Twenty One

It only occurred to me as I write this how post count could be a pretty good indicator of blog productivity. I'm on for around 40 posts for 2025, which sounded pretty impressive until I saw the almost-500 that were being created during The Good Times.

That's not to say I'm too sad about the slowing down - for example I've long realised that I don't care enough about food to write about or recommend restaurants and as such I no longer spend time thinking about what I'm eating. I think that's a win win? The point is that as a litmus test of who I am (or rather, what I think about), this blog holds some useful insights. It's like an objective measure of where I am.

Otherwise 21 is a milestone apparently, although perhaps not as much in the UK. One odd observation is how it's approaching the age that I can remember being, which probably says something about my conscious or mental development at the time or something. I wonder what further years around here will reveal?

Twenty

Time is a funny thing. This blog, for example, doesn't feel old but is older than the kids of many of my peers. Amazingly it was only eight when the Olympics happened here in London. Oh and check this - I've been posting here for oooh 4/9ths of my life. That's, like, almost half of it (and yes, that will happen eventually). I've written about movies that have since been rebooted or remade.

So it's clear to say that as sad as it may be, this blog is the longest project I've kept in my life - and will probably keep that record even if I stop now. I think I'm quite proud of that, not that it takes a huge amount of effort to post a review every now and then. I think I've accepted the fact that I'll keep posting as long as Google offer the Blogger platform (which these days might not be a given).

And continuing with the thesis, a decade is also a funny amount of time.  It can pass in a blink of an eye, and yet rationally it's a huge chunk of change. Two decades feels like two decades, but that doesn't mean anything if a decade itself feels so abstract.

Here's to 2034!

A Poem To Me

Well isn't this something:

In lines of code, Shakil once wove,
A tale of software, passion drove.
Retired now, a seasoned sage,
Board games beckon, a new stage.

Binary realms left behind,
Dice and tokens now entwined.
From algorithms to game strategy,
Shakil finds joy in a playful sea.

Cards shuffled, boards unfurled,
In retirement, a gaming world.
Pixelated screens replaced by laughter,
A new adventure, happily after.

Tokens moved with thoughtful glee,
A master strategist, Shakil be.
Retirement's haven, where games unfold,
In the language of dice, his stories are told.

I'd be flattered except this was generated by ChatGPT and so yeah. But a big thank you to my friend who generated it and the world whose creativity was ripped off in producing it.

Nineteen

Another year, and one would hope that the stats would confirm the theory that COVID had caused a bit of a drought. I haven't exactly sat down to count, but it certainly doesn't feel like I have had anything to write home about. Not much travel, not much eating out, films a little under the pre-pandemic par.

One thing I wish I did (and can still do I guess) is start writing about a larger passion that's developed over the last decade or so - that of boardgames. It's my number one activity right now, and 20-something Shak would definitely have started posting about that - and here I am without even a label.

It says a lot then that the content is there, just not being written about. But still on I go, this place having become way too much of a habit to kick now.

Eighteen

To be fair I have managed to generate a bit of content on these pages since last year's anniversary, which vindicates the theory that it was the pandemic to blame for the drought over the last couple of years.

Of course on the other hand barring a few exceptions I have reverted to the age old movies-books-and-travel tradition. This is a shame since I actually do have a lot to say - I'm just saying it to friends and in person. I suspect it's because these exchanges bring more value rather than laziness - if anything having the same conversation multiple times can be exhausting too.

But here we are, creeping ever closer to the two decade mark. Who knew this thing had legs (even though it is a bit of a limp)?

Edmonton 2022

Aaaaaah. I'll offer you a peek behind the curtain now, just to make the point: I write this predated post a week after returning from our trip to Canada and am still thinking and smiling about this trip. For sure, our trips to Edmonton have always been fun and memorable... but this trip was something else.

Was it that there was family there? Or that we went to attend a wedding? Well of course both those things and I've always said that my best travel memories have involved local family or nuptials. But we were here for a wedding back in 2009 too. What else was different?

Well I'm older for one, as is my family, and in particular my cousins. With age comes maturity, character and a general sense of ease - many a honest conversation and edgier laughs were had this trip. Further, this was the first time just the three of us (comprising of my parents and me) had travelled here, and although that alone makes logistics simpler, it would be churlish of me to deny that I didn't enjoy the special attention I received.

Winnipeg was also new, and as a destination wedding within a destination wedding the usual welcoming party and being looked after vibes were found everywhere. We partied, we sightsee'd (sightsaw?), we chilled and had one on ones. Those four days alone were pretty special.

Back in Edmonton I enjoyed BBQs, boardgame cafes, card games over dessert, arcades and even escape rooms. But fun times were also had domestically too, from watching the Champion's League Final with an expat friend from London to bonding with a cousin via the magic of the latest Harry Potter movie (it sucked). But what was possibly the highlight of my trip was a lazy Sunday "brunch" that lasted 14 hours or so. The gupshupping had there was something else. Thankfully there were no trips to Jasper or Banff.

When we first booked this trip I was certain three weeks would be too much, and in total cliched fashion in many ways it wasn't enough. I'm definitely going to make that effort to visit more often (this was a COVID postponed trip from 2020, which would have been four years since the last instead of six), particularly as I feel I now have new familial connections to lean on. Heck I'd even say that after this trip Edmonton may have gone up a few places on my list of places to go once they kick us out of the UK... although I am yet to experience the winters there so maybe I'm getting ahead of myself.

Twenty Years of Jummah

I can't exactly remember when, but there came a point in sixth form (so aged around 16-17) where I fell into an almost obsessive pattern to attend Jummah, the weekly Friday congregational prayer that Muslims are strongly encouraged to attend. Now, I'd be the first to say that however strong the recommendation is, it's not a matter of life or death, and no one will go to hell for missing a week. It was just one of those streaks which, as it got longer, became harder to break.

I managed to keep it up all through my academic studies, and past my graduation in the autumn of 2001. That five year (or so) streak was already pretty decent, so it was upsetting when it finally broke - ironically because my flight to Saudi for Hajj was leaving just after noon on a Friday. If there was ever a reason, that was probably it, although in hindsight I think it would have been more than possible to arrange an ad-hoc congregation at the gate or whatever. The following week's Jummah was also missed, as we were in transit to Arafat. That wasn't too bad as my streak was technically zero anyway.

Despite having to start again, my zeal to attend Jummah hadn't diminished - if anything it had gotten stronger. And so it started again, the first Friday after Arafat, which by my calculations fell on the 1st of March. Praise be to God and with his help, I have been able to attend Jummah every week since.

That's not to say it hasn't been precarious. Multi-night hospitalisations came and went, mercifully falling between Fridays. Most recently, COVID lockdowns had been a massive scare, mitigated only by kind neighbours humouring me with socially distanced prayers and blessedly dry weather. Its probably the closest I've come to having this streak broken.

The most consistent inconsistency however has been during travel. Two which spring to mind are during a skiing trip to Courchevel and a week away in Santorini. The former was simply done DIY, as there were enough on the trip to make a congregation. The latter was a little more tricky as there were only two interested parties on the trip - however after making friends with a dodgy DVD street selling Afghani, we managed to whip up a posse, proving once again how doors will be opened for you if you search them out.

It's not just academic stubbornness that drives me to seek out Jummah. Meeting fellow Muslims itself is a culturally valuable exercise - particularly abroad. Seoul, Ambodifototra (on the island of Nosy Boraha, off the coast of Madagascar main), Bali, Phnom Penh and Arequipa are all congregations that I have very fond and exciting memories of - some have been practical too when I had been lucky enough to have been fed on multiple occasions, usually in the places where Muslims made a tiny minority. Isfahan gave me the opportunity to join a state congregation in majority Shia Iran. The mosque in Rio was found at the end of a massive mystery. Warsaw and Split were both tiny self-conscious affairs, Las Vegas hilarious just for the contrast.

There's plenty more, from China, to the obvious picks in the Middle East and even those more vanilla ones in Pakistan (both Karachi and further afield) and here in the UK. An awareness of Jummah and it's facilitation is now an embedded part of any planning process I have, regardless of the scope - amusingly I will only visit the Galapogas and other far flung islands in a troupe of other Muslims, only to ensure I have a congregation on tap. If anyone is interested, let me know.

So yes, twenty years and over 400 Jummahs later I'm left wondering what the future holds. A part of me was aiming to relax a bit and stop counting after hitting such an arbitrary landmark, but I already know that's not going to happen.

Of course ultimately every opportunity to offer Jummah is a blessing, and those are for which I give thanks rather than take credit. I can only pray that those blessings continue till the end.

Seventeen

If anything is a metric of the dire state of this place it's that last year's birthday post can still be seen here on the front page of this blog.

Of course homepage-news-length is an arbitrary number against which to benchmark a blog, but it does reflect how genuinely the last year and a bit has affected, well, everything. And in that sense this blog is actually a success, at least as a indicator of lifestyle.

Like everything and everyone else though, I suspect "normal" will never quite return. I have no desire to go visit new places to eat any more, and even my appetite to visit the cinema to watch anything appears to have sated.

So the real question isn't whether the volume of content will every return, but what that content may actually look like. I don't think posts will disappear completely of course... but perhaps 10-20 posts a year is where it'll end up.

Sweet Sixteen

I signed off last year wondering what I'll have to write about today, and so here I am jumping on the bandwagon that's taking up most of the mindshare even now. Yes it's true: this blog has also been a victim of COVID-19.

However lacking in content my blog has been in the later years, the crutch that is review posts kept this place ticking over - not least as an objective reason to put fingers to keyboard. The bulk of those reviews were movies and my regular weekly visit corelated with at least a single post on a regular basis. The cinema long becoming a no-go zone put paid to that excuse, and regardless of openings I don't see myself going back anytime soon. But hey: at least I have Brandon Sanderson to write about. Sigh.

It's a sad state of affairs, not least since at 16 this blog can now legally partake in all sorts of activities.

Fifteen

It's actually a struggle to recognise the decade and an half that this blog has existed. I've managed to say something somewhat apt to mark the occasion so far, but it's actually taken me two days to write this back-dated post, mainly because there's not really much more to say. And yet my OCD-completionist side compels me to write something, even if it's anything. And so here I am, playing the stream of consciousness word-vomit game that seems to work so well on Instagram. Maybe it'll even work without the photo.

Fifteen is an odd number. It's certainly a lot, but it's also just within grasping distance of my ability to measure the years, not that I have much else to use as a yardstick. Cliched as it sounds it does feel like yesterday that this blog would see weekly long form "opinion" posts which would regularly spill into real life. Ironically though as the content of the blog forever distills into a diary like journal, so does its value change for me. I do use it to look up dates that I travelled or watched a film, and maybe that's always been the point of it. Either way I've grown comfortable with its current form, even if ticking off the list of due posts makes it all fell like a chore sometimes/always.

Anyway, I think I've hit the minimum word count. Heaven knows what I'll write about next year.

Travelling Sucks

Here's an interesting fact: since September of last year I have used planes more than I have any kind of public transport in London. I state this not with amusement or even pride, but with a little bit of shame and incredulity. As I return from Karachi, I'm even left hoping that I manage to spend at least a month in the UK before leaving the country again. Before you scoff at my ingratitude, in my defense the relationship I have with travel had begun to deteriorate well before the spate of trips these last few months.

Just like I would never describe myself as a foodie, neither would I ever consider travel to be a passion of mine. This is in spite of hitting 69 on the Travelers’ Century Club's list (here). It would be easy to conclude that the reason why I don't enjoy it as much as my peers is because I've done my fair share, but I think the reasons run deeper than that. I guess I just don't fundamentally buy into the idea that travel is a necessity in life, or the only (or even a good) way to grow. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that the current global obsession to travel is a bit of a fad.

My best and most memorable trips have always been social. So to see native friends in Hong Kong or Singapore, or family in Canada or Pakistan, or to attend weddings in Australia or Mauritius. Some trips have even been a combination of all three. These are the trips that remain with me years after, and the trips I feel really lucky to have been on.

But most of my trips will have none of that, and I find that I have to "epicify" it to make it really worth it - clearly in compensation for my lack of enthusiasm. And so I cross multiple borders, create long road trips, veer as much off the beaten path as I can. My trips therefore tend to be quite dense, an idea that is usually anathema to those who, unlike me, list travel as a passion.

It's interesting to note that the non-family/friend/wedding trips have all usually been instigated by others who would have had the generosity to invite me along. For me travel will always be a luxury rather than a human right. It is something that comes to me rather than me to it, and if I ever lost the opportunity to travel (for example if a future partner doesn't enjoy it, or I no longer have the financial means to do so) I'll be okay with leaving it all behind. Given the world we live in I do see this as being unlikely, although maybe the frequency will reduce.

The thing is that I don't think I'm alone in this. Although travel seems as accessible and popular as ever now, I do often wonder just exactly how popular it would be if Instagram (or whatever) didn't exist. Would people be as enthusiastic about it if they weren't able to tell others where they had been? It's not surprising then how correlated travel is with social media - after fashion and beauty and food it appears to have the most visible number of "influencers" and posts desperate for likes.

It's often claimed that travel is supposed to be about self discovery, but that was a reason that didn't seem to matter as much to us before the Internet. I suppose we don't get to see the people who don't post about their trips so it could just be a visible minority who see "holiday publishing" as the primary point of travel. The danger of course is that the importance of travel itself may have been inflated way past its true value - there are many who, like me, believe that travel isn't entirely for modest people due to its inefficiency, lack of sustainability and polluting aspects. Travel itself isn't alone in this - take for example the food industry and how that's been transformed by social media and the Internet. Whole topics and industries have been subject to "blog eyes".

But whatever the detail, as time goes on travel does feel like a bit of a hassle to me personally, and sometimes it almost feels like I'm labouring the point just by going. This jadedness means that I'm not as impressed with the otherwise unique and amazing things that I get to see. This might just be the curse of the blessed, so perhaps I've just simply been desensitised. Then again maybe I'm just lucky? I've often claimed that the top ten most memorable moments I've had in my life have all happened within 10 miles of where I lived, so perhaps I just don't see the point of travelling for life experiences that will never really make the cut.

The Glory Days

It's an indictment on Internet society that of the 118 blogs I follow via RSS, only three of them provide regular updates. It's a sign of just how far we've come (fallen?) from the days when content was king, and things like SEO and reach and even readership were afterthoughts to the actual writing process. I'm hardly the model net citizen, but from the start all those 14 years ago I knew I'd never allow ads on this site, nor track who does (or doesn't) read these pages. Instead we now create quicker bites (usually images) and these primarily to be seen, which sounds innocent enough but can also be seen as the root of most of the uglier sides of social media today.

This cynicism and grumpiness comes with age, of course. 14 years is a big chunk of both my life and that of the Internet, and I like to think some kind of prestige comes with that. Of course the real irony is that with this transformation of how the Internet is used, the content that was so easy to create has now become difficult to even start... so any denial that feedback doesn't matter is probably a bit cheeky.

On the other hand, a fair few of those dynamics and relationships have transformed into bigger and better things - so much so that I almost forget where they all started. And so we end with what is probably the most vacuous of life's lessons: things change, sometimes for the worse but often for the better, and so the real value in the world is in the essence of these things and not what they look like.

And if that means it's the blogosphere that gets put on the altar... well maybe that's not that big a price to pay after all.

Karachi 2018

My annual trips to Karachi are quite well established now, up to the point where I actually start itching to go back 10-12 months after my previous trip. This one was a couple of months overdue due to South Africa, but it did coincide with a couple of weddings so it worked out pretty well.

I find it to be a humbling habit, somewhat rooted, and that not in a "I wish I could save them all poverty porn" sense. I'm not a tourist here, I'm family. This makes it personal not just because there's blood involved but also for the more pragmatic fact that the life I see around me could have been my own if my grandfather had made different decisions in his own life all those years ago.

Things are always relative and perhaps this is why I don't have the same sense of ambition or success that others back in the UK have - I already have these things in a way, no matter how they were earned (or not). My peers aren't necessarily the people I live and work with in London, but my cousins, relatives and the 25m other people who reside here in Karachi. In the same way I find myself also more conservative and traditional, whether it's the manner in which I dress or the fact that I prefer squatters to commodes.

It's a cliche but despite the poverty and hardships people do seem more happy and content here than they do elsewhere. One can accuse them all of living in ignorance of course - how can they miss something they've never had - but us who spend the time to visit do know what's out there... and yet there's much more of a sense of peace where choices are much more limited.

Isn't Thirteen Supposed To Be Unlucky?

I did try. I even went for the most obvious topic of, well, marriage, since that's what I was told was missed the most. But aside from the fact that it probably wasn't read in a world of status updates and retweets (I write for myself dammit), it was actually a bit difficult to write in the first place. The thoughts and arguments that were so easily spilled during those golden years seem to be having trouble leaving my older brain.

Having said all, my personal situation and lifestyle has changed a bit; whether this will make room for more posts or manifest at all here remains to be seen.

Other points of note: I've broken the 3000 post mark which is pretty cool. Also my film label count (not all of which are reviews) is 20 short of 500, while restaurants stand at a smidge over 200. If there's one thing I'm sure of with respect to this place it's that those two topics will continue to be covered. I guess that's a consolation of sorts.

It's Back! Maybe

You know, I do actually think that I've hit a bit of a turning point recently. I'm not sure why - perhaps I'm enjoying writing again or perhaps I have more time on my hands or perhaps my current outputs just aren't cutting it anymore? But I do think that if this blog is going to once again host content similar to how it did many years ago it might actually happen now that year twelve is over.

Maybe the trick is to start small and, I dunno, commit to one post a month? However it turns out, I am optimistic. Of course chances are that I'll be here in a years time wondering what I was thinking... but hey, positive thoughts please.

Film: Back to the Future Trilogy

I'm not really one for "my favourite" questions. Ask me what my favourite song or country visited is and I wouldn't really know. The same goes for movies: the best I can answer that question is: "I don't have an ultimate favourite movie, but I know Back to the Future is in my top ten and I'm always able to watch it when it's on".

I was pretty young when Back to the Future was released here in the UK. What's striking is that I still remember the first time I had heard of the film: it was on a BBC breakfast show, and they showed the scene where a relatively unfamiliar Marty McFly creeps into a deserted house that is full of clocks, jacks up a huge speaker system and trashes himself and the home on his first riff. Now I knew the film was about time travel, but apart from the clocks on the wall there was nothing I saw in that scene that related to time or even science fiction. And yet, somehow, I knew I had to watch it. Another memory: Shreddies were running a promo for the film and I managed to collect at least three of the adventure books on offer.

And yet I don't quite remember if I had watched Back to the Future in the cinema. Parts 2 and 3 I do remember, and that vividly, but as it stood BttF was the one that would have always been relegated to the smaller screen. Until today, of course, the future day on which Marty and Doc arrive in part 2. When I heard that cinemas up and down the country were planning on playing not just one but all three films from the trilogy I just knew I had to see them.

Of course the films themselves are pretty perfect - and I don't think that's just nostalgia talking. There's just not much that comes out of a negative assessment of the films. For a start the soundtracks are perfect, with the main theme still making me well up each time I hear it. The screenplays are amongst the tightest I know - I can't think of any scene, shot or script going to waste, which is why even the previously intimidating six-plus hours we spent in that single sitting actually flew by. I never looked at my watch once. This lack of fat in films is most certainly a generational thing, but Back to the Future did the best out of its contemporaries.

Then there were the cast and characters. Doc Emmett Brown did inspire me to both science and science fiction; I shared the love of Jennifer Parker (both of them); I was simultaneously intimidated and allured by Lorraine Bains; and of course I wanted to be Marty McFly (and yes, I bought a skateboard). I over each viewing of the movies I learned all their lessons and experienced all their feelings.

As a genre Back to the Future tends to be mislabelled as science fiction. Now I'm not a movie buff, and most certainly am not in a position to override the more obvious and well established categorisation of the films, but I really don't think the primary driver of the films is sci-fi; in fact if anything they're really bad time travel movies. What these films are really about are the plots (of which there are sub-plots) and character development (of which there are many progressions). In that context time travel merely becomes a prop on which to hang themes of survival, interpersonal relationships and escape, of which it may have been possible to transpose all to a different story, but not at the same time. It's this genius that allows us to have a third part which is almost exclusively set in the Wild West but still fits in perfectly with the rest of the series. And of course it also allowed us to have a baddass flying DeLorean. And I have to admit, watching the three films back to back as a trilogy did have an enhancing effect - there were themes and references I didn't notice before, and an increased appreciation of part 3, which was previously considered by me to be the weakest.

It's a testament that the film is still going strong. It's difficult to see which films released this year we'll still be watching and talking about in three decades' time. On a personal note I'm glad I got a chance to revisit the trilogy in the cinema and then write about my love of the series. I do still hum the theme to myself often, I do still pretend to be driving a flying DeLorean or riding a skateboard, and I still get goosebumps each time my speedo hits 88mph (on private track days of course).

And after watching the trilogy my my opinion has actually changed; the trilogy is no longer one of my favourites but the favourite. In some ways it always has been, but I achieved the explicit realisation the moment I watched Marty McFly race down Main Street in a DeLorean toward a clock tower in order to consume a lightning strike that would send him home. All with a tear in my eye. If something that invokes that reaction is not something that can be considered the favourite I can't imagine what else could.

A Matter Of Procedure

If my blog was an actor, it'd probably be unshaven and drunk on a park bench somewhere. And that pretty much sums up the way I feel about writing these anniversary posts, this one marking the eleventh year (heck, the fact that I'm actually writing this on the 13th of September says a lot really). I wouldn't describe it as dread; more indifference I suppose. Kind of like having to talk to that aunty from Pakistan on the phone.

But principles and etiquette do matter and as strange as it sounds I do feel I owe this place at least one explicit acknowledgement per year. Whether that's to remember the past or maybe even give some self encouragement to start writing again in the future it just feels like the right thing to do.

It's telling that the "blog" folder in my newsreader goes weeks without any new items. The web feels like it's becoming less so in it's adolescence, and I guess ultimately it's the anti-establishment, self-righteousness that drives me to write even the more inane posts here. The fact that those personal blogs that I still produce content rank amongst the richest I read. So yes, "in my day" it really was better, and spending the time to write and remember that in such a meta way seems important.

On the other hand if I really did care I'd write more - it's just easier not to. But hey, only a few years left till retirement, maybe I can pick it up again then.

SMBC

I'm not saying I'm old, but...



Whatevs.

The Decade

Although most people don't realise it, ten is a pretty arbitrary number - a consequence of biology and cosmic design, it's simply because we have five digits on each hand that we picked ten for the first double digit value. But regardless of the reasons why, it's generally accepted to be an important number, and so here I am writing a post on what is the tenth birthday of this blog. Ten years since that first post. Crikey, I honestly didn't expect it to last this long and reaching this far invokes that paradoxical feeling where although the start seems like such a long time ago, it also feels so familiarly close.

Radio Shak has already been the longest project I've ever been involved in for a while now - longer than all my jobs put together, longer than any hobby I've participated in; heck it's outlasted many of the friendships I've had; which is sad if only because it's also appears to be pretty normal. On the other hand I can count many of my current friends as somehow being found via these pages, directly or indirectly, so perhaps this is just a symptom of the future.

As has been the theme in the previous few anniversary posts, I've all but accepted that this is what my blog will be now: mostly restaurant and film reviews (the hatred of which makes up the totality of any explicit feedback I've received) with perhaps the odd opinion piece every now and then.

Yes there will always be those fifty odd drafts I have saved which I might one day get back to completing, but they mostly seem oh-so-outdated now; as much as I like to deny it I suppose I am a different person from who I was a decade ago. On the other hand I'm reading the first few posts and maybe I'm not that different after all. Whatever the reality, I did (reasonably) think that my life would be different to how it has turned out, and that in all the obvious ways - in fact I think it was when I realised that change wasn't necessarily going to be the case that the steam might have run out here; perhaps that's also when I felt that I no longer needed to express myself in this particular way either (much to the joy of the friends I leveraged for my ranting instead).

So here it is, a decade of my ramblings. It might even be the milestone at which to stop, but I don't think there's any need for an action as dramatic as that - judging by the way the Internet is going I suspect it's more likely that Google will make that particular decision for me. On the other hand who knows, maybe I'll decide to focus more on my writing this year? I wouldn't bet on it though; after all, ten is nothing but an arbitrary number really.

I Once Ran a Marathon

There are pivotal moments in every person's life which are so life changing they end up remembering them every year in the form of anniversaries. The obvious and generic ones are birthdays (which if you think about it might be more special for a parent than for a child) weddings and deaths, but there are many more which although more personal and intimate can be just as potent. The start of a new job maybe, or a season in which a Muslim performed a Hajj - perhaps even a house move. Some dates you just remember.

Today marks ten years[1] since I ran the London Marathon (back in the days when it was a Flora and not Virgin), and I've never understated exactly how much that day (as well as the six or so months leading up to it) had an effect on me. I could say that the lesson was that anything is possible with hard work or something, but I think what I actually learned was that everything in life has a cost, and the more major it is, the higher the cost. In those terms it's a pretty obvious statement to make, but then I guess most life lessons are.

Blogs (well this one for me anyway) are quite handy in that they catch the moment at its most raw; before one has time to process or even misremember it. I regret not having Radio Shak for many pivotal life events, but the two I do the most are the marathon that I ran and the Hajj that I performed. Still, I did manage to get a "one year later" post down, which captured part of what I was feeling at the time. On the other hand a part of me is disappointed with how hard I'm clinging on to the achievement, if only because this essentially implies that the last thing I managed to do of any great value was a decade ago - and that compounded by the fact that I don't really run any more at all.

But lament aside, I am proud of being in that club of people who have managed to run 26 odd miles in one go, and although I'm not quite sure where my medal is the whole day ten years ago does stay with me. Perhaps that's another reason why anniversaries are useful - to both remind us that not only is time always moving, but that it makes space for further achievements too.

[1] Well not exactly - we ran on the 18th of April in 2004.