The Silvertown Tunnel opened this morning. comments if(postComments['199122220152314'] != null){document.write(' (' + postComments['199122220152314'] + ')')}else{document.write(' p(0)')}; (I'm only interested if the answer is 'Yes') I have also had the entire top deck to myself, spotted lots of police, timed the journey through (2 minutes) and been charged to ride a 'free' bus. The inside of the tunnel is big and grey, as you might expect.

My former colleague at Figma, Claire Butler, recently wrote a really great post about what she learned working at Figma. The lesson that stood out to me most was this one, “When you’re stuck, commit to action. Strategy will follow.”  In other words, if you’re making something new, planning too far ahead will likely just […] The post Commit first, plan later appeared first on Herbert Lui.

Dover to Deal (10 miles) Dover is a town most people pass through, a swirl of traffic converging on a mighty seaport, but also a historic town in its own right primed for national defence. I was merely passing through, launching off through the more ordinary side of town where residents buy vapes and 10% of the high street shops are empty. Ducking beneath the dual carriageway brings you to the so-called beach, still lapped by waves despite being inside the harbour, its promenade overlooked by faded Victorian grandeur and an artful curve of postwar flats. If you're heading for the heights rather than the continent you need the backstreet which eventually leads to Dame Vera Lynn Way, an inclined footpath which skims under the A2 viaduct and whose sign confirms "...To The White Cliffs of Dover". And won't you look at that! Far better to continue along the prescribed path To The Lighthouse. It's a bit like crossing Beachy Head but not as high, and a bit like crossing the Seven Sisters but nowhere near as up and down, and all with the aid of an all-weather chalk path which neither of those enjoy. A skirt around Langford Hole provides an undulating vista with the sheer chalk face of the upcoming headland rising bright above a rock-strewn coastal shelf. These are the white cliffs that welcome you home from the deck of a ferry, a true national emblem, and here you are striding across the top of them amid billowing grassland dotted with stunted trees and gorse bushes. I swear I head a skylark at one point. The next five miles are previously unblogged, kicking off with a steady descent into the amazing hideaway of St Margaret's Bay. The original village is safely inland but a separate settlement grew up on the steep slopes above the bay, a string of residential fingers clinging to the contours along which decades of incomers built their dream homes. Some are classic detached, others more ostentatious or resolutely postmodern with a price tag to match. A large central dip contains The Pines Garden, an ornamental treasure which I suspect peaks in summer because the spring blooms were quite muted. Alongside is a tearoom which doubles up as St Margaret's Museum, all free to explore but you might find yourself having to edge round a table of patrons enjoying afternoon tea while trying to learn about wartime gun emplacements or experimental microwave dishes. The beef and red wine pie smelled divine. I'd been warned this might happen, but while down on the beach at St Margaret's Bay my phone chirped into action with a text message saying "Welcome to France". I checked and sure enough my phone was now connected to 'Orange' rather than EE, no British mast having line of sight over the chalk rim. More worryingly it informed me "While you're here you'll automatically pay £2.59/day to access your UK plan", which after all the hassle I've been having with data back home was almost the last straw. Climbing a few streets brought the ridiculous response "Welcome back to the UK, we hope you had a great trip!", and I hope EE recognise it's impossible to visit France and come back in the space of 18 minutes so don't overcharge me. The path ahead crosses undulating downland, again reminiscent of Beachy Head, with adjacent fields of grass rippling in the strong wind. A lot of weekend walkers and daytrippers were striding alongside me, the coast path being understandably popular on a bright spring day, most of them hiking in packs and the majority less than half my age. I let them pass while I scrutinised a tiny patch of purple orchids, although I suspect they'd have overtaken me anyway. And then the houses started, a single track of isolated homes with clifftop out front and farmland out back, one or two of which looked like they must have featured in either Grand Designs or Country Life. This continued for a good half mile before a golf club inevitably intruded, branded The Course On The Cliffs, after which the chalk finally faded away and the path descended to beach level. Walmer has a less exclusive waterfront, and also one of England's busiest lifeboats which RNLI volunteers were keen to show off because their craft has been replaced this very week. The new one goes by the peculiarly inshore name of 'Hounslow Branch' in memory of Lorna Newman, a former resident of Heston in west London who left her entire estate to the charity. A plaque in Upper Walmer marks the supposed location of the first Roman invasion of Britain, i.e. Julius Caesar was here, and when you look at how easy it would have been to lay up a war fleet on the shingle beach it all makes perfect sense. Alas he arrived two millennia too early to enjoy a pizza from Roman's Retreat or "cakes, baps and offensively large Scotch Eggs" from Hut 55. Previous local bloggage: Dover, Deal/Walmer, Dover, Dover, Betteshanger, Ham Sandwich

If you drive for Uber, you work in a software supply chain. The software facilitates a bunch of people’s requests for the service, and decides when you—the driver—get to do a ride. The only reason you’re driving is because Uber’s software can’t drive the car itself yet. The second Uber invents a self-driving car, you’re […] The post How replaceable is your work? appeared first on Herbert Lui.

Some of the places I've been since my broadband disappeared a week ago BestMate's sofa: 45 minutes of proper broadband and I managed to catch up on all sorts of things, including adding the photos and links to Unblogged March which was previously bereft. Bank: I'm always amazed how often the all-encompassing adverts up the Waterloo & City line travelator get changed. At the moment the company desperately trying to get noticed is called beazley (lower case), who do underwriting or something, and I guess if just one corporate bigwig notices and switches their company's services it's all worth it. Bromley-by-Bow: I mentioned last month that the tube station's glass frontage has been seriously damaged for over two years and never been repaired. Now someone's climbed up and graffitied it with red, black and white paint and it looks hugely worse. Get a grip. Burnt Oak: A plaque commemorating "a century of service" has been unveiled in the station ticket hall, five months after the actual centenary. I was unimpressed enough not to bother taking a photo (Ian has one). East Dulwich: I was also here. Feltham: Something that's never happened to me before - the 235 bus was so full that the driver checked its weight on her dashboard and announced there was only leeway for one more person on board. Three Eastern European workmen kindly allowed me to take the last space. Grove Park: I spotted a van putting Superloop roundels on shelters along new route SL4. Half are at stops where you can't catch a special bus because the express section is all behind you. Absolute waste of money. Harrow-on-the-Hill: That's the educational outpost up Grove Hill, not the station. It's really quiet up here when Harrow School's not in session. It turns out they broke up for Easter last Saturday at 11am, a week before most schools, because the more you pay for an education the fewer weeks you get. Heathrow T4: I hadn't ridden a purple train to Heathrow before, mainly because of the cost, but can confirm that the usual £12.80 fare really is zero with a 60+ card. Honeypot Lane: I was also here. Kenley: As promised I went back and added the post I would have written on Sunday had my broadband not vanished. It's about bus route changes, to save some of you from looking. Keston Mark: The traffic lights at this busy crossroads weren't working because they'd been smashed. Peculiarly two of the four poles were bent over at right angles so it couldn't possibly have been a single accident, more likely a deliberate act of vandalism by some self-entitled vigilante who hates cameras. London Loop section 22: I took BestMate to Upminster Bridge and re-walked part of the London Loop (one of the shortest sections, I'd thought, but on closer inspection merely lower quartile). The weather was glorious if windy, and the recent drought meant the "can be muddy here" sections were reassuringly solid underfoot. We met two very nonplussed goats, disturbed a woodpecker, wondered what the crop in the field was, identified the planes stacking over Redbridge, spotted several butterflies, attempted to identify the source of some dung, crossed the Ingrebourne, admired much magnolia, noted with sadness the replacement lampposts, wondered what neighbourly feud had inspired a massive hedge, debated what would become of the tumbledown farm outbuildings, compared the constituent heights of 24-year-old woodland, passed a wooden grasshopper, Instagrammed a pylon, wondered how frogs spawn in a dried-up pond, dissed a statue of King Harold and admired the Parcels entrance to Harold Wood station. It's not the thrillingest bit of Loop but it was much better than I remembered. Marylebone: The staff in the information kiosk wear swooshy capes with 'Bicester Village' on the back, which to the target audience probably looks endearingly Harry-Potter-ish but I suspect the average Brit just giggles. Oval: I was walking around some bikes outside the station when I suddenly tripped, hard, onto the pavement and fuxbolx that hurt! I had to pick my glasses out of the road. Several kind people asked if I was OK and I said I was, then limped to a nearby wall and sat there for five minutes while I undazed. The bruises were impressive. The blood has not yet washed out. I require neither your sympathy nor your medical opinion, thanks, nor am I counting it as my first Senior Moment. But it was a visceral reminder that one day my body won't be capable of standing after a fall like that, so just be careful OK? Putney Bridge/Mortlake: I did this journey by train and bus, I wasn't rowing. South Norwood: I was also here. Sudbury Hill Harrow: The cheapskates at Chiltern Railway have removed all their timetable posters "as part of a commitment towards a more sustainable railway". Instead they've printed a poster directing passengers to their "digital timetable page", henceforth and forever, which is fine if you've got a functioning online connection but a fat lot of good if you turn up phoneless and want to know when the trains go. They do say "ticket office staff can print timetables on your behalf from most of our station booking offices" but what use is that at an unstaffed station like Sudbury Hill Harrow? This is one of London's very least used stations and now you can't even see when its infrequent service runs. The lack of a printed timetable poster isn't saving the planet, merely a minimal saving for shareholders and a self-inflicted inconvenience for passengers. Sundridge Park: I was also here. I'll be back.