Articles – Dan Q

My Salary History

Jeremy Keith posted his salary history last week. I absolutely agree with him that employers exploit the information gap created by opaque salary advertisement, and I think that our industry of software engineering is especially troublesome for this.

So I’m joining him (and others) in choosing to share my salary history. I’ve set up a new page for that purpose, but here’s the summary of its initial state:

Understand

A few understandings and caveats:

For most of my career I’ve described myself as a “Full-Stack Web Applications Developer”, but I’ve worked outside of every one of those words and my job titles have often been more like “CMS Developer” or “Senior Engineer (Security)”.
My specialisms and “hot areas” are security engineering, web standards, performance, and accessibility.
When I worked multiple roles in a year, I’ve tried to capture that, but there’ll be some fuzziness around the edges.
The salaries are rounded slightly to make nice readable numbers.
I’ve not always worked full-time; all salaries are translated into “full-time equivalent”¹.
I’ve only included jobs that fit into my software engineering career².
If the table below looks out-of-date then I’ve probably just forgotten to update it. Let me know!

History

Year	Employer	Salary	Notes
2025 – 2026	Firstup	£80,000	Remote. + Stock (spread over four years).
2024 – 2025	Automattic	£111,000	Remote. + Stock (one-off bonus, worth ~£6,000).
2023	Automattic	£103,000	Remote.
2021 – 2022	Automattic	£98,000	Remote
2019 – 2020	Automattic	£89,000	Remote.
2015 – 2019	Bodleian Libraries + Freelance	£39,000	Hybrid.
2011 – 2014	Bodleian Libraries	£36,000	Practices salary transparency! ❤️
2010 – 2011	SmartData + Freelance	£26,000	Remote.
2007 – 2009	SmartData	£24,000
2004 – 2006	SmartData	£19,500
2002 – 2003	SmartData	£16,500	Alongside full-time study.
2002	CTA	£18,000
2001	Freelance	£4,500	Ad-hoc and hard to estimate. Alongside full-time study.

What does that look like?

I drew a graph, but I don’t like it. Mostly because I don’t see my salary as a “goal” to aim for or some kind of “score”.

It’s gone up; it’s gone down; but I’ve always been more-motivated by what I’m working on, with whom, and for what purpose than I have been on how much I get paid for it³. But if you want to see:

I’m not sure to what degree my career looks typical or not. But I guess I also don’t care! My motivations are probably different than most (a little-more idealistic, a little-less capitalistic), I’d guess.

Footnotes

¹ i.e. what I’d have earned if I had worked full-time

² That summer back in college that I worked in a factory building striplight fittings doesn’t appear, for example!

³ Pro-tip if you’re looking at my CV and pitching me an opportunity: mention what you expect to pay, sure, but if you’re trying to win me over then tell me about the problems I’ll be solving and how that’ll make the world a better place. That’s how you motivate me to accept your offer!

Chicory Keys

Towards the end of last week we picked up the keys to the Chicory House.¹ We’ve now officially moved in to the place we’ll be calling home for the next six months or so, while we wait for our Actual House to be repaired following our catastrophic flood in February.²

As part of my efforts to travel light, I use a pretty small wallet – a lump of carbon fibre about the size of a deck of cards³ that contains my ID, bank cards, and – in pocket at the back – my essential keys. Typically that’s my front door key and my bike lock key.

Minimalist carbon fibre wallet, balanced on two fingertips, with parts of a Halifax Mastercard credit card showing from behind an elasticated band. — The keys tuck in around the back, but there’s a “hook” on the end to which additional keys can be ringed. Sometimes I hook up a second-factor hardware token to it when I’m travelling with one.

And so when I received my front door key to the Chicory House, I had to decide: where does this key belong?

The obvious answer would have been to remove the front door key for my actual home from its special place within my wallet and replace it with the Chicory House’s front door key. That’s the one I’ll need most-often for the foreseeable future, right? My regular front door key can move to the supplementary hook, on a ring, and/or be removed entirely and taken with me only when I need to visit my uninhabitable home.

But that’s not what I did.

Reverse side of my wallet showing my regular house key folded-out from its special spot, and the Chicory House key attached to the hook. — I didn’t even think about what I was doing until I noticed, afterwards, that I’d chosen to put the Chicory House key on the “supplementary keys” hook rather than in the “primary keys” spot.

This made sense as an instinctive move: it’s where I’d clip on the key to any of the half-dozen or so AirBnBs I’ve lived in for the last couple of months, after all! But for a house I’m going to live in for half a year or more it doesn’t seem so rational.

But I haven’t put it back. I think I’m keeping it this way. My regular key gets to keep its special spot because it represents the lost status quo and the aspiration to return. Sure, it’s less-practical for me to keep it there, but its position is symbolic, not sensible.

Swapping the two over would feel like giving in: like caving to the inevitability of us being out of our home for an extended period. Keeping the key where it is means that every time I put my hand in my pocket I’m reminded that the current arrangement is temporary; things will go back to normal. And that’s nice.⁴

Footnotes

¹ The house isn’t actually called that, of course. That’s our nickname for it, on account of it being a substitute for the real thing.

² The flood was exactly two months ago today, which makes today “F-Day plus 60”. We’ve spent most of the intervening time hopping from AirBnB to AirBnB.

³ As somebody who often carries a deck of cards, this is a pretty-convenient size to me!

⁴ That said, the Chicory House is way better than most of the AirBnB’s we’ve been living in, and I’m especially loving being able to sleep on my own familiar mattress again! While I wouldn’t want to live here forever like I’d be happy to in the place we’ve called home since 2020, it’ll certainly suffice for the immediate future. A stepping-stone back towards the lives we’d built before.

Letting Games Die

Letting code (and games) die

Mike Cook wrote a provocative blog post this weekend; an anti-preservationist argument for video games. The essence of his arguments seem to boil down to:

Emphasising creation over preservation is liberating, as demonstrated by the imagination in the livecoding community.
Archiving without intensive curation is building an emotional or intellectual safety net you never expect to be used.
Digital preservation is a lossy process: effort spent on accurately preserving some media is at the expense of other media, whose lossy preservation paints in inaccurate picture of what is lost.
Recreation, rather than strict preservation, ensures the continuity of the most culturally-important parts of games

He concludes to say:

60 games are released on Steam every day.

There are 294 game jams active on Steam as I write this.

Preserve nothing. Make more.

To make is to preserve.

Let games die.

Digital preservationism

Philosophically-speaking, there’s no doubt that I am a digital preservationist. I argue against unnecessary URI changes. I donate to The Internet Archive. Back at the Bodleian, I used to carve out free time from project work to spend time making sure the University’s “older” exhibition websites could be made to survive¹. My approach to running out of hard drive space is to buy more hard drives. Even my blog retains content going back into the last millennium²!

But I like this kind of conversation. For World Digital Preservation Day a few years back I re-implemented Pong as a modern application but using retro controllers. Within its micro-exhibition, I used this as an excuse to get people to discuss what does it mean to preserve a videogame?

Two participants play Pong on the Heritage Window in Blackwell Hall at the Bodleian Library. — My reimplementation of *Pong* had several distinct differences from the original… but to a layperson – for whom *Pong* are the target audience! – those differences are irrelevant. To what level fidelity matters depends on many factors, and the biggest problem is that we don’t know what those factors are until it’s time to retrieve these historical media.

Similarly, back in 2021 I reverse-engineered and re-implemented “lost” piece of advertainment Axe Feather, mostly because I felt that a slightly-modernised version belonged in the “commons”.

A woman lies on a bed with her legs crossed, playfully wagging her finger. The mouse cursor is shaped like a feather. — This screenshot isn’t from the original site but from my homage to it. More on that later.

This makes it seem like I’m very much on the side of recreation, rather than preservation, but that’s not the case. In both of these projects I started by disassembling the original works.

That I chose to make them accessible to a modern audience by reimplementation rather than by emulation was an artistic choice. I opted for lower fidelity by making something mildly-transformative. I chose to appeal to the widest possible audience, at the expense of presenting an experience that was totally in-keeping with the original.

But I couldn’t have done that without access to the originals. Had I recreated Pong from memory rather than from re-playing it, I’d have doubtless introduced inconsistencies that would have “felt wrong” to people whose memories of the game, while fundamentally accurate, differed from mine. Had I recreated Axe Feather without first coming up with a mechanism to extract and reformat the video clips in the original I’d have failed to tap into the specific nostalgia of some of its users, which was tied to the specific actor who performed in it³.

So I guess it’s important to me that somebody is preserving these things. So that I can use them to create new things. I stand for preservation for culture’s sake, so that I personally can enjoy the benefits for nostalgia’s sake.

But I get what Mike’s saying

For all that I feel like I’m making the case for “preserve everything; work out what’s important later”, Mike’s argument gives me an uncomfortable cognitive dissonance. Because I’ve also come to discover a joy in the ephemeral, too.

Screenshot from M1 on ARCC, showing the high-score table with DAN50 holding the top score of 14963 (second place scored 12204). — I don’t know who’ll preserve ARCC, with its permanently-capped 500-playerbase limit, but I’m happy that I’ll probably *always* hold the highscore on driving/racing minigame M1.

Increasingly, I’m okay with just taking the experience of something with me. It bothers me that my memory is fallible and that I can’t necessarily recreate a digital experience whose technology has been lost to time, but I am, for the most part, okay with it.

Some of the best gaming experiences I’ve ever had are impossible to “capture” in an archive anyway. They were conversations over the tabletop roleplaying table, or moments of tension resulting from a videogame’s emergent gameplay, or random occurrences unlikely to be replicated. Those get preserved in my memory alone, retold as stories with gradually-decreasing accuracy as new memories take their place.

That said…

Who decides what games get preserved?

I feel like the decision about what to preserve and how should be in the hands of the audience of a piece of art, not its creators. If a videogame (or film, or book, or whatever) is culturally-significant enough to warrant a high-fidelity preservation, it ought to be ultimately up to the members of that culture to make that decision!

Transport Tycoon Deluxe met that bar, and it’s possible to play both faithful recreations or modern reimplementations (the latter having excellent new features) courtesy of the OpenTTD project⁴.

But modern videogames are, perhaps, getting harder to preserve. Always-online features, insidious DRM, digital distribution, live updates, and games-as-a-service streaming all shift the balance of power more-firmly into the hands of publishers⁵ rather than players. It’s already hard to play a randomly-selected thirty-year-old videogame today; I reckon it’ll be almost impossible to do the same thirty years hence.

Saying “let games die” feels a bit like giving up to that inevitability. Like saying to the slimier publishers “it’s okay, we didn’t care about keeping that anyway” when they shut down servers or remotely kill games. I know that’s not what Mike’s saying, but it could be wilfully misinterpreted that way.

Anyway: I don’t have a nice conclusion to any of this. Just a lot of mixed-up feelings.

Footnotes

¹ A policy which, since my departure, does not seem to have continued.

² Even where those writings don’t really represent me well any more.

³ It turns out that, for a significant number of folks who are mostly younger-than-me, this advertisement represented a kind of sexual awakening, based on some of the comments and emails I’ve received about it!

⁴ Which I’ve also donated too. Turns out I’m happy to invest in both pure preservation and in spiritual-successor reimplementation!

⁵ Supposing that Sonic Rumble Party somehow wasn’t a catastrophic pay-to-win nightmare and somehow was deemed culturally-significant… how would you go about archiving it? Without Sega/Sonic Team’s consent, you’d be totally out of luck.

Wood-Fired

This week I’m at Three Rings‘ annual “3Camp” event. Owing to Some Plot, we had a gap in the cooking rota, and, seeing that there was a pizza oven in the back garden, I figured… I can make a couple of dozen pizzas to feed everyone, right?

Dan, a white man with a ponytail of blue hair and a goatee beard, uses his hands to gather a huge pile of flour on a marble worksurface in a spacious kitchen. — Step one, as previously-indicated, was to make a *lot* of dough.

There was no mixing bowl large enough to accommodate the 4.5kg of flour so I just dumped it onto a surface, added some salt and sugar, made a well in the middle, and introduced my oil, water and rehydrated yeast right into the middle of it.

Minus a few minor spills, it broadly worked as a technique.

A small wood fire burns inside an outdoor brick pizza oven. — We weren’t able to find the woodpile at the house we’re staying at, so I eventually had to seek a volunteer to go ~~and forage~~ to B&Q to buy a couple of sacks of wood. I can’t wait to hear our treasurer’s response to this unusual expenses claim!

After an initial rise I knocked-back the dough and separated it into balls, and got started on building the fire.

I own a small, portable Ooni pizza oven that’s fired by woodchips, and I find it pretty challenging to use. It eats fuel pretty quickly and loses heat through its thin walls just as fast, and so it’s hard to maintain a consistent temperature while simultaneously maintaining the supply of wood and cooking pizza.

This brick-built oven, though, was a different kind of beast.

The same brick pizza oven, now seen from a few steps back with its chimney and base visible. — Compared to my small metal oven, this brick oven took a *lot* longer – on the region of an hour – to get up to temperature… but once hot, it maintained the heat much better.

I set up a prep station nearby and had Three Rings volunteers “build their own” pizzas: stretching or rolling the dough, adding sauce and cheese and other toppings, etc. And then I rotated them through the oven, up to two at a time.

My arms were already tired from the workout of hand-kneading the enormous pile of dough, and it was hot and tiring work to keep making, moving, and turning pizzas… but it was also… amazingly fun.

As the pizzas started to come out, Three Rings volunteers did too, gathering around the fire pit and in the covered dining areas of the garden, glasses in hand, to enjoy freshly-baked hot slices of crispy pizza, while they talked about volunteering, history, the future, and a diversity of other random topics beside (space travel, politics, music, teaching…).

Awesome.

So yeah… now I really want to build a brick pizza oven of my very own.

Obviously I’ve got other priorities right now (like having somewhere to live following the house-wrecking flood), but maybe that’s something I could look at in a future year.

A crispy, misshapen, slightly charred pepperoni and mushroom pizza on a paper plate. — The first pizza out of the oven was probably the ugliest, but it was also the one I remembered to photograph.

3Camp remains an annual tradition that I love dearly: the camaraderie, the doing-good-in-the-world, the opportunity to work alongside so many kind and talented volunteers, the chance to play with exciting technology, and whole experience… but the pizzas on the penultimate evening have got to go down as a special highlight this year.

Food divided by Distance

I was pretty ill yesterday. It’s probably a combination of post-flood stress and my shitty lungs’ ability to take a sore throat and turn it into something that leaves me lying in bed and groaning.

I spent most of the morning in and out of a fitful sleep, during which I dreamed up the most-bizarre application: a GPS tracker app that, after being told your destination and what you were eating, reported your journey progress to social media by describing where you were going and how much of your food was left¹.

I should be clear that in the dream, I wasn’t the one that invented this concept; in fact, I didn’t even understand it at first (maybe I still don’t!). In the dream I was at some kind of unconference event with a variety of “make art with the Web” types, and I missed a session by falling asleep². I woke (within the dream) right before the session ended and rushed in to see what was being presented, and only got the tail-end of the explanation of how a project – this project – worked, after which I felt rushed to try to understand it before somebody inevitably tried to talk to me about it.

But it could work, couldn’t it? If you’re one of those people who routinely tracks and shares their location (like Aaron Parecki, whose heatmapping inspired my own) or journeys (like Jeremy Keith does), it’s a way to add a bit of silliness to that sharing.

I’m probably not going to implement this. It is, in the end, the kind of stupidity that could (should?) only appear in the dreams of somebody who’s got a bad head cold.

But if you manage to take this idea and turn it into something… actually good?… let me know!

Or if you’ve just got a cool, “Web 2.0-ey” idea for the name of an app that tracks both your journey progress and your meal consumption, I’d love to hear that too.

Footnotes

¹ Under the assumption that its consumption would be evenly distributed throughout the journey. Because everybody does that, right? Counting the number of steps they make before taking another equal-sized bite. Right?

² Even in my dreams, I can dream of falling asleep. And, sometimes, of dreaming. A fever probably helps.

Did I Cheat?

The Puzzle

The other day I needed to solve a puzzle¹. Here’s the essence of it: there was a grid of 16 words. They needed to be organised into four thematic “groups” of four words each; then each group needed to be sorted alphabetically.

Each item in each group had a two-character code associated with it: these were to be concatenated together into a string and added to a pastebin.com/... URL. The correct four URLs would each contain a quarter of the answer to the puzzle.

I’m sure I could have solved the puzzle. But I figured it’d be more satisfying to solve a different puzzle, with the same answer: how to write a program that finds the correct URLs for me.

Here’s what I came up with:

#!/usr/bin/env ruby
require 'set'
require 'net/http'
require 'uri'
FRAGMENTS = [
  'Salsa|mO',
  'Henry|J2',
  'Primate|Q4',
  'Brine|M6',
  'Trinidad|1Z',
  'Pile|8g',
  'Crock|mO',
  'Howitzer|wT',
  'Light|DC',
  'Argo|Lt',
  'Juniper|2I',
  'Hamlet|wN',
  'Warden|xU',
  'Joker|1H',
  'Warner|9s',
  'Bargain|Cq',
]

result = FRAGMENTS.permutation(4).to_a

sorted_results = result.map { |combination| combination.sort }.uniq
shortened_results = sorted_results.map { |combination| combination.map { |fragment| fragment.split('|').last } }
urls = shortened_results.map { |combination| "https://pastebin.com/#{combination.join('')}" }

START_AT = 0

urls[START_AT..].each_with_index do |url, idx|
  uri = URI(url)
  response = Net::HTTP.get_response(uri)
  print '.'
  if response.code != '404'
    puts "\nHIT at index #{idx + START_AT}: #{url}"
  end
  sleep(rand(0..3) * 0.1)
end

I’m confident that this approach was faster.³ Or rather: it would have been if it hadn’t been for the fact that I felt the need to subsequently write a blog post about it.

Here’s how it works:

It creates an array containing the 43,680 possible permutations of 4 from the 16 words.
If sorts the permutations and removes duplicates, reducing the set to just 1,820.
It removes the bit of each that isn’t the two digit code at the end and concatenates them into a URL.
It tries each URL, with short random gaps between them, listing each one that isn’t a 404 “Not found” response.⁴

I kicked off the program and got on with some work. Meanwhile, in the background, it permuted the puzzle for me. Within a few minutes, I had four working pastebin URLs, which collectively gave me the geocache’s coordinates. Tada!

Was this cheating?

I still solved a puzzle. It probably took me, as a strong programmer, about as long as it would have taken me to solve the puzzle the conventional way were I a strong… “only connect”-er⁵. But I adapted the puzzle into a programming puzzle and solved it a completely different way, . Here’s the arguments, as I see them:

Yes, this was cheating. This wasn’t the way the puzzle author intended it to be solved. Inelegantly brute-forcing a problem isn’t “solving” it, it’s sidestepping it. If everybody did this, there’d be no point in the author putting the time into the puzzle in the first place.
No, this wasn’t cheating. This solution still required solving a puzzle, just a different one. A bad human player making a lucky guess would be fine. It’s a single-player game; play any way that satisfies you. Implementing software to assist is no worse than asking a friend for help, as others have done.

Click on a 😡 or a 🧠 to let me know whether you think I cheated or not, or drop me a comment if you’ve got a more-nuanced opinion.

Footnotes

¹ Okay, okay, it was for a geocache.

² Don’t try to solve this one; it’s randomly generated.

³ This version of the program is adapted to the fake gameboard I showed earlier. You won’t get any meaningful results by running this program in its current state. But you could quickly adapt it to a puzzle of this format, I suppose.

⁴ It occurred to me that it could have been more-efficient to eliminate from the list any possibilities that are ruled-out by any existing finds… but efficiency is a balancing act. For a program that you’ll only run once – and in the background, while you do other things, to boot – there’s a tipping point at which it’s better to just get it running than it is to improve its performance.

⁵ There’s a clear parallel here to the various ways in which I’ve solved jigsaw-puzzle-based geocaches, because I’m far more interested in (a) programming and (b) getting out into the world and finding geocaches in interesting places than I am in doing a virtual jigsaw puzzle!

A Random List of Silly Things I Hate

So apparently now this is a thing, so here I go:

Websites that are just blank pages if the JavaScript doesn’t load from the CDN.¹
The misunderstanding that LLMs can somehow be a route to AGI.
Computer systems that say my name is too short or my password is too long.²
People being unwilling to discuss their wild claims later using the lack of discussion as evidence of widespread acceptance.
When people balance the new toilet roll one atop the old one’s tube.³

A nearly-full roll of toilet paper perched atop an empty toilet roll tube on an open-ended spindle. — Come on! It would have been *so easy*!

Shellfish. Why would you eat that!?
People assuming my interest in computers and technology means I want to talk to them about cryptocurrencies.⁴
Websites that nag you to install their shitty app. (I know you have an app. I’m choosing to use your website. Stop with the banners!)
People who seem to only be able to drive at one speed.⁵
The assumption that the fact I’m “sharing” my partner is some kind of compromise on my part; a concession; something that I’d “wish away” if I could. (It’s very much not.)
Brexit.

Wow, that was strangely cathartic.

Footnotes

¹ I have a special pet hate for websites that require JavaScript to render their images. Like… we’d had the <img> tag since 1993! Why are you throwing it away and replacing it with something objectively slower, more-brittle, and less-accessible?

² Or, worse yet, claiming that my long, random password is insecure because it contains my surname. I get that composition-based password rules, while terrible (even when they’re correctly implemented, which they’re often not), are a moderately useful model for people to whom you’d otherwise struggle to explain password complexity. I get that a password composed entirely of personal information about the owner is a bad idea too. But there’s a correct way to do this, and it’s not “ban passwords with forbidden words in them”. Here’s what you should do: first, strip any forbidden words from the password: you might need to make multiple passes. Second, validate the resulting password against your composition rules. If it fails, then yes: the password isn’t good enough. If it passes, then it doesn’t matter that forbidden words were in it: a properly-stored and used password is never made less-secure by the addition of extra information into it!

³ This is the worst of the toilet paper crimes, but there’s a lesser but more-common offence.

⁴ Also: I’m uninterested in whatever multiplayer shooter game you’re playing, and no I won’t fix your printer.

⁵ “You were doing 35mph in the 60mph limit, then you were doing 35mph in the 40mph limit, now you’re doing 35mph in the 20mph limit. Argh!”

A Hundred Inconveniences

It’s F-Day plus 31 – a whole month (and a bit; thanks February) since our house filled with water and rendered us kinda-homeless.

We continue to live out of a series of AirBnB-like accommodations, flitting from place to place after a week or fortnight. I can’t overstate how much this feels like a hundred tiny inconveniences, piling up in front of me all at once and making it hard to see “past” them.

An attractive Cotswold-stone converted barn with a gravel driveway and a broad grassy lawn. — Our current two-week stint is spent at a place that’s perfectly delightul… but it’s not *home*.

They’re all small potatoes compared to the bigger issue of, y’know… our house being uninhabitable. But they’re still frustrating.

I’m talking about things like discovering your spare toothbrush heads are at the “wrong” house. Or having to take extra care to plan who’s going to use which car to go to the office because the kids and the dog need dropping off (because our lives were all optimised for our local walking and bus routes). It’s a level of cognitive load that, frankly, I could do without.

Dan and JTA sit with pints of beer in a cluttered brewery, at a table with large tomato cans repurposed as holders for chilli oil and pizza cutters. — I’m trying to look on the bright side. One particular highlight was JTA and I discovering the epic pizza restaurant inside the brewery that’s about four minutes walk from where we’re living, right now.

Meanwhile, any relief is slow to come. We’re still without a medium-term plan for somewhere to live, because even though the insurance company has pulled their finger out and agreed to pay for say six months of rental of a place, we’re struggling to find a suitable property whose landlord is open to such a short-term let.

When the house first flooded and friends told me that I’d be faced with many months of headaches, I figured this was hyperbole. Or that, somehow, with the epic wrangling and project management skills of Ruth, JTA and I combined, that we’d be able to accelerate the process somewhat. Little did I know that so many of the problems wouldn’t be issues of scale or complexity but of bureaucracy and other people’s timescales. Clearly, we’re in it for the long haul.

It feels silly that we’re still in the first quarter of this 2026 and already I’m looking forward to next year and the point where we can look back and laugh, saying “ah, remember 2026: the year of the flood?” Sigh.

Why Security Engineering needs a Hacker Mentality

My recent post How an RM Nimbus Taught Me a Hacker Mentality kickstarted several conversations, and I’ve enjoyed talking to people about the “hacker mindset” (and about old school computers!) ever since.¹

Thinking “like a hacker” involves a certain level of curiosity and creativity with technology. And there’s a huge overlap between that outlook and the attitude required to be a security engineer.

By way of example: I wrote a post for a Web forum² recently. A feature of this particular forum is that (a) it has a chat room, and (b) new posts are “announced” to the chat room.

The title of my latest post contained a HTML tag (because that’s what the post was talking about). But when the post got “announced” to the chat room… the HTML tag seemed to have disappeared!

And this is where “hacker curiosity” causes a person to diverge from the norm. A normal person would probably just say to themselves “huh, I guess the chat room doesn’t show HTML elements in the subjects of posts it announces” and get on with their lives. But somebody with a curiosity for the technical, like me, finds themselves wondering exactly what went wrong.

It took only a couple of seconds with my browser’s debug tools to discover that my HTML tag… had actually been rendered to the page! That’s not good: it means that, potentially, the combination of the post title and the shoutbox announcer might be a vector for an XSS attack. If I wrote a post with a title of, say, <script src="//example.com/some-file.js"></script>Benign title, then the chat room would appear to announce that I’d written a post called “Benign title”, but anybody viewing it in the chat room would execute my JavaScript payload³.

I reached out to an administrator to let them know. Later, I delivered a proof-of-concept: to keep it simple, I just injected an <img> tag into a post title and, sure enough, the image appeared right there in the chat room.

This didn’t start out with me doing penetration testing on the site. I wasn’t looking to find a security vulnerability. But I spotted something strange, asked “what can I make it do?”, and exercised my curiosity.

Even when I’m doing something more-formally, and poking every edge of a system to try to find where its weak points are… the same curiosity still sometimes pays dividends.

I remember that a decade ago, I found a vulnerability in a central IT system at the University of Oxford that involved setting a payload in a domain-wide cookie with the anticipation that a trusted system would trip over it later. The administrators of the system had been running the usual automated scanners to look for security problems, but those tools lack the imagination of a human with a hacker mindset.

And that’s why you need that mindset in your security engineers. Curiosity, imagination, and the willingness to ask “what can I make it do?”. Because if you don’t find the loopholes, the bad guys will.

Footnotes

¹ It even got as far as the school run, where I ended up chatting to another parent about the post while our kids waited to be let into the classroom!

² Remember forums? They’re still around, and – if you find one with the right group of people – they’re still delightful. They represent the slower, smaller communities of a simpler Web: they’re not like Reddit or Facebook where the algorithm will always find something more to “feed” you; instead they can be a place where you can make real human connections online, so long as you can deprogram yourself of your need to have an endless-scroll of content and you’re willing to create as well as consume!

³ This, in turn, could “act as” them on the forum, e.g. attempting to steal their credentials or to make them post messages they didn’t intend to, for example: or, if they were an administrator, taking more-significant actions!

Ten Weird Games

This has been a draft blog post since ~2019, with minor additions since then.

Perhaps it’s finally time to share these ten weird… “games” (or game-adjacent media)… that I’ve seen.

Maybe you’ll “get” them. If not, maybe they’re just for me.

1. It is as if you were playing chess

Where could I possibly start this list if not with eccentric games-as-art proponent Pippin Barr. Created in 2016, It is as if you were playing chess is an interactive experience that encourages you to mimic the physical movements of playing a digital chess game, without actually ever looking at a chessboard.

Years later I’d argue that the experience of its… sequel?… It is as if you were on your phone, is very similar. Especially to an outside observer, watching you tap and swipe at your mobile device as if you were using your mobile device: it’s almost like an alien’s guide to blending-in with humans.

Is is even a game? Pippin himself mused over this in a blog post¹. He went on to make several others in the same genre, of which It is as if you were making love is perhaps the most off-the-wall. Give that a go, too.

It really is almost as if I were on my phone!²

Whether or not they’re games, these are art, and they are compelling.

2. Hard Lads

Back in 2016, a video briefly trended on YouTube called “British Lads Hit Each Other with Chair”.

It’s a 67-second portrait video featuring four partially-dressed young men somewhere in what looks like Tyneside. Two of them kiss before one of the pair swigs from a spirits bottle and takes a drag from a cigarette, throwing both onto the floor afterwards³.

Finally, the least-dressed young man (seemingly with the consent of all involved) repeatedly strikes the drinker/smoker with a folding chair.

It’s… quite something.

In his blog post Hard Lads as an important failure, the game’s creator Robert Yang describes it as “neorealist fumblecore”, and goes into wonderful detail about the artistic choices he made in creating it. The game is surreal, queer, and an absolute masterpiece.

3. Top Ten Games You Can Play In Your Head By Yourself

Let’s sidestep a moment out of video games and take a look at a book.

Top Ten Games You Can Play In Your Head By Yourself, edited by Sam Gorski (founder of Corridor Digital) and D. F. Lovett and based on an original series of gamebooks written pseudonymously by “J. Theophrastus Bartholomew”, initially looks like exactly what it claims to be. That is, a selective reprint of a very-1980s-looking series of solo roleplaying game prompts.

Except that’s clearly a lie. There’s no evidence that J. Theophrastus Bartholomew exists as an author (even used as a pen name), nor do any of the fourteen books credited to him in the foreword. The alleged author only as a framing device by the actual authors: the “editors”.

Superficially, the book presents a series of ten… “prompts”, I suppose. It’s like reading the rules of a Choose Your Own Adventure gamebook, or else the flavour and background in an Advanced Dungeons & Dragons module.

Each prompt sets up a premise and describes it as if it would later integrate with a ruleset… but no ruleset is forthcoming. Instead, completing the story and also how to go about completing the story is left entirely up to the reader.

It’s disarming, like if a recipe book consisted of a list of dishes and cuisines, a little about the history and culture of each… and no instructions on how to make it.

But what’s most-weird about the book (and there’s plenty more besides) are the cross-references between the chapters⁴. Characters from one adventure turn up in another. Interstitial “Shadows and Treasures” chapters encourage you to reflect upon previous adventures and foreshadow those that follow.

There’s more on its RPGGeek page (whose existence surprised me!), along with a blog post by Lovett. They’re doing a horror-themed sequel, which I don’t feel the need to purchase, but I’d got to say from what I’ve seen so far that they’ve once-again really nailed the aesthetic.

I have no idea who the book is “for”, but it’s proven surprisingly popular in some circles.

4. Mackerelmedia Fish

I reviewed this game shortly after its release in 2020 by the ever-excellent Natalie Lawhead. At the time, I said:

What is Mackerelmedia Fish? I’ve had a thorough and pretty complete experience of it, now, and I’m still not sure. It’s one or more (or none) of these, for sure, maybe:

A point-and-click, text-based, or hypertext adventure?

An homage to the fun and weird Web of yesteryear?

A statement about the fragility of proprietary technologies on the Internet?

An ARG set in a parallel universe in which the 1990s never ended?

A series of surrealist art pieces connected by a loose narrative?

…

What I can tell you with confident is what playing feels like. And what it feels like is the moment when you’ve gotten bored waiting for page 20 of Argon Zark to finish appear so you decide to reread your already-downloaded copy of the 1997 a.r.k bestof book, and for a moment you think to yourself: “Whoah; this must be what living in the future feels like!”

…

Mackerelmedia Fish is a mess of half-baked puns, retro graphics, outdated browsing paradigms and broken links. And that’s just part of what makes it great.

Mackerelmedia Fish reports: WARNING! Your Fish have escaped! — Historical fact: escaped fish was one of the primary reasons for websites failing in 1996.

Just because I wrote about it before doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t play it now, especially if you missed out on it during the insanity of Lockdown 1.0.

5. Ha-bee-tat

It’s a bitsy game thrown together in 9 days for a game jam, by Cicada Carpenter.

Three-colour pixel-art square game screenshot showing a bee flying amongst flowers and butterflies. — It *looks*… well, like a pixsy-to-bitsy game. But it’s got more going for it than that.

I wouldn’t even have discovered this game were it not for the amazing-but-weird blog post “Every bee videogame reviewed by accuracy”, by Paolo Pedercini, who wrote:

As an amateur beekeeper, semi-professional game designer, and generally pedantic person, I decided to play all the games I could find on the subject and rate them according to their “realism”. The rating goes from one (⬢⬡⬡⬡⬡) to five (⬢⬢⬢⬢⬢) honeycomb cells.

I intentionally avoided all the games in which bees are completely anthropomorphized or function like a spaceship, and games in which bees play a secondary role. I did include short and semi-abstract games when they referenced the bees actual behavior. Realism is not a matter of visual definition or sheer procedural complexity. In my view, even a tiny game can capture something compelling about this fascinating insect.

Ha-bee-tat is one of only four games to which Paolo awards a full five honeycombs. And Paolo is picky, so that’s high praise indeed for the realism of this game, which is – get this – also surprisingly educational on the subject of different species of bee! Neat!

6. Shadows out of Time

This Twine-based adventure was released for my last Halloween at the Bodleian, based mostly upon the work of my then-colleague Brendon Connelly. We were aiming for something slightly unnerving, slightly Lovecraftian… and very Bodleian Libraries.

Splash screen showing a woodcut of the Radcliffe Camera at some point in its history, titled: Shadows Out Of Time - A Bodleian Choose Your Own Destiny Story. — The Bodleian’s Comms team and I came up with all kinds of imaginative and unusual ways to engage with the wider world, of which this was just one.

Obviously I’ve written about it before, but if I can just take a moment to explain what we were going for, which didn’t come out in any of the IFDB reviews or anything:

The story is cyclical: the protagonist keeps waking up, completely alone, in a seemingly abandoned world, having nodded off half way through The Shadow Out of Time in a Bodleian reading room. As they explore the eerie and empty world⁵, the protagonist catches vague glimpses of another figure moving around the space as well, always just out of reach in the distance or beyond a window. There are even hints that this other person has been following them: a book left open can be found closed again, or vice-versa, for example.

Eventually, exhausted, the character needs to rest, waking up again⁶ in order to continue their explorations, and it gradually becomes apparent that they are the ghost that haunts the library. The shadows they’re witnessing are echoes of their past and future self, playing through the permutations of the game as they remain trapped in an endless and futile chase with their own tail.

7. Metropoloid

When I first wrote about this video, I remarked that it was sad that it was under-loved, attracting only a few hundred views on YouTube and only a couple of dozen “thumbs up”. Six years on… I’m sad to say it’s not done much better for popularity, with low-thousands of views and, like, six-dozen “thumbs up”. Possibly this (lack of) reaction is (part of the reason) why its creator Yaz Minsky has kind-of gone quiet online these last few years.

Screengrab from Metropolis as the workers riot. — I always thought that this staircase looked like something out of an early *Zelda* game. Now it can sound like it too.

So what it is?

Well, you know how you’ve probably never seen Metropolis with a musical score quite like the one composer Gottfried Huppertz intended? Well this… doesn’t solve that problem. Instead it re-scores the film with video game soundtracks from the likes of Metroid, Castlevania, Zelda, Mega Man, Final Fantasy, Doom, Kirby, and F-Zero, among others.

And it… works. It still deserves more love, so if you’ve got a spare couple of hours, put it on!

8. Wolf

Like Ha-bee-tat, this is a realistic, pixelated, educational video game about nature. It came out in 1994 but I didn’t get around to playing it until twenty-five years later in 2019, when I accidentally discovered it while downloading Wolfenstein to my DOSBox.

The game itself isn’t what makes this item weird. The weird bit is this 2018 review of the game, which reads:

AWOO AWOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO.

AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO. AWOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOOO. AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOOO AWOO AWOOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO.

AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOOOOOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOOOO AWOO. AWOOOOOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO. AWOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOO AWOOOOO AWOO AWOOO AWOO. AWOOOO AWOOO AWOOOO AWOO AWOO.

…

It continues like that for a while.

What you’re seeing is a review of Wolf… but for wolves. I’m not aware of any other posts on that entire site that make the same gag, or anything like it. That’s weird. And brilliant.

9. Real World Third Person Perspective

People have done similar thinigs in a variety of ways, but this was one of the most-ambitious:

As part of a two-day hack project, these folks put together a mechanism to mount some cameras up a pole, from a backpack containing a computer, connected to a VR headset. The idea was that you’d be able to explore the world with the kind of “over-the-shoulder cam” that you might be used to in some varieties of videogame.

Theirs was just an experiment in proving what was possible within a “real world” game world. But ever since I saw this video, I’ve wondered about the potential to make what is functionally an augmented reality game out of it. With good enough spatial tracking, there’d be nothing to stop the world as-shown-to-your-eyes containing objects that aren’t present in the real world.

Like… what if you were playing Pokemon Go, but from a top down view of yourself as you go around and find creatures out and about in the real world. Not just limited to looking through your phone as a lens, you’d be immersed in the game in a whole new way.

I’m also really interested in what the experience of seeing yourself from the “wrong” perspective is like. Is it disassociating? Nauseating? Liberating? I’m sure we’ve all done one of those experiments where, by means of mirrors or props, we experience the illusory sensation of our hand being touched when it’s not actually our hand. What’s that like when you’re able to visually step completely out of your own body, and yet still move and feel it perfectly?

There are so many questions that this set-up raises, and I’m yet to see anybody try to answer them.

10. Counterfeit Monkey

Finally, I can’t resist an opportunity to plug – not for the first time – my favourite interactive fiction game, Emily Short‘s Counterfeit Monkey, a game that started as an effort to make a tutorial on making a “T-Remover” like the one in Leather Goddesses of Phobos but grew into a sprawling wordplay-based puzzle adventure.

What makes it weird? The fact that there’s not really anything else quite like it. Within your first half hour or so of play you’ll probably have acquired your core toolkit – your full-alphabet letter remover, restoration gel, and monocle – and you’ll begin to discover that you can do just about anything with anything.

Find some BRANDY (I’m don’t recall if there is any in the game; this is just an example) and you can turn it into a BRAND, then into some BRAN, then into a BRA⁷. And while there might not exist any puzzles in the game for which you’ll need a bra, each of these items will have a full description when you look at it. Can you begin to conceive of the amount of work involved in making a game like this?

It’s now over a decade old and continues to receive updates as a community-run project! It’s completely free⁸, and if you haven’t played it yet, congratulations: you’re about to have an amazing time. Pay attention to the tutorial, and be sure to use an interpreter that supports the UNDO command (or else be sure to SAVE frequently!).

I remain interested in things that push the boundaries of what a “game” is or otherwise make the space “fun and weird”. If you’ve seen something I should see, let me know!

Footnotes

¹ The blog post got deleted but the Wayback Machine has a copy.

² Note you don’t get to see a video of me playing It is as if you were making love; you’re welcome.

³ Strangely – although it’s hard to say that anything in this video is more-strange than any other part – one of the “hard lads” friends’ then picks up his fag end and takes a drag

⁴ This, in case it wasn’t obvious to you already, is likely to be a big clue that the authors’ claim that each chapter was “found” from somewhere different can be pretty-well dismissed.

⁵ I wanted it to draw parallels to The Langoliers, a Stephen King short story about a group of people who get trapped alone in “yesterday”.

⁶ Until they opt to “stay asleep forever”, ending the game.

⁷ Or into a BAND and then into a BAN, maybe?

⁸ Counterfeit Monkey is free, but it was almost charityware: if it turns out you love it as much as I did then you might follow my lead and make a donation to Emily’s suggested charity the Endangered Language Fund. Just sayin’.

Cold Giraffe

My mum painted a cold giraffe onto a postcard and sent it to me. It’s been added to my collection.

She sent it to my “send me a postcard” PO box (even though she’s got my actual address), which I’m guessing was an indication that it was being “sent” to me “as if” she were a stranger on the Internet.

Or possibly it’s just because I’m, y’know, living in a variety of different places with only intermittent trips back to my actual house, while my insurance company and their contractors do their work to dry out our walls and floors, assess the damage caused after my house flooded, 24 days ago.

Whatever the reason, it was an uplifting piece of mail to receive.

In other things-are-improving news, our insurance company (finally! – after lots of checks and paperwork at their end) accepted liability for paying for the repairs we’ll need and for our temporary accommodation (including the places we’ve already been living for the last few weeks).

Subverting AI Agent Logging with a Git Post-Commit Hook

Last night I was chatting to my friend (and fellow Three Rings volunteer) Ollie about our respective workplaces and their approach to AI-supported software engineering, and it echoed conversations I’ve had with other friends. Some workplaces, it seems, are leaning so-hard into AI-supported software development that they’re berating developers who seem to be using the tools less than their colleagues!

That’s a problem for a few reasons, principal among them that AI does not make you significantly faster but does make you learn less.¹. I stand by the statement that AI isn’t useless, and I’ve experimented with it for years. But I certainly wouldn’t feel very comfortable working somewhere that told me I was underperforming if, say, my code contributions were less-likely than the average to be identifiably “written by an AI”.

Even if you’re one of those folks who swears by your AI assistant, you’ve got to admit that they’re not always the best choice.

I spoke to another friend, E, whose employers are going in a similar direction. E joked that at current rates they’d have to start tagging their (human-made!) commits with fake AI agent logs in order to persuade management that their level of engagement with AI was correct and appropriate.³

Supposing somebody like Ollie or E or anybody else I spoke to did feel the need to “fake” AI agent logs in order to prove that they were using AI “the right way”… that sounds like an excuse for some automation!

I got to thinking: how hard could it be to add a git hook that added an AI agent’s “logging” to each commit, as if the work had been done by a robot?⁴

Turns out: pretty easy…

To try out my idea, I made two changes to a branch. When I committed, imaginary AI agent ‘frantic’ took credit, writing its own change log. Also: asciinema + svg-term remains awesome.

Here’s how it works (with source code!). After you make a commit, the post-commit hook creates a file in .agent-logs/, named for your current branch. Each commit results in a line being appended to that file to say something like [agent] first line of your commit message, where agent is the name of the AI agent you’re pretending that you used (you can even configure it with an array of agent names and it’ll pick one at random each time: my sample code uses the names agent, stardust, and frantic).

There’s one quirk in my code. Git hooks only get the commit message (the first line of which I use as the imaginary agent’s description of what it did) after the commit has taken place. Were a robot really used to write the code, it’d have updated the file already by this point. So my hook has to do an --amend commit, to retroactively fix what was already committed. And to do that without triggering itself and getting into an infinite loop, it needs to use a temporary environment variable. Ignoring that, though, there’s nothing particularly special about this code. It’s certainly more-lightweight, faster-running, and more-accurate than a typical coding LLM.

Sure, my hook doesn’t attempt to write any of the code for you; it just makes it look like an AI did. But in this instance: that’s a feature, not a bug!

Footnotes

¹ That research comes from Anthropic. Y’know, the company who makes Claude, one of the most-popular AIs used by programmers.

² Do I write that much like an AI? Relevant XKCD.

³ Using “proportion of PRs that used AI” as a metric for success seems to me to be just slightly worse than using “number of lines of code produced”. And, as this blog post demonstrates, the former can be “gamed” just as effectively as the latter (infamously) could.

⁴ Obviously – and I can’t believe I have to say this – lying to your employer isn’t a sensible long-term strategy, and instead educating them on what AI is (if anything) and isn’t good for in your workflow is a better solution in the end. If you read this blog post and actually think for a moment hey, I should use this technique, then perhaps there’s a bigger problem you ought to be addressing!

What can you do with a software privacy polariser?

Samsung have been showing off pre-release versions of their new Galaxy S26 range. It’s all pretty same-old predictable changes (and I’m still not really looking for anything to replace my now-five-year-old mobile anyway!), but one feature in particular – one that they’re not even mentioning in their marketing copy – seemed interesting and innovative.

You know those polarising filters you can use to try to stop people shoulder-surfing? Samsung have come up with a software-controlled one.

Photo showing a pre-release Samsung Galaxy S26 handset, viewed from sideways on. Most of the screen is visible, but a new notification is 'blacked out' and only visible to somebody viewing the screen from straight-on. — Demos show the feature being used to black-out the screen at a 15°+ angle when entering a PIN or password, but also show how it can configured on an app-by-app basis to e.g. black out notifications so that only the person right in front of the screen can see them.

I assume that this black magic is facilitated by an additional layer between the screen and the glass, performing per-pixel selective polarisation in the same way as a monochrome LCD display might. But the fact that each pixel can now show two images – one to a user directly ahead, superimposed with another (monochrome) one to users with an offset viewing angle, is what interests me: my long-cultivated “hacker mentality” wants to ask “what I can make that do?”

Does the API of this (of this or of any similar or future screens?) provide enough control to manipulate the new layer? And is its resolution identical to that of the underlying screen?

Could “spoilers”, instead of being folded-away behind a <details>/<summary> or ROT13-encoded, say “tilt to reveal” and provide a physicality to the mechanism of exposure?

Could diagrams embed their own metadata annotations: look at a blueprint from the side to see descriptions, or tilt your phone to see the alt-text on an image?

Can the polarisation layer be expanded to provide a more-sophisticated privacy overlay, such as a fake notification in place of a real one, to act as a honeypot?

Is there sufficient control over the angle of differentiation that a future screen could use eye tracking to produce a virtual lenticular barrier, facilitating a novel kind of autostereoscopic 3D display that works – like a hologram – from any viewing angle?

I doubt I’m buying one of these devices. But I’m very curious about all of these questions!

F-Day plus 12

It’s now twelve days since a flood struck my house, causing the ground floor to be submerged under a couple of feet of water and ultimately leading us to kick off an insurance claim process.

A home office with its floor stripped down to poured concrete and an industrial dehumidifier running. — My regular home office of the last six years sits stripped-down, with no flooring, skirting boards, or power (with the exception of the specialised circuit powering an industrial dehumidifier).

And man, a home insurance claim seems to be… slow. For instance, we originally couldn’t even get anybody out to visit us until F-day plus 10 (later improved to F-day plus 7). The insurance company can’t promise that they’ll confirm that they’ll “accept liability” (agree to start paying for anything) until possibly as late as F-day plus 17. Nobody will check for structural damage until F-day plus 19¹.

Oh, and the insurance company have advised us to look for something like a “12 month let with a 6 month break clause”, which is horrifying. We could be out of our home for up to a year.

Dan, a white man, stands with his arms raised outside a nicely-decorated converted barn. — Right now, though, we’re spending two weeks in this holiday let about half an hour’s drive from our house. It’s pretty nice, except that we have to commute over the ever-congested single-lane Burford Bridge to get the kids to and from school every day².

Some days it feels like being stuck in a nowhere-place… but simultaneously still having to make the regular everyday stuff keep ticking over. Visiting the house- currently stripped of anything damp and full of drying equipment – feels like stepping onto another planet… or like one of those dreams where you’re somewhere familiar except it’s wrong somehow.

But spending time away from it, “as if” on holiday except-not, is weird too: like we’re accepting the ambiguity; leaning-in to limbo. Especially while we’re waiting for the insurance company to do their initial things, it feels like life is both on hold, and not-allowed to be on hold.

A nervous-looking French Bulldog in a teal jumper looks up from under a desk. — The dog gets it. I had to take her to the house for a while on Monday³ and she spent the whole time leaning against my feet for reassurance.

And I worry that by the time they’re committed to paying for us to stay somewhere else for at least half a year, they lose any incentive they might have to contract for speed. There’s no hurry any more. We’re expected to just press pause on our home, but carry on with our lives regardless, pretending that everything’s normal.

So yeah, it’s a weird time.

Footnotes

¹ I’m totally committed to this way of counting the progress, which I started on F-day plus 3. I get the feeling like it might be a worthwhile way of keeping track of how long all of this takes.

² Normally, the younger and older child are able to get to school on foot or via a bus that stops virtually outside our house, each day, so an hour-plus round-trip to their schools and back up to twice a day is a bit of a drag! We’re managing to make it work with a little creativity, but I wouldn’t want to make it a long-term plan!

³ And do some work from there, amidst the jet engine-like noise of the dehumidifiers!

Taskmaster: 220 Extraordinary Tasks for Ordinary People, by Alex Horne

I recently read Taskmaster: ~~200~~ 220 Extraordinary Tasks for Ordinary People by Alex Horne, and was… underwhelmed.

The meat of the book is a collection of Taskmaster-style tasks either for individuals, or groups, or teams. If you played human jousting, or blindfold doughnut fishing, or leaky-guttering-water-transporter, or any of the other games Ruth and I hosted at Ruth & JTA‘s Stag/Hen Party way back in the day… you’re thinking in the right kinds of ballpark. The activities presented are similar to those shown on the Taskmaster TV show, but with fewer prop requirements.

Perhaps one in ten to one in five of the ideas are genuinely good, but if you want to run your own Taskmaster-like game with your friends… you’re probably best to just adapt some of the games from the show, or sit down for an hour or two with a notepad, a pen, some funny friends, and a supply of whatever chemical stimulates your imagination!

One part of the book I did enjoy, though, was the accounts of parts of the TV show that didn’t make it into the final edit. I really love the TV show, and it was great to get the inside scoop on what tasks worked and didn’t, what got cut and why, and so on. This bit of the book, hidden at the end and using a much smaller typeface as if it’s ashamed to be there, was excellent and highly enjoyable.

Perhaps a future edition could have much more of that – there’ve been many more seasons since the book came out! – and drop some of the less-interesting tasks!