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Speaking about WordPress and Philosophy at WCEU

This Saturday I’ll be speaking at WordCamp Europe. It is particularly exciting for me because last year I was one of the organisers and this year I get to see it from the other side (i.e. less stress, more sleep, more socialising!). It’s also my first WordCamp in Europe since WordCamp London last November (which I was organising so didn’t really get to enjoy all that much!). It’s wonderful to be back in this part of the world. I missed Europe. I missed cobbled streets and the way the light spreads across crumbling old cities.

Many of the presentations I’ve been doing of late have been focused on the work that I’m doing on WordPress’ history. For WordCamp Europe I decided to talk about some of the ideas behind WordPress and how they came to be on WordPress’ philosophies page. I’ve been working on this aspect at the minute so it fit well with what I was going. The more I dug, however, the deeper I went and I found it hard to stop. My old training as a philosophy graduate kicked in and quickly I was writing about Philosophy instead of philosophies.

This makes my presentation doubley exciting for me, and also doubley nervewracking. If someone had told me two years ago that I would do a presentation at a WordCamp about philosophy, I would have thought it was ridiculous. And it probably is still ridiculous, but I’m doing it anyway.

So if you want to hear what Duns Scotus, Michel Foucault, and Isaiah Berlin have in common with WordPress, come to my presentation this Saturday at 11:30am to find out.

Laurel and Hardy, A Chump at Oxford, 1940 - MUSEUMVIEWS - 1

In need of a good joke

I am in need of a joke. I have just one. I need another. D and I go out with friends, to dinner or for a drink. D thinks that he’s very funny so will crack a few jokes. Then other people tell their jokes. Then the most hilarious thing of all – D announces that I only have one joke, and that I always tell it and that I haven’t got any more.

“Tell us a joke,” he says.

“No,” I say.

“She’s only got one,” he says, giggling.

“So?” I say.

“Tell us it.”


“I’ll tell it,” he says, then of course can’t remember it, his head being stuff so full of his own jokes. “I only know the punchline. You tell it.”

And then I do tell it.

The joke is this:
What do you call a square testicle?
A cubicle

This, I think, is very funny. It makes most people laugh. D, however, has heard it many, many times. He forgets that the lot of a married person is to hear one’s spouse repeat the same stories and jokes ad nauseum until death do us part. He forgets how many times I’ve heard him tell the story about his brother and the lazy cats, or about how he nearly died scuba diving (he didn’t nearly die), or the number of times he’s retold the winning joke from the Edinburgh festival (“I decided to sell my Hoover… well it was just collecting dust.”)

The problem with my joke is that it’s not really mine. A friend told me it a few years ago and I thought it was funny and it stuck in my head. I like the wordplay, the way that the words rhyme with each other. I like the three-syllable sound of the words. I like the image of a square testicle.

But I need a new one, or I need some new friends. Probably a new joke is easier to come by. The problem with jokes is that half of them are racist, mysoginistic, or filthy, making them inappropriate for telling to people who you don’t know all that well (I’m probably already on shakey grounds with my testicle joke, but a least it’s more fit for public conception than 50% of D’s). About another quarter of them are totally lame. The type of jokes our eleven-year old niece tells us, in which she gets the telling totally wrong, giggling like a harpee as she tries to construct a joke in a sort of Burroughs cut-up technique fashion. Or jokes from a joke book that must have been passed down through a hundred generations.

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”



“Knock knock.”

“I’ve heard this one before.”

“I hate you.” Screams. Storms off.

I have done some searching for my new joke. I need one that is short. I have a terrible memory and I fear mangling a joke to be received by stoney silence while D giggles (he does that a lot).

Here are some that I’ve come across:

What has teeth but no mouth?
A comb.
More of a riddle than a joke.

How do you know that carrots are good for your eyesight?
Have you ever seen a rabbit with glasses?

Why did the man put condoms on his ears during sex?
He didn’t want to get hearing aids.
Good imagery but not very funny.

Why did the cat go to the hospital?
To have a CAT scan done.

The thing about the square testicle joke is that it’s pretty much perfect. It contains so much:

  • a play on words
  • rhyme
  • slightly riské but not over the top therefore suitable for most company
  • conjurs up an excellent mental image

However, my telling of it is ruined by D giggling and pronouncing to the world how hilarious it is that I, his wife, have only one joke. It’s not simply that I have only one joke, but that I am the joke. I, in my one-jokeness, have become a prop in D’s box of funnies that he trots out for anyone who will listen.

And so, has anyone got a new one for me?

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Caye Caulker, May – June 2014

We recently spent 6 weeks in Caye Caulker, Belize. A lot of time was spent diving, even more was spent trying to get the book I’m writing finished. But there was time to take some photos.

So much truth

I didn’t know Rebecca Meyer, or at least not in person. I don’t even know Eric Meyer, though his name has come up here and there during the research I’m doing. I happened to be on his blog to read something he wrote years ago. I clicked onto his home page and stumbled on a blog post with the title The Truth.

It’s startling to be arrested by so much truth, just when doing something so prosaic. I was stunned. I couldn’t go back to work. I wanted to know why this was happening. I cried. I felt a deep, empty, ache. I wanted to email him, this person I don’t know, to say how sorry I am, or leave a comment on his blog, but whatever I thought to say felt so empty and inconsequential in the face of what was happening.

I’ve become so accustomed to the web’s bite-size pieces of enjoyment, information absorption, reams of content that I glide over the surface of. Even in the news media, there are so many images of suffering that they become ubiquitous. But reading Eric’s blog over the past few months, words on this screen have taken on so much power, the internet given a new depth and dimension. To be here, reading that, while it’s actually going on to a family. In a very raw way, I’ve been put in touch with real sadness and suffering, reminded how lucky I am for my life and the life of my loved ones, brought closer to the pain of all those families who have lost someone so young. Tragedy is just a breath away from any of us. I’ve never read anything online that has made me feel so much. I am filled with sadness, heartbroken.

These words are not enough. I just wanted to write something, anything, to let Eric and his family know that people across the world, that I, grieve with them.

Please consider making a donation Philadelphia Ronald McDonald House or the St. Baldrick’s Foundation.

Ups and downs diving New Zealand

When D asked what I wanted to do for my birthday, the answer was simple – diving! We decided to head north from Wellington, to do a 2 day liveaboard in the Poor Knights Islands, off the North-East Coast of New Zealand.  New Zealand tourist guides are fond of pointing out that the Poor Knights were one of Jacques Cousteau’s favourite sites, so I was pretty excited to dive in its clear waters, and see the abundant marine life.

8am, we went to the harbour to find our boat, the MV Mazurka, a small liveaboard with room for about 8 people. The plan was to go out for two days and do 7 dives around the Poor Knights.

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MV Mazurka, run by Ocean Blue

We were first to arrive at the boat. The sun was shining and it looked like we had a glorious day ahead of us. I was hopping about, babbling about how excited I was. We’d been there for five minutes when a man came down the pier. He introduced himself as Kevin. He looked sheepish. He explained that there was a bit of a problem: two and a half meter swells that would make any extended trip out to the islands a misery, especially an overnight stay that would involve rolling around all night in a small cabin. Given both D and I’s propensity to sea sickness, we decided, reluctantly, to call it off.

Instead, we went out on a day boat. The swells weren’t going to pick up for a few hours so at least we’d be able to get out to see the Poor Knights and do some diving. Kevin brought us to another boat at the marina, this one owned by Yukon Dive. They had room for us and within a few hours we were on our way to the Poor Knights.

The sea was rough. I’d taken extra tablets to prevent the relentless nausea that is sea sickness. There’s nothing worse than being sick on a boat, when you know that getting off the boat is the only cure and there’s no chance of escaping until you reach dry land. So far, I’ve used healthy doses of dramamine to avoid sea sickness. The downside of dramamine is that it gives you cottonmouth and can make you feel stoned. Here’s a picture of D after two dramamine tablets:


D high on dramamine at Nopparat Thara pier, Thailand

I’ve been experimenting with other tablets: I took meclizine on our previous liveaboard, which worked fine. On this trip, however, I should have taken the dramamine.  Huge swells rocked the boat, and every pair of eyes was fixed on the horizon. We couldn’t, however, get to the Poor Knights quick enough – the dark outcropping on the horizon, past the rolling swells, inched closer; every minute of the 45 minute journey crawled by, and I began to be thankful that we weren’t on a liveaboard.

The Poor Knights are beautiful. They’re a group of uninhabited islands 50 miles off the coast of New Zealand. On a normal visit, you’d see arches and caves and striking rock formations. On our visit, the arches were hidden by the waves that crashed through every hole as the ocean beat against the island. All we wanted to do was to dive in and get beneath the swells to the calm blue underneath.

It was my first dive trip to cold water – this meant wriggling my way into a 7mm full length wet suit. This is hard enough, but harder still when the boat is rocking from side to side, and it’s hard to stand up straight. Still, we got in, suited up, and jumped in. It’s a shock to hit the water for the first time, unlike the warm waters in Thailand. But it wasn’t as cold as I expected, and I was surprised at how little the temperature bothered me.

What is affected by water temperature is buoyancy. In Thailand we dove in 5mm short wetsuits, which don’t have much of an impact in buoyancy. In New Zealand the wet suits are 7mm thick. At the surface you’re extra buoyant so you need more weight to get down, but as you descend the water pressure compresses the wet suit and all that extra weight makes you sink like a stone.

As our first dive in cold water, we did a quick buoyancy check to make sure we were weighted correctly. Everything was fine so we descended. Except I couldn’t go down. I was bobbing around at the surface, and I struggled to go anywhere. Our divemaster grabbed my fin and tried to pull me down, but I kept flipping over. It’s  disorientating to try to descend through the water only to find yourself continuously flipping over. It wasn’t helped by the swells that were pulling me up and down, and by now I’d started to feel nauseous. Most of all it was frustrating. I’d left Thailand feeling happy with my buoyancy, able to jump in the sea and keep a good profile. But now I felt like I did on my very first dive – completely unable to control myself.

Eventually, my divemaster put another weight on me and I was able, with difficulty, to descend. We dove along a wall, sheltered from the current, at a dive site called the Canyon. It was dotted with long stalks of seaweed that swayed with the rise and fall with the sea. D and Rachael (our divemaster) spent the dive looking around the wall for its inhabitants, scorpionfish, white eyed moray eels, and nudibranches. I spent the dive trying to keep myself from flipping on to my back. Every time I moved I felt like I was spinning around. I tightened my BCD, and tried to hold myself straight.

By the time we decided to ascend I was exhausted. We did our safety stop at 5 meters, the swell pulling us up and down. Denjoyed it, but I was struggling to keep myself from going upside down. All I wanted to do was surface. But when I did, my body gave in to the swell and I was hit with overwhelming nausea.

I fought my way out of my wet suit and sat on the dive deck feeling sorry for myself and looking miserable. I was convinced that a) I’d forgotten how to dive, and b) I couldn’t cope with the buoyancy changes in cold water. On top of that, the swell had picked up even further and the boat was rolling from side to side. Each roll brought a new wave of nausea and I was sure that soon I’d be hanging over the side of the boat, emptying my breakfast of bacon and eggs into the sea. I dreaded having to wriggle into my cold wetsuit, put on my BCD, and jump in the water to turn summersaults once more.

Instead, I quietly disappeared to the cabin at the back of the boat, put on some warm clothes, curled up, and went to sleep. A mixture of drowsiness from the sea sickness tablets and the rocking of the boat meant that it was one of the best sleeps of my life. I woke up feeling infinitely better, to hear the rest of the divers returning from their dive. D was elated and apologetic. He’d spent the dive hanging out with a giant stingray.

As D packed up his gear, the skipper said he’d removed my weights from my equipment, but that one of my integrated weight pockets was missing. The flipping over, the inability to descend, finally made sense. I must have dropped my weight pocket just after doing the buoyancy test, leaving me 4kg lighter than I needed to be. This had made me too buoyant to descend, and had also been the cause of my flipping over – too much weight on one side. I was sad that I’d not noticed earlier, but relieved that the problem had been one of weighting, not that I’d forgotten how to dive. It had been my first dive with an integrated BCD and I just hadn’t thought to check my weight pockets. Lesson learned.

The trip back was rougher than the way out, waves crashed over the top of the boat, and the angry sea battered us. It was a relief to get back to dry land. Despite feeling relieved, I still felt despondent and wasn’t sure I wanted to dive for a while. Still the next day was my birthday and I had been determined to spend it diving. Some of the other divers on the boat suggested that we go to the Bay of Islands, to a dive outfit there that has its own rig and cheap accommodation. I made D telephone them, because I didn’t even have the energy to talk about diving. I knew, however, that the best way to cure my reluctance to go diving again was to get back in the water.

Around the Bay of Islands, New Zealand

Around the Bay of Islands, New Zealand

I’m glad that I did. We had two wonderful dives with Northland Dive. First, we dove the Canterbury Wreck, which beats all of the wrecks I’ve dove before. Sunk seven years ago, by Shane and Julia who run Northland Dive, the 113 meter Frigate is in beautiful condition. At 30 meters, it stands upright, so we were able to dive through the helicopter hanger, along covered walkways, and we could even enter the bridge. The visibility was perfect, and we could use our torches to peer inside portholes and cracks in the ship to see fish packed inside. The second dive was at a 40m long tunnel, Big Eyes Lair. We dropped in the water and swam around through the clear blue to the back entrance of the cave, where we entered one at a time. The cave gradually ascended. Torchlight shone on the walls, lighting up scorpion fish and the big eyes that give the lair their name. Sunlight streamed through the exit, bright blue at the end of the darkness.

I loved both dives, I even loved jumping in to the bracing cold water, but best of all I’d penetrated a wreck, and swam down a tunnel, and my buoyancy had been perfect. If we end up living somewhere were the water’s cold, I shouldn’t have any problems diving it.


Photo credit Northland Dive


First use of the word “wordpress”

Serendipity struck today. Sunday afternoon spent lounging on the sofa reading books. D started chuckling and motioned for me to come over to look inside his copy of Finnegans Wake by James Joyce:

A bone, a pebble, a ramskin; chip them, chap them, cut them up allways; leave them to terracook in the muttheringpot: and Gutenmorg with his cromagnom charter, tintingfast and great primer must once for omniboss step rubrickredd out of the wordpress else is there no virtue more in alcohoran. For that (the rapt one warns) is what papyr is meed of, made of, hides and hints and misses in prints. (p. 20)

wordpress! James Joyce! It came as a total surprise, although perhaps shouldn’t since Joyce was an auteur when it came to messing with words. Here it is in situ:


What is Joyce talking about? There’s a great analysis of it here. He seems to be referring to the intoxication of language, an overabundance of words; how language has developed over time (from cro-magnon man to Gutenberg (who created the first printing press from a wine press)) to become drunk with meaning and sense. “wordpress” is this clamour of words from which sense and nonsense springs.

Finnegan’s Wake is often cited as being the source for the word “quark“, which Murray Gell-Mann took from the line “three quarks for Muster Mark!” While Christine Tremoulet didn’t have Joyce in mind when she came up with the name, it’s fantastic to find this different meaning to the word, one that links our publishing platform to the printing press, one of history’s literary cornerstones, and to language itself. It’ll make a lovely footnote for the book.

Degrees of Openness: Communication in the WordPress Community

Communication issues have affected WordPress throughout its history; it’s something that we’re constantly trying to figure out. We have to adapt to changes in development strategy, changes in technology, or changes in project members. Over the past few weeks I’ve been focusing my research for the WordPress book on designing in an open source environment. Redesigning the UI has always been a challenge, particularly managing the relationship between those carrying out the design and the rest of the community. Often the break points come around communication and it has been interesting to track the evolution of how design has been carried out in the project. Helen’s post yesterday made me reflect on these things in relation to the project today. Continue reading →

Why I Resigned from WPUK

This afternoon I resigned from WPUK. This has been on the cards for a while but events have come to a head and I felt that I could no longer support the organisation. Much of WPUK is behind closed doors and it seems pointless to post my reasons for leaving the group on the internal blog. Instead, it makes sense to write about it here, for the rest of the UK WordPress community. But first..

WordCamp London

Last month was WordCamp London, the very first WordCamp in the UK’s capital, the biggest WordCamp in the UK, the second biggest in Europe. I’ve met a lot of the organisers of big WordCamps – Miami, New York, San Francisco, Tokyo – all say “London doesn’t have a WordCamp yet?” Some of us got together earlier this year and decided to do something about it.

23rd of November was the very first WordCamp London, and we did a pretty good job (if I do say so myself ). As with many WordCamps across the world, we did a survey of attendees, and there were some interesting results:

  • 51% of attendees had never attended a WordCamp before
  • 71% of those who hadn’t been to a WordCamp before were from the UK

This is despite the fact that there is a regular WordCamp in the UK.

WordCamp London has demonstrated that there is a desire for a regular WordCamp in the capital. Not only did it sell out, but it sold out weeks before the actual event and our email account was bombarded with requests for tickets. We ended up with 306 attendees – our biggest problem? Not enough space.

There are things that can be improved on next year, but overall the feedback for WordCamp London was overwhelmingly positive and we’re excited to start planning again. I’m also pleased that WordCamp Brighton is in the early planning stages and Kimb is talking about organising WordCamp Sheffield.

More and more local communities want to set up their own WordCamps, and that’s a good thing. The WordPress community in the UK is one of the biggest communities in the world – it can easily sustain multiple WordCamps every year.

What about WPUK?

WPUK is a group of people that organises an annual WordCamp in different parts of the country every year. It has a bidding process and a vote is held to decide where the conference will take place. The WordCamp is then largely organised by the “core group”. WordCamp Lancaster was the fifth WordCamp held in this way.

With the advent of WordCamp London, and interest from a number of local groups in organising their own WordCamp, some of us feel that WPUK is no longer necessary. It served the purpose of organising an annual WordCamp in the UK, but now individual communities are mature enough to organise their own events and so it isn’t needed anymore.

An alternative proposal was that WPUK should no longer organise its own event, but should mentor and support local communities who want to organise their own WordCamp by providing expertise and financial services (WPUK has a bank account that can be used to make payments).

I felt that either of these two alternatives would be in the best interest of the UK WordPress community. This is why:

  • the formal bidding process, mailing list, website etc, of WPUK gives it the appearance of being the representative of WordPress in the UK. WPUK is not.
  • local communities are put off from organising their own WordCamp because there is already an official UK one.
  • The name WPUK gives the impression that the event that they organise is the official WordCamp for the UK – an impression that is false.
  • the roving WordCamp model doesn’t work except for the few people who are willing to travel from place to place every year. In what sense is it good that the local community in Cardiff, Edinburgh, Portsmouth, etc get one WordCamp, an anomaly, and then it disappears? A small group of people may like the opportunity to visit a new place every year but a disservice is done to the local community.
  • WPUK is made up of a self-selecting group of people who make decisions about the UK’s only WordCamp (until recently). They aren’t elected by the community in the UK, there’s no nomination process and no elections. There’s no opportunity for anyone else to get involved unless someone else who’s already a member asks them to join and the group approves.

Also, my experience of working with WPUK has not been a good one. There have been times when members of the group have been outright antagonistic, towards me, towards others, and towards WordCamp Central. There is a conspiratorial attitude about WordCamp Central and the WordPress Foundation. I understand that this is related to the index event that happened in Manchester a few years back but it’s immensely frustrating to be part of an organisation that can’t get beyond this.

On top of this, there was no support from WPUK around WC London. We didn’t ask for any, but (other than those directly involved with organising or speaking) no one showed any interest in the event at all. We weren’t asked how it went, or if we would like any help, nothing at all. For an event that purports to be supportive of UK WordPress activities, it seemed remiss.

Unfortunately WPUK has descended into cronyism. I joined the organisation with huge enthusiasm, but that enthusiasm was quickly sucked out of me. Despite the fact that these are people who are supposed to care about WordPress, they show no interest in any WordPress-activity that is outside of their own group. This can only be damaging to the WordPress community in the UK.

The recent vote

Earlier this week, Tony asked us to vote on the following:

Do you agree that WPUK continues as a naturally evolving organisation, and that WPUK instigates as soon as possible the organisation of the follow up to WordCamp Lancaster UK 2013, to take place on 12-13 July 2014 at a venue to be decided?

6 supported the proposal, 4 were against. There were four people who I knew would support it, four clearly against, and two who could have gone either way. There’s clearly been a lot of back channelling going on as there has been no discussion on the internal P2 for months. In light of the results of the vote, myself and some others have decided to resign.

This comes off the back of a fairly acrimonious discussion that happened a few weeks before WordCamp Lancaster. We discussed the future of WPUK and some members felt it was okay to get aggressive. At that point I realised that arguing wasn’t going to get me anywhere and that the best thing for me to do was to put my energy into organising WordCamp London, to do something positive instead of engaging in arguments that weren’t going anywhere.

What now?

WPUK will continue to organise its annual WordCamp.

I have resigned from the organisation and am already planning WordCamp London 2014.

If you want to organise a WordCamp in the UK I’m available to provide any mentorship, advice, cheerleading, or support that you want. I can help you out with WordCamp Central, though I can’t stress enough how supportive and helpful Andrea Middleton is. My dealings with WordCamp Central have been much easier than any with WPUK.

Organising a WordCamp is a challenging, exciting, exhilarating, demanding, difficult, and ultimately rewarding thing to do. If you want to organise one just do it – no bidding process, no wikis, just the WordCamp that you want, your own way. I will do everything I can to help make that happen.