Nick Grant

This is a story of a seemingly simple equation...

1 + 1 ≠ 1. I have been trying to make a single 'perfect' life by finding 'the one' but this has not led me or anybody to nirvana.

I was once so desperate for 'love' that I tried to make a relationship work with a girl I didn't fancy and a male boss, who was gay. You can't say I haven't tried everything!

I've had some lovely girlfriends, but it's been rather hard for them. I think I started 'clingy' and then progressed to 'intense' and then didn't really develop much from there. Not sure why it's taking me so long to realise that these things can't be rushed.

So, I got married, and we had our first test of in sickness and in health almost immediately, but we got married in Hawaii, so I'm not even sure if that was part of the vows. I certainly feel like it's a pretty crucial part of a loving committed relationship, but I don't know what the correct formula is.

When I had to go into hospital, soon after getting married, my wife said I would have to choose between her and treatment. I was pretty sure I was going to die if I didn't get treatment, and it was the reccomendation of my doctor, so I was kind of caught between a rock and a hard place.

I had pretty much offered my wife my head on a platter, as some kind of crazy symbolic gesture of how much I loved her, but that I felt I needed to demonstrate my love in this way was most confusing and distressing to me. I can see that this was my problem, not hers.

I left London to live the dream of having a place near the beach and kitesurfing every day. While I was down at the beach one day, my then girlfriend went through my stuff and when I returned to my car to warm up, I saw that I had a message demanding that I return home immediately... I was being summoned to court. Not a real court, but I had been summarily judged to be various things. I had to scamper back as quickly as I could to face my charges.

I don't blame my ex. She had added up 2 + 2 and made 5. She only cared about me, and about our relationship. She was worried I was a drug addict, because she had been through my internet search history, and found that I had Google'd "Nutmeg" after our friend had said that it had psychoactive effects comparable with strong narcotics. Frankly and truthfully, I merely wanted to find evidence to repudiate these unlikely claims.

My ex had good reason to feel insecure though... our friend had kinda gotten my attention. Not to do with the drugs, but she was and still is a larger than life character who defies being ignored by any and all male attention. That does not mean I wanted to cheat on my ex. It means I can still look at a cheeseburger when I am eating a steak.

The company that my ex was working for at the time sent her away from my beach dream life quite often, and I was lonely in the flat that she had insisted that I rent to be close to the office that she never spent any time at, in Poole. I had offered to move to Oxford, where she was working most of the time, but she had promised me that her contract would not be extended. Having worked for the same client and received several extensions myself, I could see that this was unlikely.

So, my friends looked after me, when I was all lonely in our huge apartment that was nowhere near any of my friends. We went out and sang Karaoke. We got drunk together. My certain female friend in question even offered to try and help me with my lifelong dislike of blowjobs... I declined, because I was in love with my ex. It was a thoughtful gesture though.

My ex could see that there was a certain chemistry though, and I guess she grew insecure. She tried to break up with me, without an explaination, and I was confused as hell. I stuck with it and she could see that I cared about her very much and so she gave it another go, but I never really understood what that was all about, until I just wrote these words right now.

The thing that she never seemed to realise is that I only had eyes for her. She lit up a room when she was happy. I remember walking with friends down at Ringstead Bay, near Weymouth, and the girls were walking along together in a line, when I turned back and shot my ex a smouldering look, completely by accident. I was so in love with her, it was so visible to everyone else that the girls either side all went "aaahhhhh" simultanously.

I hope my ex is happy now. I hope she has moved on. I hope that I made enough space and gave her enough closure that she has been able to pick up the pieces of her life and carry on. I'm really sorry that things didn't work out, but I hope the breakup can somehow be for the best in the long run.

So, one of my best friends reminded me last night of the rule of thumb for getting over someone. Seeing as me and my ex were off-and-on from 2005 to 2013, I guess that means there will be a situation vacant in 2017, but until then women should steer clear of this particular emotional juggernaught.

Show me the way to Mordor (October 2013)

Tags: #love #divorce #LGBT #friends

This is a story of a night where I fell asleep and didn't know if I was going to wake up...

God bless the NHS. This is the view that I couldn't really appreciate, from my hospital bed, where I was quite surprised to wake up. I wasn't surprised that I was in hospital, as I remember going there, but I don't remember caring whether I lived or died. I certainly was not afraid of death. I was surprised to still be alive. Was I grateful to be alive? No. Was I grateful for the hard working people of the Royal Free Hospital? Yes.

On another occasion, I had sliced my wrist open, which was a fairly calculated cry for help, and as my distress grew, I posted a picture on Facebook of some Potassium Cyanide which I had obtained through the Dark Web, which was perhaps a final warning. The responses to both were rather confusing and disturbing. People reacted angrily. I became the bad guy somehow. I'm not sure how or why that happened.

It was World Suicide Prevention day on September 10th, but I was too consumed with work to notice that day had passed. That means I survived, for now. However, I am scared that the darkness may return one day.

That's why I decided to build something that I thought would have been useful to me, when I was going through tough times. I didn't even stop to think that somebody else might have built something similar. I just threw something together (areyougone.org) in the matter of a few hours.

If it only takes me a few hours to build a suicide prevention / missing persons service, but it only takes you a few moments to dismiss somebody as a "Melodramatic Emo" or some kind of "Lost Cause" then F**k You, buddy.

None of my friends came to visit me in hospital. None of my family. That's a pretty poor show.

Do you really want to pick over the details? Who made you God? Why should you sit in judgement over those lives you want to care for and nurture and protect, and those who you deem unworthy? When is it OK to label a person as a lost cause, and just leave it to the Police, Nurses, Doctors and Coroners to pick up the pieces?

We are kicking human lives into the gutter, and I'm upset about that.

I had to ring an ex-girlfriend to bring me some clothes. Weeks in hospital with no physical support from partner, parents or friends is pretty shitty (May 2014)

Tags: #suicide #mentalhealth #depression #NHS #london

This is a story of a culture that lives in the hearts and minds of people, not a place...

Look how happy this burger flipper is! Look at him! He's so happy! There isn't even any ham in his hamburgers! He flips his burgers to D. I. S. C. O. music, and he is HAPPY!

What a lovely lovely thing the American Dream is. I totally buy into it. I've had the very best of it. I've flown in Boeing jets, driven Ford Mustangs, eaten McDonalds drive-thru, spelled words like "color" and "center" deliberately when in an American English context. I love the way that American culture has enriched every part of my dull beige British life.

I like British culture too. Some of it is cheap and tacky, like Spice Girls and the St. George's flag, but some of it is edgy and just downright edge-of-your-seat unmissable. Who can tear their eyes away from the tormented souls, the mumbling, bumbling, sexually repressed and oh so terribly polite British demeanour, where we start and end every sentence with a "Sorry".

You can't beat the brash snarl and roar of an overdriven electric guitar. However it's the British homage to American stadium rock that somehow lasts, beyond the brilliance and inspiration of Hendrix and a rock-and-roll 60s generation, who burnt out in a blaze of glory.

Let's see how many clichés we can pack into a single sentence about The Americans, who are the candle that burns twice as bright but burns half as long. Like a moth, we are attracted to their bright flame, but like Icarus, we need to be careful that our wax wings are not melted. You can't stare at the sun for too long. There's a little black spot on the sun today, it's in the same old spot as yesterday... yes The Police, and their illegal alien in New York are pretty clear about where they would really like to be Citizens.

I would love a precious Green Card, but I fear rejection by the prettiest girl on the planet... by which I mean the United States of AM-ER-IC-AH, F**k Yeah! I'm not even kidding. When I'm there, I feel like I just stepped onto a movie set. I find myself just gawping at road signs, or pinching myself when I'm driving down the freeway.

So, it's true. If you make great music, great movies, and you are contributing volumes and volumes of literature, art, music and amazing companies, technology, and thought leaders... how is it surprising that everybody wants to live there, and have a slice of the American Dream

That's the true "trickle down" effect, in my not-so-humble opinion.

Please let me in. I'm a refugee of the humdrum boring life that is not at all what I was brought up to expect from Hollywood and the adverts that told me I need to consume consume consume. I'm not even joking. Or maybe it's my dry British sense of humour. Dare I say... irony?

America, I love you x (I really do)

Tags: #america, #NHS #culture

This is a story of ambiguity and interpretation...

Does anybody remember the computer game Lemmings? It was probably one of the most influential games of my childhood. The Psygnosis development house was also responsible for Shadow of the Beast; and even today that game remains a piece of great artwork, which spans the visual and auditory mediums. Wot I mean iz the graffix and music is pure brilliant too, innit!

So what's that got to do with a rather camp picture of me from 2006? You tell me, Einstein.

Tags: #computing #LGBT #computergames #sailing

This is a story of a noncompetitive person who became a winner...

In September 2008 I won the Poole Animal Windfest. I then got into a waiting taxi and flew to India to work with my team on the DTCC project for JPMorgan. I didn't even have time to collect my prize or wash off the salt from my skin.

I didn't even realise I had won. When I reached the shore, I had travelled far downwind from the spectators, and it wasn't until I dragged my board and kite back up the beach and started to pack up that people said I had won the final heat

That year, I wrote a software testing framework called Message Oriented Testing (MOT... a pun on the UK's certificate of roadworthiness test for cars and other motor vehicles) as well as designing and leading the coding of the confirmations engine for Credit Default Swaps, that would work with the Depository Trust and Clearing Corporation's API and the Financial Products Markup Language.

This test-driven approach delivered the project on time, despite me having to do it with completely inexperienced offshore resources, and the low number of defects left my bosses gobsmacked. I didn't realise any of this until somebody told me this a long time afterwards.

The truth is though, that was the last good code I wrote, and even that was a bit hacky. I don't really go in for Rolls-Royce solutions. Generally I'm useful when the client or customer needs something doing yesterday. When all the 'architects' have done fart-arsing around and the project is really late, that's the time that I ususually wake up and start hacking something together to get things over the finishing line.

Does that mean I'm a good hacker? In truth, not really. Doing these 'heroic' acts generally leaves me burnt out, and leaves the team with a pile of code which I'm the only person who understands. The deadline is met, but everybody else is left holding the baby, while I sleep off the 'hangover' from a work binge.

So what am I good at? Well, I'm honest - brutally honest - and I also really dislike the salesmen in software who promise the earth and then go back to their development team to give them the 'good news' that they have made the sale... provided the whole team can work for 25 hours a day, 9 days a week, for the next 17 months, and deliver in a year. We just need to make a little adjustment to the Gregorian calendar, no?

I do have a good background in Mathematics thanks to incredible teachers (my maths teacher at school taught me Matrix Mechanics after school, so I could write a 3D ray-tracing algorithm) and Computer Science (the same maths teacher also taught me and a few friends an extra GCSE in our lunch breaks) and I'm enough of a fast learner to pick up any new technology that's required of me to learn to a 'competant hacker' level... a colleague once kindly said I "hit the ground running like Linford Christie" but I think I will probably also fall over like Usain Bolt, unless I stop taking on these sprints.

I also love design and technology. I had the most brilliant D&T teachers throughout my school years. At age 15 I designed and built a motion-tracking device that fitted over a person's arm. I demonstrated it, along with the software I wrote, at Brunel University, as part of the Young Inventor of the Year competition. I think I got a prize, but I can't remember! I definitely think I have a certificate from the competition - which was awarded to me by the Rotary Club, in Lyme Regis - somewhere in the archives.

Now, what would be the perfect job for such a person? I actually have no idea. I've been trying everything I can possibly think of. I actually think, I'm pretty good at pursuading people to back other people's ideas. I guess that makes me a salesman?

The logos displayed are companies that the Hubflow platform was demo'ed to. We partnered with Video Arts, who then took it to their large customer base. Standard sales bullshit (July 2011)

Tags: #kiteboarding #kitesurfing #startup #entreprenuer #computing #banking #career

This is a story of queue jumping and those who get left behind...

I keep this in my wallet, to remind myself not to be one 0f the self-important pricks who thinks they deserve their position in the world. It reminds me that it's never OK to barge in front of the struggling masses. I found it in the middle of a forest in Ireland. The former owner, I imagine, was a jumped-up London eedjit who littered one of the most beautiful and unspoilt parts of our world I have ever seen. This little patch of green is one of the few places to not have been totally screwed by selfish and greedy monsters.

This keepsake also reminds me of the day that I decided to make a switch, from being so consumed with the rat race that I was unable to stop and smell the roses, to notice that there are very few places left that have not got massive concrete tower blocks, huge piles of plastic rubbish, terrible air quality, polluted rivers and all the increasingly obvious signs that the human race is acting with little or no care for the future of the planet.

It also marks the day that I reconnected with nature, having been stuck in the concrete jungle for far too long. The problem with London is, that unless you have a healthy outdoor hobby, like cycling or surfing, you have very little connection with your environment. We live under artificial lighting 24 hours a day, and our views are dominated by huge buildings, not towering trees.

Another problem with London is the drinking culture. I'm not sure if London drinks alcohol to switch off and get some sleep, after all those strong coffees, or whether to numb the realisation that the standard of living is actually pretty poor, when you consider long commutes, high rents, overcrowding, crime rates and poverty everywhere you look (except for Canary Wharf, which is a private estate).

So, I decided that I am going to quit drinking. This is harder than you would think, when you work in an industry where a standard interview joke with a candidate is "Do you drink? Don't worry if you don't, we can send you on a course". They closed the bars in offices, as the City has cleaned up its image, but you can still roll from your desk straight to a bar within barely a few strides.

Let's be clear about my drinking though. I drank pints of lager out with the lads from work. Drinking spirits and drinking alone set of alarm bells in my head, luckily, but binge drinking huge amounts of beer is not good either, even if everyone else around you is doing it too.

It has taken some time to prepare my colleagues for the relinquishment of my final vice. I have never smoked in my life. I gave up caffeine over the last year or so and I am now completely decaffeinated. I am targeting targeting a 1 pint a week, which will be cut to zero in October. This is a drastic reduction from having 5 or 6 pints of Peroni (over 5% alcohol) on a midweek evening, and my body and my colleagues have felt the impact.

So, at first, my body was extremely unhappy about going alcohol free. My sleep was terrible. I was waking up sweating in the middle of the night. In the morning I felt like I was full of flu: aching joints, feeling sick, painful abdomen. This was when I was STOPPING... surely we are supposed to feel better, not worse? Well, as it turns out, it takes quite a long time before you start to feel better.

I was shocked by how long it has taken me to taper my alcohol consumption down to just a single social drink, which I accepted on the proviso that nobody was allowed to pressure me into having another one, and I would go home after I had finished it. My colleagues carried on and were nursing hangovers the next day. I felt surprisingly rubbish after only 1 pint, but I was able to get up and have my breakfast at the normal time.

I think it really is like my friend, Tim, often jokes: "I'm not an alcoholic, because alcoholics go to meetings". The City runs on that kind of gallows humour. However, I have now started to lose friends and colleagues to alcoholism, and many more are very ill indeed. I don't want to be next.

Could this be my last ever pint? My body and brain wish it was (October 2014)

Tags: #career #london #alcohol #addiction #mentalhealth #banking

This is a story of the darkness that drives away the light...

I once wrote my own obituary, believing I wanted to die. When a kind and loving person told me that they supported an accurate portrayal of my life, and I felt I no longer had to plead and beg to be given a chance to not have my history rewritten by my perceived persecutors, I had a reason for living again.

During my descent to this point, I realised that there must be other people, going through what I was going through. I decided to try and found a startup to try and help them.

Did you know that the Apple Watch has a feature where you can send your pulse to another person's watch, and they can feel your heart beating too? This is essentially the idea I had, while I was dying. I don't claim that it is an original idea, nor that I had prior art, but only that I think it's a brilliant use case for modern technology.

One of my best friends, who had taken me in, during my descent into melancholy and infinite sadness, confessed to me that he was kept awake at night, and was stressed at work, not knowing whether he was going to come home to a corpse. Secretly I had resolved to try and end my life away from his house, as I wouldn't leave that legacy in somebody's home.

That was how I arrived at the idea. The idea that you could just touch base with somebody... to see if their pulse still beats. And if that person knew that somebody cared whether blood still coursed through their veins, they would feel a little bit less alone in the world, feel a little reminder that people still care whether they live or die.

You think this sounds melodramatic? F**k you.

I have just registered the domain name areyougone.org and the Twitter handle @RUg0ne ("Are You Gone?" with a zero for an 'o') which will tweet the name of the person and a message, when you email. For example: email nickgrant@areyougone.org with the subject line "answer your bloody phone, we love you" then message and the name as a hashtag (which would be #nickgrant in this example) will get Tweeted out to the world.

I have also registered the Twitter handle @NotGone1, and any information relating to that missing person can be tweeted back with the relevant person's hashtag (e.g. #nickgrant) and this will be emailed back to those people who emailed the address.

At the moment, it's only in Beta testing, but I have started to link together the software that can fully automate this. If it's a useful application, I will automate more and more of it, so that it can stay on top of demand. If there is no demand, that's good, because it means that nobody else feels like I did on that day.

People sometimes push loved ones away. We need to understand why (April 2015)

Tags: #suicide #depression #mentalhealth #startup #friends

This is a story of the son of a historian and a philosopher...

Here's where I grew up. I literally had the West Wing. This 26 bedroom 'house' cost £120,000. Only my father - the most inspirational person in my life - had the vision and the courage to take the plunge on such a venture. You can't even see the whole house... there are still 2 blocks,  an indoor basketball court, a grass tennis court and a 5-a-side football pitch, that you can't see.

So what riches paid for all this? What family money? What inheritance, trust fund, or silver spoon were we all born with?... is there a chance that your preconceived notions might be wrong?

My Mum was the main breadwinner in our family, on an entry-level academic salary. My Dad used to be a gardener. We used to live in Gardiner's Arms Cottage. The cottage backed onto some woodland, and I could hear Wood Pigeons coo-ing from my bedroom (my parents had the only other bedroom). In order to make this tiny cottage liveable for our growing family, my Dad built an extension, built me a tree house, and used to poach the Pheasants and Wood Pigeoens in the woods, in order to save money on meat.

I cried when we left the cottage, as my life seemed pretty complete. I got to play in my tree house, sniff the flowers and water the grass... what more is there to life? However my Dad had bigger and better plans for the family. The problem with workaholics, is that they don't know when they have won, and when to stop. I'm very grateful that my parents are who they are, and it's taken me 36 years to really see their master plan, and get on board with the winning team.

As well as a gardener, my Dad has been a philosophy undergraduate, car mechanic, metals trader, chef, pub landlord, junk shop owner, holiday cottage operator, builder and antique dealer. His knowledge and love of architectural antiques, plus his skill as an entrepreneur helped him to build Oxford Architectural Antiques into a business that counted Formula One drivers amongst his clientele, as well as him providing architectural centre pieces that were focal in the work of famous interior designers and restauranteurs.

My Dad taught me the importance of not only building a profitable business, but being part of the economic community. He created jobs, and firmly believed in the Guild of Master Craftsmen. He made the former coal yard that he rented into a beautiful jewel in the heart of Jericho, that won an Oxford in Bloom prize. He was interviewed by the BBC. He put on fireworks shows for my school friends and me. He sponsored struggling local artists and musicians, to put on cultural events. He is my hero.

Unfortunately, career politicians saw his yard, only in terms of prime property development value, and eventually it had to be sold off so that flats could be built on the land of his thriving business, as well as nearby Lucy's Iron Works. Because of this Jericho no longer had these sources of wealth generation and employment.

This is the definition of a Lean Startup. I learned from the best in the business (circa 1986)

Tags: #startup #entrepreneur #lean #childhood #oxford #parents

This is a story of exploitation...

Bipolar II is risk, not destiny, but I have unwittingly utilised my diagnosed illness in order to achieve things which many can only dream of. There has been a price to pay, which might aptly be summed up as Nick in blue.

For the uninitiated, a chronic illness is something that you will suffer from your whole life, with little hope of a cure or doing anything beyond masking the symptoms. An acute illness is one that presents itself - an episode of an acute illness - but can go away, for days, weeks, months, years or even the rest of your life.

As the Bipolar propaganda proudly purports, many famous 'sufferers' are not really suffering at all in their hypomanic phases, if we consider the following: very few would give up those highs in favour of a normal range of moods, despite the savage depressive episodes which inevitably follow the hugely productive and energy-sapping explosion of activity, which tends to punctuate the cycle.

Why should anyone who is so applauded and revered by bosses, parents, society, for their 'achievements' - measured only on abstract scales such as school and University grades, income and other work-related nonsense such as promotions and job titles - think that they are unwell and seek treatment?

It's very hard to spot a person with Bipolar II in your organisation, your team. When they are hypomanic, they are also productive, but they are disruptive and argumentative. Essentially, they are totally unmanageable and unable to play nicely with plodders. Companies like plodders. Managers like plodders. They make up the numbers nicely and don't give you any surprises.

When your Bipolar II team member becomes depressed, their productivity drops to zero and so do their hours. They will arrive late at work, leave early and generally do very little. However, as a manager, you will be flooded with relief that your team member is now no longer being so disruptive and argumentative, and you will finally see that a hell of a lot of work has been achieved, and happily let the burnt-out wreck turn up and be miserable at their desk.

As a plodder however, you are only waiting for the sleeping beast to re-awaken. It keeps you awake at night. It stresses you out. You only know how to do the thing that you're totally mediocre at, and you absolutely hate change and are unable to deal with it, so the idea of getting away from the source of this stress is unthinkable. You stay and accept round after round of unintended abuse.

Organisations like productivity, and stressed plodders are even less productive than normal plodders, so when they speak up and say that they are tired (from all the lost sleep) and stressed and they can't plod as averagely as they had been plodding before, the management don't tend to be very sympathetic. Often times, it's the poor plodder who gets the shove rather than the primadonna Bipolar II golden boy or girl.

Now, if this sounds Sociopathic, Narcissistic and arrogant, you are mistaken. Our entire pyramid-scheme structure is rather adversarial, and when we set targets for our employees in these fake hierarchies, we do so in the full knowledge that there are more people competing for the next rung on the ladder than there are fake job titles at the next tranche in the pyramid. We are deliberately asking people to squabble with each other over those precious promotions.

The Narcissist believes he or she is special, and deserves special treatment, deserves the status that they have (or better normally!). I personally, always wonder why people are listening to me, why I am the one who seems to be making the decisions or getting the promotion, because I don't do the work that's asked of me, play politics or jump through the hoops and clap like a trained sea lion in a circus, which is what we are told will get us to the top of the tottering tree.

Believe me, I try to fit in as best as I can. I have literally been crying every morning for weeks and months on end, when I am nearly dead with depression, but yet I have to try and comply with somebody else's idea of ideal office hours. Likewise, I try and do what is asked of me by my bosses, but unless you know how to do it at plod pace, you have normally finished your work by lunchtime on Tuesday, and your boss is rather annoyed that he or she now has to give you some more... so you have actually failed to please your boss.

So, there are a few things I have found, which help to give me a little more stability: to cap and floor the moods, so to speak, and not have absolutely bat sh1t crazy hypomania, and dangerously low depression:

• Breakfast : this is absolutely crucial. The stomach is a key part of our circadian rhythm. Digesting that first meal tells your body clock that "this is the time to get up tomorrow". I never used to be a morning person until I started eating breakfast, and now I spring out of bed with no "snooze" button presses at 7am.
• Lunch : I think you can probably see where this is going. Yes, lunch is important, because it breaks the tendency to just work without a break. When a person gets going in a hypomanic phase, they can work for days almost without sleep or breaks
• Dinner : saying to yourself that you need to stop work so that you can eat and digest before winding down for the day is crucial. Eating before 9pm is mandatory, and eating before 8pm is preferred. Otherwise, you find yourself gorging on whatever you can find, just before collapsing after 18 straight hours with no food at all since waking up.
• Wind-down : almost impossible if you don't start early enough, but essential preparation for the next part of being an animal.
• Sleep : not something you always feel like doing. Your intuition can be totally wrong when you are hypomanic, and usually you are way more tired than you realise, even though you don't feel like sleeping and you most definitely can keep on working. You would not even believe how many nights of sleep I have skipped in a row. Sleep is essential for energy, mood and the immune system. You get really sick if you don't have 6 or 7 hours a night, at least. More than 9 is too many... you'll get lethargic, or perhaps you are exhausted and depressed and you don't even realise!

In addition to this, there are some other rules:

• No caffeine : because it's a Dopaminergic and Noradrenalinergic stimulant in the same class of chemicals as amphetamine. It's a potent wakefulness agent in the brain, and will mess you up. "Do stupid sh1t faster and with more energy" is accurate.
  
• No alcohol : because it's a GABA agonist, like Diazepam (Valium) and you will develop a physical dependency on it, requiring it to be able to sleep, especially if you have been drinking coffee. It's the same as mixing uppers & downers as any other kind of drug addict. Did you know you're a junkie? Think about that next time you're looking down your nose at somebody. Alcohol is also hydrophilic, which means that it draws water out of the cells in your body... you are actually less full of life-giving water, when you are full of booze.
• No psychoactive medicines or drugs : the brain and body are homeostatic. That means, they are designed to stay in equilibrium. You don't need to add anything apart from glucose, water and a few vitamin, mineral and amino acid trace amounts, which you can get from proteins. Fatty proteins should give you everything you need (yes, animal fat is good for you in its natural form).

And finally:

• Exercise the brain and the body equally : when the brain is tired and the body isn't, it doesn't have a frigging clue why you are not absolutely whacked out and ready for bed. In our modern sedentary society, where we do little more than scroll through emails and web pages, our brain is a lot more tired than our muscles. This is not natural, and leads to 'brain exhaustion' despite the rest of you being physically dormant.

Of course, this recipe for mood stability is what I aspire to perfect, but it takes practice. I'm still working on keeping the routine, and resisting the temptations of a cold beer or a glass of wine. Giving up tea and coffee was one of the hardest things I have ever done, and I still have my 'methadone' in the form of mint leaves in hot water.

By the way, anyone who tells you sugar is a drug is an idiot. What's next, Oxygen is a drug?

Sex can be addictive, but it's not unhealthy. However, an unsatiated libido is most definitely unhealthy and unnatural (March 2015)

Tags: #career #mentalhealth #bipolar #sex

This is a story of "greedy, lazy, incompetant people who got found out"...

Justice is a funny thing. So is Karma. Things will always catch up with you. "My name is Earl. I'm just trying to be a better person".

I might not particularly agree with the Patriot Act, but I agree with the punchy tagline that was used to sell a lie to the American people, who were still scared and reeling from the biggest terrorist attack on home soil: nothing to hide; nothing to fear

However, I have a job which I need to pay my rent, but someone who isn't me (Earl) was working with a colleague who had his/her contract terminated today. Here are some more words I heard from Earl:

"I had asked to be moved from one scrum team to another due to a difference in style and approach from the way I like to do things, which has always been quite successful for me. However, it's not in my remit to tell other people how to do their job, so I asked if I could work with the a person who seemed to be doing things more in line with my expectations.

There then followed a blissful two days of productivity. The business seemed happy. The product owner/CIO seemed happy. Us developers were overjoyed and we were high-fiving and walking around the office with big grins.

We decided to go out for lunch as a well bonded happy team, at the suggestion of our scrum master. But he/she never showed up. As we sat there at lunch, we all agreed what a great guy/girl he/she was, and that we wanted to support him/her from the inevevitable management pressure that was going to fall on his/her shoulders.

We were surprised that our colleague didn't join us for lunch, especially as it was his/her idea. We had left a note and tried phoning him/her.

Over lunch we discussed how 'damagement' (management) were not really interested in knowing the truth, and in fact didn't want to know it, as it would undermine plausible deniability.

I observed that a couple of people had been asked if they would like to consider other opportunities in light of the increasing and relentless pressure. I wondered whether I might have been guilty myself of precipitating one of the scrum masters' untimely departure. It was almost an open secret that I thought he/she was a micro-managing waste of space.

I had actually been one of the people who was asked to consider other opportunities. I nearly laughed in the face of the person asking me. The irony of it was beyond belief, given this person's dependence on me during the previous weeks. I stood my ground and asked him/her to resign instead.

This kind of brinksmanship must be going on all the time between these equally incompetant fools. Knowing that I was competant, it was not brinksmanship for me. Instead I felt confident that the project and the client needed me more than I needed the contract.

You can't bluff a poker player who is holding the nuts - the very best possible hand available from the cards that have been dealt. It's a simple matter of memorising the odds for all the possible hands, and then your play becomes automatic: you know almost immediately when you should fold.

When we got back from lunch, I went for a pooh. I sat on the toilet, looking at Facebook and taking my time. I was relaxed and enjoying my job again, for the first time in ages, after having been empowered to do my job and make things better.

I came back to my desk, and my team told me he/she was gone. Immediate effect. They had got rid of him/her while we were all at lunch, with that empty chair at the dining table.

We speculated during the afternoon that the reason for termination was a lack of fear. Our departed colleague was rumoured to have no mortgage. He/she was too honest. Too fearless. He/she wanted to do the right thing.

I liked him/her, even though many people didn't, seemingly for intangible reasons, unrelated to whether they could do their job well or not. His/her face didn't fit it seems."

Anyway, I'm not really able or willing to comment, given my position on a sensitive, high-profile project that I can't talk about, and would never talk about, given my professional duty to my client. I will say this though, of the attitude of me and my colleagues. We care very deeply about the needs of our client and customers, and we always put those needs first, often ahead of our families, our health. We are passionate and dedicated, and excel at our jobs, under the most intense pressure and stress.

We are all trying to be the very best we can possibly be. We need to be. The bank is "rotten as shit" as the Department of Justice will attest. $1.9bn fines don't get dished out every day. We are turning it around though. I really like the CIO. I really like my team. I really like my job. I really like trying to save hundreds of thousands of jobs. We don't get to do that in IT very often.

[Picture has been removed by IT Security]

Me in the office, wearing a rugby shirt, looking like I'm having a 'good time' despite having worked far too many 7-day weeks (September 2015)

Tags: #banking #career #london #leadership #agile #scrum #capitalism