Rate Tired

Every day for three weeks, I've been sitting here in front of the computer into the wee hours trying to pull everything together for the launch of the business. It's hard graft! No wonder there's no so many entrepreneurs about these days. I'd kill for a glass of wine and a night in front of the telly watching Inspector Barnaby in Midsommer or some other mindless drudge.

Onwards and Upwards...

Nuff Said!

I don't normally write about work, but seeing as I am about the only person who isn't writing about the British Council at the moment, I'd thought I'd better say something. Here it is, courtesy of the FT!

Ready... Teddy... Go!

Only a couple of weeks now before lift off! Scary stuff. Lots and lots to do. No time for sleep. But I've got a feeling it's going to be good. Very good! Who want's a Teddy? Get in touch if you do.

http://www.wheresmyteddy.com/

Some Minor Thought Excretions

Fall. I like that word. Much better than Autumn. Right now, the garden is littered in fall. Last week, I caught a deer on film in the garden eating leaves, which got the kids excited. This morning however the sky had fallen on our heads. All a bit Larkin for me - The sky is as white as clay, with no sun, work has to be done. And yes, it would have been utterly miserable if that was the case, but fact is I am now on holiday, so couldn't care less. After dropping the kids off at school, it was back a'bed. I made a passing effort to read Jenkin's biography of Churchill, but the sheer weight of it made my arms ache and my eyes heavy. I slept until lunch, when I had beans on toast. Spent the afternoon designing a beer label (see attached) for me and my mate's brewing company, Mid-Life Crisis Ales. The beer will be bottled this Saturday and therefore ready for Christmas. Hopefully this time around it will be drinkable. Did some work on Where's My Teddy, which is an uphill struggle at the moment as my business Partner RD is in the Fjord's of Norway and up to his eyeballs in his new job and it's hard work alone. Read extracts from Elliot's Wasteland, "I will show you fear in a handfull of dust". Cool. Listened to Radiohead's new album which is awesome. And they've totally redefined the record industry paradigm to boot. Excellent. Back a'bed!

Working on Teddy Today

Today I am working with richard on Where's My Teddy

Airports are the Coalmines of the Travelling Class

As a kid, I had a fairly narrow escape. In the eighties, Thatcher had the wisdom to close the local pits, and thereby closed off a career path which I might otherwise have fallen into. If I'd been born only ten years earlier, it could well have been a different story. But I wasn't, so at the time I thought I had escaped a fairly horrible fate. Life, I thought, held possibilities. How little I knew! Instead of working down'pit several hours a day, I now spend most of my working life killing time in airports. I skipped the coalface, but I still need to get into lifts and climb onto travellators to get to work, and instead of coal dust there's diesel fumes. It's the same games with different names.

Over the past couple of years, I have grown to hate airports with a passion. (I'm penning this from the airport lounge at Stockholm International, while I'm waiting - yet again - for a delayed flight to Warsaw). There was a time for me when airports had a little personality, and they held the excitement and anticipation of travel to some exotic destination, usually with a holiday in mind (it was rarely, if ever, I travelled with my job back then). Now the reverse is true. In fact it is so bad that when it came to booking the upcoming holiday to Italy, I did everything I could to avoid traveling by plane. Airports are now synonymous with queues, bad humours, heat, random and often savage security measures, tedium, more queues, and non-informative information announcements. And they all look the same too. On more than one occasion now, between connecting flights, I've stepped off of a plane and had that panic attack that signals that I do not only not know what airport I'm at, but I don't even know what country I am in. J.G. Ballard once called airports "instant communities". That's only partly true these days - now they are more like beachheads at the end of civilisation, where we can witness at first hand how the attrition of modern life is slowly rubbing out the human soul. Why? Because nowadays airports are always the first to respond to the front line dangers of how we live now, so the crap that currently happens at airports is a warning shot from the future that lies ahead of us all. God help us!

Only another two more hours to go. The Duty Free shop is closing and the cleaners are mowing the concrete. Why is that man holding a dead parrot?

... zzzzzzz

Summertime!!!

Summer at last. The sun is out in Sweden and people are already building up for the holidays. And yes, I admit it, I'm already singing the Will Smith song, damn it. Before you know it, it will be Midsummer and crowds of Swedes will be dancing round maypoles doing bunny impressions while my British friends get bogged down in the Glastonbury mud. Magic. Plus it will be time to open my pub for the fifth season (see right for last summer). I can't wait. But before that it's the family Taylor trip to Italy and Legoland next week. Hurrah! Boats, Cars, Planes, and Trains. But in typical Taylor fashion, my perfectly formed plans to get my car down to Italy in order to buy booze has gone awry. Today, the Swedish case for stopping the import over the Internet of wine and spirits was thrown out by the EU court. While this is great news, it more or less renders my hard work in getting the car down there pointless. All of Italy's wine's are in principle now only a click away. Now I have to drive a car thousands of miles instead of merely clicking items into a virtual basket. Buggeration. Still, it will at least spell the beginning of the end of the Swedish alcohol monopoly, which is as as good a reason for enjoying a bottle of Champagne if ever there was one. Cheers!

Rube Goldberg Machines?

Don't try this at home... Find out what this all means here.