of writing that at 11pm). It's kind of early for me though – I rarely go to bed before midnight – often the early hours. Of course I pay for it the next day, and never learn.

Perhaps a cup of tea first.

Four sets of six minutes running, and one minute walking around the back streets of town this evening with the running club. The running intervals are slowly ramping up. I'm guessing the ultimate aim is to get the group running for half an hour without rest.

It's been interesting to run along near the back, watching the behaviour of the rest of the group. Some naturally gravitate to the front, and others to the back – and while you might think that's driven mostly by each individual's level of fitness, I'm beginning to wonder if there's more going on. Two guys in particular push their way to the front continually – even after being looped to the back in order to make the slower runners feel better about themselves. I guess for some people it really is all about “me”, rather than “us”.

Anyway – super proud of Miss 19 this evening. She completed the intervals without cheating. For a time I drifted away from her – leaving her running with strangers on purpose – hoping that peer pressure would kick in (it did). She learned a valuable lesson too – that after the initial wave of tiredness passes, running becomes all about rhythm – longer runs are actually easier than shorter intervals.

After saying goodnight to the group, I walked across the park to the hockey pitches, and found our 15 year old waiting at the edge of the pitches with her goal tender kit in an enormous bag by her feet. After shaking her coach's hand and introducing myself, I hefted the bag onto my back and began the mile and a half walk home. My other half was supposed to be picking her up, but had got timings wrong – she found herself waiting on the touchline of a football pitch a few miles away, waiting for Miss 14 to finish training with her team.

It's now ticking past 10pm, and I'm sitting in the dark of the junk room at home. The shower has just shut down for the night. I imagine the washing machine will be full of towels again in the morning – it feels like the washing is never-ending.

I could murder a bar of chocolate, but I'm “being good”. Why do I have to hold myself accountable – why can't I cave like everybody else and stuff my face with secret chocolate? lol