Not just nearly finished it — not a simple shrug of the shoulders and a mutter of “I guess that’ll do”, but absolutely certain that what you’ve created is (to the best of your knowledge and skills and ability) fit for purpose, has been adequately tested, and is ready to go into production without any more work needed on it. Which, note, is different to wanting to add extra features to it in the future. This post looks at the Agile concept of the ‘definition of done’ and the repetitious ‘done done’.
Because this week has been hectic, I’ve not had much time to think about my first Throwback Thursday feature. So here’s something from a wee writing project I’ve been working on, documenting my recollections of my time in the National Youth Choir of Great Britain.
This is from my first NYCGB course at St Elphin’s School, Darley Dale in Derbyshire in December 1988.
It’s a long story how, and I won’t go into it here as it mostly involves tales of vomiting while being interviewed by the BBC, three brain haemorrhages, bright lights and ambulance sirens, and not dying, but my dad was a member of a men’s Christian group that had the unlikely name of the Full Gospel Business Men’s Fellowship International. Or FGBMFI for short. Which even then is quite long. And even now I still will it to be the initials of some kind of furniture outlet for the Russian secret service; although technically that would be KGBMFI, not that they are called KGB now—it’s FSB. But I digress.
My dad phoned up a bloke in the Matlock chapter of FGBMFI and explained that his naive, shy and unassuming 17-year-old son would soon be attending his first National Youth Choir of Great Britain course in nearby Darley Dale and if it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience would he be willing to pick me up from Matlock station and safely deposit me at the door of St Elphin’s school?
“I know what he’s like,” he said. “Knowing him he’ll end up chatting to some pretty girl about the post-industrial fate of Greater London market towns. He doesn’t understand how taxis work. He’s scared of buses and I promise that he’ll not break your passenger-side window.”
I broke his passenger-side window.
I was trying to be helpful. I was trying to be neat. I had had no right to wind the window down in the first place. But I was too warm. I was nervous. I was flustered. I’d thrown my luggage into the back of his battered-looking, dark blue Nissan Cherry and quickly clambered into the front.
It was a damp and cold December afternoon. It was already dark. I was warm and the windscreen started to mist up.
“This is very kind of you,” I said as I reached for the handle and wound the window down an inch or two.
“You’re welcome. Don’t…!” he started. But I interrupted him.
“Is it far… to St Elphin’s?” I asked, trying to appear keen and friendly; trying to hide my nervousness.
It wasn’t far. In fact, if we’d bothered to do any research whatsoever then we would have discovered that the distance from Matlock station to St Elphin’s school was exactly 1.6 miles (2,574 metres). That’s about a 20 minutes’ walk, even with a suitcase.
Or a 3 minutes’ drive.
Three minutes later we pulled up outside the school entrance.
I think by that point I was now as surprised as he was at why my dad had felt that I needed a lift to the school from the railway station. It had seemed no time at all since I’d asked him if it was far to St Elphin’s, and actually arriving at St Elphin’s by the end of my question had kind of answered the question for me. I felt quite embarrassed. What must he think of me: this pathetic kid from Scotland who needed a free taxi ride effectively across the road?
I started to wind the passenger’s window back up.
“Don’t…” he started again.
But it was too late. A couple of tugs on the handle and I watched with a certain degree of horror as the window jumped off its runners and disappeared into the car door.
And that was the moment that I asked my question. The same question that I had asked a few years earlier when I sat on the bed of my brother’s friend Jonny and felt the bed legs snap beneath me; the same question that I was to ask again in 1992 in a garage in Brisbane, Australia, when (again) I sat on a bed and (again) felt the bed legs give way beneath me. My question: ‘is it supposed to do that?’
And the universal answer in such circumstances: … No!
I carried my suitcase up a couple of steps to the front door, turned and gave a grateful but apologetic wave to the Christian ‘taxi driver’ whose car I’d just vandalised and I stepped into the wonderfully grand entrance hall of St Elphin’s School, with its spectacular sweeping staircase and at the bottom of it an elaborate mahogany fireplace. The entrance hall was thronging with young people.
If you ever happen to stumble upon this blog post, to the guy whose car I unwittingly broke: I’m really sorry. You did, however, deliver me to door of my first NYCGB course where I met some of the best, loveliest friends I have ever known, so also a heartfelt thank you.
I love Christian’s style and voice in his writing and the humour and honesty of his videos. I really admire his outlook on the world and his willingness to share so much of his life online with the rest of us. I’m a big believer in the idea that often what we believe to be the most private is often the most universal; I often feel inspired by the stuff that he shares, especially his anecdotes about personal experiences.
I’ve been thinking for a while that I ought to blog regularly about stuff that has happened to me in the past: the stories that I find myself telling in social gatherings, the stories that make me laugh when I’m on my own and wandering aimlessly through my memories, the random stuff that I’m reminded of because of something said or seen or heard. I’ll maybe start doing that as a Throwback Thursday thing, or something.
This year, Documentally started up a weekly email called Backchannel, which has replaced a lot of his blogging. It’s a personal jaunt through his last week: stuff done, books read, drinks drunk, sounds heard, and items bought. I thoroughly recommend it, it’s full of personality and humanity, and a whole bunch of really practical stuff too.
How can I not enjoy something that has a heading of “Greetings from my shed” and opens with:
Nourishing rain. I was starting to feel sorry for the grass. It needs this. More than I need this coffee. But there’s nothing better than sheltering, supping and writing. And it’s too early for wine.
I belong to the rain. If you can be happy on a rainy day, you can be happy any day.
One misunderstanding that I’ve encountered a lot over the last couple of years in relation to DSDM agile project management is in the area of prioritisation, and in particular how MoSCoW prioritisation works. In this post I hope to make things a little clearer
One of my favourite bands, Opeth, has a new album coming out this year, entitled Sorceress. This is the title track. It’s very heavy, very doom-y, very old-school prog.
I know that Opeth’s move from outright death-metal-style progressive metal to more 70s-oriented prog on Heritage (2011) divided the band’s fan-base. It took a while for me to really get into but I like it. But then I’ve always felt that bands should be free to do what they want, move in whichever direction interests them. And if I, as a fan, don’t like it, then fine—don’t listen to it. Listen to the stuff that you do like.
I’m really looking forward to the album being released on Friday 30 September.
The album was recorded at Rockfield Studios in Wales, where Queen recorded Sheer Heart Attack (1974) and A Night At The Opera (1975), including “Bohemian Rhapsody”.
Guitarist Mikael Åkerfeldt takes us on a tour of the studio.