Owner of the biggest smile (except in photos!) in India, and probably the most vigorous head wobble too!


He's the main man at the trainer's favourite restaraunt, the Ramdev Sagar. It's a veggie restaraunt with wonderful south Indian food. A typical meal is about Rs.70 (or 80p)!

The magic of India appears in the most unlikely places. Most recently in my friend Jez's driving test.

Contrary to popular opinion India now has a written test as well as the practical part. Jez showed me his practice paper and it makes wonderful reading:

Woo hoo! Today I recieved my first mail since I got to Bangalore: photos and a postcard from my Aunt Anne and a letter from my Aunt Mabyn - thanks Aunties!


I tell you what it feels pretty good so if anybody else is in a pen to paper mood then send your jottings to me right here:

c/o ThoughtWorks Technologies (India) Pvt. Ltd.
2nd Floor, Tower C, Corporate Block,
Diamond District, Airport Road,
Bangalore, KA - 560 008

I'm staying here till the end of November it seems - so there's plenty of time :)

It still makes me laugh though

I was delighted to see Europe win the Ryder cup again. Once again I enjoyed the rare thrill of cheering on Europe and finding that I liked it. And I'm definately developing a fondness for the bold simplicity of that flag.

But I'm not a die-hard pro-European. My identity is British and only tangentially European. I'm one of those miserable liberals who found their pro-European feet because they knew Mrs Thatcher wouldn't like it. And yesterday I came up with a theory why the Ryder cup's vision of Europe is so palatable. For one thing it's a Europe dominated by Britain and Ireland. There's a smattering of charismatic Iberians and cool Scandinavians but, perhaps most tellingly, very few Germans and even fewer French.

Which just goes to show that if the answer to any problem is golf, we are asking the wrong question.

I think my favourite nightclub may be in Bangalore. Admitedly I'm 36 and haven't had a favourite club since I was at university so it may be faint praise but Zero G truly rocks. It's on the top floor and has an airy, tent-like roof but not many walls so it's cool and not too smoky and you can see the lights of Bangalore without. With the combination of cool location, HOOJ CHOONS and the Indian capacity to dance and have fun it's absolutely fantastic. I've been to Bollywood night on a Wednesday which was great and last night seemed to be funky house night. We had a bit of an end of TWU party there and a good night was undoubtedly had by all. Even better for a confirmed lightweight like me it closes at 11.30. So not only can you dance and then get to feel cool for being in the club at chucking out time but with luck you can be tucked up in bed by midnight. Result!

* Kudos to Sat for thinking up this killer Indian chat up line.

TWU Monsoon term 2006 is over - we did it! It's without doubt the hardest work I've had to do since I joined ThoughtWorks but it's been great fun. And I've made a lot of new friends:

I heart Hugo Chavez. Talk about sticking it to the man.

I love a chance to have a pop at the Chapman brother$ (sic). My most recent opportunity came courtesy of this article in the Guardian. I felt a need to comment because the whole piece was another proof in my mind that we have too much media and too many pointless column inches or airtime to fill.

Playwrite Mark Ravenhill once complained that we have too much culture. I think he's got a point.

He's the CEO of ThoughtWorks - so obviously he's very fierce.

Four power cuts today. That's a record since I've been here.

The first occured just as I was closing the fridge door this morning. It was weird seeing the fridge light go out as I started to close the door, rather than just before the end of closing it. I had to open and close the door a few times before I worked out what was going on.

Hmmm, I guess you had to be there.

I love St Paul's Cathedral. It's certainly my favourite building in London and probably the world. The outside is so majestic, the inside so awe-inspiring and seeing its shape on the London skyline always lifts my spirits and makes me happy to back in town.

There's a personal connection too. I was christened there in 1970 and then I carried Dad's banner there 3 times at the Michael and George service over the years. The final time was of course on Thursday and it was certainly a memorable occasion. The service was full of the sort of ceremony and pageantry that seems pointless and anachronistic right up until the moment when it actually starts when it turns out to be absolutely fantastic.

On Thursday we had the band of the Coldstream Guards playing music as the crowd gathered. We had the trumpeters from the Scots Guard playing a memorable fanfare for the arrival of the Duke of Kent and then again before and during the national anthem. We had the choir and the organ. Music is really where St Paul's transcends anywhere else I have been. The acoustics are extraordinary and somehow the space truly amplifies music: making it both louder, warmer, richer and more profound. But the real magic happens when the music stops. In that second or seconds that follow it's like the music is both there AND absent. The echo or sustain or whatever it is lingers and gently departs. To me it's truly sublime.

Dateline London, yes London!

I'm back at home for all of two days in order to carry Dad's banner at the Michael and George service at St Pauls. Left Bangalore at 6am yesterday - made it to the Cathedral bang on time for the rehersal at 2pm. The service was today - it was marvellous and I'll write more when I'm not so tired. But 4.30am tomorrow I'm heading back to Bangalore - so that may not be for some time.

My abiding memory will be the thought that struck me when Dad's banner was placed on the alter in yesterday's rehersal. My father was born in 1918 in a small Cumbrian fishing village, to the local Baptist minster and his schoolteacher wife. Could my grandfather ever in his wildest dreams have imagined that nearly 90 years later his eldest son would have his banner draped in honour over the high alter at St Paul's Cathedral. What a life.

Not the game - the biscuits...


Anyone who knows me should know that I love a good biscuit. Like an intergalactic hitchhiker wants to know where his towel his, I want to know where my biscuits are. And if I know that I've got some Hide and Seek at home then I can breathe easily.

It's not just that they are nice and chocolatey and good for dunking. They are also thrillingly square shaped in a way that biccies aren't back home. And I can't help but love the wonderful fear of hubris that promoted the marketing team to come up with the slogan...


Can YOU argue with that?

Yesterday, during one of the sessions at TWU, my friend Rajeev said a remarkable thing.

He said "At ThoughtWorks we don't have promotion. Only growth." Maybe it was words to that effect but that was his point.

My first reaction was "Eh?!". It sounded a very strange thing to say. But then I thought about it a bit more. In the year and a bit I've been with TW I can honestly say I've never heard the word promotion mentioned. Nobody talks about being "up for promotion", "getting promoted", "wanting a promotion" etc. But I have heard people talk about 'growth' - new roles as opportunities for growth, personally and proffesionally. It seems like a pretty fundamental part of TW culture in fact. Growth is something that you do for which the organisation can supply opportunities. It's something however that the company expects from you and pledges to try and assit. When it can't I guess people leave. All in all it's just another little indicator of why this is a remarkable place to work.

My mobile is showing this strange icon...


I can only think it means one thing: that the mothership is calling me and I must leave Earth before it is destroyed to make way for an inter-planetary bypass.

I organised an outing to the Nandi Hills at the weekend. These are giant granite outcrops that are a popular day trip from Bangalore. At just under 5000ft they provide a cooler environment and, as we found, that most precious commodity round here: fresh air. It was very nice indeed to get out of town and relax in the open air.

One of the unalloyed delights of being here is discovering the wonders of South Indian vegetarian food, especially as served in the ubiquitous darshini restaraunts. There are vades and idlis, the wonderful gobi manchurian and channa battura and king of them all: the masala dosa. Mmmm. Delicious at breakfast, lunch or supper that's what I call a versatile dosa.

Long gone are the days when I would only order something when I knew what it was. Usually this results in serendipitous delights. But every now and then it doesn't go so well. And today I noticed a pattern. The not-so-well days tend to occur when I order something with Kashmiri in the title. I know that's not South India but neither is the Manchurian in gobi manchurian and that is yum (and I HATE cauliflower traditionally). So I decided not to split hairs.

The first problem occured when I ordered the Kashmiri Biriyani a few weeks ago. Little did I expect my dish to be a blend of rice and erm, pineapple chunks. Not only that but the rice was served red and spread out in a heart shape on flat round dish! Potentially very romantic you'll agree but it didn't seem to work on Rajeev, my date.

Today I ordered Kashmiri Naan. Actually I ordered Peshwari Naan (yum!) but after some gesticulating and head wobbling the guy who took my order seemed to indicate that the PN was off. He pointed to Kashmiri Naan and operating under the (perhaps false?) notion that Peshwar and Kashmir aren't that far apart I thought why not. The result turns out to be a roll of fresh naan bread, spread with strawberry jam! It's certainly tasty, but definately very, very wrong. Especially as a side order to a helping of gobi manchurian.

So I've deduced that much in the way that dishes with spinach in are called florentine, anything called Kashmiri means that it's a recognisable dish GONE MAD!

I've had a fascinating look at Indian politics this weekend. Sonia Gandhi, widow of the late Rajiv and leader of the the Congress Party is visiting Bangalore today to address a rally. It's a one day trip but over the course of Friday night the city has been transformed. Every (and I mean EVERY) available space has been covered in posters offering her a hearty, or in many cases heartly, welcome to Bangalore.


It's not just posters - did I mention the flags and the bunting?


Or the 60 foot high effigies?

All of this for a one day visit. It all seems like a Potemkin village. I wonder if, like the Queen, everywhere smells of fresh paint for her?

Just think what would Tony Blair give for a bit of this action.