This is a story of friendship, love and adventure...

A group of friends put their trust, their money and - indirectly - their lives in my hands, and I took us all to Caracas, Venezuela, where we were transported across the city in trucks that had holes in them that looked very much like bullet holes. We all survived.

I must admit, if the holiday was a success it was more by good luck than by good judgement. I'd like to say that it was effective delegation that made the difference, but really, I just outsourced the problems to an excellent local guide - Alejandro Battistini - who was trying to make a name for himself and the island of Coche, off the coast of Margarita island, South of the Caribbean.

Having been to both islands on a couple of occasions before, myself, I was familiar with the way things worked as a traveller in a small group. Having a huge group was a different logistical proposition all together, however.

I negotiated a seemingly sizeable deal with American Airlines in order to get nearly 20 people plus 20+ kiteboards, and perhaps as many as 50 giant kites, to our destination without incurring costly excess luggage fees. When we came to try and fly to a small group of coral sand islands called Los Roques, I knew that we would be taking an extremely small turboprop plane and weight would be an issue. I tried to impress upon the group the importance of travelling light, but when the airline staff saw a gigantic pile of bags, they baulked at the prospect of a sketchy takeoff.

This was a big blow to the group, and to make matters worse, there was then a lull in the wind and we found ourselves killing time on the beach without enough wind to kitesurf even with our biggest kites. Everyone should have been very annoyed with me, and I felt really bad that things had not worked out.

What's bigger than a big kite? Two big kites. Instead of letting me feel all embarassed and sheepish about everyone sat around on the beach, the gang helped me with the crackpot idea of flying two kites at once to get twice as much power. I was the only one who got to try it, as it needed so many people to help me launch the kites but make sure I didn't get launched into outer space by 26 square metres of bi-kite. That was an inspiring piece of alturism on the part of the group.

The most fun I've ever had with my clothes on. Thanks guys & gals! (April 2005)

Tags: #adventure #kitesurfing #kiteboarding #leadership

This is a story of a career spent in anonymity as a small cog in a big machine...

Any entrepreneur will tell you that overnight success takes many days, weeks, months, years or lifetimes. I can tell you exactly how long some of my successes took to build, and what the cost was: in terms of personal sacrifice.

Let's talk about my first startup, Bournesoft. I had needed to quit my job due to ill health, and as I recovered from the depression that followed, in July 2008, I taught myself to program games for the iPhone. I had 3 number one hits in the Apple App Store, in late August and early September.

The price I paid for this, was mood instability, which had been kept in check by the routine of office hours. With only a limited window of opportunity to make big cash in the App Store before every Indie Dev saw the opportunity, and then the big corporates moved in. I worked 18 hour days, and paid with my relationship with my partner, family, friends.

I also paid with my love of programming. I hated programming after having to learn Objective-C and the Apple platform under such pressure, which I put on myself. It was supposed to be a fun and confidence building excercise, that I had set for myself, having had an abrupt halt to a successful 11 year career as a software developer.

And so my next startup - www.bournemouthelectrician.co.uk - required significant retraining, but gave me the opportunity to work with my hands in a non-corporate environment, which I decided were my two priorities at the time. Unsurprisingly, there is not really an established training route for wealthy and successful IT professionals and Mobile App Indie Devs, into the building trade.

Undetterred, I incorporated a company (Bournemouth Technology Ltd) funded it myself with a director's loan, signed up for the training courses and got myself an IT contract to "fill the time" and keep the cashflow positive. As soon as I had passed the 17th Edition of the Wiring Regulations, C&G Periodic Inspection & Testing exams and had been inspected by the NICEIC, I bought a van and started trading.

In terms of sacrifice, I invested about 30% of what my lowest earning App had returned me. I also gave up an IT contract that was worth "a lot of money". But I hated programming and working in an office, remember, so I didn't view it as any kind of sacrifice at the time.

Until you have stood in a puddle of water in your customer's kitchen, when you have burst the cold water pipe into the house, or had to find the emergency cutoff as fast as you can when you have drilled through a gas pipe... you do not appreciate your desk, your swivel chair, your computer screen and your photocopier.

Anybody who says "stud finder" has not done any building work on older houses, which are full of the DIY-enthusiast's bodge-jobs, which are a daily risk to the life and livelihood of those in the building trade, who have to lift your horrible laminate flooring, crawl through your fibreglass filled loft, drill through your crumbling brickwork, and discover the creative plumbing you have plastered into your walls. "Why the f**k did they do it like that?" you find yourself asking far too many times. There is never a good answer. Regulations and professional standards exist for good reason.

When I was up to my elbows crawling around in shredded newspaper (creative insulation) dodging the exposed 230v A.C. live terminals of junction boxes that didn't have their lids any more, I got a phonecall asking if could I do a 2 week IT contract that would pay the same as rewiring two whole houses. I realised that I had finally learnt the value of the career I had left behind.

I managed to clear 2 weeks in my full diary of customer's jobs, but I avoided the unpleasant job that I really needed to grasp the nettle of. The right thing to do would have to been phone and cancel those jobs completely. Instead, I was exhausted from building my business from nothing to being a profitable company, and the shame of failing my customers drove me into a second lengthy depression. I did not fail gracefully. I don't feel too bad, because many members of the public I met tried to take advantage of hard-working and skillful tradesmen.

So, I started to retrace my steps. As my depression lifted, I built another Mobile Apps startup. This time selling to enterprise. I drove to one of the UK's largest insurers in my electrician's van, for a sales meeting. It started as Roam Solutions, and then became mEpublish.com and eventually, after the springboard(); TechStars program in Cambridge, it finally became hubflow.com.

Pushing myself so hard took me to the limits of human survival, costing me countless friends, my wife, all my money, my house, my boat, my cars, my hot tub, my summer house, all my tools of the trade. I would gladly pay double that, because it led me home, to London, reconnected me with my friends, and reignited my desire to continue living, liberated from fear of losing material possesions and unhealty relationships.

I'm the one taking the photograph. Camden Town, London, UK (October 2013)

Tags: #leadership #startup #entrepreneur #computing #mentalhealth #suicide #depression

This is a story of leadership, charisma and madness...

People rarely know what they are really asking for, and what they are asking other people to do. When friends asked me to guide them up a mountain by an interesting route, of course I thought "what would be interesting to me?". Challenge accepted!

Is this reckless "leadership from the front" that could have gotten somebody killed or injured? Certainly, I'm at the front of the group here, stood astride the ridge taking the photograph. However, we need to acknowledge that our leaders cannot be responsible for the personal decisions of every member of their party. We are all adults, and especially in the mountains, we have to take individual responsibilty for staying within our personal comfort limits.

When we are scared and stressed and tired, beyond our limits of experience and endurance (physical and emotional stamina) we are a danger to ourselves and our expedition party. It is the leader's responsibility to spot the member of the group who is struggling the most and ensure that the party is led within margins that person can tolerate, otherwise you have failed as a leader.

We are extremely tough, proud and stiff-upper lipped people, so it's pretty hard to really read people's fear and stress levels, so the only way to manage risk to any group that you're leading is to never leave yourself without a line of retreat. When it became clear that my group was unhappy to continue on the route I had chosen, they began to accuse me of having led them into a position of no retreat. If I had done, I would have failed my group, as their leader. However...

All smiling, retreating off Crib Goch, Snowdonia, Wales, UK. We were back on the main path in less than 20 minutes. Descending is a lot safer and easier if you do it early and with confidence (April 2010)

Tags: #leadership #climbing #adventure

This is a story of fear, lies and insecurity...

I once used the DSM-IV (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 4th Edition) to decompose, deconstruct, examine and criticise my ex's behaviour. I should have turned that spotlight on myself, instead. People in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones.

I have lived a lot of my life with fear, guilt, self-loathing and insecurity. It dominated every waking hour of my life, which was pretty unbearable. I was a pathalogical liar, manipulator, bully, cheat and child.

Yes, that's right, I was a child. Up until the age I could legally drink (18 in the UK) I was growing up. I'm not 'grown up' now, but there was a turning point around the time of my late teens, which began a process of change, from child to adult.

As a kid, I used to lie about having Sky TV, owning a Game Boy and even about the size of my hard disk drive (fnarr, fnarr). I used to feel unworthy of having friends, a girlfriend, and instead cultivated a self-protecting "if you don't need me, I don't need you" isolationism, where I used to spend long periods lost in my own thoughts. I was so lost in my own thoughts, my parents even had my hearing tested, as it would take me a few moments to return to reality from my daydreams.

I remember my Mum being horrified that I seemingly lacked empathy for my tormentors. Two boys who were particularly vicious and violent towards me, and made my life hell, were apparently thin, pale and emaciated, from an unpleasant home life. Unfortunately my unpleasant school life blinded me from these facts, at the time, and I failed to share my Mum's feelings of protectiveness for these bullies.

I think I would have developed into a cruel and bullying boss and CEO if it had not been for an unexpected event in my late teens, which was at once both life-changing, but also potentially life-destroying.

3,4-methylenedioxy-methamphetamine is something I can correctly type from memory, because it is intractably linked to a turning point in my life. It's a bitter medicine to swallow, literally and figuratively - plant alkaloids are extremely unpleasant tasting, and Leah Betts had recently died when I took this substance for the first time - but the "empathy pill" or "love drug" literally changed my life overnight.

Before I continue, you should know that I had never abused drugs before taking MDMA, and I more or less ceased taking Ecstasy only a year or so after my first experience with it. What is written about drugs and addiciton being dangerous and life-destroying is true, and I am very glad that I didn't graduate onto drugs like Ketamine, which has caused irreparable urological damage to the bladder of many clubbers and ravers, and harder drugs that have destroyed countless lives.

There are no words sufficient to express the veil that was lifted as I 'came up' 45 minutes after ingesting a Mitsubishi Turbo pill, in a dark nightclub under a railway arch near Vauxhall, London. Pounding Trance music and sweaty bodies filled a space, way beyond the legal capacity of the venue. I was terrified by the setting, before my friend John even produced an innocent looking tablet on the palm of his outstretched hand.

We should be mindful of the dangers. Leah Betts was killed by a lack of blood supply to her brain, when it swelled up and squashed the artery entering her cranium. She unbalanced the osmotic processes in her body by drinking ~6 litres of water in the space of only a couple of hours. I can understand why she did it. The drug is hyperthermic and diuretic, which means you get hot - so you want to drink more fluids - but you don't feel like you need to pee.

Addiction is also a huge danger. Look again at the chemical name. It has methamphetamine on the end of it. The drug is basically Crystal Meth with a Phenethylamine ring bolted on to it. How else can people dance for 12 hours nonstop to monotonous minimalist electronic music?

Luckily for me, the confidence, energy & lightness in my limbs, the euphoria, the nonsensical "liking" of a chemical substance is the hallmark of an addictive Dopaminergic agonist or reuptake-inhibitor... all these things were of secondary importance to the main event: I felt loved and secure and happy and I felt empathy towards every person, regardless of looks, age, colour, creed, political leanings or socioeconomic background, citizenship, perceived intellect or subcultural references in their clothes, piercings and tattoos - including myself - we are often unable to stop judging and accept our own selves.

As ravers, we used to say "PLUR": Peace Love Unity Respect. I think this is a good motto for life #dontbeevil

Tags: #london #drugs #addiction #childhood #bullying #mentalhealth

This is a story of identity, respectfully, on the anniversary of the September 11 attacks on the World Trade Center, New York, USA...

When people ask where I'm from, I'm not sure how to answer the question. My surname is Grant, which is Scottish, but I was born in Aberystwyth, which makes me Welsh. But my Dad was from Yorkshire, so maybe I'm a Yorshireman. However, my Mum was from Lancashire, so maybe I'm Northern. But then again, I grew up in Oxford and Dorset, which are in the Midlands and South. I have lived & worked in London, England most of my career, and this multicultural smelting pot is where I feel most at home.

The short answer is, in my opinion, that we are all global children in the age of jet travel, international journalism and the Internet. I identify most strongly with the American people, who made me feel comfortable with my modern idenity, and the Irish people, who made me feel welcome despite my shortcomings.

As a European, I grew up during a period of IRA bomb scares and bombings. I remember not wanting to drink my milk at primary school because of fallout from Chernobyl. My school was once evacuated due to a bomb threat. My neighbour was working late next door to the Baltic Exchange when it was blown up. During the height of "The Troubles" our family felt scared to visit Northern Ireland, when we were on holiday in the Republic of Ireland. Several friends were nearby when the Brixton and Soho nail bombs went off. I remember being scared of planes carrying nuclear atomic bombs from the USAF bases in Oxfordshire. I remember the Lockerbie bombing and I remember being scared of planes being blown up or crashing while I was in one.

When I started my first Banking job in Canary Wharf in 2000 (age 20) there was no HSBC or Citigroup tower (let alone Barclays, JPMorgan, KPMG, Fitch etc. etc.) - they were just digging the foundations around Canada Square - the glass windows in the offices, that were blown out by an IRA bomb, had only relatively recently been replaced. My first job in The City (Square Mile) of London was in an office, which overlooked the bombed derelict ruin of The Baltic Exchange.

In May 2001 (age 21) I started my first Investment Banking job, quite near the Natwest Tower (now called Tower 42). On May Day the previous 2 years, The City had been engulfed by protestors against the rise and rise of Global Capitalism. During the riots, my office reception had been amongst several that had been compromised by protestors, leaving pinstripe-wearing, briefcase carrying, FT-reading fat cats (if that's how you care to think of these friends and colleagues of mine) barricaded in their offices.

On the 9th September, 2001, I moved to Surrey and was commuting into London for the first time. On the 11th, I remember the unfolding of events precisely and vividly. People crowded around my computer screen, which had been one of the few that had managed to refresh the BBC News Homepage during the surge of Internet traffic following the first tower of the World Trade Center being struck.

We made our way up to the trading floor, where they had TV, and we gasped as the second plane struck, and truth was immediately obvious - that this was a deliberate attack on the World Trade Center - fear spread throughout our office and The City. We believed planes were headed for Tower 42 and 1 Canada Square. We made our way home quietly, afraid, whereupon I had to buy a TV. I remember standing in the shop, just watching the footage over and over, transfixed with horror. We were frightened and saddened for the American people, and for ourselves too. Human suffering defies borders, defies race prejudice, defies class divides.

In early summer 2005, I started working for a U.S. Investment Bank and relocated to the South Coast of the UK. On the 7th of July, London was hit by 4 bombs on public transport. Before I relocated, I could walk to work from Angel to The City, but when my office had been relocated to Canary Wharf in 2003, I used to take the tube every day. On that particular day, one of the bombs detonated when the tube was right underneath where I used to work, in between Liverpool Street and Aldgate East.

I can barely imagine the horror of living, working or having friends and relatives on Manhattan Island on 9/11,  but in the UK the emotional connection spread as fast as the images were transmitted around the globe. On 7/7 there was chaos and confusion. I remember the phone network not being able to cope with the volume of calls and SMS messages, as we all reached out to one another to check we were OK. Nobody knew what was going on.

The images of the towers falling, and the dust cloud engulfing a city, will always be etched in our memories. Despite not being an American or having any direct connection with New York, I hope it does not seem churlish to say that I am symapthetic with the plight of those who were more directly involved in the events of either 9/11 or 7/7, and also have basic human fear and life-preservation instincts, that make me a little more fearful than I would care to admit to a terrorist, on the prospect of working in my 42-floor office with 12,000 souls, even 14 years later.

Somebody took a giant dump outside my office recently, as a non-violent protest about banking ruining the global econonmy, presumably. If somebody is angry enough to drop their trousers and curl one out, right in front of the security guards and CCTV, then I think there is still a large body of people who are pretty unhappy with those 'fat cats', still.

This is not at all about me. This is meant to be a message of sympathy, empathy, respect and common understanding, that we have all shared experiences of terrorism, and they are real and affect us all, in some way.

Condolences to all the families who lost loved ones on this day.

Tags: #london #career #banking #terrorism #capitalism #civildisobedience

This is a story of unintended consequences: opportunities and serendipity...

The National Health Service is a wonderful thing. Universal healthcare, including free dentistry and glasses for children and vulnerable members of society. I benefitted from this, but not in the way that might seem most immediately obvious, from the picture of a bespectacled little version of myself, above.

My parents were kind enough to not only care deeply about my eyesight - which was tested at a very young age - but also to impress upon me the importance of having 'adult' mannerisms: remembering my P's and Q's ("please" and "thank you" for anybody not brought up in the Victorian-era), thanking my host for letting me stay, complimenting the chef on meals, and other forgotten social protocols from previous generations.

The combination of a 'bookish' appearance, precicely enunciated diction and good manners, plus a whole repertoire of "party tricks" could be guaranteed to have adults coo-ing and clucking over a "lovely polite little boy". This was borne out of nothing more than any son or daughter's natural desire to please their parents.

I went to the local state school, in Jericho, Oxford, an area which was rapidly being gentrified by middle-class educated families who had discovered that the rental and house prices were excellent value, compared to the rest of central Oxford. This was on account of a stigma of living in "working-class terraced houses" near the canal and derelict, decaying industrial infrastructure of the City.

In 1930's Oxford, Jericho would have busled with coal carts, bringing up sackloads from the canal to heat the large, draughty houses of North Oxford, and the pall of coal smoke from Lucy's Iron Works would have hung close to the water, and through the comparatively narrow terraces, versus the grand wide boulevards of St. Giles and Broad Street.

Being 'right-on' liberals and socialists from humble backgrounds meant these families did not have the means to pay for expensive housing and private school fees. So it was, I ended up going to school with the sons & daughters of heart surgeons, Members of Parliament, bankers, lawyers, accountants and of course, academics, who achieved their place in the world by hard work, not by nepotism.

Amongst my primary school friends, Danny's Grandad, had been instrumental in bringing universal healthcare to the people of Britain, and in so doing, had 'cursed' me with the glasses, which I didn't appreciate the value of at the time.

When playing at the house of another friend, Joe, we were allowed to play on his Dad's Apple Macintosh Plus. Joe's Dad, Paul, is a famous Zoologist who used the Mac to author papers with the likes of Richard Dawkins. Joe's mum, Anna, was a Systems Analyst, and my career aspiration - to drive a coal lorry - was inadvertantly redirected into the world of computing from this point, circa 1986 (age 6).

I can remember those first experiences with a WIMP (Windows Icons Mouse & Pointer) as so intuitive, so natural. It was joyful. Bell Labs invented the transistor, which gave us the modern computer, rather than the collossal rooms of valves that went before. Probably equally important is the work of Xerox in inventing the mouse, and finally Apple, for making a packaged instrument that can be operated by a 6-year-old. "It just works" really is as true today as it was back then.

Sometimes - in fact most of the time - seeing is believing. But this sometimes isn't enough. We also need the pretty packaging. Our computers need to have a rainbow-coloured piece of half-eaten fruit on them. Our nerds need to have a pair of spectacles and talk like they've swallowed a dictionary.

No, I am not comparing myself to Steve Jobs. My career is only just getting interesting. Plus I don't wear enough black.

Tags: #parents #oxford #childhood #apple #computing