Ying Tong Iddle I Po

The second night in Edinburgh is about to begin. The first one doesn’t really count given that the entire day was pretty much lost to travelling. The train trip up was fun though. Having people to talk to, and space to breathe really does make a hell of a difference. The second leg (Stevenage to Edinburgh) took around 6 hours but I hardly noticed.

Today we had a bit of a practise in the morning followed by a relaxing day to prepare us for the stress to come. Laila, Alex, Jon and I went to the seaside. Photos of which can be seen on the Project Steve blog. After the beach, there was a well deserved pub.

I really love Edinburgh. The quality of the air up here is always so crisp and refreshing. Just breathing makes me feel like I’m cleaning my insides out.

Tomorrow is our get in. Luckily it is at the civilised time of 2pm but before that I have a publicity meeting with TSOB at 12pm and a Steve meeting at 10am. This, coupled with the inevitable flyering, means I should be pretty busy tomorrow.

The Internet connection here can be described as ’spotty at best’. My phone, when it has 3G + HSPDA is absolutely wonderful. When it has 2G, it sucks donkey balls. Luckily I have found a magic location within my room where 3G goodness can be had. One bar of goodness, but goodness nonetheless.

If you, like me, are trying to port a big GObject-based codebase with Python bindings over to OS X you may have run into the problem that the py-gobject port links agains Python 2.4. If, like me, you use CMake as a build system you’ll know that it is tricky to persuade CMake to do the same. The solution is to install the py25-gobject port.

Someone left an anagram on the whiteboard at work that we had to solve. As everyone knows, anagrams only have a single unique solution and we found it.

We also added a picture of Nick the Filthy Pencil. We work hard. Honest.

Here is a trailer for Once Upon a Time that I’m in for a bit of. It is terribly fine and Cat did an amazing job of learning all her Final Cut Pro and Blender-fu to do all the CG.

Once you’ve seen An Improvised History of Absolutely Everything, make sure to check this out too!

Update: The original script is also available if you want to compare the final product to it/discover some in-jokes :)

tl;dr; I just need to bloody well cheer up.

It has been said by a wiser sage than I, I think perhaps it was Kenny Everett[1], that there are two sorts of comedians: those with some mental illness and those that are dead. It is undoubtedly true that comedy is bad for the mental health; the yearly trip to Edinburgh neatly shines a light on this fact for me.

This time last year I faced down a rather severe depressive meltdown. The proper sitting-in-the-corner-rocking-back-and-forth sort. It is funny seeing the blog posts leading up to that moment. In retrospect the explosion was obvious; the undirected low-level anger at people, the growing levels of frustration and impotence at the world and the feelings of self-doubt all all important indicators. It is most telling, I think, that there are no posts between the 1st August 2008 and 28th September 2008. Two months which were hell for me.

I am hoping that this year will be better all around. Last year I very nearly exploded all over my friends in a very nasty way that would almost certainly be bridge burning. The incredible stress of Edinburgh didn’t help here. Indeed, in the last few days of rehearsal week I was convinced that I would make people far happier if I just went away; I truly believed that everyone I knew hated me. Certainly my hazy recollection of the month of August is alternating between rage and weeping in corners.

In fact my brain was so broken that I have only two clear memories of the entire rehearsal week. One is the audio book of 2001: A Space Odyssey, which I played on continual loop to and from the rehearsal venue. The other is a small rock. This rock sits by the entrance to the Long Room in New College, Oxford. It is a small, unremarkable, rock about the size of a clenched fist. It sits roughly where one might expect to find a stop or wedge for the main door into the building.

This rock was my companion in the dark times. The entrance to the Long Room is a small, shaded corner deep in the heart of New which is ideal to hide in. When I was steeling myself against the vicissitudes of my own brain, I would fixate on it and give it my full attention. Even now I think I could draw a reasonable picture of this rock. If there were such a thing as telekinesis, this rock would long ago have been propelled into orbit.

I went on a Project Steve weekend a few weeks ago. We practised in New College. The rock was still there. In some strange way I felt as if I had come to see an old friend.

So why am I prattling on about this? Some form of catharsis? An attempt to exorcise demons by shouting into the black void of the Internet? No, not really. Consider it more a belated apology to anyone I might have pissed off last year at around this time.

And perhaps it is some form of advanced apology. Depression can take many forms, as I’m sure anyone who’s dipped their toe into it’s murky waters can attest. For me, it is most definitely directed at complete dissatisfaction with society and a low-level hatred to those who I should probably view as closest.

Ironically, it is not this that proves problematic. I can deal with my own brain. We’ve been close bedfellows for almost three decades now so I should know how to knock it into shape. It is harder to deal with the guilt my behaviour towards those around me provokes. For you see, dear anonymous Internet hoards, I am not actually someone who enjoys being snappy and aggressive to people. I most certainly don’t want to load people up with my own emotional baggage. It isn’t their problem, why should they have to deal with it? Thus I am stuck in the awkward position of being absolutely indefensibly horrible to people and then not feeling able to excuse myself for the fear that they’ll resent having to ‘deal with the madman’.

Like it or not, mental illness makes people feel uncomfortable. If I am in a mood, I think it is fairly justifiable for people to be of the opinion I should just bloody well cheer up. I am, almost by definition, being unreasonable, both in behaviour and the implicit requirement that people accept that behaviour because of some nebulous ’sad disease’ I profess to have. It is people’s reticence to do this that makes me feel worse. If the boot were on the other foot, so to speak, I’d worry about whether I should try to fix the stupid, paranoid problem the other person has or whether to ignore their behaviour and hope they go away. I would certainly wish that they would just sort their own brain out and stop burdening me[2].

In fact, if I appear hostile, cynical, angry, combative, sarcastic or snide, it may surprise you to know that what I’d probably really like is someone to take me into another room, give me a cup of tea, a gentle cuddle and talk about something pointless for a bit. I really am that much of a soppy git. I don’t want you to sort out any stupid problem I might have; it is not yours to sort out. Instead I am probably just scabbing over my own fears that everyone hates me :).

The good news is that in no sense has the cloud descended as much as it did last year. But it is hovering over the horizon. Should it rear it’s ugly head for this year’s festival, I know that I just need to get away. I’ll just go away for a bit. Maybe an afternoon, perhaps overnight. Perhaps all I need is to be taken away from people and be brought a beer (you know who you were last year…).

All in all the lesson learned from last year: cheer up and stop being a grumpy bastard. The sub-lesson is ‘find someone willing to snuggle up and cuddle the stress away’. This year, those people will be a bit thin on the ground!

[1] I can find no reference, but he seems to have been chatty about such things.
[2] With the exception of those I love. I’d view an acceptable definition of love as ‘being as selfish for another person as yourself’. Certainly being willing to recognise someone else’s problem as your problem satisfies that.

I was listening to the free-as-in-node podcast on the way to work today and there was a long and, to be honest, not terribly interesting rant about politics in the UK going on. It did however get me thinking on our parliamentary democracy. Could there be an almost ‘ideal’ MP?

One of the arguably best things about our first-past-the-post system is that one votes directly for a person. Almost all forms of PR I’ve seen lose this important distinction and move more towards voting for a party. This difference is worth exploring in some detail.

An MP should, in an ideal world, represent their constituents. Their role is to be the voice of the people in parliament. As time has gone on, however, an MP has become less about voicing the views of the people who voted for them and more about being a member of the largest gang.

Voting is very much an action-at-a-distance thing. As it stands, dividing out by independent candidates for the moment, I must select a person whom I think both capable of listening to and representing my views but also, pragmatically, someone who is a member of one of the ‘big three’ political parties. Said person is under immense pressure from the party to kowtow to the party line and so, should the party line bifurcate from my own views, I’m pretty much screwed.

I realised then that a perfect democratic MP has no politics. I don’t actually want someone who has strong views. What I want is someone who stands up and says the consensus view of their constituents.

Ah! But there is the rub. For it is almost impossible to get a consensus amongst four people, let alone forty thousand. So let us consider our ideal MP 2.0. I’m going to assume a beautiful world where everyone who cares can get access to the Web. Our MP, let us call them Ali Smith, has set up http://alispeaksforyou.com/ or similar. This is the world’s first truly democratic site.

Every house in the constituency is flyered with some log-in details for those on the electoral role. We’re going to assume relatively soft security here. Any constituent can log into alispeaksforyou.com and can directly involve themselves:

• There is a system akin to the e-petition system on the Number 10 website. People can propose and vote for a question that they’d like Ali to ask in parliament. The ‘first’ choice is the question Ali might try to ask at PMQs for example.
• There are forums for constituents to actually discuss amongst themselves and try to find some consensus without hoping that Ali will have magical insight.
• Expense claims are an RSS feed.
• Each week, Ali runs a surgery podcast. He talks about what people have been discussing in the forums, reads out some emails, perhaps attempts to sum up a fair opinion.

I’m sure you could add twenty other things to that list. The purpose of the site, crucially, is not to tell Ali what to do, it is to bring the constituency together so that in fact they can meet and discuss with each other. After all, Ali is there to represent the constituency’s view; this is impossible if the constituency as a whole hasn’t come together to form one.

The site, in essence, builds a community around the MP. This community is, after all, what the MP should be all about. The site and it’s users is the important thing. The person who actually goes to some room, stands up and reads the topic from IRC is in some sense irrelevant. :)

What if the top-voted question is ‘will the PM promise to include Rick Astley in the New Year Honours?’ Well, what if it is? If that ends up being the view of the community, even if it is a protest view, it should be aired.

With modern communications technology, the constituency as a whole can, metaphorically, fit into the MP’s front room and vent their grievances. More importantly, they might find that their own grievances pale when compared to others’. Perhaps everyone would learn a little.