Recursive Words

Monday

July 13, 2026

I’m busy shaking my fist at the universe today – or rather, shaking my fist in a rather half-hearted manner, because I feel pretty awful. After spending the last two weeks fighting a cold that wouldn’t go away, my head finally began to clear over the weekend – only for a completely different virus to launch itself at me. It already got my other half and caused her to sleep through much the weekend – yesterday afternoon it picked me out of the lineup.

I signed myself off work this morning – perhaps my second day off in a year – probably the second day off in several years. I’m a bit of a bugger for just keeping going regardless.

You know the worst part about sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself? You end up scrolling the internet, and just getting increasingly annoyed with everything and everybody.

Why is it that so few “content creators” actually create content? Why is it somehow allowed for people to rip off content created by others, cut it into something else, perhaps flip it on the X axis to avoid an immediate copyright strike, and/or add a voice-over or text?

It’s not just the obvious recycling of content either – movie scenes – TV scenes – it’s the car, plane, and bike crash compilations – or any of the “epic fails”. Are we really expected to believe that permission was sought for any of it?

Why is it that anything even vaguely popular on the major social media sites attracts an army of feedback where so many immediately try to be the funniest person in the room? Why do people do that? Why does everything have to be a joke?

Why is it that as soon as you develop any sort of following, the vultures appear – emailing you with all manner of “opportunities” ? I guess it’s the same for people that win lotteries – and suddenly gain friends.

People are shameless.

And then there’s the “it was better in my day” crowd. Or the elderly white right-wing fascists that the media seem so intent on giving a voice and platform. They seem to be the most myopic of any of the various prejudices we all find ourselves having to put up with – surrounding themselves with algorithmic timelines that re-enforce their hate. It’s easy to think everybody agrees with you when you only read stories you already agree with.

There’s a pretty good video on YouTube – a TED talk – that makes uncomfortable viewing for anybody intent on claiming the world was somehow better in their imagined or very selective past. The presentation demonstrates that every meaningful measure continues upwards across the decades, irrespective of nation, culture, colour, or sex.

Anyway.

I’ll stop the rant right here. Perhaps I’ll go make another cup of tea. And perhaps do as everybody keeps advising me – switch off the computer, and go rest.
Flipping the Narrative

July 13, 2026

2026-07-13 Switching off

I find it incredibly difficult to switch off or slow down. There’s always something that needs doing – something to pick up – something to wash up – something to put away.

I just forced myself to stop.

I’m now sitting in the junk room with a huge glass of “rejuvenate super smoothie” from the local supermarket. I have no idea if it will work, but I’m forcing myself to drink it.

Nik Kershaw is quietly singing about somebody loving him from the 1998 album “15 Minutes” – one of my favourite albums. I bought it shortly before travelling to California in the summer of 1998, and spending two weeks with my cousin.

We explored up and down the coast, visited theme parks, delivered produce (she had a produce business in the bay area), and even recited Shakespeare in the redwood forests behind her old house – the forests that had once seen Ewoks defend the forest moon of Endor.

I remember listening to Nik Kershaw’s album as we drove through the streets of San Francisco, and down the coast to Monterey and Carmel.

A core memory before life happened.

It all seems like such a long time ago now. A life before parters, children, obligation, and expectation.

I still remember so much – the arrivals hall at San Francisco International, the pool in the condominium complex where my cousin lived, sharing buckets of chicken wings with my Uncle, and going on all manner of adventures in and around the bay. I remember waking up one morning to the local radio telling us that a teenager had been bitten in half by a white shark off Stinson beach.

Anyway.

Here’s hoping the “rejuvinate” smoothie works.

Perhaps I should give my cousin a call. We haven’t caught up in ages.
Friday

July 10, 2026

2026-07-10 Friday

We are 10 days into the month, and this is only the second blog post. I’m not quite sure how that happened. Once upon a time I would have found the time to write every day. Somehow the universe has a habit of dumping on me from quite some altitude on an unerringly regular basis at the moment. Perhaps “at the moment” isn’t an accurate term any more – more “since before I can remember” might more apt.

I’m still sick, if you’re wondering. After confidently going out for a run last Monday, I woke up the next day with a head full of snot, and I’m only just beginning to win the battle now. Today is the first morning in nearly two weeks when I’ve been able to breathe through my nose.

Maybe this is what getting old is all about? What you would have got over in two days in your twenties or thirties suddenly takes two weeks.

My eldest daughter woke up the other day with a stiff neck, and then seemed shocked at our complete and utter lack of concern – hilarity even – that she couldn’t turn her head.

“Is this what getting older is? Suddenly waking up one day, and you can’t turn your head, because your body is falling apart around you?”

“Pretty much”

While reaching behind the television yesterday to pull the plug out of it – because it had crashed in the most mysterious way possible, and apparently it has no reboot option in any of it’s labyrinthine menus, my shoulder started hurting like hell. I winced. My other half saw me wince.

“What’s up?”

“My shoulder hurts – it’s been doing it for a while”

“How long?”

“I don’t know – about a year?”

You should have seen her face. If thunder clouds could have formed around the house, they would probably have sparked fork lightning.

I really can’t complain though – apart from my eyes slowly going wrong (I now need glasses for distance, and for reading), and my shoulder occasionally hurting if I stretch at unusual angles, I’m otherwise relatively ok. I don’t have to take any medication for anything – never have. I don’t have any conditions, diseases, or whatever else – as far as I know (and obviously, apart from being a huge nerd).

I’m luckier than many.

Oh – I’m red/green colourblind. Does that count as a “something”? I know it’s very common in men. I wonder why that is sometimes. Perhaps women historically needed good colour vision to see bad food maybe? To protect children?

Anyway.

While emptying my head into the keyboard, a work project is spewing debug code across the screens of several monitors – I’m half watching it while writing – half expecting it to crash and burn at any moment. I’m SUCH an optimist these days.

A recurring conversation that keeps happening with friends is how long I think I might keep at this software development lark – the day job. I really don’t know any more. I’ve been tempted to go full time at the whole content-creation thing online for a while, but I’m probably the most risk averse person I know. Having a “day job” really means “having a dependable income”. I’m more than aware that I’m surrounded at work by a legion of career minded folk – that are always striving for the next thing, and the next. I’m not really that person any more.

We’ll see.

Perhaps by the time FlightSimExpo rolls around again next year, I’ll have made my mind up. Perhaps not. Something has to give though – working all day for “the man”, and then working most evenings for myself isn’t sustainable forever. I have a mountain of unread books. TV shows to watch. Movies to go see. Friends to visit.

I wandered out onto the green outside our house the other evening to say hello to a few friends that were sitting on the grass together. I feel like I’ve become a bit of a stranger over the last couple of years. I don’t know how to fix it either.

As always, the first thing to do is probably to go for a run (as soon as the weather stops trying to incinerate us). That way I’ll have these conversations inside my head, rather than writing them down and boring the pants off everybody with them.

I just realised – it’s Friday – and you know what that means – tomorrow is Saturday – and probably breakfast at Wetherspoons – and another blog post (maybe).

We made it through another week, didn’t we 🙂
In the shadows of the few

July 5, 2026

After quite some time, this Sunday morning you find me propping up a table in Wetherspoons, having just made a “small English” disappear. Just in case you’re wondering, a “small English” consists of a hash broad, a slice of bacon, a pork sausage, a fried egg, and some baked beans. I think the normal version comes with toast. The large version doubles everything to the point that if you eat it all, you’re thoroughly disgusted with yourself. I’m not going to tell you how I know that.

It’s been a crazy weekend so far.

Quite apart from STILL being sick (which explains the relative paucity of content from me on YouTube, or the blog), I helped at my other half’s work summer barbecue yesterday.

Before anybody recoils in worry that I must have some sort of life threatening illness – sorry to disappoint. I just have a head full of snot, and can’t seen to make it go away. I’m blaming the youngest member of our household – she’s pretty good at sneezing in your face.

So… the work barbecue!

It was held in the grounds of the “Battle of Britain Bunker” near Hillingdon, in the south east of England – about half an hour from home. The bunker was the operational control room that orchestrated the defeat of the Luftwaffe in the summer of 1940. In the depths of the tunnels beneath the sunlit glade where we played garden games and drank too much cider, 70 years ago a small army of ladies manned telephones, and pushed wooden blocks across a map of the south east coast.

Of course the luftwaffe had no idea how we were able to intercept their aircraft so accurately – they knew we had built radio masts across the south east coast – “Chain Home” – but had no idea that the masts were an early step in the invention of “Radar”, or how accurate it was.

I’ve always loved the subsequent story – that continues today, several generations on. Parents across England tell their children at meal times to eat their carrots because they will help them see in the dark. My grandparents told me. I told our children. The story was spread during the autumn of 1940 – to cover up the invention of radar, and our ability to intercept aircraft at night. The crazy thing? The story worked far more successfully than anybody hoped.

So… fast forward 70 years and we drank cider, laughed, and had fun throughout a summer afternoon in the shade of a real Supermarine Spitfire, and Hawker Hurricane – mounted on posts in the middle of the lawns. I turned to my youngest daughter, who came with us for the afternoon, and reminded her that the average age of the pilots of those fighter planes was 20 years old.

Adjoined to the bunker system beneath our feet was a museum – telling a little of the story of the summer of 1940, and then the subsequent pushes in the years that followed. In a lull before everybody arrived for the barbecue I snuck over and had a wander around. I think perhaps the most affecting exhibit in the museum was a leather flying boot – cut from the deceased young pilot of a Hawker Hurricane that had crashed in the south east during the fighting. There’s something about personal artefacts that makes it more real than a smashed propeller, engine block, or piece of tailplane.

Something else that struck me about the aircraft is how small they were. I’ve never spent much time so close to them in the past. They really are no more than just enough fuselage and wing to strap guns to an engine, and get it airborne.

Above the bunker, a marble memorial remembers the significance of the buildings and their pivotal place in history. The engraving ends with Churchill’s famous words about the pilots that fought during the summer of 1940;

“Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few”.

We arrived home in the early evening and collapsed onto the sofas. I drank a pint of water, half-watched Morocco beat Canada at the World Cup, then retreated for an early night – the first early night in quite some time – and slept straight through until morning.

I can’t remember such a good night’s sleep – my late father in law used to call it “the sleep of the just”.

Ok… Wetherspoons is starting to get busier, as families arrive for breakfast. I’ve learned from experience to get here earlier rather than later. I should get going. Chores are waiting back at home.
First run in over a year

June 30, 2026

Oh my word I’m unfit.

I snuck out at lunchtime for my first run in over a year. I thought about firing up the “Couch to 5K” app and starting over, but then thought “nah – I’ll just set off gently, and see how it goes”.

The first kilometre was pretty plain sailing. Rather than push it (it’s hot outside), I slowed to a walk for a bit, then tried to start the Cto5K app in the background on about week 3 or 4 – just to give me something to do – only it went wrong. Then it apparently stopped Strava working too. I gave up tinkering, and just carried on in the end – running and walking as I ran out of beans while listening to Kacey Musgraves singing about coming from Golden, and not being pageant material.

Perhaps I’ll just use the Apple fitness app from now on, and ditch all the other stuff. I do like Strava though – sharing what I’m doing is kind of useful – it keeps me honest. I suppose posting it here on the blog achieves the same thing though.

It’s amusing that even after all this time, I seem to trundle along at about 6 minutes per kilometre still. Granted, I couldn’t keep it up – which is only natural after sitting on my backside for a year – but give me time.

Food. I need to go eat something.
Plodding Onwards

June 28, 2026

You know the one where you realise you have barely posted once a week for the last month? Back in the mists of time I somehow managed to write almost every day – sometimes more often than that. I’ll have to go look, and figure out what on earth I wrote about.

I will admit to filtering everything through the lens of “does anybody really need to know any of this?” filter these days.

There was a time when I would try to keep with friends too – asking after them – sharing moments of each other’s days with each other. That seems to be on the wane too.

I wonder if everybody is just fed up with the whole “over-sharing” thing on the internet? What started as blogging – written diary entries – back in the early 2000s rapidly morphed into “the social internet”, and the recording of every thought, idea, and moment. I remember it all – I was there.

Suddenly it wasn’t enough that we were having a good day – we had to take a picture of the sun coming up, a picture of our coffee, and a picture of a fabricated life in a bullet journal expressly decorated to show off things we thought others wanted to see us planning to do (note: I never did this – the last bullet journal I used is filled with work meetings).

Don’t even get me started about the Facebook families who only ever post from whatever extravagant “we can piss higher” holiday they’re on.

Commodore announced a dumbed down phone this week – similar to the Nokia 3310 I bought a few years ago. It’s tempting – to get rid of the endless connection to everything all the time – but I fear I’ve already left Plato’s cave. I can’t go back. The rest of the world is already outside.

And yet here I am – posting a few words to a public platform. They will inevitably be ignored, because exhaling isn’t enough any more – but I’ll be damned if that’s going to stop me. In a world where an artificially intelligent author can churn out a thousand wonderfully written words in a few seconds, it makes you wonder where our place is in the “new world” – or if we even have a place.

Perhaps that’s why I’m eyeing Youtube, and the community of people that follow my escapades in a different light recently. Maybe I can see the end of my career coming – much like the advance of the Langoliers across Stephen’s Kings recent past in “Four Past Midnight” – and am looking for my off ramp.

I can also see retirement in the far distance. Not a million miles away any more. A few more years. Maybe more – maybe less.

One thing’s for certain – I need to start running again. I really need to. More as an escape, than anything. A few minutes of my own each morning – before the rest of the day stomps all over whatever I had planned.
Normality Resumes

June 22, 2026

It’s been a week since I returned from the long weekend visiting America. Quite predictably after sitting next to a horrific little man on the flight home that coughed and sneezed without covering his mouth for eight hours, I got sick – which wiped out the latter part of the week and much of last weekend for me.

Whenever I get sick these days I remember the lung infection I had a couple of years ago – mostly caused by never slowing down. I still remember the local doctor prescribing me colossal numbers of tablets – steroids among them – to take immediately, and every few hours. They did the trick.

It’s been weird – slotting back into the daily work/life balance grind after experiencing a possible “sliding door” future. While at the FlightSimExpo several people asked if I might “make the leap” at some point – go full time with what has until now been a hobby. There was a part of me this morning – in the moments before powering up my work laptop – where I began wondering “what if?”.

You know the funny thing? Flying pretend aeroplanes on YouTube wouldn’t have been my first choice as an alternative career.

I’ve always loved writing.

In a perfect world people I would be independently wealthy and travel the world writing reflections on days filled with wonder and discovery. Of course I’m not independently wealthy, and realistic enough to know that writing would never pay the bills. It’s a nice daydream though.

Anyway.

After work today – in the hour before my other half got home from work – I cut the grass in the back garden. This was of course a stupid idea, given the sun’s attempts to incinerate us all at the moment, but needed given that the green bin will be collected tomorrow.

I learned an important lesson about cutting the grass this week – if your teenage daughter volunteers to cut the grass, you need to put time aside to cut it again a few days later – while she’s not around, so it doesn’t hurt her feelings.

Seriously. It looked like a deranged spider had accidentally started the lawn mower.

While mowing the grass I had some ear pods in – listening to music. It occurred to me towards the end – dripping in sweat – that there’s probably an amount of sweat that would complete a circuit. I wonder how many volts a pair of Apple AirPods can empty into your head? I wonder if they test that sort of thing?

My other half arrived home just as I finished – sitting in the newly billiard-tabled garden with a pint of water. She brought news of our younger daughters, who have travelled down to the coast for a few days – taking the youngest member of the household for her first holiday.

One thing is for sure – the house is very quiet without them here. I’m trying to enjoy it, but it feels odd.
Stranger in a strange land

June 16, 2026

The flight to America was long – stretching beyond nine hours as the plane few through 120 knot headwinds for much of the journey. I watched the first few episodes of “Severance” while passing the time – aided by paper cups filled with wine by the passing cabin crew.

I made friends with a pretty blonde lady sitting next to me – travelling back to Minnesota for a wedding after spending nearly twenty years living in London. As descent started, she looked scared to death so I offered my hand to grab. While descending I showed her the live aviation charts on my iPad (because I can do things like that) – reasoning that showing her where the storms were, and that we were deliberately avoiding them, might help. I think it did – although she did shake her head in incredulity that I could be so relaxed and calm.

Arriving in St Paul was made interesting by the police that met me first in passport control, and then in customs – asking where I was going, what I was visiting for, who I was working for, and so on. It turns out explaining to security staff with no sense of humour that you fly pretend aeroplanes for a hobby is really quite awkward.

After jumping in a cab, and gazing out the window at the freeway along the way – taking everything in – I arrived in St Paul and found myself agog at just about everything, and everybody.

Before I knew it we pulled up outside the hotel – a remarkable old building nestled among 1950s brick-built high-rise buildings on all sides. Originally known as “St Agatha’s Conservatory” in the late 1800s, before turning into a convent and arts academy through to the 1960s. It was wonderful – a peaceful, but somehow happy and hopeful place. There was a real sense of the nuns that once graced it’s halls – and traces of their past – with stone flags on the stairs polished smooth over the decades.

After dropping my bags I set out for something to eat, and happened upon a nearby sports bar with huge wrap-around TV screens, and a small army of girls running the tables. I couldn’t resist ordering their house special burger (a “Juicy Lucy”), and a beer.

I sat for a while – people watching, and noticing all the small differences between this world and my own. They were countless.

In the morning I had time to explore a little before the expo opened, so wandered toward the centre of the city of St Paul – spotting a huge regency style building towering over immaculate lawns. I couldn’t resist walking towards it – although along the way I began to notice how few people or cars there were around. I think St Paul may be the quietest, sleepiest city I’ve ever visited. It was weird – unnatural – almost like everybody had evacuated.

After reaching the towering staircases, and colonnaded exterior I realised I was looking at the state capitol buildings – and entering removed all doubt – with sweeping marble staircases, huge paintings of the civil war, and bronze busts of famous faces from the past wherever you looked.

I took SO many photos.

Along the way I noticed flags hanging in a side room, flanked by armed security, and stopped to peer through the doorway – as discreetly as possible. Before I knew it, I was being beckoned in for a better look. And that’s when I saw the name-plate and realised I was standing outside the office door of Tim Walz – governor of the state of Minnesota – the man who ran for the presidency with Kamala Harris. And he was in there.

Star struck wasn’t quite the word.

Time marched on, and I realised I had to get back to the River Center – so made my way back to the Mississippi, and without knowing it my last moments of anonymity.

A few minutes later my name was hanging around my neck via a lanyard, and I found myself sitting a coffee while a retired air force pilot emptied his life-story on me. He was kind of wonderful – charming, humble, thoughtful – and his stories were the stuff of adventure books. We almost missed the opening of the show.

To say I was nervous was an understatement. Given that this “hobby” of mine had brought me from the other side of the world to stand on a stage and talk to people following my path is still very, very surreal – but not as mad as what happened next.

People recognised me.

While sitting through the keynote presentations in the main hall, I noticed people looking in my direction from time to time, but didn’t want to admit to myself that they knew who I was – how could they? I’m just that guy that sits in the back-room at home, pretending to fly aeroplanes…

After the keynotes finished, the doors to the main expo hall were opened to the attendees for an early look at the various stands, and to meet and greet with the staff of companies present. I made me way through the crowds towards the vendors that had invited me – to introduce myself – to meet them – and find out what might be required of me throughout the weekend.

Suddenly the CEO of one of the companies turned, and shouted “JONATHAN BECKETT!” – striding towards me with a huge grin to shake my hand. A very familiar Irish voice then boomed out nearby “JONATHAN BECKETT!”, followed by its owner – a very familiar and famous YouTube personality – who arrived for a bear-hug.

It got weirder.

After smiling so much my face hurt, and making my excuses to escape being the centre of attention, I wandered over towards Microsoft, and spotted the head of both their Flight Simulator project, and the technical director of their development partner, Asobo.

I wasn’t expecting Jorg – the head of Flight Simulator to turn around, hold out his hand, and say “Hello Jonathan!”. I was in the middle of introducing myself when he cut in “of course we know who you are – we follow you!”.

I must have been stood there smiling like I had a coat-hangar in my mouth.

Moments later another very well known content creator crossed my path, and got his wife to take a picture of us together.

The rest of the weekend was much of the same. While walking the show floor, taking photos, or recording videos, random strangers kept politely accosting me – pointing at my badge, and saying words to the effect of “is it really you?” – “I’ve been following you for years!”.

The kindness, good will, and generosity I experienced throughout the weekend was life changing in a way.

I sat in the concessions area with a burger and a huge bottle of water at one point on Saturday, and before I knew it had drawn a small crowd of strangers – most of which “knew” me. I’ll never get used to that.

Like I said – the smiles, and goodwill were the thing I will never forget.

I ended up doing two stints on stage during the show – talking to audiences firstly about becoming a “content creator” in my spare time, and about my experiences at the show – given that it was my first.

I couldn’t help thanking the entire crowd for welcoming me – making me feel welcome – like one of their own – and for supporting me. When leaving the stage, a stream of people came up to take selfies, and shake hands – I ran out of conversation and just smiled.

So many of the interactions will stay with me – from the towering black guy who quietly waited before coming up to shake my hand with the best smile, to the nervous fellow brit that found me in the crowd, and struggled get over himself – I hope he realised I was as nervous as him.

While wrapping up and saying my goodbyes, the CEO of the company I was really there to support took me to one side and thanked me for coming – saying that it meant the world to have internet “Rockstars” on the stage. In a self deprecating way I’m probably too good at, I dismissed his comment – and he laughed – “you really don’t realise do you – in this world you are a Rockstar!”.

Hardly – but it’s a comment I’ll never forget 🙂

After the show on Saturday evening I went out for dinner, and pulled on an England shirt – given that the World Cup was being shown everywhere. The England shirt somehow attracted conversation from all corners of the bar – with one particular guy stopping to have the best conversation about football (soccer) with me. I wonder if he realised I know almost nothing about football?

And then later – while leaving the bar – I had quite the most bizarre interaction with anybody in my entire life. An African guy, with quite a distinct accent asked about the England shirt – and asked where I was from. I said “near Oxford originally”, and he said “where near Oxford” – I told him the name of the town I grew up, and his mouth fell open. “I used to work there – in a small restaurant!”

You can’t make it up.

The other story of the weekend was a last minute plan that fell together to meet a friend I’ve known for years – over twelve years – on the internet. She flew in from Portland, and we met up in the city.

It’s the weirdest thing – meeting people you’ve known for a long time but never met. While sitting in Rice Park in the middle of St Paul, we both remarked about the easy conversation, and how it seemed like we might have been sitting there only yesterday – or every day – together. I guess once you’ve known somebody long enough – there are no filters – no secrets – no closed books – you really do know each other – and it was kind of wonderful.

I’m so glad she made it – that we had time together. She listened intently about the show, and even tagged along when I was called back for the second Q&A session.

While having dinner together, she commented about “badgers” (her name for the expo attendees that were still wearing their badges) looking at me from the other end of the bar, and laughed at my apparent blindness to such things.

She also ribbed me mercilessly about a middle-aged woman that walked past us in the street. I was busy talking about something or other – and of course have a very “Hugh Grant” kind of English accent. The middle aged woman noticed, and apparently “gazed at me” as I passed. I thought those stories were made up – about American women and English accents – apparently not.

We travelled to the airport together late in the evening, and watched the “futbol” together. She educated me – she’s from Ecuador. Her flight left shortly before mine, so we hugged and said goodbyes before joining the queues, passports in hand.

The flight home on Sunday night through to Monday morning couldn’t have been more different than the flight to America. I was squashed onto the end of a row by a small asian man that insisted on man-spreading as far as possible, holding his elbows out as far as possible, talking on the phone throughout the entire safety briefing, and then coughing and sneezing repeatedly without covering his mouth or nose.

We won’t talk about him pulling his bag out of the overhead compartment while the plane was preparing to taxi to fetch a power bank either. I let him get up – I don’t think the cabin crew were pleased with him at all. A pretty girl sitting in the row in front gazed at him, then me shook her head slowly at me. I grinned, and she rolled her eyes.

I slept for part of the flight – with my head wedged against the display screen on the back of the seat in front of me. It was the only place I could go.

After making my way through Heathrow Airport I was dead on my feet, so chose the easiest and most expensive option – a taxi all the way home. Not even an Uber (which would have been half the price, but required a walk across the airport to find). I think the driver thought he had hit the jackpot.

So. Next year the expo will be in Las Vegas. I wonder if I’ll go? I wonder if I’ll like it as much as St Paul? There was something wonderful about St Paul. It confounded just about every expectation I had about America – and that I know others sometime share. In a world where the media is filled with abrasive, aggressive, loud, extrovert, capitalism obsessed mouthpieces, I discovered that the story the media tells isn’t the whole story at all.

I discovered a city filled with thoughtful, kind, and welcoming people that not only had time for me, but embraced me in ways I never expected – from the waiting staff in restaurants and bars, to the strangers I met in them, to the countless show attendees that reached out just to say hello, and the friend that flew half the way across the country to spend the day with me.

Unforgettable.
Departure

June 11, 2026

I’m finally on my way to the US for “Flight Sim Expo” in Minneapolis – after a morning folding clothes, and worrying about the size and weight of my carry-on bag. An Uber taxi arrived precisely when he said he would, and whisked me to the airport while sharing stories about driving for Uber, visiting the airport, and recent flights he had been on.

Once in the taxi and on my way, I started to relax a little.

I worry about everything. Yesterday afternoon I double checked the rules for carry-on items, and went back through my bags again. I’m travelling light, but I suppose in many ways it’s a game – can I get through security without being questioned at all?

Of course I flew through security. After arriving at the airport a little over two hours early – as they advise you to – I found myself wandering through Terminal 3 with two hours left to wait.

I relaxed a little more.

After deciding breakfast would be a very good idea, I picked perhaps the biggest restaurant/bar in Terminal 3 – “The Curator”, and requested the all-too-predictable “table for one”.

Fast forward half an hour, and I’ve made a “traditional English breakast” vanish. It cost three times as much as the equivalent meal at Wetherspoons despite being largely the same. I can’t imagine what the leaseholds cost within the terminals at an international airport.

Despite the cost, it’s absolutely rammed – every table is full. A pretty Italian waitress is running here, there and everywhere in my corner of the restaurant – she never stops moving.

It’s kind of lovely to see fellow travellers from all over the world – different cultures, colours, races – all politely mixing with each other. It makes you realise the continual stream of violence and division in the news isn’t the whole story – not even a tiny part of the whole story. The real world is all around me here, and it couldn’t be more different than the mouthpieces on social media would have you believe.

I have an hour left until my flight boards. While writing this to pass the time, the Italian waitress just delivered a second cappuccino to me.

I’m writing on an iPad for the first time in ages. In some ways the next few days will be an experiment of sorts – to see how useful an iPad really is while on the road – if I’ll miss having a “proper” laptop at all. Given that all I typically use a laptop for is as a glorified typewriter, I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble.

Boarding opens in 45 minutes.

We’ll be in the air for the better part of 9 hours – then another half an hour from Minneapolis St Paul to the city of St Paul, where I’m staying. I need to remember to get some dollars for tips when I land states-side. I’m not buying them here, because I’ll get clobbered by the rip-off foreign exchange places in the airport. When we went to Copenhagen late last year we didn’t take any currency with us, and didn’t need any – everything was touch-to-pay. I’m hoping the same will be true in the US, but want to have at least some cash, just in case.

Maybe it’s time to go have a wander around the airport.
Preparing to time travel

June 7, 2026

On Thursday morning a taxi will turn up outside my house, and whisk me off to the airport. By late afternoon I will arrive on the far side of the world, having wound the clock backwards. On the plane, 9 hours will have passed – on the ground, 3 hours.

I’m flying to America – to visit “Flight Sim Expo” – this is what happens when you quite accidentally fall down a slippery slope in your spare time that results in people calling you a “content creator”, and tradesmen standing outside your house asking “are you THE Jonathan Beckett ?”.

It’s happened again recently, by the way. A co-worker of my other half stopped mid conversation, and exclaimed “hang on – you’re married to the Jonathan Beckett on YouTube?”

My other half still thinks it’s hilarious. Friends too.

My bag is mostly packed – jeans, shirts, shoes, hoodies – smart casual all the way. I dug a wash bag out yesterday and half-filled it. A “world” plug adapter will arrive in the post later today – allowing me to charge my watch, phone, and tablet during my travels. I’ll be using an “Airalo” eSim while I’m in the US – much better value than setting up roaming on my phone. I’m not taking a laptop with me – I’ll press the iPad into service for blogging.

I’m taking the Kindle instead of a book.

I have ordered an English football shirt – on account of the World Cup being on while I’m in the US. It seems a bit silly to be there without finding a sports bar to watch a game or two in the evenings. I opted for the 1982 retro style football shirt – I don’t have the mullet hair to go with it though. Wearing the shirt feels a bit like giving the game away – it would almost be more fun to let people find out where I’m from when I start talking.

It’s nearly twenty five years since I last visited America. A lifetime ago. I’m looking forward to it.
Honest Fractured and Messy

June 5, 2026

Somehow almost a week has passed since I last wrote. I’m not sure why or how. There’s still a lot going on here – more than I can write about.

I woke this morning absolutely sure it was Friday. It took a good few minutes to realise that – no – it was actually Saturday. After a few minutes listening to the radio alarm clock, I scraped myself out of bed, had a shower, washed the shower (because of course I did), had a shave, got dressed, filled the dishwasher and turned it on, pulled on my coat, then set out for Wetherspoons for breakfast. Twice.

The first time I left the house I had no coat. It didn’t look that wet from the window. Obviously upon leaving the house, the director of the TV show I star in turned the rain up a bit. Hopefully my return for a coat was suitably entertaining for the viewers.

Wetherspoons is re-assuringly quiet (for now). And yes, I just made a “Small American” disappear. Two pancakes, some bacon, a sausage, a hash brown, and an egg. I did try a “Large American” once, and was disgusted with myself afterwards. Essentially the same thing – just double everything.

When the kids were little I would often make them pancakes for breakfast. Perhaps the most simple, and apparently exciting breakfast ever invented – judging by the smiling faces while gathering around the breakfast table.

There is a market in town today – down by the big Church (and yes, for those reading from far flung countries – I really do live in an English countryside town, with a church with a spire, elm trees in the graveyard, a park next to the river, and so on). The market has stalls with all manner of food you can’t buy in the supermarket – stuffed vine leaves, spanakopita, olive bread, and more. We would normally wander down as a family and mooch around – spending far more than we should – but today it’s raining pretty persistently. I wonder if umbrellas will win out over grimaced faces peering through he rain from the front door?

I’m guessing the rain explains Wetherspoons being so quiet.

The “table for one” problem just came back to haunt me. I’m sitting here with a laptop – and I don’t want to leave it on the table, or in my bag unattended – therefore I can’t go get another coffee from the machine.

Apologies for today’s post being rambling and disconnected. A part of me thinks this is how blog posts should be though – honest, fractured, and messy – rather than polished, neat, and contrived. Life is messy. My writing reflects that.
The Abyss

May 31, 2026

2026-05-31 The Abyss

Nietzsche once wrote “if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you”. I think I’m starting to understand his words.

It’s kind of a reverse Stockholm syndrome, isn’t it – where if you find yourself in a given situation often enough, the situation seems to present itself for you to fall into – and you can almost feel yourself being drawn in, in spite of any concern or foreboding that might normally deflect.

While we may call it chance, or coincidence, the Celestine Prophecy reminded us many years ago that there are no coincidences. What will be, will be – was always going to be, and will always be. Even the multi-verse doesn’t save us; we’re always in the middle of the timeline that’s unfolding around us – we’re never aware of the myriad alternatives branching out at any and every moment.

People have written at length about it, and even sung songs about it. Endless songs filled with angst and longing.

If you think about it too much, you just end up spiralling – or at least, that’s what I think. I suppose that’s why I fall back on placing one foot in front of the other so often – walking straight past the slippery slopes so many seem to fall victim to.

You might call it cynicism, or fatalism, or a hundred other things. I tend to think of it as pragmatism.

Anyway.

Enough of this nonsense.

It’s one minute to midnight on Sunday evening at the time of writing. By the time I finish this sentence, Monday will have arrived – and the inexorably tick of the clock towards getting up, having a shower, brushing my teeth, and throwing myself at the coal-face of the pixel mines once more.

The pixel mines that have several unimaginably deep holes ready and waiting for me to fall down. Because they know me – and I know them.