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Using modern AI coding tools feels like jumping into the cockpit of a BattleMech. My co-worker used this analogy recently and I love it. It perfectly sums up the feeling of vibe coding for me. I can move faster, jump higher and it feels like a there is a whole new world of possibilities available to me. This is true for me as someone who no longer writes code every day, but many experienced software engineers don’t feel this way and I get it. They’ve been running around on foot and learned to be very effective without it. Jumping into the cockpit of something entirely new is jarring. The BattleMech can feel clunky, burdensome and they basically have to relearn all their instincts around movement and orientation (it can also sometimes shoot itself in the foot!). On top of this, many non-technical folks have also jumped into the BattleMech. They are running off in all these strange directions because they don’t know what to use it for. They are copying things, building things that suck and filling social media feeds with their creations. Many software engineers feel the same way as artists did a few years ago because pretty much anyone can create software now. The good news is that domain knowledge and software development instincts are still essential. The BattleMech can be incredible if you know exactly where you want it to go, but it’s also happy to lead you straight off a cliff.
Progress Quest is generally considered the original idle game. It came out in 2002 as a parody of EverQuest and the emerging MMORPG boom. “Playing” it consists of creating a character, clicking “Sold!”, and then watching progress bars fill forever. There’s no interaction, no real gameplay, just waiting. At first glance, it feels like a gimmick — a joke game built to poke fun at the MMO trend. But what’s surprising is that its creator, Eric Fredricksen, built a whole RPG simulation underneath the progress bars. There are 270+ monsters, procedurally named equipment, multiple storylines, intentionally weighted stats, real loot tables, and a surprisingly complex progression system. On top of that, there’s even an authentication system for competitive multiplayer leaderboards that are somehow still around today. I love Progress Quest because of its absurdity, but also because it’s such a good example of something being far better than it needed to be. The amount of effort and attention to detail in this game makes me smile. Exponential Progression At the heart of Progress Quest is a single formula that controls level progression. The time it takes to complete level N is: (20 + 1.15^N) * 60 seconds. That means early levels take minutes (a few hours to get to level 10), while later ones take years (many years to get to level 100). There is also additional time outside of leveling for the player to go to market, buy/sell things, and head back to the “killing fields”. There are still thousands of players active across the remaining multiplayer realms, and pretty much everyone above level 95 has had the game running for over a decade. That doesn’t even count single-player characters. Races and Classes The race and class systems are hilariously absurd, but they don’t affect gameplay at all. The player races are: Half Orc, Half Man, Half Halfling, Double Hobbit, Hob-Hobbit, Low Elf, Dung Elf, Talking Pony, Gyrognome, Lesser Dwarf, Crested Dwarf, Eel Man, Panda Man, Trans-Kobold, Enchanted Motorcycle, Will o’ the Wisp, Battle-Finch, Double Wookiee, Skraeling, Demicanadian, and Land Squid. And the classes are: Ur-Paladin, Voodoo Princess, Robot Monk, Mu-Fu Monk, Mage Illusioner, Shiv-Knight, Inner Mason, Fighter/Organist, Puma Burgular, Runeloremaster, Hunter Strangler, Battle-Felon, Tickle-Mimic, Slow Poisoner, Bastard Lunatic, Jungle Clown, Birdrider, and Vermineer. Hilarious Monster Types There are over 270 hand-crafted monsters, and every one of them has a thematic loot drop. The Giant series imagines what giants would be if they were made of basically anything: Humidity Giant (drops “drops”) Beef Giant (drops “steak”) Rice Giant (drops “grain”) Porcelain Giant (drops “fixture”) Mini Giant (drops “pompadour”) The Golem series follows the same logic: Beer Golem (drops “foam”) Oxygen Golem (drops “platelet”) Cardboard Golem (drops “recycling”) The Scout hierarchy is great: Cub Scout (drops “neckerchief”) Girl Scout (drops “cookie”) Boy Scout (drops “merit badge”) Eagle Scout (drops “merit badge”) The Elemental series is an entirely new take on Elementals: Bacon Elemental (drops “bit”) Cheese Elemental (drops “curd”) Hair Elemental (drops “follicle”) Porn Elemental (drops “lube”) When the game picks a monster to fight, it level-matches against your character and then applies modifier prefixes based on the gap. That adds more flavor to the monster names. Procedural Equipment When you get new gear, the game doesn’t just pull from a list. It runs a little algorithm: Pick a base item matched to your level from a list like Stick → Shiv → Longsword → Halberd Calculate the quality gap between the item’s base level and your level “Spend” that gap across up to two modifier adjectives, each with a point value Whatever is left becomes a numeric +N prefix So a level 40 character might find a +13 Custom Holy Mithril Mail — a level 19 Mithril Mail base, with Custom (+3) and Holy (+5), leaving +13 unspent. The modifier tables are split into good and bad. If the gap is negative — meaning the item is actually better than you — the game pulls from the bad list instead: Rusty, Dull, Bent, Plastic, Nerf (-7), Rubber (-6). There’s also a whole list of spells with names like “Holy Batpole,” “Grognor’s Big Day Off”, and “Roger’s Grand Illusion” that will make their way into your spellbook and increase in level with roman numerals. The Main Game Loop Surprisingly, the game has a real game loop. It works like this: Kill monster task — The game generates a monster with a duration based on your level. When the timer finishes: Loot is added to your inventory, either a specific drop or generic loot XP is gained, which can trigger a level-up Quest and plot bars advance Check encumbrance — After a kill, if encumberance is at or above your limit, you go to market instead of fighting: The game will say “heading to market to sell loot” Then the game sells items one at a time, removing the top item in inventory and adding gold Items with “of” in the name sell for much more This continues until only gold remains Buy or head out — After selling, or if you weren’t encumbered in the first place: If the player’s gold is high enough to buy better gear, the game says “Negotiating purchase of better equipment” and the game upgrades a random equipment slot Otherwise the game will say “Heading to the killing fields” Next kill — After heading out, the game generates another monster and the cycle repeats Stat Progression When you gain a stat point, the game uses a weighted system biased toward your highest stat. Half the time, the gain is completely random. The other half uses quadratic weighting, where each stat’s chance is proportional to its value squared. That creates a snowball effect where your best stat keeps getting better, which feels authentic to how RPG builds tend to work. The only real strategy to playing Progress Quest is trying to roll high STR at character creation. Having higher STR gives you higher max encumberance which affects how often you need to go to market. The thing is, the market trips are such a small fraction of actual game time that this only about a 5% difference in how fast your character will level up. In Conclusion This is probably more than anyone wanted to know about Progress Quest. It’s an absurd, charming little game, and I hope it somehow keeps living forever. If you want to play the “multiplayer” Windows version, you can download it here. I also wanted to play on my Mac, so I vibe-coded an Swift version that runs on modern Mac hardware. See you on the killing fields!
I made a retro-inspired dock to charge my Playdate out of a Raspberry Pi case. The case is a miniature version of the Super Famicom and I love how it makes the Playdate look like a little game cartridge when it’s charging. Making one yourself is pretty straight-forward, you’ll just need the following components: Retroflag SUPERPi case A compact right-angle USB-C cable, like this one The 3D printed insert I designed First, print the two halves that make up the 3D printed insert and attach them with super glue. Make sure to align the cutouts on each side and then clamp the two pieces in place while the glue dries. Then take the Retroflag case apart and unscrew the main board. You’ll have to cut some wires and remove the front-facing USB ports. Make sure to leave the rear-facing USB-C port in place as we’ll reuse this to power the Playdate. Then, using a Dremel, cut a rough 86 by 21 mm rectangular hole in the top of the case. It doesn’t have to be clean as it will get covered up by the 3D printed insert. You will also need to remove some of the internal support structure inside the case using pliers or flush cutters to make space for the insert and wires. After it has dried, insert the 3D printed piece through the hole and hot glue the right-angle USB-C cable into place. Lastly, splice the USB-C cable to the red and black wires coming off the rear-facing USB port on the case. The red (or pink) USB-C cable wire should be spliced to the red wire on the USBC-C port. The two black wires should also be spliced together. That’s it! At some point I’d like to make it into a functional USB hub and add an internal LED.
A few years ago, I built a Wi-Fi-controlled Nerf turret, but I never got around to creating a proper build guide for it. When I finally sat down to write one, I realized just how many things I would do differently. That realization quickly snowballed into a full redesign—and the result is a vastly improved version of the SwarmTurret. This new version is not only more powerful and precise, but it’s also easier build. Here are some of the major upgrades: Simplified Assembly: I reused the shell of an existing plastic blaster, which significantly cuts down on 3D printing and makes putting it together much easier. Improved Stability: A new belt-driven Y-axis adds smoother motion and includes an adjustable tension system. Enhanced Accuracy: The camera has been repositioned for better aiming precision. Direct X-Axis Drive: I replaced the original gear system with direct motor control for more responsive movement. Performance Boost: Upgraded from Raspberry Pi 4 to Pi 5 for faster web app performance. Integrated Power Supply: Now features a built-in power supply with an on/off switch—no more fumbling with cables. Web App Enhancements: The control interface is more intuitive and responsive. I’ve published the complete build guide, along with the updated code and 3D printable parts.
3D Printing has allowed me to be creative in ways I never thought possible. It has allowed me to create products that provide real value, products that didn’t exist before I designed them. On top of that, it’s satisfied my desire to ship products, even if the end-user is just me. Another great thing is how quickly 3D printing provides value. If I see a problem, I can design and print a solution that works in just a few hours. Even if I’m the only one who benefits, that’s enough. But sharing these creations takes the experience even further. When I see others use or improve on something I’ve made, it makes the process feel so much more worthwhile. It gives me the same feeling of fulfillment when I ship software products at work. Before mass-market 3D printing, creators would need to navigate the complexity and high costs of mass-production methods (like injection molding) even to get a limited run of a niche product produced. With 3D printing, they can transfer the cost of production to others. Millions of people have access to good 3D printers now (at home, work, school, libraries, maker spaces), which means almost anyone can replicate a design. Having a universal format for sharing 3D designs dramatically lowers the effort that goes into sharing them. Creators can share their design as an STL file, which describes the surface geometry of their 3D object as thousands of little triangles. This “standard currency” of the 3D printing world is often all that is required to precisely replicate a design. This dramatically lowers the effort that goes into sharing printable designs. The widespread availability of 3D printers and the universal format for sharing 3D designs has allowed 3D-printed products to not only exist but thrive in maker communities. This is the magic of 3D printing: it empowers individuals to solve their own problems by designing solutions while enabling others to reproduce those designs at minimal cost and effort.
More in programming
Details of how the White House tried to suppress the vote by messing with mail-in voting. An early proposal was that all ballots would have to be sent via certified mail.
Today we are releasing the version 1.0 of Lexxy. Lexxy is a rich text editor for Rails built on Lexical. It already powers Basecamp, Fizzy and many others, and it will become the default editor in Rails. I recently presented it in Rails World (slides, video coming soon). This is the article version of my talk. Trix hit a wall Trix has been our editor since 2015, and every Rails app’s editor since Action Text shipped in Rails 6. It’s small and reliable, and it has served millions of people for a decade. But in the last few years our customers kept asking for features like tables or code highlighting, and we kept struggling to deliver them. The reason is the Trix document model. A Trix document is a flat list of blocks. A block is a line of text with some labels attached, like quote, bullet list, bullet. There is no tree, and a block can never contain another block. Nesting is an illusion: at render time, adjacent blocks with the same labels get wrapped together. A flat list of blocks with very limited extensibility options That design bought a lot of simplicity, but you can’t express something like a table with it. Two cells next to each other would carry exactly the same labels, so Trix would merge them into one. The model can say “this bullet is one level deeper”. It cannot say “this cell is different from the cell next to it”. A tables issue has been opened since 2015! The model just can’t do it. The second problem was maintenance. An editor built on contenteditable behaves differently in every browser and even changes from time with operating system releases. In 2024, three iOS releases in a row broke typing, dictation or the caret in Trix, and each one cost us real effort to work around. Check this one as an example. Why Lexical This was a conversation we had at 37signals for years: 2022. We started a project to add tables to Trix. We gave up after a week. The document model can’t represent two-dimensional things. 2023. I built a proof of concept with Tiptap inside HEY. We liked it, but we never started a serious project with it. 2024. We built House, our own Markdown editor, for Writebook. Not WYSIWYG, but WYSIWYM: what you see is what you mean. A wonderful editor for long-form writing like books or technical documentation. 2025. We tried House in another product, and it didn’t fit. For most apps, WYSIWYG was just the right answer. 2025. We had the discussion again, and this time we looked at the whole field. Four years of the same conversation David ruled out Tiptap, CKEditor and the other commercial editors: an open source core with features kept proprietary, and a sales team behind them. We didn’t want our editor to depend on somebody else’s licensing decisions. Then we found Lexical: MIT, from Meta, and very powerful. I spent two weeks evaluating it, and in May we made the call to go with it. A tiny core. Pick the rest. Lexical’s core has zero dependencies and weighs forty-two kilobytes. In a way, it validates the approach that Trix pioneered. The document is an immutable state you never mutate directly, you just get new snapshots when performing updates; contenteditable is an input device and a rendering surface, never the source of truth. It has a DOM reconciler to update the actual DOM very efficiently, and other primitives to deal with handling commands and node transformations. Everything else, from lists to tables to markdown, is a package in the orbit. Lexxy uses thirteen of them. Lexical solved the maintenance problem too. Meta’s products like Facebook or Instagram use Lexical and their user count is in the hundreds of millions. This means that even small issues with new keyboards and devices are fixed fast by the dedicated Meta team that maintains it. Furthermore, Meta’s business is the products, not the editor. We much rather liked this structure of incentives for the long-term investment an editor represents. The iceberg The plan was simple. Pick Lexical, wire it up to Action Text, add a toolbar and ship it. Well, it didn’t go exactly like that. What you envision, and what's under the water Lexxy today is thirteen thousand lines of vanilla JavaScript on top of Lexical. A great editing experience is very hard to get right. An editor is a machine where the user can change the state in a thousand different ways. For example. you have two images one after the other and want to put the cursor between them, but there is nothing there to put a cursor in. Or somebody pastes from Google Docs, and you have to turn a pile of inline styles and empty spans into clean markup. And then Safari, and Android keyboards, and the clipboard, and undo, and… From the first pull request to Basecamp 5 The first pull request landed in May 2025. Fizzy launched with Lexxy in December, and Basecamp 5 in May this year. Basecamp was the real test: twenty years of content written with Trix, and people who use the editor all day, every day. Zoltán Hosszú and Samuel Péchèr were the key people who made this happen. The took a very green version of Lexxy, added a ton of features (including Tables) and polish, and they fixed countless bugs. They also pulled off a remarkable milestone: seamlessly switching millions of Basecamp users from Trix to Lexxy. What’s included? We didn’t want a to build Trix with tables. We had Lexical and we had agents to help, so we wanted to be ambitious here. We went for the whole package. Features In terms of major features: A color highlighter, built in instead of this being a custom Basecamp extension, as it was with Trix. Tables, with an interface we worked hard to keep simple and accessible. Markdown. You type it, you get rich text. Code blocks with syntax highlighting as you type, in more than twenty languages. Image galleries you can navigate and reorder with the keyboard. Prompts. Type a character, get a menu: mentions, emoji, or whatever your app needs. Links by pasting a URL over selected text. Previews of attachments like videos and PDFs, rendered as your app renders them. Action Text Native Lexxy is also Action Text native. Action Text stores attachments in a canonical format that Trix doesn’t speak, so it translates on save and again on render. We taught Lexxy to emit exactly that markup. What you see in the editor is what gets saved, and what gets saved is what your app renders. Your existing content, attachments and views keep working. That opened another door. Action Text now talks to an editor adapter, with an implementation for Trix and one for Lexxy, so switching is one line: config.action_text.editor = :lexxy. Here the credit goes to Sean Doyle, who started that pull request before Lexxy existed and took it to the finish line with our input. It ships with Rails 8.2, and we hope other editors will use it too. Extensibility And you can extend Lexxy. Extensions are built on Lexical’s own mechanism, and this is not a second-class API: Lexxy itself is thirteen extensions, tables included, and Basecamp has nine more. class MyExtension extends Lexxy.Extension { get enabled() { … } get allowedElements() { … } get lexicalExtension() { return this.defineExtension({ name: "my-extension", nodes: [ … ], register(editor) { … } }) } initializeToolbar(toolbar) { … } dispose() { … } } Lexxy.configure({ global: { extensions: [ MyExtension ] } }) My favorite of how extensible is Lexxy are voice notes in Basecamp: you record, you see the waveform while you talk, and it becomes a player inside the document. About a thousand lines, without forking or patching anything. Performance Lexxy is fast, because Lexical is fast. In a ten thousand word document, Trix takes thirty-eight milliseconds to process a keystroke. Lexxy takes four. Above fifty milliseconds, the editor starts feeling sluggish. Compared to Trix, Lexxy brought a whole new performance regime. Milliseconds per keystroke by document size Accessibility Accessibility in Trix was not great. In general, building accessible experiences for rich text editors built on top of contenteditable is quite hard. We had a dream team to help with Lexxy accessibility. Bruno Prieto worked with Michael Berger, our accessibility champion at 37signals, to bring the bar to where we wanted it to be. Bruno is an outstanding programmer who happens to be blind, so he knows one thing or two about accessibility, and he delivered. As a result, in Lexxy everything is reachable with the keyboard. The editor announces itself properly to screen readers, and it gets a thousand details right so that the editing experience using a screen reader is fantastic. You can learn more about accessibility in our docs. Security The latest AI models have resulted in an unprecedented explosion of vulnerabilities found, and we took this thread quite seriously. Lexxy counted with programmers of the caliber of Jeremy Daer and Mike Dalessio helping to make it more secure. We have put a lot of attention to sanitizing the editor contents, validating attachment URLs and making sure that the types of attachments and nodes the editor support are allow-listed. Lexxy also comes with preliminary Trusted Types support, to offer CSP-level control over certain DOM manipulation APIs. The trusted types policy is there, but we are not enforcing it everywhere yet. Agents We started Lexxy using Claude since day one. A main lesson was that an agent needs to drive the editor like a user does. The best decision we made in this project was moving the system tests from Capybara to Playwright: three browsers instead of one, a suite that runs in seconds, and a much more faithful clipboard, keyboard and focus. This represented a tremendous improvement in how agents could close the loop by themselves. Write a test, see it fail, fix it, see it pass. We have more than six hundred browser tests today. Moving the suite to Playwright changed how fast we could write tests With a solid testing foundation in place, we could start fixing bugs in large batches. As mentioned, getting a text editor right implies a ton of work, and the kind of backlog we got at some point would have have buried us in pre-agent times. We also used agents to validate the fixes: an agent reproduces the bug in the public Lexxy sandbox, checks that it’s gone with the branch applied, and labels the pull request. Agents were essential to get Lexxy done with the people and the deadlines we had: we are a small company, and the same people were shipping two products in parallel. 275 cards closed The new Rails default We believe Lexxy is the best rich text editor out there right now, and we are going to make it the default editor in Rails next. If you’re starting a Rails application today, use Lexxy. If you’re using Action Text with a standard configuration, switch. It’s one line, and we’ve worked hard to make it seamless.
Reading my recent computing retrospective, I realised there was a big section missing: the people in my life that made an impact and helped shape my career. Outside my immediate family, one person made an outsized contribution, and I’m fairly certain that without his influence my life would have taken a very different path. The fact that I’m still here in 2026, still writing code and being fortunate enough to have a career in something I love is testament to him. So I’d like to take a few moments to talk about my old secondary school teacher, George Dryden. Denied Back in 1995, I had a problem. I knew I wanted to study computing at university and build a career out of my passion, but there was a snag. For those unfamiliar with the UK schooling system, when you’re 15-16 you take a set of GCSE exams in a broad range of subjects. After that, you pick around 3 subjects to really focus on over a period of 2 years. These are called A Levels, and they are a big step up and are meant to prepare you for a degree-level course at university. Admission to university is also governed by these results - if you want to study computing, you’re going to need a computing A-Level, and most universities will only accept you (or “make an offer”) if you achieve a certain grade. And whilst I had taken computing at a GCSE level, my school did not offer a computing A-Level course. I instead had to settle on “Design & Technology”, which just didn’t inspire me. Instead of working on my portfolio and projects, I spent most of my time daydreaming and writing code on the Acorn Archimedes computers that were the staple of every 90s UK school. No disrespect to the teachers - they were all awesome - but it just wasn’t for me. I was miserable, and by the end of my first year, I was well on my way to failing outright with my entire future plans seemingly going up in smoke. Someone noticed That’s when George stepped in. He’d taught me computing right the way through my GCSEs, and with no A-Level course on offer, that was officially where his involvement was supposed to have ended. It didn’t. He had noticed my constant presence in the computing labs - before and after school, during lunch breaks, free “study” periods - working on some little pet project or digging into RISC OS internals. I remember him as warm, with a wicked, dry sense of humour, and a refreshingly spiky attitude to authority - I always got the sense he’d worked out for himself which rules were worth taking seriously and which ones weren’t. And he always had time for me. I spent years pestering him with questions that had nothing to do with anything on the syllabus, and he’d always find a way to answer them that actually made sense. He was just as supportive of my odd little obsessions. At one point I’d got deep into the BBS scene, which I thought was the coolest thing ever, and decided what the school really needed was an internal BBS running on its own network. So I wrote one. It was deeply cringeworthy, obviously - but George helped me put posters up around the school advertising it, and even gave it a mention in assembly one morning. I think about five people in total ever checked it out. It didn’t matter: a teacher had stood up in front of the entire school and treated my weird little project like it was worth something, and that was a hugely validating moment for me. Off the books He recognised the passion, and eventually he made a suggestion: What if I quit the Design and Technology course, and instead attempt the A-level course myself? Personally, I also suspect he was enjoying himself. There was some internal school politics behind why computing wasn’t offered at A-Level in the first place - I never knew the details - and I think the prospect of one of his students simply going out and getting the qualification anyway appealed to him on two separate levels. It would get me where I wanted to go, and it would wind up exactly the right people. It wouldn’t be easy, he warned. The school would be against it, plus it was a two-year course which I’d have to cram into one year. I’d have to do it all myself - studying, lesson planning, coursework - he couldn’t help me in an official capacity, but he said he’d advocate for me and help where he could. If I had assignments, he’d send them off to be graded and would give feedback in his own time. He’d enter me in for the exams and also gave me a set of keys to the computer lab so I could use it whenever I needed. It was the first time anybody outside my own family had really shown faith in my abilities and encouraged me to take a stand. It was a pivotal moment for me - I realised if I wanted something badly enough I would have to fight for it, but I could still make it happen. I didn’t have to take “NO” for an answer - a lesson I think I picked up from watching him as much as from anything he ever actually said to me. After a few weeks of dithering, I took the jump. I remember a few awkward meetings with the school administration but thanks to his behind-the-scenes work, I was soon following my dream. An intense year And yes, it was bloody hard work. I had to condense an entire two year course into under a year, be disciplined enough to produce my own study plan, and be critical enough of my own shortcomings that I could focus my study where it was needed. I pretty much lived and breathed it for months straight and was more-or-less a permanent fixture in the labs or school library poring over my course books. I’d make lists of questions and chat to George over lunch, and he’d provide guidance and encouragement. It was a lonely way to learn with no classmates to compare notes with, no lessons to turn up to, and right up until the end I had no real idea whether any of it was good enough - but bit by bit, it started to feel like something I could actually pull off. And sure enough, in the late spring of 1996, I sat down in an exam hall with my fellow students, the only one with an A-Level computing question paper in front of me. The final exam went by in a blur - I can only remember a few of the questions now (and a peculiar obsession with the Pascal language) - but I do remember the euphoria as the invigilator called “time’s up, pens down, close your papers NOW”. I had done it. A few nerve-wracking months later, my Mum drove me into school to pick up my results. I ripped open the envelope and saw it - I’d passed with an A grade! I literally ran up the stairs to George’s office next to the computing labs to thank him personally. I’d taken my camera into school to take a few last photos for memory’s sake and snapped this photo of him before I walked out the school gates for the last time: A different path Because of him, I managed to get into my university of choice, studying computing with a focus on networks. Because of that, I landed my first job working as a “webmaster”, and my career since has been one of the highlights of my life. All these years later, it’s a real privilege to be able to get up each morning and actively look forward to working in an industry I love. Without George stepping up for me and encouraging me to believe in myself, none of that would have happened. I wouldn’t have had the career I have, and I wouldn’t be where I am now. I met my wife when we both worked at a software company - she sat at the desk behind me - so even my home and family life can be traced back to that spring of 1996. And the A-Level itself was only half of what I took away from that year. The qualification opened the door to university, but the lesson that came with it was every bit as important: that a “no” isn’t always the end of it, and that sometimes the answer can be argued with. I’m so proud of what I managed to achieve all those years ago, and even more thankful to have had someone like George in my life to put me on the right track. Mr. Dryden I did see him again after I left. He drank in one of my local pubs - a pub I’d been going to for a good while before I was technically old enough to be in it - and I’d say hello if I spotted him in there, mostly in the months before I moved away to university. After that it was only a handful of times. For years I’d find myself scanning the room whenever I was back home and in for a pint, half expecting him to be at the bar. At some point I stopped seeing him altogether and eventually moved across the country. The trouble was I never really knew how to talk to him outside of school. He was always Mr. Dryden, or just “Sir”, I don’t think I ever once called him George to his face! I was (and still am if I’m honest) fairly socially awkward, and I never worked out how to phrase the thing I actually wanted to say: that he had changed the entire direction of my life, and I wasn’t sure he knew it. So instead I’d say hello, and ask how he was, talk about nothing much, and go back to my friends. Epilogue Sadly, 3 years ago now, I opened the latest issue of my old school alumni newsletter to read that he’d passed away. The photo at the start of this article was taken from his obituary article and I read that he’d had a long illness and had suffered from dementia at the end. I did write to him years ago by email - I don’t know if he ever got it, or was in any capacity to understand what he’d done for me, but I hope so. There’s an old saying by one of my favourite authors (Terry Pratchett) that “no one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away”. In one of his books, a character keeps the memory of his son alive by passing his name along a series of telegraph towers. It’s in that spirit that I’m writing this post - I debated it for many years as it’s very personal to me and I also have no contact with any of George’s family so I have no idea what they would make of it all. But even though it’s 30+ years ago now, I will never forget him or what he did for me - and at least now, if someone searches his name it’ll be recorded here for as long as I’m alive and running this site. Thank you, Sir. George Dryden 1942-2023
Let’s step inside the kernel and understand how it implements copy-on-write and what are its implications for the performance of user-space systems
