Coming up with titles for posts is hard. Take this one, for example; all I wanted was an excuse to post a pretty little pic I took of the afternoon sun hitting a leaf of sage on my new pot 'o herbs, but to title it 'A picture of some sage' is as dull as a dull thing owned by Mr McDull, son of the original John Dull of Dulwich. So instead we have a dreadfull convoluted title that derives from a tenuous connection (sage and onion stuffing) married to a barely-there pun (stuff = things wot might be in the post); I think it comes from working in t'media, where you're contantly having to come up with such dreadful little bon mots in captions and headlines. Apologies, all; here's the damn picture...

I'm sure you must be aware of this already, but just in case this celebration of nasal, oddly-cadenced speech has passed you by, please take note that tomorrow is International Talk Like Bob Dylan Day.

And while we're about it, please don't let September 19 pass you by either.

Even the graffiti in Bath is polite, has a social mandate, and is pretty. Keep an eye on Flickr for more photos of life in Bath.

I think I'm finally getting to grips with the layout of this town, though that might have something to do with recent purchase of a pop-up map of the centre. Above, for example, you see the Pulteney Bridge, that shares the rare distinction with only three other bridges of having shops along both sides. That – it looks like a street, not a bridge, while you're on it – added to the fact that the Avon loops quite severely, was, I think, the root of my disorientation. Or maybe I'm just a bit crap.

It's all a bit odd, really. The shops are shut when I leave work, I feel at risk from scurvy from a lack of fruit and veg, and we moved so little stuff on Saturday that I don't even have any crockery here. It feels almost like I'm living in a very poorly-resourced hotel, and spend my life pretty much either in bed or at my desk:


The work is good, though, and it's exciting to be trying new stuff. Acclimatising to a different publishing house's systems is disconcerting; my colleagues throw around phrases and words without thinking relating the processes governing how the magazine is put together, and it's all very alien. Sometimes it's just a simple translation – 'editing' is 'proofing' here, while 'proofing' is 'signing off' – but Future's much more robust, regimented content management system has its own very specialised lingo and customs that I'm having to learn.

In other news: I know it's wrong, I know it's parochial and patronising, and I know that I too have a strong regional accent, but... when I overheard a chap with a very broad West Country accent on a mobile this afternoon talking about advanced enterprise hardware configuration stuff, I couldn't help but grin to myself. There's just something about hearing 'server' pronounced 'zerver' that gives you a warm glow, particularly when the speaker signs off what is obviously a business call with 'all right, my lovely.'

At the moment, though, I feel very much between two worlds. My keyring holds two sets of keys – London and Bath – and my identity cards bespeak a slightly schizophrenic sense of self. My lady wife is still in London too, so I kind of feel like I live in neither place. That should change over the next few weeks, though, as I find my bearings here and explore the city more. Any recommendations?

It's with a weird mix of emotions that I finally write here that I'm moving jobs, and moving moving too. My new working week this coming Monday will begin not with me running down stairs and jumping on the 453 heading for Regent Street, but walking down from Sion Hill in Bath to my new job at MacFormat. Friday is my last official day at MacUser, though I'm having a quiet mojito or six on Thursday evening to mark the end of my employment with Dennis. (Was I rude enough not to invite you? Send me an email at for details.)

And boy does it feel weird disengaging from MacUser. I've worked there for almost five years – my first job after finishing university – and in that time have gone from a wet-behind-the-ears sonofabitch to an arrogant sonofabitch. I've acquired a bulging address book, met more nice people than many people can hope to meet in a lifetime, ditto utter wankers, laughed, cried (literally, genuinely), been proud of what we do, seen my wife get a job because of low-grade nepotism but keep it because of her talent, and much more besides. MacUser has given me skills, opportunities and earning potential afforded few lucky souls – a career, when you get down to it – and it'll always be a bit special for me for this and other reasons.

I'm going to love moving to a monthly title rather than a fortnightly one, though, and I'm a huge fan of what MacFormat have been doing over the last couple of years. There's a real enthusiasm at the magazine that I'm going to really enjoy being a part of; regardless of all this, however, I imagine I'll get a tad emotional as I take my leave from The Mighty ’User.

It remains a fantastic magazine for professionals – the perfect foil to MacFormat's more approachable, consumer-friendly approach – and I wish it and all the spectacularly gifted individuals behind the brand all my very best.

Onwards and westwards, folks; onwards and westwards.

Did you see the moon last night? I finished working at my desk at about half midnight, came through to our south-facing bedroom, and thought Mrs Receding Hairline had left the light on. Absolutely loopy. High-res pics here.

Let me know if you want an invite to Joost (what's this?) – I have 999 of them to give away, though the invitation process seems to be b0rked. Works on PC and Mac, but only Intel variants of the latter.

I'm moderately impressed with the experience and the technology behind it, but it's flaky as hell on my MacBook. 0.9.4 just crashes out after a couple of minutes, and the version I have running on my PC fares little better. Ah well, that's why this is a beta programme. Oh, 'programme' geddit? Arf, arf, arf...

Today, I am delighted to say, I am a walking cliché: I am literally wet behind the ears.

(I discovered a small spot there yesterday, and when I reached up to scratch a niggling itch, I noticed a little blood, so I've just given myself a little clean up. With the consequence that I am literally wet behind the ears.)

Yes, this may be a quietly nauseating story, but when was the last time you were a walking cliché? Huh?