Cardiff, I'll be there now in a minute

I came to Cardiff back in 2015, on a Megabus from London. It was a rainy September evening as me and Tina got off at Kingsway and walked by the Castle, through Westgate street and on to the central station. There we joined the masses off people queuing a good hour for the trains after a world cup rugby game between New Zealand and Wales. You see, our destination was actually Newport, but our Megabus service did not stop there and thus we got to experience this brief taster from the Wales's capital. Rain, crowds, waiting... I had a huge backpack, another big bag and two guitars, and after over a day of travelling in the coaches, I had enough.

Just before boarding the bus to London

Fast forward a few years. It's a mid-December evening in late 2019, as I am standing on the same bus stop and waiting for another Megabus service, this time bound for the opposite direction towards London. It does not rain, I have just one guitar with me, and I'm alone. But this time, I'm not saying "I had enough"...

If someone told me back in 2015, that I'd come to feel this way about Cardiff - as if it was my real home - I'd probably laugh in their face. Too much did I think that the UK society, including Cardiff's, is shallow and consuming and not really for me, and that I'd be long gone by now. Yet thinking of Cardiff as my home is exactly how I feel when writing these words some 4 years later. Cardiff has become a part of me, and I became part of Cardiff.

But what is it, Fero, about Cardiff, huh? Is it the seemingly omnipresent danger of torrential rain? Or the strong winds that blow away your guitar case when busking, along with all the money in it? Or is it the red dragon that's always up in the sky, keeping an eye on the crazy folks going for the Saturday party? Well, yeah, all that for sure. But that's just a part of it.

My former studio in Cardiff - cozy, warm, affordable and walking distance to the city centre. Doesn't get better than this!

But if you want some reasons, here you go, mate. There's the ideally sized city centre. Not too small to find a restaurant or a pub suiting any taste - best ever pizza at the Real Italian, lively Womanby street with its rock n'roll bands and Green shit at The Moon or a whole selection of hipster cafes for those unique catch ups on life with Alex...

The most memorable post-green-shit pic, with Beerjamin, Smelliska and Lady Gaga herself

But a city centre not too large either, making the odds high that you'd run there into a friend or two on a Saturday afternoon, especially when busking around The Hayes. It's simply the ideal size, and the crowded streets after a rugby match that we've seen on the first evening are actually something I came to enjoy, creating a unique atmosphere like nowhere else.

Christmas busking for Llamau 2019 with some amazing voices sourced from the ONS choir.

Best pizza in the world can be found at Real Italian. Obviously I am completely unbiased having worked at RIPC in 2015/16

Next, we have the surroundings. You could argue that that's no longer Cardiff - but anything reachable for a nice summer day trip counts (reminding me of Vinny's story, when he rented a car in Cardiff, did a trip to Neath and when he asked about "what's there to see", he got a response "well, you can do a day trip to Cardiff"). And the Cardiff area has it all - the hills, lakes and waterfalls of Brecon Beacons or Black mountains, the cycling options around Caerphilly or Monmouth, or the unique shores and cliffs around Llantwit Major.

My favorite part of Wales. This cliff that we saw from Nash Point on our cycling trip with Jon was photographed by the best photographer I know - Gareth Llewellyn. I then got the pic painted by the best painter I know - Miles Johal and it's hanging
above my head while writing these words...

There's much more than that which makes Cardiff such a unique city. The lovely Bay area, the affordable living costs, the many societies and clubs such as Cardiff Toastmasters, South Wales Agile group, PyData or AI meetups...

After seeing the September sunrise in Cardiff Bay

The people of Cardiff Toastmasters

But if there's one main thing that made my time in Cardiff so unforgettable and enjoyable, it just must be the ONS, and the Methodology department in it.

This workplace not only taught me so much and helped me grow professionally, as well as on a personal level. It was also a place I'd simply look forward to go to every single morning, almost not feeling a difference between being there and being at home. Well, it just was another home...

The best corner of ONS....

It was there where Andy would say "you learn just as much from the bad line managers, as you do from the good line managers" on our first catch up, instantly making me wonder "is he saying it because he'll be a bad line manager?". Hah, he was the best, just like Nigel... Karen would make for the best project lead I could ask for, giving us all opportunities, trust, support - and most of all - the feeling that she cares. And Owen would always recognize where the junction of my strengths, potential and next challenge lies, and push me gently towards those projects...

Some of the nicest people I've ever met were from the ONS.

Kostas at the bus stop - a typical and a welcome
morning sight!

It was there at ONS where Phil, sipping his coffee, stroking his beard and looking out at the trees outside while thinking would always have the right answer for my question, sometimes even when I was not sure what I'm actually asking. It was there where I'd find the nicest colleague doubling up as the best rubber duck Huw, one that would usually sit just "by'ere". And it was there where Eleanor's arrival would lift my mood every day, invariably showing up with a wide smile, usually cheerfully commenting on how she got wet cycling in through the rain.

Already on the way to work, meeting the awesomest Greeks Kostas and Nicki at the bus stop would be a moment to look forward to. On the way back running into Hazel, I would look for every opportunity to dig for the golden nuggets in some of the most meaningful chats one can possibly have. And on the days when Jon'd give me a ride back, I knew in advance I'd end up walking from Mackintosh place, as we'd always end up so involved in discussion that he'd forget to take the right turn off A48.

On occasions, we'd feel sporty and cycle in or out with Jon, Danni, or Rose, through the pastures green with cows and canals, or over the hills of Caerphilly.

Cycling through Caerphilly on the way back from ONS, with Rose and Danni.

I'd forever see Vinny as the breath of fresh air in Methodology, someone who made us all more social with pub evenings, movies or philosophical brunches. Atanaska would take care of my sourdough while I'd be away, kind of like neighbours do with plants or dogs. Denise would make the supreme Millionaire's shortbread and the late addition to the office Sarah would baffle the whole directorate by anonymously making the best Tiramisu ever to see the light of the world, leaving only a teasing message saying "Enjoy, happy Thursday".

Is it now clearer why it was hard to leave ONS? ;-) Another superb cake made by Sarah for my last day

Christmas choir concert at the nursery on ONS premises

It was a night to remember. But it was somehow hard to remember the next day... :-P

I could go on and on, for there's no shortage of good memories involving ONS. But that would likely make this blog post reach some sort of length limits... Therefore to put it simply:

Thank you so much, ONS.

And thank you so much Cardiff. 

You are a unique place and a place I will never forget. You've been full of fun, warmth, beautiful countryside, music, and most of all, full of amazing people and friends.

And although it may be time to move on, I will damn make sure that the ties won't be cut.

Vinny standing perfectly up to the task of keeping my thinking positive about the move, while moving my stuff to London

For as Ben put it: "you can take the boy out of Cardiff, but you can never take Cardiff out of the boy".

Well, we'll see what happens. It's too early to say. So perhaps best to use that Welsh phrase which kind of doesn't make sense (or was made for these kind of situations):

"Cardiff, I'll be there now in a minute!"

Cardiff Bay Triathlon

I've always wanted to do a Triathlon.

OK, not always, but some time, a couple years ago the thought somehow entered my head:

"Fero, you like swimming, cycling and running. And you're becoming a lazy poo. Do a Triathlon!"

So I... didn't sign up. But the thought returned around Christmas 2018, when I felt like I need a challenge for the next year. Something new. Something to get me back on the right track. Something I could brag about.

And so I googled "Cardiff Olympic triathlon" and there it was - on a website of an organisation with a suited named "Always aim high". What followed next was quick and thrilling:

"100 GBP entrance fee..."
"WHAT!"
"you live only once Fero..." (and hopefully beyond the Triathlon)
"choose a country to represent? This seems like a serious shit"
"ok, Slovakia"
"should I click that pay button...?" (hovering over it ...)
"CLICK"

The next minutes were spent checking the refunding section of T&Cs. You know, just in case I would keep being a lazy poo...

But too much was paid already with too small a chance of a refund. And so I started to train. Slowly - mind you, this was January and the race wasn't till summer solstice in June! In spite of that, a run or two a week and a swim a week became my new routine. Interestingly (or maybe not), we people have a tendency to find excuses not to do exercise, even if we know that we WILL feel better afterwards. It's officially called the "lazy poo syndrome" (LPS) and if there's one thing that's good about signing up for a looming and a scary race, it's overcoming the LPS.

Fast forward about five months. June was coming and the weather turned "Welsh". Even by local standards, the lack of sunshine and abundance of rainy days was surprising (there were only 9 days without rain in the whole month preceding the race). But I found this convenient - I had a hard time focusing enough on the grueling training with all the temptations of the sunny days - busking, hiking trips, hanging out with friends and sipping beer. In other words, LPS was back, but this time I knew I can't let it slide. So I came up with a devious plan.

In UK (and in ONS where I work), there's a nice and interesting tradition, which I call "I suffer, you donate!". If this sounds weird (a bit masochistic?) to you, please keep reading. What I am on about is the tradition whereby people sign up for a tough race, then set up a charity page on JustGiving, and say "please support this charity, because I am doing a tough race". I never quite understood the connection between the two, but decided to give it a go - if only to get rid of that new wave of LPS taking me over.

Thinking of a good cause to support was actually harder than I thought. It got me thinking about all kinds of stuff: how and where can you make most impact with donated money? What are charities really doing with the money? Should you support something super local and small, where people who donate may get worried that the project will fail? Or should you go for some established charity where your donation feels like a drop in the water?

My JustGiving page after the Triathlon - with the target successfully reached! Wehey!

I eventually decided to go for the "maximum impact possible". This meant finding someone enthusiastic, trustworthy and in the need of support for their charity project. And so I thought of my friend Ondro, former teacher of Teach for Slovakia who had not only plenty of experience with these kind of projects, but who also knew similarly minded people. And Ondro did not disappoint at all and linked me with Dominika - a current Teach for Slovakia teacher who was just raising money for her project: educational trips for underprivileged kids in her school. Perfect match!

A JustGiving page was set up, target of 500 GBP set, the news were spread. There was now no way back, and so it was, conveniently, around this time that the organizers finally posted the start time of the race: 6:30 am.

But, indeed, 6:30 it was. And so I braced myself for 3 more weeks of proper training, which culminated a week before the race, when I tried the whole Olympic distance in a "test mode": first the 1.5k swim in the pool, then 40k of cycling around the Bay (and admiring the posh houses by the barrage) and finally a 10k run along Newport road. Total time? Just over 3 hours! And although I was quite destroyed, it was "not too bad, all things considered" and I still managed to join Dan for his 100th park run the morning after.

Scenery during my test Triathlon - Cardiff Bay is indeed super nice.

And on the other side of the barrage... is the sea!

I realized that triathlon is a bit different type of race - you get to use different muscles, although the fuel is still coming from the same tank, so it's important to keep the tank supplied. At the same time, the race is more difficult technically and more things can also go wrong. For one, I never swum in the Bay and I knew that it would be a much different experience than the nice "deterministic" swimming pool, with its 50m length and a visual line to follow below. But also, there were other things to consider: Will the wet-suit fit? What if I get cramps in the cold water? How and where do I change to my cycling gear? Should I plan for a flat tyre?

Saturday, 22nd of June, day before the race. I went down to the Bay for the registration.

The day was (finally) stunning, with 20 degrees and sun and there was that enjoyable pre-race buzz in the air, with participants picking up their race packs, and families enjoying ice cream and strolling around the area. Always Aim High also prepped a special pre-race event for this day (at a special extra cost) which was all about trying out a swim in the open water, and which I eagerly signed up for, mainly to reduce the apprehension for the next morning's jump into that scary water.

The day before the race saw clear skies and 20 degrees

We gathered by the former Doctor Who museum in our wet-suits, like a bunch of confused penguins. Looking around though, I could not help but feel that everyone seemed to look like an experienced triathloner. I eventually started to chat to one bearded and guy, who - based on his appearance I was completely sure - had been through countless races, possibly even Iron mans... Funnily enough, it turned out that he signed up for his first one ever, and only as a reaction to a "great pub idea" with his mates (actually, all of his mates bailed out, so he ended up doing it alone :-)). His race was not even the Olympic one, but the Sprint version (half of my distance)! Thus a moral was finally learned after almost 30 years of my existence: don't judge anyone by their appearance!

An experienced-looking dude welcomed us and explained to us that he is experienced, thus establishing authority. Quick tips followed, such as how to acclimatize in open and cold water, or keep sense of direction, and soon we were splashing around, aclimatizing (read "complaining that the water is f***ing cold"). Our 400 meters test swim was then rewarded with the promised "goodies" from the organizers, which I had imagined to be a bucket of BBQ chicken wings, but which turned out to be a pair of socks. The try-a-swim event went well, the wet-suit was fine and the water was not too bad temperature-wise in the end (17 degrees), although that was 3pm on a sunny day, as opposed to 6:30am the next (cloudy) morning. But still, I left with high spirits, now really looking forward to the next day!

In the evening, I went through the final race prep - carefully thinking through each part: the equipment and energy supplies, the clothes, the race rules, route maps, bibs, chips and tattoos to apply. The dinner of cheese pasta followed to stock up on some carbs. My memories went to the first half-marathon I did in Košice, about 8 years ago, where a "pasta party" was organized for all participants. A nice tradition, one I would welcome for this race too. It just ain't above that pre-race banter, where all the pearls of wisdom are shared by the (surely super experienced) triathloners. But this time I had to do with my own private pasta party, and google-searching for some triathlon tips... :)

The alarm rang at 4:30 am and I jumped out of the bed. Breakfast of nuts, raisins and banana, a quick shower, packing the rest of the items and off I went to the Bay. I arrived to the transition area at Roald Dahl's Plass just after 5 am. The sky was cloudy, but rain was not forecast until noon, thus forming perfect conditions for the race. The participants were already streaming in from all sides and putting on display their (often) super fancy bikes - aero handlebars, eye-catching all-carbon designs and disc wheels (some of which can cost £1000 on their own!). I found my spot - number 665 - and parked my £120 second hand road bike (ok, with recent £200 refurbishment boost). I then set to prepare everything for the two transitions (swim/bike and bike/run). I was early, but I was glad to be early, and not having to rush with anything.

An actual pic from the race. Not myself - but the pic is depicting how seriously most of the participants took it!

Transition area around 5:30am, with most of the Olympic participants busily getting ready.

At 6 am, the transition was to be clear of Olympic participants and we all moved towards a small "beach" further down the Bay where the pre-race briefing was about to take place. Soon, however, the organizer broke some truly unexpected news: apparently, somebody was threatening to jump from a high building in the Bay, and police had to close off the area. As this included a part of the cycling track, the organizers had to quickly improvise. Eventually, it was announced that the cycling route is to be altered - instead of 3 laps of ~13 km, there was now 6 laps of 5 km, i.e. selling us a tad short of the full Olympic triathlon experience. Moreover, the race start was moved 30 minutes later, and so we all waited around in our wet suits for some action, staring at the cold and deep body of water in which we were soon to be immersed.

The first action happened at 6:45, when the final instructions were given and race rules repeated one more time. First wave of participants then slowly set off towards the pier, where then jumped in for a deep water start. 3... 2... 1... GO! And we all watched the stream of blue hats slowly moving towards the first red buoy.

The initial swim part took place in this water - starting around 200m from this point (at the left, close to the building with the curvy roof), following the buoys further into the distance before returning towards the platform at the end of the blue pier.

I was in the 5th, red-hat wave - one of the last ones (probably because of the conservative time estimate I provided when I was signing up) and so it was a good hour and half I was now hanging around in my wet-suit. Luckily, although it was cloudy, the temperature was quite agreeable 15 degrees, which was just about matching the water temperature. At 7:20, our turn finally came and recalling the advice from the day before, I straight away let the cold water in my wet-suit, to acclimatize while still being near the shore.

The whole swim was quite a surreal experience. I don't remember a lot, and it all kind of blended together. What I do remember is struggling to keep direction - every 10 strokes, I would stop stroking and look around to find out "where the hell am I", or rather "where the hell am I going", and then point myself to the right direction. It was slower than in the pool, and I would get overtaken, even by swimmers from the next wave. A swimmer would bump into me here and there. Some small waves emerged about half-way through out of nowhere and I would have the odd accidental sip of the (not very tasty) Bay water. I'd dig sea-weed with some of the strokes and thoughts entered my mind if there could be a dead horse somewhere deep below (just like, as legend has it, there is supposed to be one in Draždiak in Bratislava). But somehow, the finish-line platform was approaching nevertheless and soon I was helped out back on my feet, trudging along towards the transition. Ecstatic feeling, and not really too tired yet!

It can feel a bit as if you are learning to walk again after the swim...

Still, after the swim my arms were quite jelly and it took a while to take off the wet-suit and get on the bike (over 5 minutes in transition!). But if there is one moment I'll remember, it's what followed next. Still very much feeling like a sluggish fish that was taken out of the water, I suddenly joined the busy bike route with the fast and determined cyclists averaging well above 30km/h, swishing past me on their super bikes, spectators now framing both sides of the track and commentator voice booming in the air. Unique atmosphere!

So soon I shook off the swim mood and started to press on. The smart tactics of the organizers also did its magic here - after the buzz and urgency of the first couple laps, the fastest Olympic racers were off the route, to the final bit (10k run). However, the Sprint-distance participants soon joined the circuit and once again I was motivated to keep up with the true Ferraris of the bike population... Two energy gels proved just right for this part of the race and I was proud to see in my result times that I did the 30 kms under an hour.

The second transition was much quicker, as all I needed was dropping off the bike and grabbing a couple more energy gels. Somehow, though, after the cycling thrill and an hour in the same bent position, the running came difficult. I felt I still had the energy, but the body was aching with every breath. The worst came around 3rd kilometer, just after the turnaround of the first lap as I started to face the wind. The pain did not wear off until I finished the first lap, and only proper deep breathing eventually dissolved the knot above my hip. I washed down the 3rd gel and pressed on.

In a good mood and good shape, just after the start of the run. The pain came soon though.

The second lap seemed emptier, as by now, even the sprint-distance racers were mainly finished. Despite that, the last 2-3 km were the highlight of the run for me, as I finally tapped into my backup energy tank, no longer hindered by any pains. Past the Welsh congress and on to the last bit around the Welsh Millennium centre. End was near, and just as the finish line came to my view, I spotted Alex and Lena and their encouraging smiles and high fives gave me the final boost. And so I finished the Cardiff Olympic Triathlon 2019 in 2 hours, 33 minutes and 36 seconds.

Final moments and a high five from Alex

A bit longer than my usual swim time, and a sorter bike ride than originally planned (30km instead of 40, due to an incident on the track prior to the race start)

The run seemed to have been only ~9km eventually - somewhere the organizers did wrong measurements. I definitely felt too sluggish for this to be 10k!

The race was done, item ticked off the to-do, bucket and resolution list. And that was it.

When I came home after some proper post-race brunch and chat with friends, a thought entered my mind: "what next". But I knew that question. For it has been sticking around for a while now. And I knew that the answer to that one is not easy. I just kept postponing it, knowing it will catch up once.

So I guess, to end this post on a philosophical note, the answer the question "what next" would be: "whatever you choose to be next".

The Cardiff Routine

You know it. You sit down all excited to start writing that AMAZING COOL BOMBASTIC ORGANIC GLUTEN-FREE blog post. But than, you realize it.

So you sit there, staring at the screen (now you're staring at the cat, aren't you), or typing the words at the rate of 10 characters a minute knowing, deep inside, that you actually don't have a topic. You take a quick scan through the memory lanes: "traffic jam on the way to work", "jam with some friend", "crumpets with butter and jam". In short - lots of jam and some good stuff, but nothing too fancy. Nothing BIG! And most surely - nothing gluten free.

Until you realize, that the beauty lies in the small things and even the daily routine can be made interesting, if sufficiently inflated! Therefore, dear readers, this blog post will be about my daily routine, just like I once did back in the time when I came to Oslo. So let's get into it.

UPDATE: Much of the following was written still during the long cold winter, before the sun came! Now it's actually warm and sunny, like in Croatia.

Cardiff a month after I started writing this blog post

Wales a month before I finished writing this blog post (I think I'm a slow writer)

I wake up. It's 6:15 am. After a night with heating down, the flat is usually quite chilly in the morning so once the alarm rings, there's really only two options:
a) snooze and get the hell back under the covers!
b) wake up, get dressed and get the hell out!

You see that either way I have to get the hell somewhere, so we can say it is a very decisive moment of the day. I must, somewhat proudly, say, that I am fairly consistent with the option b), although it may come across less impressive if I admit I set the alarm that early only a couple of times a week. My eventual goal, however, is to get into the regime of my colleague, who wakes up, goes for a run and still beats me to be in work by the time I arrive, all despite having one more baby than me (I have zero, just to be clear)! Amazing will power! Or perhaps just loud-screaming baby at 5 am? Either way, very accomplished feat.

After waking up, a super quick routine follows. Splash on face, boiled water over prepped box of porridge, some push ups if time (and will) permits (usually not), packing the food for the day and off I am, on my way to the bus stop. Through my street, past the yellow Ferrari, by the fancy Chinese dorms and on to the Newport road, where the bus stop is.

Now, we come to the part which, since my move to the new flat and my switch from a train+bike combo to a direct bus ride became a hot topic. Indeed, it almost came to the point where I included the "bus ride" topic into virtually any conversation. However, I must say I am always very tactful about this inclusion ("morning Fero, how's it going?" . "F***ING BUS!")

Essentially, the basic theorem of the "Introduction to bus ride theory" says that there are two options how you can get to work by using a bus:
a.) SUPER-MEGA EARLY version
b.) HORRIBLY-DEADLY LATE version

The option a.) means taking either the 6:43 bus, or 7:13 one, although the latter often already runs into the traffic at the Dic*head Roundabout (we'll discuss the 3 jolly roundabouts in a sec), thus one often regretting snoozing for the extra 30 minutes of sleep. The option b.) means leaving for work around 9am, once the traffic has calmed down, although at that time, the buses do come with a certain element of randomness, expressed by this simple stochastic equation:

You see, the problem is due to something that Brits embrace more enthusiastically than a bottle of bubbly on a Saturday night. The roundabouts. Brits love roundabouts. It's their hobby and their passion. The roundabouts here are, however, not just any kinds of roundabouts. These are proper, complicated roundabouts with multiple lanes and special rules, they're adrenaline puzzles to be solved in high speed, they're whirlpools of cars, the ever spinning tornadoes of traffic, the points where every journey begins and where every journey ends...

It is therefore not surprising that two out of the three "jolly" (author uses the word "jolly" in a ironic meaning) roundabouts are of those big complex monster sorts. These are called The Deadly roundabout and the other one's nickname I forgot, though I can assure you it was sufficiently pejorative. That leaves us with the earlier mentioned Di.. ehm, roundabout, a funny beast, since he (roundabouts are guys) is not one of those complex or multilane ones, yet it's causing the most amount of frustration.

(UPDATE, I have been writing this blog post now for a while, and I am happy to say that the situation has improved. I am also sad, because this means I have less topics for discussions, leading to long pauses of awkward silence previously filled by complaining about buses and roundabouts)

I usually have my breakfast on the bus. I am just one of those people. But also, it's very hard to read. This is because the bus X5, that I chose to be loyal to has a journey, that takes path not very different from the following picture.

Journey of the X5 bus from Cardiff to Newport

At some point, the bus even makes a 360 turn on a roundabout, which I suspect is included to give the locals on board the daily roundabouts dose (4.76 is the minimum recommended dosage) and to provide panoramatic views of the posh St. Mellons area.

Anyway, I usually somehow make it to work and still in the jolly mood from the travel, I say hi to the ONS rabbits merrily hopping around on the campus, unaware of the heavy decisions on next quarter's GDP being made just few meters away! I then enter the huge 5 floor building, swipe my badge and head up to the first floor of block 1, where our Big data team sits.

Merrily hopping ONS rabbits

ONS is huge, not only in terms of the building size, but also when one considers the number of people working here. Just the site in Newport employs around 2000 people! Sometimes I cannot help but wonder what everyone is doing. Hell, sometimes I cannot but wonder what I am doing!

But throughout the bit-over-a-year that I am working here, I came to really like my job. It's really a nice mix of programming, research, fiddling with data, writing papers, presenting, and bit of managing too. It's simply a carrot soup with chocolate pieces, blackberries, chicken and beans, served with Italian tomatoes. What I want to say is that if all ingredients are good, it just cannot be bad!

Good thing about ONS is a flexible working time, giving you quite a bit of freedom to create your working schedule and vary it, should need be. And I really think no other benefit can match this. Once you try it, you don't want to go back.

Another nice thing are the extra-curricular activities one can choose to participate in. There's frequent bake-off competitions, diversity lunches that group expats or the ONS choir that runs every Tuesday lunchtime. The latter has now really picked up momentum, especially since we slowly started to bring over instruments, slowly and inconspicuously turning the choir into a huge band featuring guitar, bass guitar, ukulele, piano, violin and possibly more in the future, not to mention the many voices that actually know how to sing! Simply fun and something to look forward to every Tuesday. Plus the choir serves as a good ice-breaker whenever someone starts working in ONS:

Hi, your first day?
Yes.
You sing?

For some reason, I have so far only limited success making friends with this technique.

Choir concert

But in general, work is cool and I can see why some people stay in ONS for tens of years. It's simply a nice place to work in, it has flexi time and a rabbits on the campus - what else do you want?

After work, I hop on a bus, much in the same way that the rabbits are hopping around the campus, i.e merrily. I will not bore you anymore with the details of the journey back. Let's just say that if you want to build a picture of how it looks like, read this blog post backwards!

On Fridays, I would often work from home, which not only helps to reduce time spent commuting and rotating at roundabouts, but it also gives me the unique chance to do bit of "sourdoughing" (really not sure how to translate "kvaskovanie"). The thing is that making a home made sourdough bread does not take long time in total, but requires a minute here and there every 45 minutes or so, e.g. to fold the dough or transfer it to the proofing basket. If this sounds like Chinese to you, then you should pause reading now, go outside and stop the oldest person on the street and ask them how they did bread back in the past! For the result, dear readers, is worth it (I mean, the result of making homemade sourdough bread. But also the result of that conversation you'd have will be worth it. Old people bear lots of wisdom and wit!)

The result that's WORTH it!

My (hard) working from home position

Routine is one thing and I am one of those people that like to have one. It takes care of some daily decision making and thus saves one considerable energy that you can instead focus on other stuff. The non routine stuff. The spice of life!

One such spice happens twice a month on Wednesdays. Cardiff Toastmasters has become something of a second home and a family. A vibrant and bustling club, people from all walks of life and a vital dose of education, inspiration and motivation are just few reasons why I make sure this event is clearly marked in my calendar. Where else do you meet (among others) a hypnotherapis, professional rugby player, tax lawyer, bunch of students and a guy that cycled the length of Britain for a good cause, all sharing their stories and making steps to improve themselves and those around?

Cardiff Toastmasters

Another important spice is definitely music. I've realized I have been stagnating in this regard for a while now and so made a mental resolution to, from now on, take every opportunity I see. So I invested in some new gear, made a come back to the streets of Cardiff and resumed playing with other people - for if there's one way to get better in playing, it's by learning from others. Plus it just sounds so awesome when people find that way of talking to each other using music... It takes time, but the result pays off. Music is simply the connection to another world, going away for a journey and leaving all worries behind

Brumhilde - the recent new member of the family

Busking comeback as captured by paparazzi Alex

Jamming with "ONS music ensemble" folks, a spin-off from the choir at work

There's more things to mention - "chilling" with friends, park runs, or, when the nice weather coincides with the will of the right people, some memorable trips in Brecon Beacons. 

After 10k run along river Taff with Kika and Peto

Camping in Brecon Beacons. Weather like we had is to be appreciated!

But hey, this post is about the routine, right? So let me stop here. At least I'll save some inspiration for the next time and won't just blankly stare at the screen!