The Stories Behind My Dad’s Omega Speedmaster

by

I’ve written before about my dad’s Omega Speedmaster Professional, now my Omega Speedmaster Professional, and how he passed it down to me. But before I forget, I want to write about a few of the stories he told me about that watch. They’ve always stuck with me.

When I first got it, I thought he’d bought it in 1969. Turns out that wasn’t true. After some research, the serial number puts it around 1970 or 1971. When my dad was still alive he confirmed that timeframe. Still, an absolute classic.

One thing he told me that always made me laugh was how Omega almost never buys back their old watches, but more than once, when he sent it in for maintenance, he claims they offered to buy it from him. He always said no.

My dad was a physician assistant who worked in trauma and surgery, so the watch saw some things. He used to joke that it had been sterilized more times than he could count, which, considering where it had been, I appreciated hearing.

He told me about one time when one of the links on the band came apart while he was literally working inside someone’s chest, and the watch slipped off his wrist. They had to fish it out, clean it thoroughly, and fix the band afterward. I still have that original band, so I know it got fixed.

I can’t imagine that would be allowed now. I don’t know what the current hospital rules are, but I’m guessing “no watches in open chests” is probably written down somewhere these days, sterilized or not.

When I tell people that story, some of them are grossed out, others think it’s amazing. I’m firmly in the “amazing” camp. It’s history, after all.

Another quirk is the bezel. Instead of the usual tachymeter, his has what Omega called a pulsometer bezel. It’s what I grew up seeing on his wrist, so to me, that’s just what the watch is supposed to look like. When I had it serviced maybe ten years ago, they asked if I wanted them to replace it since it doesn’t rotate anymore. I said absolutely not. The bezel’s part of its story.

Years ago, when I was living in New York, I brought it to the Omega Boutique for maintenance. The guy behind the counter said he’d have someone take a look and disappeared into the back. A few minutes later, an older gentleman, clearly one of their watchmakers, came out excited to see it. He thought the pulsometer bezel was great and said it was a really special piece. He also told me they could do the service in-house instead of sending it back to Switzerland, which was a relief. Apparently if it was slightly older it would need to travel for service.

It was nice seeing someone else appreciate it that much. That old watchmaker was genuinely happy to work on it.

I don’t wear the original metal band anymore, it was always a little loose even when my dad wore it, and apparently that specific band design is rare now. So I keep it stored safely and use a NATO strap instead.

It’s funny how polarizing this watch can be. Some people hear its stories and get squeamish. Others think it’s the coolest thing ever. I’m clearly in the second group.

Every time I take it in for service, it still gets attention. It always starts a conversation. And I love that.

The Oregon Trail, Carmen Sandiego, and the Apple II

by

When I was in middle school, I loved going to the library. I’d volunteer there, and they had computers. Lots of them.

They were mostly Apple IIs, but there was one Apple IIGS, the “fancy” modern one. Looking back, it’s funny to think how high tech that seemed at the time.

The library had games, and the two I remember most were The Oregon Trail and Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? (or one of the other Carmen Sandiego versions). I can’t remember exactly which ran on which machine, probably both on the Apple II at some point, but I do remember how much fun they were.

The graphics were awful by today’s standards, but that didn’t matter. The gameplay and the stories were great. Oregon Trail had those wonderfully stick figure graphics, and Carmen Sandiego was all text and deduction, but both were surprisingly immersive. They pulled you in.

Fast forward to now: there’s an Oregon Trail game on the Apple TV. My kids have played it. It’s wild to see something that defined a tiny part of my childhood sitting there as an app on the TV. And it’s actually hard, way harder than I remember. Maybe 11 year old me was terrible at it, or maybe I’ve just gotten soft.

The kids haven’t played Carmen Sandiego, but they’ve watched the Netflix animated version. So somehow it all comes full circle, a game I played in a school library on a beige plastic Apple II in Queens has become a glossy cartoon they stream in 4K.

It’s funny how that works. I can still picture that room at IS 227, the horse shoe setup of old Apple IIs humming away, green screens flickering, and me trying to ford a river without losing half my wagon party.

Some memories just stick.

Please Take My Money: Green King

by

It’s time for another round of Please Take My Money, the ongoing saga of payment systems that either make it ridiculously easy to spend money or somehow turn it into a test of patience and willpower.

Today’s contestant: Green King.

When I think back, I don’t even remember Green King having an online payment system before COVID. Maybe they did, but it certainly wasn’t memorable. Then lockdown happened, and suddenly the idea of ordering from your phone became not just convenient, but essential.

After restrictions lifted, one of the first places we went was our local Green King pub. For the first time, they had an online ordering option. I actually thought that was great. One thing the pandemic got right, if we can say that about anything, is the ability to order food and drinks from your table instead of waiting in line at the bar.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like the charm of a proper English pub. I don’t mind going up to order a drink. But queuing to order food? Hard pass. So the fact that Green King introduced mobile ordering felt like progress.

Originally you had to register for an account. Nothing kills “convenience” faster than “please create a password.” I get that companies want to collect data and “build loyalty,” but if you’re in the business of selling me a sandwich and a beer, maybe focus on that. I don’t need another account to forget about.

Anyway, once I begrudgingly registered, it worked fine. I could order food, add my table number, and my meal magically appeared without waiting at the bar. That alone put Green King ahead of some others I’ve tried. So let’s call the early days a neutral: annoying sign-up, but decent execution.

Fast forward a few years, and they’ve clearly learned. The app no longer requires you to store your card details. You can just pay with Apple Pay or Google Pay and be done. No extra forms, no saved card nonsense, no trust fall into yet another company’s database.

And that’s the thing. Retailers love to say they “take security seriously.” The reality is that they may not be able to focus on it as deeply as a credit card company or a bank does, which is understandable. So when an app lets me not store my card details, that’s a feature, not an inconvenience. It’s basically zero knowledge in practice. If they ever get hacked, it won’t matter, because my card details were never there to steal in the first place.

These days, ordering through Green King’s app is smooth. You tap, pay, and your order’s on its way. Seamless. Efficient. Almost enjoyable.

So, after a rocky start, Green King has graduated from “barely tolerable” to “actually pretty great.” They finally figured out the assignment: make it easy for me to give you my money.

The Dot Group Problem

by

This post is partially channeling my wife’s outrage, but as the household tech support department, I’m equally annoyed.Here’s the story.

The .group top-level domain (TLD) launched in 2015. I know this because I looked it up after dealing with this nonsense. My wife has a personal domain name using .group. It’s short, simple, and sounded nice and professional when we registered it.

We both use a mail service that supports unlimited aliases. Every new website or service gets its own unique email address. That way, when one of them leaks or gets sold, we know exactly who’s responsible for the spam. It’s a great system.

Today, for example, I got an obviously dodgy email pretending to be from a legitimate service provider. It was already flagged as spam, but even if it hadn’t been, I could tell it wasn’t real because it was sent to an alias I’d only ever used for a different service. Case closed.

So yes, that whole “unique email per service” setup works brilliantly. And my wife has adopted it too, with some encouragement from me and a bit of technical assistance.

Now here’s where the outrage begins.

It’s 2025. The .group domain has been around for ten years. There are hundreds of new top-level domains now. And yet, there are still websites out there that refuse to accept an email address ending in .group.

She’ll try to register for something, type in her perfectly valid address, and the site throws back: “Please enter a valid email address.” Excuse me? It is a valid email address. The site’s validation code just isn’t built to handle it.

This drives me absolutely mad. I’ve built and supported web applications for years in e-commerce, corporate systems, and startup products. It’s baffling that companies still don’t invest in maintaining their websites properly. Maybe they don’t know how modern validation should work, or maybe they just haven’t prioritized it. Either way, it’s not a great look in 2025.

Our fix was simple, if slightly irritating: we bought another domain. It’s not quite as clean or memorable as the .group one, but my wife liked it, and it works. It’s a standard .uk domain, which every site on the planet seems to accept without complaint.

Problem solved, more or less. The new domain costs about five pounds a year, which is fine. The annoying part is that the .group domain, the one she can’t use everywhere, is about three times that price. But it’s tied into too many existing services to just drop.

That’s the real downside of using custom domains for email. Once you build your digital life around one, moving away from it is basically impossible.

So now, our workaround is simple. We’re keeping the .group domain active for existing logins and old services but using the new .uk address for anything new.

It’s not the fault of the .group registry. It’s just a side effect of how unevenly the web is maintained. Some companies build things properly, others never update. And here we are, ten years later, still running into “invalid email address” errors for perfectly valid ones.

Central Line Time Travel to The Mid 90’s

by
London Underground

So instead of replacing all the Central line trains, they’re refurbishing them. There’s a whole drama behind that decision, but I’m not getting into it. Over the past year I think they’ve done, what, two of them? Maybe three? I’ve only ever seen photos. Until going to work two weeks ago.

I got on the train to head into the office and immediately noticed it felt… new. Not “new new,” but “refurbished new,” which is apparently a category now.

Quick recap of what they’re doing: they take the existing trains, strip them down to the frame, rebuild everything, fix the motors, and put it all back together. And in the end, you get something that basically looks like the same train you’ve seen for decades, just cleaner and shinier.

Here’s the weird part. I never rode these things when they were actually new. So in 2025, stepping onto a “brand new” Central line train is like stepping into a fresh-from-the-factory 1990s time capsule.

Some things were noticeably updated. The audio announcements sounded different, the seats supposedly got an upgrade, and the seat pattern definitely changed. But otherwise it was the same old train, just suspiciously clean, like someone hit reset on it.

Strange, but kind of fun for a random Tuesday morning.

W Sisters and Watching Space Chris

by

When the girls were really little—the still-talking-funny, wide-eyed-about-everything little—we kept screen time on a tight leash. No endless YouTube spirals, no algorithm babysitting. Just carefully chosen things that felt worth their attention.

One of those things turned out to be the astronauts aboard the International Space Station.

At first, I thought it would be a novelty, a quick peek at floating hair and zero-gravity toothpaste. But they loved it. They really loved it. Especially Commander Chris Hadfield, or as he became known in our house: Space Chris.

They’d watch him make a sandwich in microgravity or explain why you can’t cry in space. The girls giggled through every video, fascinated not just by the floating things but by the idea that people actually live up there.

Chris was such a natural communicator. He didn’t just talk science; he made space feel human. That kind of thing sticks with kids. It stuck with me too.

When his autobiography came out, I didn’t read it right away, but because of those videos, I wanted to. And when I finally did, I enjoyed it. Later I read two of his novels—the first one was pretty good, the second one not so much, but still worth the read.

Even now, when I come across something about him or the space station, I think back to those days when the W Sisters were small and completely captivated by Space Chris. Watching them watch him was just as much fun as the videos themselves.

I like to think those moments gave them something lasting—maybe not a love of space exactly, but at least a curiosity that lifts off now and then. And that’s enough for me.

Please Take My Money, GBK

by

I don’t know why this topic grabs my attention the way it does. Maybe it’s because I’ve been quietly fascinated by how we pay for things ever since contactless cards appeared. Or maybe it goes back even further to this tech show I watched years ago. It was probably the early 2000s, maybe even before that, and they were covering a guy in Singapore who tried to spend an entire day using only a watch that was linked to the local payment system. It was a test for the show, and he actually pulled it off. He managed to buy food, travel around, and live his normal routine without touching his wallet once. I thought that was the coolest thing.

So when tap to pay and mobile wallets finally arrived, I was ready. It felt like the future was catching up. But over time, I’ve learned that not all of these systems deserve to exist. Some work beautifully. Others are so clumsy they make you nostalgic for exact change.

I’ve written before about those “Please Take My Money” moments, the times when businesses make it weirdly difficult for customers to give them money. This is in that same spirit, just focused on the modern point of sale experience, or really the broader world of how we’re expected to pay for things now. Some places get it right. Others seem to treat usability like a design flaw.

And that’s how we arrive at GBK, Gourmet Burger Kitchen, which manages to turn something simple into a mild endurance test.

GBK: The Anti Convenience Experience

GBK lets you order at the counter or through their app. In theory, that’s flexible. In practice, it’s annoying. When I’m sitting at a table, I don’t want to get up and stand in line like I’m at McDonald’s. GBK isn’t supposed to be that kind of place.

We’ve been to the Stratford location several times, and every time it’s the same story. Between my wife’s Three network, my EE connection, and even my work phone on a different provider, none of us can get a decent signal inside. So you try their free Wi Fi, which of course wants a bunch of personal details before letting you in. It’s not free. It’s just data collection in disguise.

Once you’re connected, the app insists that you register. You can’t just use Apple Pay or Google Pay. You have to create an account, fill in your billing details, and basically hand over your life story before you can order a burger. The irony is that the whole point of tap to pay systems was to skip that kind of nonsense. But GBK wants your information, not your convenience.

After fighting with the app a few times, we gave up and just started ordering at the counter again. The food’s fine, good even, but the ordering system makes the experience harder than it needs to be. It’s like they built a digital wall between customers and the register.

The Bigger Problem

This isn’t just about GBK. It’s about how so many modern payment systems have completely missed the point. They were supposed to make life easier, but in too many cases, they’ve turned into data traps or loyalty funnels. The best systems disappear into the background. You pay, and that’s it. No account, no registration, no email sign up, no exclusive offers. Just pay and eat.

GBK gets a fail from me. I’ll keep writing about more of these experiences because some places do get it right, and others, well, not even close.

So yes, GBK, please take my money. Just stop making me work so hard for it.

The Sanctity of the Bar Round

by

I know people who go to work and when it’s time to leave, they go home. They have a work life and a personal life, and they keep the two completely separate. I spend so much time at work that I’ve never understood how people do that. In New York, there was always a core group willing to go out at least once a week after work. It was nice to get away from the office and either talk about work or not talk about work at all. In retrospect, when I didn’t have that kind of social outlet, it usually coincided with my least happy times at work.

When I moved to London, I hoped to find something similar since I already knew a few people locally. At first, though, I discovered that no one really did that here. It bummed me out a bit until I realized one of my colleagues was also eager to start a tradition. So we did.

Before the lockdown, I spent my first couple of years in London going out with friends after work, and inevitably I noticed a few cultural differences between London and New York that fascinated me. The first thing I learned was the phrase “eating is cheating.” Apparently, that means you go to the pub to drink, not to eat. In New York, there was always at least one person who would order appetizers or finger food. They were delicious and had the bonus of softening the alcohol’s effects. In London, that’s almost never the case. Eating is, indeed, cheating.

The other difference is how rounds work. In London, the first round of drinks is usually small, because people trickle in at different times. In New York, the first round is massive. Everyone shows up right after work, and the early crowd is the biggest. Two or three rounds later, the group thins out dramatically. In London, it’s much more fluid.

One of the things that really stuck with me about London pub life is what I’ve come to call the “sanctity of the bar round.” One evening, we were at an outdoor pub near the office. It was someone else’s turn to get the round. My usual drink is a Jack Daniels and Diet Coke—it’s reliably available almost anywhere. This pub, however, didn’t have Jack Daniels. My friend came back with drinks for everyone else and told me they didn’t have my usual. He said they had a generic bourbon if I wanted that instead. I said fine and started to walk toward the bar to get it myself. My friend physically stopped me, put down his drink, and went back inside to get it for me. Everyone else at the table agreed that it was absolutely his responsibility. Apparently, once you take a round, you’re in it until everyone has their drink in hand.

That wasn’t the only time it happened either. I brought it up with other friends later, and everyone agreed on the same thing. The sanctity of the bar round is real and you never disrupt it.

Update: Alone, Bacon-Deprived, and Productive

by

This is an update to my being bored at home alone post published on Tuesday.

Spoiler: still bored at home.

I’m writing this on Tuesday, editing it on Wednesday, and by the time it posts on Friday, everyone should be home again. With any luck, I’ll be wishing for quiet by then instead of complaining about how quiet it is now.

Funny thing, my kids and I all like American bacon. I’m a fan of bacon, period. British back bacon? Excellent. But there’s something about really burnt American bacon that’s just perfect. The kind so overcooked it disintegrates or shatters in your mouth. My youngest and I both love it that way. My older one just likes normal American bacon, no ash involved.

While they’ve been in the States, they’ve been getting up ridiculously early thanks to the time difference and sending me pictures of their breakfast buffets. Massive trays of bacon, easily a couple pounds of it, taunting me through email. It’s cruel, really.

My revenge? I send back pictures of me with the cat. Either on my lap or in his little hammock. It’s our counter-bacon alliance.

Anyway, I’ve found what to do while they’re away.

Aside from the boring domestic bits, laundry, tidying, a little TV, I’ve actually been writing. Or more accurately, dictating. I’ve been dictating for years, but I’ve been terrible at doing it consistently. I’ve had dozens of unfinished drafts, half-formed notes, and “ideas for posts” that never became posts. Recently I started clearing through all of that. Some of what I’ve been publishing lately was written a year or two ago.

But now I’m finally catching up, and I’m actually writing new things again.

The big change is simple: the quiet. When people are home, I can’t really dictate. It’s not like typing. Talking to myself while someone’s sitting nearby feels weird. My wife’s totally fine with it, but I still feel self-conscious.

Now, though, the house is empty, so I can just grab my iPad, look through my notes, and start dictating. Ten or fifteen minutes later, the rough draft is done. Editing takes longer since it is actually typing, but that part feels different, it’s quieter work.

So that’s what my week looks like: I eat dinner, the cat eats dinner, he climbs onto my lap, and I sit there petting him while writing. Earlier tonight, I edited a batch of stuff I’d written Sunday and Monday. Now I’m writing again, getting ahead, and planning what to post next.

I’m aiming to do more writing Wednesday, maybe a bit Thursday after the office, before everyone’s back home.

So that’s the update: still bored, still quiet, but at least productive. And surrounded by fewer pictures of bacon.

This entries picture is one of the bacon photos they sent me earlier.

Quiet Is Overrated

by

This week is school half term. M is taking the girls to the States to see her dad. Originally I was going to take off the week, but I only took one day off. Last time they were away and I took some time off, I was extremely bored.

I don’t know what other people do when their families are away. Everyone sounds like they’re extremely productive and do lots of things that they wouldn’t do with their family around. That is not me at all.

M and the girls left first thing in the morning on Saturday. I was up to see them off and then proceeded to make a lazy morning breakfast and coffee and puttered around on the computer. I didn’t shower and get dressed until close to noon.

I spent the rest of the day doing projects on the computer and some things around the house on my to-do list. So on one hand I felt pretty productive. On the other hand, I didn’t leave the house all day.

On the Sunday I was woken up by the cat or else I probably would’ve slept later since it was the day that the clocks changed. I did more work on the computer and lots of research for some projects I was working on and I did tidy up a bit. But any hopes of going anywhere or doing anything exotic didn’t happen. I did go out to the market to get some food for the week, so it was an improvement on Saturday.

I do have plans to go do an activity on the day off I planned on Monday but like I said, I don’t know what people fill their days with when their family’s away. At the idea of it I’m excited for the free time. Then as the time gets closer I realise it’s gonna be way too quiet in the house and I’ll be bored since I say constantly my children are my entertainment budget. They really are. I’m writing this and they’ve not been gone two full days yet and I already miss them all.