Review: The Four Hour Work Week by Tim Ferriss

The main ideas behind the book can be summed up pretty simply:

  • Life is too short to spend doing something you don’t like
  • Why wait until retirement to do something more enjoyable?

Tim’s method for enabling you to have a more fulfilling life is basically:

  • Work more effectively to get more done in less time
  • Negotiate to work from home at least some of the time
  • Now the boss can’t see what you’re doing, use the time you’ve freed up to start a business to bring in additional income.
  • Profit!
  • Use profit to go off travelling while your boss things you are working from home.

OK, Tim Ferriss does give a little more detail than that! :-)

As others have argued in Amazon
reviews
the informational products Tim suggests you create do sound a lot like things
you’ve seen advertised in spam. However, to be fair Tim does describe more
than this and he does make it clear that the point of this business is simply
to make income in a way that does not require much time so that you can spend
more time doing the things you love (whether that be running your small
business or travelling the world).

As others have pointed
out
, some
of Tim’s exploits are less than
classy
-
for example the way he supposedly won a national kickboxing championship (by
tricking the weighing process so he could fight smaller men and then
exploiting a technicality to win the fights) probably ruined the event for the
other participants.

That said there is good stuff in the book. It’s pretty no nonsense and you
won’t see any spiritual “laws of attraction” krap or claims that the
principals he describes are based on principals from quantum mechanics. The
ideas on automation and outsourcing were new to meat least. He doesn’t claim
that “muses” (mostly automated businesses designed to produce cash while
consuming little time) will make you an instant millionaire merely that they
can make enough cash to let you travel and that the travel can cost less than
you might think.

I got a bit annoyed at his insistence on travel in the second half of the
book. I like travelling too and I also like learning new languages but I don’t
think I’d be very likely to drag my entire family around the world just so I
can indulge myself.

Yes, you can probably find a lot of the material elsewhere, yes it’s probably
not as revolutionary as Tim claims but it is a good collection of ideas and it
does provide a bit of a kick to get you to do some thing more with your life.

Links

Jim Remembers

My father died last week and in his memory I’ve decided to publish the only
part of his autobiography that he got around to writing. It covers the period
from June 1927 to September 1945. Apart from my emotional involvement, I feel
his account is interesting because it describes a world that feels so
different to the present day.


The class A stork delivered me to my parents during the early hours of the
4th. June 1927. It was not a good time to disturb the rest of the house. My
Grandfather went down stairs with a quilt wrapped round his shoulders to
resume his rest. Grandmother is reputed to have remarked “ Look Moses has
taken up his bed and walked”. It was later realised that she had got the
Biblical characters mixed.

So I entered into the world of 37, Century Road, Walthamstow, E17. It was a
small three bed roomed house, rented by my paternal Grandparents Sarah and
James(called George) Snowdon who shared it with their unmarried daughter Ivy,
(my father’s younger sister), my parents, James William and Elizabeth Alma
Snowdon, plus my brother Henry James, who had arrived 25 months earlier. It
would appear that James was a favourite name, as I was christened James Henry.
Brother Albert arrived on the 19th. November 1929 to join us at Century Road.
He must have sneaked in as I do not remember his coming.

My grandparents had the back bedroom, and Ivy had to pass through it to get to
her own. The front bedroom was home for my parents and all their sons. Down
stairs was a scullery (now known as a Kitchen), living room and the Parlour, a
room used for special occasions only. The toilet was outside next to the house
in a small garden about 15 x 20 feet. Next to the toilet granddad had a shed 4
x 6 feet.

Gran was called Sarah by her equals and her maiden name was Coggins. She
called granddad “JUMBO” possibly because he was the opposite in build, but
almost six foot in height. He was a gentleman and I never heard his voice
raised in anger.

Gran was the ruler of the house, and what she said went in regards to the
running of the household. In other ways she was kind and generous and always
found time to help others. Gran is credited with saving my life as a baby when
I had croup, by holding me over a steaming kettle, and completing the cure by
holding me over the fumes of the road menders cauldron of hot tar. Maybe that
is why, even today, I like the smell of hot tar.

My father’s older sister was Lilian who married Sid Judd and they had four
children, Albert, Philip, Joyce and Betty.

Granddad was a craftsman, but like other craftsmen did not carry on his trade
in his own home. They had a dresser that Gran had asked him many times to
alter it by cutting off the bottom shelf. After a while she got so fed with
asking she took one of his saws and did it herself, and made a neat job of it.
This dresser had three shelves to start; with, over a period of time Gran cut
off the other two at different intervals. It finished up as a sideboard.

As for the maternal grandparents I only remember Grandfather Bird who lived in
an upstairs flat in Selbourne Avenue, a turning off Walthamstow High St. Mum’s
youngest sister (Aunt Nell) lived with him and kept house, and also worked at
Holmes Brothers, furniture makers in Billet Road. I never knew Grand mother
Bird whose maiden name was Fowkes. Granddad Bird was a retired butcher. He had
a large family, six daughters and two sons. He appeared a bit grumpy when ever
mum took me there.On one occasion however he seemed jovial and jokingly
threatened me with his big leather belt. He dozed off and I took the belt and
put it in a saucepan under the sink, and then forgot all about it. Late that
night he sent Aunt Nell round to us in Warwick Road to find out what had
happened to his belt. Mum woke me to ask where I had put it and, much
relieved, Aunt Nell, went home.

Of my mother’s brothers, Albert and Jack I remember nothing. Her sisters were
Martha, Rose, Lou, and Nell and another who was only heard of after Mum had
died. Even though she lived in Priors Croft, the road adjoining Warwick Road.
Mum never spoke of her. It is believed that she had badly upset their mother,
and Mum who had a very good nature never forgave her.

Martha wed Tom Nash a butcher of whom I will tell later. Rose wed Victor Hunt,
and they lived in Erskine Road (a childless marriage). I’m not sure what he
did except make sweets for a local High St. stall. If Mum finished her
shopping early on a Saturday, we would call on them. There on their kitchen
table were “Coconut Candy” and similar mouth watering kinds of goodies, but we
were never offered even the broken pieces, so we disliked going there.

Lou married a Mr. Stapleton. They had a son and a daughter (the first names
are forgotten). The son was captured at Singapore by the Japanese and never
returned home. Nell married late in life and had one daughter. We lost contact
after Nell died after about 16 years of marriage.

Mr. and Mrs. Harrison lived in the flat under Granddad Bird with their son
Gordon who died a young man. His parents later moved to Erskine Road on the
other side of the High St. There they took in performers from the Palace
Theatre in the High St. The Palace was demolished (I believe in the late
fifties) after the audiences declined because of the growing number of people
owning television sets.

The Palace Theatre put on all kinds of shows; Dramas, Varieties, Circuses and
pantomimes. “Dante” the magician and “Harry Parry” with his band,”Carl
Barrateau”(don’t think I have spelt it right) a clarinet player, also “Jane”
of the Daily Mirror, “Phyllis Dixey” were some of the performers that I saw in
my teens seated in the pit. As times improved for our parents, they took us
occasionally to the gala night and we sat in the Gods, the name for the
gallery, and during the interval balloons were released from nets in the
ceiling and, attendants would walk down the aisles and throw wrapped gifts to
the audience. Once I caught one, which turned out to be a wallet which I gave
to Dad. The entrance to the gallery was round the side, not in the foyer.
Tickets were not issued for the gallery. Theatre goers were given a white
metal disc about 2 inches in diameter. After climbing the spiral stairs an
attendant took it and threaded it on a string. You could then sit where you
liked so the front seats went to the first arrivals. The seats were hard and
backless.

As a toddler I had an operation for Double Mastoids on both ears at the Prince
of Wales Hospital, Tottenham. 30 years later when having a medical at Enfield
Cables the doctor examining me looked behind my ears and told me the name of
the surgeon who performed the operation, “ I would recognise those stitches
anywhere” he said.

The only other link with those days at Century Road was forty years later at
Reliance Cords & Cables, Leyton, where the canteen manageress turned out to be
Molly Weston (who lived near us in Century Road). She had watched over Harry
for mum when he was playing outside. It was not onerous as the only traffic to
worry about then was the occasional horse drawn cart, usually the baker,
milkman or coal man. Cars were a rare sight.

“Richs” at the top of the road was a double fronted, Newsagents, Tobacconists
and Sweetshop, It was preferred to Froes by children as the sweet selection
was greater. Choosing took time as it was an occasion to be enjoyed, since it
was not very often one had the chance to buy sweets, money being in short
supply.

At the bottom of the road was a grocers shop named Froes which also sold
sweets, and for a penny (1/240th.of a pound) you could get a lucky dip, and
whatever we got, we never felt cheated. It was always good value for money.
Harry once got a kipper made of a sweet substance like seaside rock, worth
more than the penny he paid.

Times were hard but without a radio many families entertained themselves with
indoor games, such as Cards, Dominoes Darts, Shove halfpenny, cinema and
theatres were too expensive for most people.

Granddad kept his garden neat and tidy with roses and other flowers, but the
Elderberry Tree belonging to his neighbours the “Mitchells” stands out in my
memory for its flowering followed by the masses black berries each year. I
found it hard to understand how such lovely flowers could produce such bitter
fruit.

The neighbours on the other side were the Corduroys, remembered for their son
William, who was to be my music teacher at the William Morris Central School
(that I went to after the summer holiday in 1938) and for obvious reasons was
nick named Billy Baggs.

Mother was probably working at “Flateauxs” a shoe manufacturer in Tottenham as
a machinist, because it was Gran who took me to school on my first day,
accompanied by Harry who tried hard to look as though the brat who bawled his
head off all the way to Blackhorse Road School was nothing to do with him.

My Great Grandfather Snowdon had a small Cabinet Making business in Mare
Street, Hackney, and with his sons (I am not sure how many) made various items
of furniture. Each son was also taught an extra skill, French Polishing or
Wood Carving, etc. My Grandfather was a wood carver and when ever he worked at
home for himself, I would sit and watch him for as long as I could. My father
told me that my great Grandfather went blind in his later years, but no
article left his workshop until he had approved it by touch.

I now own my grandfathers wood carving tools and they will stay in the family
in the hope a new craftsman will be born.

In the early 1930s Dad was unemployed for a while. He did start work as an
apprentice with his Grandfather learning the trade of Cabinet Making, but he
could not get on with him, so he left and took various jobs until he finished
up as a Porter in Cresham House in the city where he stayed till he retired,
except for the 2nd. World War when he served with the Royal Engineers on a
search light battery near Ipswich. Mum told us that while unemployed he walked
thirty miles one day looking for work.

During the time Dad was out of work he received 2 from the London Co-op for
stopping a run away horse belonging to them. MUM showed me the letter from
them, but it did not mention that he stopped the horse before it ran into some
children playing in the road, or that he got a kick from the horse in the
process of stopping it.

Year 1933 arrived and we were allocated a council house, 6, Warwick Road,
E.17. It contained 7 rooms three bed rooms, a bathroom/toilet, a parlour (it
was a few years before it was furnished), a dining room, and a scullery,. we
three boys shared a double bed in the front bed room. Later when a single bed
was obtained I had the small box room to myself. Not only were there 7 rooms
but we had our own garden, (much bigger than our grandparents). At the bottom
of the garden was a piece of waste land known locally as “The Priory” where we
and our friends played football and cricket according to the season. If there
were not enough boys for teams, then the girls were allowed to play rounders
with us. At one time I was often asked to play cricket, not because I was any
good at it but simply because I had a real cricket bat and ball ( given to me
by one of dad’s friends).

Gypsies grazed their horses on this ground also. That pleased the keen
gardeners whose gardens backed onto “The Priory” and who collected the manure.
It was not unusual to see one of these horses roaming round the streets with a
broken tether hanging from its neck. These ropes were quite often simply made
up of two or more old pieces joined together.

Other memories were of the rag and bone man, who offered a few pence or, a
goldfish to the children for a bundle of rags, but it was the women who used
to haggle over the price offered as each penny counted at that time. There was
also a man who had a horse and a cart with a small roundabout mounted on it.
In exchange for rags or jam jars he would give children a ride of a reasonable
duration. It was mostly rags he got as the local grocer “Hammond” gave a
farthing for 1lb. jar and halfpenny for a 2lb jar. Housewives could be seen
exchanging jam jars as part of their bill, or children swopping their jars for
sweets, or even broken biscuits which contained pieces of the more expensive
kind. The tins of biscuit were open so you could see what could be expected.
Customers had to provide their own carrier bags, or buy one from the shop
keeper.

Although we had the Priory to play on and Lloyds Park a short distance away,
the streets were also our playground, because they were virtually free of
traffic. Knock Down Weasel was one of the games we played in the street if one
the group had a ball. Three pebbles were placed one on top of another in the
middle of the street and standing on the kerb the first member of on side
would try to knock the pebbles over with the ball, if successful that team
would scatter and the other team would try and get them out by hitting them
with the ball. The members still free would attempt to rebuild the pile of
pebbles, if they succeeded they had another go, if not the team roles would be
reversed. Normally there were 3 to 6 to a side, but two smaller children
counted as one.

The following games were played only by boys with up to eight a side.
“Release” was one of these team games. One side would scatter and the opposing
team after a short interval would chase after and try to capture them.
Captives would be taken back to base and left under a guard of 2. The
captive’s side would try to free them by tapping one of the guards on the head
and shout “Release” 3 times. The game finished when all the hunted had been
captured and the change over would take place.

Another was “Jimmy Jimmy Knacker”. One member of a team would stand with back
to a wall or fence. Another would bend and put his shoulder into the other’s
stomach, and then the rest of that team would put their heads between the legs
of the one in front. The other team one by one would jump on their bent backs,
when all were on would then bounce up and down shouting “Jimmy Jimmy Knacker

  1. 2, 3. three times, should the team collapse the winners took another turn.
    If not sides changed over.

On dark evenings one game was played that was unpopular with adults, it was
“Knock Down Ginger”, though never in our own area. It was a prank rather than
a game. We would either knock at a door and run away,or the safer way was to
tie a piece of cotton to the door knocker, and then tie the other to a tree or
lamp post, and wait for a passer-by to break the cotton causing the knocker to
rise and fall bringing a member of the household to the door who would gaze
around to see who had knocked.

On Albert’s first day of school in 1934, mum was working and it was her
youngest sister (our aunt Nell) and myself who dragged him screaming all the
way to “Roger Ascham Infant School”. I knew then how Harry felt on my first
day. He soon got used to it, probably because they spent most of the day
resting on little camp beds. In the summer the beds were put out in the
playground. Although I was at the same school, I never saw much of him during
the day, but took him home when school was over until he knew his own way.
Then he went home with the friends he had made.

My teacher was Mr. Harris. He was still teaching in 1958 when my daughter
Jennifer joined “Roger Ascham”. Although he was strict he was fair, and gave
lifts to and from the playing fields to some of his pupils in his little
MORRIS 8. I can recall some faces from my infant and junior schools. His was
the only name I remember. A face from the infants I recall very clearly, she
was a pleasant woman. She had her black hair in two plaits coiled up with one
over each ear. Another is of the junior school music teacher (older than Mr.
Harris) a Miss, she kept a large tin of sweets in her desk, and during singing
lessons she would walk around the classroom listening to the children. At the
end of the lesson she called out those children she thought had done well to
stand in front facing the remainder of the class. Then with her tin of sweets
she would walk along the row popping a boiled sweet in each child’s mouth,
occasionally I got one. At other times wrapped sweets were handed out for
special individual efforts. When things did not please her she would tear the
class off a strip, but for all her funny ways she was kind hearted.

In the lunch time a man with a small barrow load of sweets would wait outside
the school gates. Children would window shop mostly. My favourite was a stick
of toffee called a Golli bar and cost one farthing (1/960. Of a pound) If it
was my turn to return a jam jar I always got one.

A year or so after we had moved to our council house our grandparents moved to
266, Blackhorse Lane, Walthamstow. They occupied the upstairs and Aunt Ivy and
Uncle Fred had the downstairs Ivy had married Fred Simmons sometime after we
had moved out of Century Road.

Uncle Fred Simmons was in the building trade and lost one eye due to getting
lime in it. He then joined his brother Bob in the green grocery trade with a
stall in the High St. Later they had a shop each. Then Fred changed to a
Grocer’s shop in Fulham. Ivy and Fred with their daughter Jean and her husband
Charles Pritchard retired to “ Blackford” a little village in Somerset.

Apart from cards, dominoes and darts, one of the pastimes we enjoyed when
visiting them was sitting in Gran’s front window and watching people getting
off the trams (later the trollybuses) returning from the High street shopping
or other travels. Comments would be passed on the people, their companions or
parcels, It may appear dull by today’s standards, but without TV or radio it
amused us at that time. The group became known as the “ Dossers Club.

We liked going round there on Sunday mornings as there were fresh baked Fairy
cakes, and if they were having a beef joint for dinner, we could be sure of a
“dip” that was a slice of bread dipped into the juices of the meat and hot
fat. It was very tasty.

As walking was our usual means of travel, it was a exciting whenever as
children we did travel on a tram. The backs of the seats were reversible so we
were able to face which way we wanted. Unlike present times children were only
allowed a seat if it was not wanted by an adult, they were made to give up
their seat and stand or sit on their parents laps, Also no man would sit and
leave a lady (even a young lady) standing.

Transfer tickets could be bought on the trams if the journey required a change
of tram. These were discontinued with the introduction of the Trollybuses.

In fine weather we ( Grandfather, Dad, Harry, Albert and I) would go for walks
along the River Lea tow path towards Enfield, and into fields at the side of
the river where ever it was possible. The river in those days was a recreation
area for many people, fishing, rowing, swimming, and the water was so clear
fish could be seen in it.

As Dad was paid on a Saturday, mum had to wait until he came home in the late
afternoon, before she could do the shopping for the weekend. The stalls and
shops stayed open until 10 o/clock and the later one went the more chance
there was of a bargains from the butchers shops and greengrocers’ stalls.
Either Harry, Albert or I went with her to help with carrying the goods home.
As a treat we sometimes got a penny saveloy from Smith’s the butchers, or
roast chestnuts from a street vendor. If we ever had the occasion to go with
her in the morning there was always the chance of liquor and mashed potato
from “Manzes” the Eel and Pie shop (Manzes is still there today (August 2002).
Sometimes, though rarely a whole or shared part of a meat pie was managed if
there was cash to spare.

During the summer holidays of 1938 when I was eleven I stayed with my mother’s
sister Martha and her husband Tom. They owned a butchers cum cook shop in
Octagon Road, Bethnal Green, they never had any children of their own, and for
some reason I was their favourite nephew.

We never thought we were well off, but the differences between Walthamstow and
Bethnal Green areas were very noticeable. The houses were of the back to back
type, front doors opening on to the street, and the toilet was in a small yard
at the rear. There was not a garden. All the buildings and streets I
remembered have gone since the end of the 1939/45 war, I believe the area was
already condemned then in 1939. If the houses were like the shop of my uncle
and aunt, they would be 2 small rooms up and down.

In the summer the women would sit outside their front doors talking to each
other, and keeping an eye on the children playing. Most of the toddlers wore
only a shirt, jersey or just a vest and were barefooted and bare bottomed.
They also looked as if soap was a scarce commodity.

Aunt was a cook and she used sell take away dinners on a plate to the workers
of the nearby brewery. She never charged a deposit for the plates but they
were always returned.

Every Friday and Saturday morning Uncle Tom would go to the Smithfield meat
market to buy 30 pigs trotters and 12 sheep’s’ heads, and meat for the coming
week. The best quality was never considered as his customers would not be able
to afford it. The meat was stored in a ice box and he had a big block of ice
delivered to preserve it. When he was alone he would have the meat sent home
carrying only the trotters or the heads so he could make a start preparing
them. The trotters were cooked in an old boiler in the yard, always cleaned
before he began. The sheep’s heads were cooked when the trotters were done.
After being skinned, and split in two, the tongues and brains put aside,
tongues for my aunt to cook, and the brains for a regular customer. This
customer was a big woman twice the size of her husband. After they had cooked
the brains, they would go to the local pub and quite often would finish the
night by the wife beating her husband. My aunt asked me once to take the
brains to her house. I knocked at the door and a bandaged head appeared at the
upstairs window to ask what I wanted. I said that I had the brains for them.
He called to his wife, who came to the door and paid me and gave me a penny
for bringing them. When I told my aunt she laughed and said the husband
usually copped it when she got drunk.

The trotters and the halved heads together with bread rolls and gherkins were
put in a big bakers basket lined with a clean white cloth. My uncle in the
evening would take his basket round the pubs. He always sold out. If my memory
is correct trotters sold for 2 pence and the half heads 4 pence. How strange
that the people of that area never had any money to clothe or wash the
children regularly, or afford the better cuts of meat but would indulge
themselves in uncle’s wares.

I was paid half a crown (12 . pence today’s money) a week for my contribution
to the work. As I normally got three pence a week, I felt very rich and bought
a pocket watch with it. Unfortunately it fell out of my pocket after a few
weeks and broke.

At home my pocket money was usually spent on the Saturday morning pictures,
known as the tuppenny rush (2d). and a penny for sweets.

The programme consisted of a serial, (Flash Gordon was one of my favourites) a
cowboy film (starring either Tom Mix, Gene Autry or Hopaling Cassidy) and
perhaps a cartoon.

One Saturday morning when the show was over the manager of the Empire (known
as the Bell) announced that as there was a very heavy rainstorm we could stay
in the cinema until it was over or were collected by our parents. The storm
lasted about half an hour in which time cartoons were shown at no extra cost.
The other cinemas were the Dominion and Granada.

The same year I started school at the William Morris Central School, I had won
a scholarship somehow, but I was a month late in starting. That month I went
to Winns Avenue Senior School. I was sorry to leave that school as we had
begun Woodwork lessons, but was cheered up when I saw the Woodwork and new
Metal Work rooms at William Morris which we would not use until our second
year. As you will learn because of the war I only had one year at William
Morris, so I never did woodwork.

What a change from my previous schools, a different teacher for every subject.
Mr. Jones was our form and French teacher, we had Mr. Reece for English, I
believe he went to Australia the following September, Messrs. Finlay maths,
Finch history, Selwyn geography ( poor old chap was nicknamed Rubber Neck
because he head kept nodding, I heard it was due to shell shock from the first
World War) as already stated Corduroy music, Mountford art, Acres PT, a Mr.
Nichols was to be our Crafts teacher ( he was a cripple I never knew the
reason possibly another casualty of the 1914-18 War) unfortunately I never
stayed there long enough to be taught by him.

One of the friends I Made there was Peter Birch who one occasion took me to
his home and showed his rabbits, that got me wanting a pair, somehow I managed
to get two and construct a hutch for them. This was in the summer of 1939 and
because of the evacuation Mum promised to look after them. Mum wrote to us
telling me that the rabbits had managed to get out of the Hutch and run around
the Priory field at the bottom of the garden returning later to the hutch.
After a while she wrote that she thought they had been killed by a bomb blast
as they never came back one day, They had grown to quite a size and I suspect
somebody realised what a tasty meal they would make.

In 1938 came the war scare with Germany which blew over after Munich until the
summer of 1939 when everybody was issued with Gas Masks and the territorial
soldiers were told to report to their units. This included Dad who was in the
Royal Engineers and was based near Ipswich.

September 1st evacuation began. Younger brothers sisters were allowed to go
with the pupils of William Morris School so Albert came with me to be for
evacuated to the country. We all had our Gas Masks spare clothing and each
child had a label pinned to their coat with their name and address on it.

From the school we were marched to Blackhorse Road railway station and put on
a train for the journey to Ridgemont in Bedfordshire. When we arrived at the
village school we were split into small groups and taken round the village to
people who had agreed to take in the evacuees, and they chose the children
they would care for. Albert and I were picked by a Mrs. Taylor who had a grown
up family of two boys Bill and Arthur and one daughter Queenie. Arthur had
joined the army; Bill worked at the local brickwork’s until he was called up
for the army; Queenie worked for the Duke of Bedford at Woburn House, Mr
Taylor also worked for the Duke as a hedge cutter and layer. He had a large
garden and an allotment where he grew all the vegetables they needed, plus
apples and plums. Mrs. Taylor looked after us fairly well, but we were
concerned in the winter as she would suffer with a runny nose. In order to
make the meat rations go further, she would make what was known as
“Bedfordshire Clanger”. This was pieces of meat, bacon or sausages wrapped in
dough and boiled in a cloth. The end result was pleasant if one did not think
of her runny nose, though we never saw it go into her cooking, we did think it
was possible.

The Taylor’s house had four bedrooms but none of the usual conveniences we
were used to, like running water and a flush toilet. Drinking water was from a
tap across the road, washing water was from a well in the back garden shared
with the next door neighbours. It was enclosed by a square metal box with a
hinged lid, a long pole with a hook at the end for a bucket was used to get
the water, in the dry months the full length of the pole was used to get the
water.

The toilet was a earth closet that had to be emptied regularly by Mr Taylor
who buried it around his garden. He got some very good crops. As the closet
was in an outhouse, there was no lingering in the winter.

Most of the village I believe was owned by the Duke of Bedford. There were
three churches, (C of E, Baptist, and a Methodist),three farms and three Pubs,
a Post Office with a Postmisstress and Post woman to deliver the mail. There
was also a butcher’s shop, grocer’s shop, a petrol station and a cobbler. The
cobbler who had lost his left leg during the 1914-18 war one day he showed us
his artificial leg with its springs and cords.

We were allowed to wander round the Duke’s walled estate by walking a mile to
the next village (Husborne Crawley) to enter through one of the lodge gates.
There was a lodge gate at Ridgmont but that was not open. We saw there animals
we had only seen in books or at the cinema, bison, deer, and many different
kinds of birds, pheasants, partridges and others that were new to us townies.
The nearest we got to seeing animals in town (apart from horses) were joints
of meat hanging in the butcher’ shops. Seeing these alive for the first time
on the farms was very interesting to us.

The Taylors never went to church themselves but insisted that Albert and I
went to Sunday school. First we tried the Baptist Church, that was not to our
taste.

Then we tried the Church of England and after a few weeks we were persuaded to
join the choir. It must have been to make up the numbers not for the quality
of our voices.

The Vicar and his wife seemed rather aloof types to us but they always helped
with the Sunday school and choir treats.

One of the choir treats was given in the vicarage. We had tea and cakes, and
played games. One of the games we played was darts, with the Vicar keeping the
scores by the dartboard. Towards the end of one game (I think it was the last)
I had thrown two darts when the Vicar pointed out the number I wanted.
Unfortunately for him I knew what was wanted and not knowing what he was going
to do threw my last dart as he pointed. My dart was right on target and had
his finger not been there I would have won, instead it caught his finger, and
at that moment he looked more like the devil with his crimson face, than a man
of the cloth.

We did not try the Methodist Church as the Taylors neighbours went there who
appeared to find smiling a painful experience, their two children a boy and
girl were not allowed to play with us townies. All the family were very thin.

The Butcher was very friendly and he let us watch him kill the animals with
his Humane gun. It was very quick and caused no unnecessary suffering to the
animal. We were also able to watch the skinning and butchering of the carcass.

The petrol pump was tended by an eccentric. He tried to sell children lucky
dips. After one boy bought one the word went round and he never sold another.
When the boy unwrapped his lucky dip he found a clock spring inside with “
Spring has arrived” written on a piece of paper.

At the bottom of the village was a farm (the farmer’s name is beyond recall)
that besides having its own cattle and growing cereals also hired out
threshing machinery with the driver of a steam traction engine to take it to
the farm where it was needed. The machinery would be set up and run under the
supervision of the driver. This farm also had a blacksmith for the shoeing
horses and the repairing of farm machinery. This was another source of
interest for us, watching the horses being shod, all questions being answered
by the patient Blacksmith.

In the centre of the village was “Gurney’s” a Dairy and cereal farm. We could
watch the cows being milked and the milk being pasteurised. Although the farm
produced gallons of milk the villagers were supplied by a man from the next
village of Millbrook. He would come in his pony and trap carrying two churns
of milk and pour it into his customers containers from his measures.

Threshing time at this farm seemed to be a social event for the local cats and
dogs when differences were forgotten. The reason became clear when about a
third of the stack had gone into the thresher. Then rats and mice began
jumping out most of which were caught and killed by the cats, dogs and anybody
not engaged in the threshing. It was surprising how much vermin had nested in
the stack.

The third farm was “Hedges” on the opposite side of the village to the first
mentioned one. It produced beef cattle and cereal crops. It was at this farm
that Albert and I began working on Saturday mornings and school holidays. If I
remember correctly we were paid half a crown (12 p) for Saturday morning and
about fifteen shillings for a week (75p); more during hay making and
harvesting. Mr. Hedges was a widower with one grown son Robert who appeared
simple to us. One day when it was raining we were shredding mangel-wurzels in
a barn when we saw him going back to the farmhouse carrying his rain coat over
his arm. When asked why he was not wearing it he said “I don’t want to get it
wet as it’s my new one”.. One threshing time he was on top of the stack
feeding the thresher when I was asked to go up and help him, I was half way up
the ladder when it began sliding on the cobbled floor. I called out to tell
him and he told me to wait a minute! fortunately for me the ladder stopped
sliding.

We enjoyed helping with the hay making, harvesting and sheep shearing (we only
caught the sheep for the shearers) but got fed up with hoeing rows and rows of
Kale and mangel-wurzels especially in winter.

I liked best working with the horses during hay making, and harvesting or
taking them to be shod. Peter and Paul were used for ploughing. They knew what
was wanted and made Mr. Holland’s job (who was the Ploughman) look very easy,
all that was needed was a few soft spoken commands. When he tried out other
horses with either Peter or Paul he shouted commands and used the reins to
guide them.

The farm had five horses; Bess a black mare; Whitehead named because of the
blaze on his head, who was young and skittish; Captain who was being trained
for ploughing, and my favourites Peter and Paul lovely chestnut coloured
horses with white fetlocks. These Shires were big gentle creatures.

In those days before combine harvesters, the corn was cut and bound in
sheaves. These were gathered by hand and placed in groups of about twelve with
the ears upwards. These stacks were known as “stooks”. When the corn was dry,
it was taken by carts to make ricks and then usually covered with a tarpaulin
to wait the threshing machine.

Mr. Hedges never recognised the single or double British summer time and
always used the Greenwich mean time, so if he asked you to do something at
eight o/c. he meant six or seven according to which time was in use. This I
found out when he asked me to take a horse to the blacksmith at 8am. and I
agreed. Mr Goodman the stockman told me when Mr. Hedges had gone, that the
time meant was 7am. As the Taylors were always up early it was not a problem.

The farm’s garden was at the back of the house away to one side. The garden
was entered by a gate through a spinney and a short walk brought you to
another gate and a walled garden. We were taken by Mr Hedges the first time
who told us how to hand weed his asparagus. It was one of his favourite
vegetables. When he had gone we had a look around and saw that that it was
mainly vegetables with fruit trees along the south wall in various beds.

When summer came we were warned by Mr. Goodman not to touch the fruit on the
wall as Mr. Hedges would have counted it. We realised why when the fruits
began to ripen and saw the size of them big black Plums the size of apples,
Peaches and Figs were left alone because there were so few of each, but we did
eat the cherry plums as the tree was loaded and never seemed to be picked.

Another job we were given was cutting down the thistles in the old orchard
with a Bagging Hook ( spelling?) which was similar to a sickle. On one
occasion I was about to take a swipe at a clump of thistles when I noticed the
centre was a different colour and realised it was a rabbit that was rooted to
the ground in fear. I grabbed it quick and took it to Mr. Hedges who looked
surprised, killed it quickly with a rabbit
punch
and asked how I had got it.
After I had told him he sent me back to catch some more, this was said as a
joke as rabbits usually make a bolt for their burrow when people get near
them.

Towards the end of the summer of 1941 Albert and I were getting fed up with
country life (except for the farming).I did not feel the schooling was doing
me much good. Whereas at William Morris School we had a teacher for every
subject and the classes advanced each year at Ridgemont School the class was
of mixed ages with the village children. I am not being disparaging about them
but unlike us they were not streamed. We had two William Morris teachers who
came with us a Mr. Mountford (nick named Polly, I am not sure why) who taught
art at the home school) and a Mr. Finlay (nick named Shag because of the
tobacco he smoked) who normally taught maths. They were expected to teach all
subjects to all ages of eleven and above.

Eventually Albert and I persuaded Mum to fetch us home. The bombing had eased
off otherwise I don’t think she would have agreed.

Albert resumed school at Winns Avenue where I had spent my first month at
senior level before going to William Morris. The starting age for work was
fourteen so a job was my first aim and as I still was very interested in wood
working, a furniture factory was my choice. Mum knew a foreman at Holmes
Brothers and she spoke to him about a job for me. As it was war time factories
were on essential war work which meant there were not any jobs going that were
concerned with furniture. I was offered a job in the engineering shop. It was
not a very big shop and from memory I would say it was 40 feet by 20 feet
containing lathes one was an automatic, also emery wheels and emery belts used
for example polishing brass castings used on surveyors equipment.

I stuck it for a month then gave in my notice, the work very boring and the
air dust laden. We were given a bottle of milk every day to counteract the
health hazards. Normally it was not possible to leave a job just like that
because of war time restrictions on essential industry but I was exempt
through age.

Still in hopes of working with wood I went further up the road to “Wrightons”
another furniture factory. They had all the workers they needed to make the
“Utility” furniture quota requirement, but they did have a vacancy in the
Aircraft stores. It sounded all right and it was 1-5 shillings a week, 5
shillings (25 pence) more than the last job, so I took it. The work consisted
of giving out aircraft construction materials, receiving goods made in the
fitter’s shop and unloading lorries. At that time tail plane parts for the
Spitfire and Seafire were being made, also the Albemarle wing sections sent to
another factory to be joined to the fuselage. This was the first I had heard
the name, and was told that they were transport planes and being sent to help
Russia who were our allies. I got on well with the other workers and knew from
memory the part numbers of the various items, and where they were on the
shelves. Then the Mosquito contract came and the factory had to make the two
bare halves of the fuselage and the wing fitted with its petrol tanks and tank
doors, wing tips, all painted and wired up. That caused quite a bit of
reorganisation in the factory.

Then also came the order for the “Hamilcar Glider cockpit, which was made of
very thin plywood and spruce ribs fitted with Direction Indicators and
Horizontal Horizon instruments plus other fittings whose names are now beyond
recall. I did most of the work for this project so when it was decided to move
the Hamilcar part nearer to the workshop I was put in charge with an elder
person under me. I must have been about fifteen then. I should have known
better. The person under me had been classed as in an essential occupation,
and when he was familiar with all aspects of the job, the store manager told
me I was no longer in charge and to report back to the main store.

In the main store I told the manager to sack me if I was not good enough to
run the Hamilcar store, and not to make excuses designed to keep the friends
of the management out of the forces by classing them as essential ( people
engaged in work for the war effort were not allowed to change jobs without a
good reason). I knew they could not sack me without a good reason in case I
told the labour exchange my version of the facts and I was now too old to
leave when I wanted to. I absolutely refused to work in any of the stores and
asked for a transfer to another department. The stores manager realising I
would not change my mind said he would arrange for a transfer.

After a couple of weeks I was transferred to the Mosquito wing shop, I was at
last working with wood though not in the way I wanted. The front and back of
the wings together with the ribs and the wing top panels were sent in by
another manufacturer. These were assembled in my new workplace. Very large
jigs were used to assemble the prefabricated parts. First the front, back and
ribs were assembled, and then inner Ply skins which had 1 x 1 inch pieces of
spruce running length ways about one inch and a half apart. The next stage was
to put on the top skin fixed by glue and numerous wood screws. When this stage
was reached workers from other jigs came over with their Yankee Screwdrivers
and Pneumatic Screwdrivers. Almost shoulder to shoulder the wood screws were
put in, and then an inspector did his final check and made sure all screws
were properly home. The screw holes were filled and the wing sand papered, and
then passed to the paint shop. After camouflage painting it was sent to the
final assembly shop.

The manager of the Wing shop was a friend of the store manager who apparently
wanted me back in the stores and had arranged for the Wing manager to send me
back to the stores at the first opportunity. It happened after a few weeks. At
the end of the lunch period a bell would sound and all would start work. On
this particular day I happened to be smoking when the bell went. I put the
cigarette out and before I could get to the bench to start work the manager
came over and said I had broken the rules smoking after the Bell, I pointed
out that I had extinguished the cigarette as the Bell went, He was adamant and
said I was to go back to the stores. He should sack me I said if I was in the
wrong but he insisted, so collecting my few tools I went back to the stores
and sat near the manager’s office. He expressed surprise when he came out and
saw me asking what I was doing there. I told him not to be two faced as he had
arranged it with his friend. That he denied. Since they had made no complaints
about my work what other reason could they have had? Again I refused to work
in the store and wanted to be sacked. Eventually I was found another job in
the final assembly Mosquito wing shop. The store manager said that as I had my
tools with me, while I was waiting to start would I put a roof over his
office. It was a small one about six by eight feet. Fancy I thought asking me
to do that after what had happened. Using plywood from the aircraft supplies,
I thought was very wrong. It was a heavy plywood and I was told by one of my
friends the cover had collapsed on top of the manager after a couple months,
but nothing more was heard about it, because I was not a qualified craftsman
and the ply wood was intended for aircraft use only. I was pleased that I had
not tried to make it a work of art.

So I started another phase in my career, The manager Fred Loveday was a decent
sort. The rest of the people in the shop were friendly and as an added delight
I would be on a bonus when I worked on my own. An adult fitter taught me how
to fit the Petrol tanks and doors into the wing, and afterwards I was to fit
the 1000lb bomb winches. I was happy in that department till I joined the
forces 6th. Dec. 1944.

I had worked in that factory just over three years.

One of the fitters called Taffy for obvious reasons, had frequent loud
arguments about his work with an inspector named Frank Potter. Now Frank was
partially deaf, but everybody else managed to talk with him in just a loud
voice, but Taffy had to shout. The entire shop was highly amused the day Taffy
lost his voice and all waited for Frank to inspect Taffy’s work. It was very
funny, Frank could not hear a word Taffy said in way of explanations for the
criticisms of his work, so Taffy had no option but to make his work up to the
prescribed standard as he always had to. I really think Frank enjoyed the
period of quiet. Later I was to Meet Frank’s brother who was a sergeant in the
Rifle Brigade when I was called up for the army.

Dennis Haines was a friend I made at Wrightons. We would cycle together mostly
round Hollow Pond (at Whipps Cross) and Highams Park or Connaught Waters and
then have boats out when we got there. Once we went on a weekend camping trip
in the Amersham area and it rained the first night, so we got shelter in a
farmer’s barn and woke next morning to the sound of milk being squirted into a
pail. Opening my eyes I saw a Milkmaid at work! The ground was so wet, we had
decided not to use the tent. If the weather was bad we would possibly go to
the pictures. Two young men going about together could raise eyebrows today
but not then. Feeling ambitious one Saturday we decided to ride to Southend,
approximately 32 miles. It was harder than we bargained for, and after
something to eat and drink we took our cycles back home by train. We lost
contact when we were called up for the army.

The bike was given to me by The Brown’s son (our Warwick Road neighbours)when
he was called up for the army. Because of its age and having been repainted
several times I never knew the its make. It had drop handlebars and a fixed
wheel. Having a bike meant that I could get up at 7.45am, have a quick wash, a
cup of tea and a piece of toast, jump on the bike and clock in for work at
8.03am and not be stopped a hours pay. Workers were allowed 4 minutes before
being stopped pay.

The neighbours on the other side were the Wildmans He had a small foundery of
St. Andrews Road until it was bombed one night. Brother Harry worked there
when he left school.

I was too young join the army, so I thought I would go into the Homeguard. By
adding 18 months to my age I was accepted, not much of a feat as they took all
who could walk and breathe at regular intervals. “D” company of the 53rd.
Essex was made up of men of all ages and was based at Penrhyn Hall in
Walthamstow. The officers and NCOs were usually survivers of World War 1. The
uniform I was issued with fitted rather well, some had uniforms that looked as
they had been made for much larger people. We had a knapsack, webbing
equipment to carry ammunition and a rifle. Most of our training took place in
the evening, mainly drill, instructions on the use of the rifle, Lewis gun and
grenades. Once we went to Rainham, Essex rifle range and fired a few rounds
each. One weekend we had manoeuvres with the army as the enemy. It was not
very exciting. The army had to infiltrate our position, without us being aware
of it. As the area was very small and there were 30 of us they did not manage
it.

Another night we had an exercise at the end of Folly Lane. There was a small
triangle of grass that our section had to defend against another section of
our company acting as the enemy. The officer leading the attack on us was not
very popular with the ranks. He was the “Gung Ho” type known to us as two gun
Pete. Besides his regulation issue revolver, he also carried a Luger
automatic. Two of our section with me were lying down on one side of the
triangle. When the attack began the supposed enemy did not see us and ran
past. So the three of us attacked them from behind. I found I had the officer
on the ground much to my surprise as I always thought they should lead any
assault. As I was sitting on his back he could not do much but shout. As I did
not like his language, I rubbed his face in the mud and then hurriedly ran to
help the rest of the section. Back at company’s headquarters, to the amusement
of our section, he was saying what he was going to do to the men who had
assaulted him, an exaggeration on numbers! As I was the one who did it, the
other two having gone past me thought I was with them, I kept quiet so nobody
knew who the culprit was.

We had to mount a four man guard at nights at Penrhyn Hal. A sentry stood by
the door until 11 p.m. after which leaving one awake the others retired to
their bunks. One night instead of going to sleep someone suggested playing
cards and we played Pontoon and I was doing very well until the game was
changed to nine card brag when I lost all my winnings and lot more besides.
Eventually it was decided to go to sleep, so we settled down in our bunks. One
of the guards, young like myself was a joker and started talking about a guard
duty of a previous evening. He asked if we had heard of the problem they had?
The rest of us said no, and he started to tell us. Having experienced his
humour before I was ready for whatever came. He said how the guard had found
Bedbugs in the blankets then I guessed what he was up to and started
scratching, and very soon all were out of the bunks shaking the blankets like
mad. It was not long before they realised they had been had. All the
excitement woke us up and we resumed playing Pontoon which pleased me as I
recouped my losses and more. Since it was my pay packet I was gambling with
and how close I had come to losing it, I gave up high stakes of over a penny
and played cards only with family and friends.

Woman’s Home Guard when it was first formed was known as Nominated Women, It
caused a lot of resentment and soon all mention of it was dropped. They were
trained in Semaphore signalling. Two were assigned to our company. They
assisted with clerical duties and looked after the refreshments, one worked
for the Walthamstow Central Library and was named Iris Howes and when we met
face to face there was a mutual attraction and a date soon followed to the
Granada Cinema. We arranged that I would collect her from her parent’ upstairs
flat and when I knocked her parents looked out of the upstairs flat window no
doubt to see what I was like, They both looked very nice and jolly, he was a
Painter and Decorator Foreman working for the Walthamstow Borough Council, the
Mother (Marie) ran the canteen for a Furniture Factory in the North Circular
Road, not an easy task in wartime with the rationing problems. Mr. William
Howes (known as Bill) embarrassed Iris and me straight away by saying “Let me
look at my future son-in- law” but as I got to know them better, they both
proved they were as nice as they looked and little did her father know he
foretold the future. Iris and I discussed our future when I joined the “King’s
Royal Rifle Corp” at Fulford in York and decided we would get married when I
was 18 and Iris would save the marriage allowance until I was demobbed for our
home together, so the date was set for 29th.September 1945. We both thought
that I would be posted abroad soon after. A 48 hour leave was arranged, I
travelled on a Friday night, got married on the Saturday, we spent the night
at Margate, home on Sunday afternoon and I went back to join my unit soon
after.

When I got to my quarters I found all of my platoon had been sent on
embarkation leave and I never saw any of them again until we were all
demobilised, and I was never sent overseas, the nearest I got to that was when
we had to staff with a group of Paratroopers a cadet camp at Stone Point on
the coast near Beaulieu for two weeks. The Paras’ regularly rowed across the
Solent to Ryde for an evening out, and rowed back again late at night; their
mates had a lorry with its Headlights on to guide them back.

We spent six weeks in Fulford Barracks basic training for the KRRC. We were
allowed to go into the city of YorK after being inspected by the Regimental
Police who ensured that we were correctly dressed, i.e. Uniform in order, all
buttons fastened, boots cleaned and polished. York I found a very interesting
City. There was a Salvation Army Canteen on the side of the river Ouse that
was popular with all the troops. The Castle Museum was also very handy and
service men were only charged a Penny entrance fee (1/240th.of a pound) and I
spent many a visit there. Clifford’s Tower was opposite where Dick Turpin was
reputed to have been hung and where a massacre of Jews took place. There was
much to see and do in York, the Minster, the Shambles, walk round the walled
City were some of the things to do.

We had a parade on the square every Saturday Mornings with the General Service
Corp (G.S.C), after the Drill exercises the Band struck up and the G.S.C.
Platoons would march off first at 130 paces a minutes then when they were well
clear of the square the K.R.R.C.s and Rifle Brigade would follow at 180 paces
a minute and would catch up with G.S.C. as they were just being dismissed. We
did a five mile march in Gym Kit in a Blizzard and a two mile run in Gym Kit
near the end of our training.

One amusing incident occurred during a Bren Gun training session when a man
asked the corporal what happens when we retreat “You fool the British Amy
never retreats it makes a tactical withdrawal” was his response.

After six weeks training at Fulford Barracks we were sent to The K.O.Y.L.I.
(Kings Own Yorkshire Light Infantry) camp at Strensall. The first thing we saw
was a group of men staggering in with frost on their eyebrows and hair showing
beneath the tin hats, they were just finishing their 10 mile Forced March on
their way to the firing range to get five rounds on target as a completion of
the test. We saw from this what was in store for us but we would be doing our
turn in the hot summer. But until then our time was spent drilling on the
square, practising on the firing range, rope climbing, manoeuvres and assault
courses. My first time on the assault course I was chosen to start off over
the first obstacle a barbed wire fence, I was told to hold my rifle above my
head and fall flat over the wire and the rest of the Platoon would run over me
the last two would assist me over. Strangely enough I never felt any of the
barbs nor did my uniform get any tears. As we were dressed in Battle Order all
who went over me trod on my backpack so it was not as bad as expected. On the
rest of the course was more barbed wire to be to crawled under, water ditch to
be crossed, occasionally Amatol was exploded to make it more realistic. As we
crossed one ditch the man on my left who was not as tall as I was suddenly
vanished, apparently he had gone down a hole caused by this Amatol, I put my
hand down and pulled him up spluttering. Also we spent time on the rifle range
and I won the right to wear the marksman badges on my sleeve (Crossed Rifles
and one for the Bren Gun). We were taught to drive Bedford 15cwt trucks, I
failed the driving test on that. We had our own regimental police. One of
those whose name would be remembered by all who were at that camp was Lance
Corporal Silver who used his position to book any one who committed the least
offence in the book. He was so detested that he was confined to the guard
house for his own protection when ever a draft was going overseas. His brother
who a Bugle Major could not have been a nicer chap and played the bugle
brilliantly. One Bugler had a fright when blowing reveille one day. Recently a
lot of our regiment had returned from Africa who were Bomb Happy (being under
heavy fire played havoc with their nerves) and the bugler was too much for one
who took a shot at him. Fortunately it was a miss, and the bugler took cover
half way through Reveille.

View the discussion
thread.

Have the terrorists won?

I was wasting time looking at today’s
poll
about frequency of air
travel on slashdot when I came across this
comment
.

Bah, I say. Bah. The terrorists have truely won the fight to cause permanent
annoyance everywhere. And our politicians, all of them, went with it
wholesale. Strike one up for that moral panic. Now, any takers on bets how
long it’ll take us to clean that mess up? 20 years? 40?

Thinking of politicians brought to mind the following lines from
Ballad
by New Model Army

Not foolish and brave, these leaders of ours Just stupid and petty, unworthy
of power

Unfortunately, I reckon that sums up modern British politicians perfectly.

iPhone - It's the user interface

I finally got around to buying an iPhone 3G about a month ago. I thought about
writing a review but didn’t because there is not exactly a shortage of iPhone
reviews out there. However, I do feel that one of the central lessons of the
iPhone’s success has not been learnt by Apple’s competitors.

When the iPhone was first launched there were people queuing up to announce
that it would be a flop because:

  • it was over priced
  • it didn’t have 3G
  • it didn’t have GPS
  • other phones had better cameras
  • etc

Basically you could sum most of the arguments up as “my
Nokia/Motorola/Blackberry does all this and more and was cheaper.” The now
obvious rejoinder is “yes, but you don’t use most of those features because
the user interface sucks.”

Many other people have pointed out the problems with comparing lists of
features. The most important feature “a user interface that does not suck”
never appears on iPhone detractors lists of features.

Once it became obvious that the iPhone was a success you might naively have
thought that other manufacturers would pick up on this but they didn’t really.
Instead we got a spate of phones with touch sensitive screens such as the
Blackberry Storm and the Samsung Tocco. I’ve never used a Blackberry Storm so
I won’t say any more except that I’ve yet to read a positive review of it.
Anyway, you can see the thought process going on chez Samsung et al
“multitouch screen equals success; therefore we must build a multitouch
phone.”

Now I would like to contend that a multitouch screen is not necessarily
essential. Imagine for a moment that Apple had not gifted the iPhone with a
multitouch screen. It might be very little like the iPhone we know but, and
here’s the important point : would Apple have thought any less about the user
experience? No, of course not. I think it’s possible to conceive of Apple
producing a great phone without multitouch because they would focus just as
hard on producing a “user interface that does not suck.” That is the lesson
that other phone manufacturers should have learned instead they were
distracted by the shiny new technology.

On Friday, I had the chance to use a Samsung Tocco when the husband of one of
my colleagues asked me how to turn of the annoying key sound. Now, a key click
does not sound like a bad idea - lots of devices have this, including the
iPhone. Now imagine a key sound [2] that is:

  • an annoying jingle,
  • long in duration (I didn’t time it but it seemed like a second at least),
  • LOUD,
  • accompanied by aggressive use of the phone’s vibrator,
  • not obviously disabled.
  • happens every time you touch a key on the phone.

Does this sound like a good user experience to you? Does it seem like a
sensible default. The poor guy was so desperate that he would put the phone
into silent mode when he wanted to do something because it was the only way
he’d found to get rid of the key sound. Now, we did manage to sort this out
but only after googling. You see there are phone settings that are easily
accessible but they don’t give you the option of turning of the key sound -
instead there is an unlabelled button next to each phone profile which
contains more settings and once you’ve pressed that button, and selected the
right sub-menu you can turn the volume down and make the phone usable.

Now, while I was messing about with the Tocco trying to turn off the key sound
I necessarily got to see a bit of it’s user interface. The Tocco has both a
keypad and a touch screen and they’ve copied some of the iPhone’s user
interface gestures such as the “flick to scroll.” However, rather than
learning the real lesson of the iPhone’s success they’ve just attached these
new features to the existing krappy interface and stirred some dumb defaults
(ie truly obnoxious key sound) into the mix to produce truly awesome levels of
suckage.

Based on my experience with the Tocco I would say that Apple’s biggest concern
with the iPhone should be not shooting itself in the foot and sorting out the
lunacy that is the app store approvals process.

View the discussion
thread.

Review: The Twilight of Atheism: The Rise and Fall of Disbelief in the Modern World by Alister McGrath

I read this book shortly after finishing “God is not great” by Christopher
Hitchens
and the two books
make an interesting pair. I found it fascinating to compare each’s arguments
and also the respective styles in which the books are written.

Whereas “God is not great” is quite confrontational and rabid in its dislike
of relion “The twlight of atheism” is much more moderate in its tone. McGrath,
a Christian, was formerly an atheist and presents quite an even-handed
description of how atheism came to be popular and why he believes it is now
less popular.

In a nutshell, the problem with atheism according to McGrath is that atheism
rose in popularly because of defects in the Christian Church. However, now the
church has reformed and changed the behaviour and some of the attitudes that
drove people away (again according to McGrath) there is no longer the
compelling reason for people to turn to atheism.

McGrath spends a lot of time describing the rise of the popularist pentecostal
church as an example of how Christianity has changed and adapted to the modern
world thereby rendering atheism obsolete.

I have a number of problems with this part of the book in particular: Firstly,
while it may be true that the Christian church has become more moderate than
in ages past surely this does not affect the truth or falsity of its beliefs.
Surely people who think on these issues will find religion as unconvincing (or
as convincing) as they might have at any time in history.

Secondly, McGrath seems to confuse popularity with being right - the
pentecostal church may have reached out to the disenfranchised and gained a
lot of support but that does not make its message any more true or false.

In summary, I enjoyed reading the book and I would recommend it to anyone
interested in religion or atheism but I finished it feeling unconvinced by the
central argument that atheism is doomed.

Links

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thread.

Review: God is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens

I enjoyed reading this book - Hitchens does reasonable job of debunking some
of the major tenets of the major religions such as Christianity, Judaism,
Islam and Buddhism. He is pretty even handed they all get a pounding.

However, the book does come across as somewhat mean-spirited: figures such as
Mother Theresa and the Dalai Llama who most people would consider highly
moral, peaceful and caring irrespective of their religion get their share of
abuse too. On one hand you can’t accuse Hitchens of pulling his punches on the
other I wonder if such an approach is likely to alienate people.

Like Richard Dawkins appears to have become, Hitchens seems just as rabid in
his hatred of religion as any of the worst sort of religious fanatic - in my
opinion he’s not doing himself any favours in this regard.

Links
- Amazon.co.uk:
Hardback
Paperback

Review: Princess by Jean P. Sasson

Update: 30/5/2010 There appears to be further evidence that the story in
the book is a forgery. See
here and
here.


I actually read the French version of this book (the French version is titled
“Sultana”) but I guess the English version should be pretty much the same - in
any case I’ve put French and English links below.

If bigotry, racism, cruelty, hypocrisy and shear human stupidity make you
angry then this book is likely to leave you feeling furious that such
injustice is allowed to exist in the world. Saudi Arabian society, as
described in this book, seems to have cruelty and misogyny as its founding
principles.

Towards the end of the book Sultana meets a Lebanese woman who’s daughter was
abducted by a wealthy Saudi in order to forcibly remove a kidney. After
telling Sultana her story the woman finishes with “It’s true that the need for
money attracts foreigners to Saudi Arabia, but those who have known you will
hate you forever” (I’ve translated this from French so the words may not be
exact but I think the meaning is correct). I’m getting ahead of myself though,
let’s go back to the beginning.

This book, the author tells us, is a true story as told to her by her friend :
a Saudi princess who we only know as “Sultana” - all names have been changed
in order to protect her from reprisals. So have on one hand a fairly
horrifying story but one which we can’t easily verify except by visiting Saudi
Arabia ourselves or finding people we trust who’ve lived there. Although I’ve
no first-hand experience of Saudi Arabia through my wife I’ve met and heard of
Filipinos who’ve worked in the Arab world (including Saudi Arabia) and what
I’ve heard from them gives some support to this book. Read the reviews on
Amazon though and there are a number of dissenting voices from people claiming
to have spent time in Saudi Arabia. I’m going to continue as if the events
described in the book are true, but take the following with a pinch of salt.

Sultana shares the story of her life from the age of three until her thirties
by which time she is married and has given birth to a son and two daughters.

Sultana is the youngest daughter in a family with many daughters but only two
sons. Her brother, only three years her elder but for many years the only son
is given anything he wants and doted on by his mother and father. Sultana is
barely noticed by her father except when he hits her for speaking out of turn
or not showing “proper” respect.

The books contains a litany of horrifying events, including:

A Filipino friend of Sultana’s (Filipino) maid arriving to work for an
employer as a maid only to find she’s expected to provide sexual services for
the family’s teenage sons. However, the husband decides she’s too pretty for
them and keeps her for himself, raping her every night for the length of her
two year contract.

A teenage Saudi girl is raped by her brother’s friends after they get drunk at
her house one night. Her brothers deny that they were drinking and claim she
flaunted herself before them rendering them unable to resist having sex with
her. The boys are believed. Since the girl is pregnant as a result of the
rape, she is confined in hospital until the birth and then stoned to death.
Sultana doesn’t witness the stoning but apparently the family’s chauffeur
enjoys attending a good stoning and later on Sultana describes another stoning
to death as recounted to her by the chauffeur - it’s about as horrifying as
you could imagine with the woman being treated fairly brutally generally, then
whipped and then finally stoned to death by a crowd with the actually
punishment taking two ours before a doctor finally pronounces that the woman
is dead.

We hear about an unmarried girl friend of Sultana’s being drowned by her own
father after having sexual relations with a man.

Sultana also describes a family holiday to Egypt in which she returns to the
rented villa one day to find her brother raping an 8 year-old girl. When she
complains to her aunt & uncle (the adults taking the teenagers on holiday)
they treat the event as a bit of harmless boyish fun.

There is more but I don’t feel like describing it.

Throughout the book both Sultana herself and the author (Jean Sasson) describe
how courageous Sultana is and how much she works for the rights of women.
However, I didn’t really see any evidence of this - as far as I could see
Sultana was driven by her selfish self-interest and nothing else. In fact she
comes across as a selfish and not very pleasant person.

Anyone reading this book would need to make their own minds up about whether
there is any truth in it or whether it’s an invention of the author.
Personally, I would have thought that the events described within the book
would be enough to identify Sultana and so on balance I’m somewhat doubtful
although unfortunately I can still believe that events similar to those
described could happen in Saudi-Arabia.

Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.fr

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thread.

The news at duh! -- Woe is wii

I came across this blog
entry
entitled “Woe is
Wii
“ a couple of days
ago and can’t resist commenting any longer.

Apparently the Wii is still the best selling console and supposedly, unlike
Sony or Microsoft, Nintendo makes a profit on hardware sales so you’d think
there would be nothing to complain about, right?

Newsflash: Casual gamers spend less time playing games!

Yes, that’s right the Wii is doomed because people spend less time playing it
than the other next gen consoles. Surely the point about casual gamers is that
they are, well, casual, and so probably spend less time obsessively trying to
complete a game (not that there’s anything wrong about playing a game
obsessively) - so information from Nielsen showing that people tend to play
the Wii less than any other console shouldn’t really be a surprise should it?

Links:

View the discussion
thread.

"Creating a language on the JVM" a talk by Ola Bini

I was lucky enough to be able to attend a talk organised by London Geek
nights
at the
Thoughtworks London office entitled “Creating
a language on the JVM” by Ola Bini. Ola is a committer
for JRuby and is also working on his own language
Ioke.

The following are rough notes that I made during the talk. They’ve been tidied
up a little and I’ve added links where appropriate but I have not put any
effort into making a coherent narrative. Phrases in “double quotes” are
quotations from Ola himself. Ola’s slides are now published on
here on his
blog.

The first issue Ola addressed was why target the JVM when producing a new
language.

  • memory management is robust and efficient
  • hotspot compiler gives high performance
  • support for concurrency
  • open source, many implementations
  • mature code loading
  • highlevel abstraction
  • platform independent
  • reflective access to classes and objects
  • good debugging tools
  • many mature libraries

Ola was asked to comment on the JVM as a platform compared to the CLR. He said
that the JVM is five years older, currently has better optimisation and so
tends to be faster. The CLR has some bytecodes that the JVM lacks but Ola
didn’t seem to think that they were particularly important.

Most of the talk covered general language design with some mention of how some
of these issues related to the JVM with concrete examples from JRuby and Ioke.

JRuby is now almost at version 1.2 “best implementation of ruby for many
purposes.” Ioke is an experiment to see how expressive a language can be. Has
a prototype based object system.

Decisions when designing a language

  • General purpose or special purpose
  • Paradigm: object-oriented (what kind, eg prototype vs classes)
  • syntax
  • type system: static vs dynamic, weak vs strong
  • other features

One advantage of the JVM is the ability to use Java languages - however you
might find that the java languages are not a good match for your new language.
For example Java does not support closures and so the Java libraries are not
designed with closures in mind they would not feel therefore natural for a
language such as ruby. In contrast the ruby libraries are designed to take
advantage of closures.

Syntax - often separated into lexing and parsing with both the lexer and
parser being auto- generated from some form of grammar. Jruby uses a hand-
coded lexer and a parser generated by
jacc Ioke uses a lexer/parser generated
by antlr.

The JRuby lexer is complicated (approx 2400LOC) both because of the nature of
ruby itself and also because in JRuby it’s possible to turn individual ruby
1.9 features on & off.

Type checking - what kind nominal or structural?

  • System F
  • typed lambda calculus
  • parametric polymorphism
  • variance

Scala & Haskell are currently the state of the art in type checking.

An issue to consider is the notion of bottom types - types that are a subtype
of every type, for example null in Java and C#. Note that nil in dynamic
languages is not the same thing. It’s been proven (apparently) that if you
have bottom types then you can’t avoid runtime errors. Several languages go
for option or maybe types instead.

Scoping - dynamic, object or lexical - emacs lisp is the only currently
used dynamically scoped language.

Control structures expressions vs statements

  • precedence , associativity
  • initialisation
  • assignment, not all languages have it, for example in erlang what looks
    like assignment is actually unification
  • ordering within expressions
  • short circuiting

control flow

  • goto style vs continuations
  • iteration
  • recursion

What about operations such as ruby’s conditional assignment operator ||= (only
assign a value to a variable if it is not already bound)?

How about the trinary if statement - useful if everything is not an expression
(but ruby has a trinary if anyway since it’s more compact than the standard if
form).

Notions of truth - what is counts as true and false?

data types - do you have primitive versions of types for efficiency? What
constitutes equality?

Parameter passing - call by value, by reference, by name?

can you return multiple values from functions? - difficult to do in JVM and
not every efficient since all return values have to be wrapped Optional
arguments? Default values?

The closer the language is to java the easier it is to make the language
efficient at run-time.

Evaluation - how to evaluate your language? interpreter, internal byte
code, java byte code, continuation passing.

Java memory leak issue - need to create new classloader in order to reload
code for a class - this does not get garbage collected (anonymous classes
don’t have this problem?). CLR is better than java in this respect.

Internal representation - JRbuy wraps all objects so that all JRuby
objects inherit from a common type. however this means that Java objects
cannot inherit from jruby objects. They are in the process of removing this
wrapping.

Visitor pattern is obvious way to implement AST interpreter, however this
prevents hotspot from optimising so they use a large switch statement.

Final methods can be much faster in java so worth seeing if you can make use
of them.

“write bad code to get good performance” but “write good code first” (use
profiling).

Error handling

  • exceptions
  • conditions (“a formalised agreement on how to handle
    errors”), can be built using exceptions.

Ola briefly talked about error handling using
conditions and how they allow more flexibilty than
exceptions. A condition consists of code for signalling the exception, code
for handling it and code for restarting the normal program flow. Ola showed us
how conditions work in Ioke by intentionally introducing errors in some code
and showing how they could be recovered from interactively using conditions.
Whereas exceoptions are only for errors, conditions are can also be used for
warnings.

Java integration - Can be hard to get right. Calling java methods
including static ones. Choosing between overloaded implementations. Need to
implement java types in host language. How to implement interfaces? Can use a
dynamic proxy but this approach does not work for extending classes. What
about calling methods using super?

Need to really understand bytecode. Ola uses ASM

Can use code annotations to get sensible output from java debugger.

Limitations of java bytecode

  • statically typed bytecode
  • primitive types but not tagged values
  • no continuations
  • no tail call optimisiton

Ioke

Ioke sounds like it has inherited some ideas from
self

Entire language written test first - rspec cases for entire language, rspec
tests then converted to ispec tests.

ruby concurrency support is not too good - Ola plans to implement transparent
futures in Ioke.