Douglas Ireland

from the dial-up days blog

If I had understood the situation a bit better I should probably have joined the Anarchists

George Orwell

It takes a lot longer to get up north the slow way.

Ian Dury

The internet could be a very positive step towards education, organisation and participation in a meaningful society.
Changes and progress very rarely are gifts from above. They come out of struggles from below.

Noam Chomsky

  • Origin Story: A Man Called Ireland

    I come from England.
    My name is Ireland.
    I live in Scotland.
    And the only actual Irish thing about me… is that I order Guinness in the pub.

    I wasn’t born with this name.
    I used to carry a different one. It sounded like it might be German, though I’ve never found any trace of German ancestry on that side of the family.
    It came from my father.
    We’re no longer in contact. When I walked away from that relationship, I left the name behind too.

    Funnily enough, the German in me comes from the opposite side.
    My maternal grandmother was German.
    She met my grandfather while he was doing national service in Germany after the war.
    They fell in love. She moved to England. Raised a family.
    Her accent lingered. So did her story.
    She gave me no surname, but a lot more than that.

    When I chose a new name, I took one from my mother’s side: Ireland.
    Sounds poetic, maybe a little windswept and rebellious.
    But the Irelands were from Surrey. Not Galway. Not Cork.
    Tea drinkers, not turf cutters.

    I was born in Lancashire,
    let go of a name that sounded German,
    picked one that sounded Irish,
    and now I live in Scotland, which wasn’t part of the plan either.

    So yeah. German from my mum, Irish in name only, English by birth, and living in Scotland.
    The Guinness is real, at least.
    The rest? Just one of those weird family mash-ups you don’t notice until you start pulling at the threads.
    I didn’t get to choose how it all started. The name was. That’s where I begin.

  • Over the New Bridge

    I drove over the new Renfrew Bridge today. It only opened yesterday, but I wanted to give it a shot.

    It’s been three years in the making, apparently. Cost £114 million. A lot of cones and diversions. Now it’s finally done, linking Renfrew with Yoker across the Clyde.

    For me, it means less reliance on the Erskine Bridge or the Clyde Tunnel. That alone feels like progress. It’s a good stretch of road too, wide, open, smooth, and for now at least, very quiet. Everyone’s still getting used to it.

    There’s still a small ferry running nearby, the one that’s been plodding back and forth across the water for decades. They’re keeping it on for now, while they review how useful it still is. I hope they let it stay. It’s a lovely, low-key crossing. Quaint, in the best way.

    I noticed some signs along the new road suggesting that the bridge moves. A lifting bridge, maybe? I haven’t been able to find anything official about that yet, but I’ll keep an eye out. It wouldn’t surprise me. The Clyde’s full of ships and history and shifting routes. Why wouldn’t the newest bridge have a bit of flexibility built in?

    Either way, it’s a useful addition. A small change to the map, but one that’ll make a difference in day-to-day journeys. I like it already.

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  • Premier League Dreams, Non-League Streams

    My team, Oldham Athletic, have reached the National League play-offs. The match on Wednesday is an eliminator. A one-off play-off game at home to Halifax. Win that, and we’re into the semi-final away at Solihull. Win that, and it’s Wembley on Sunday 1 June, with a place in the Football League on the line.

    I’m feeling quietly confident about the match. We’ve got the home advantage, and we beat Halifax 2–0 at Boundary Park back in March.

    I won’t be attending the game. It’s a bit far for me to get to. I’m living in Scotland these days, but I’ve found a streaming service so I’ll be able to watch it on TV. Wednesday evening is sorted.

    I started following Oldham when I lived in the town as a 10-year-old boy. The early 90s were the pinch-me years. We had amazing success. In 1990–91 they won the Second Division and got promoted to the top flight for the first time in nearly 70 years. A year later, they were part of the very first Premier League season.

    Since then we’ve received the dubious distinction of being the first team to be relegated from the Premier League all the way down to the non-league.

    Getting this far might not seem like much to some, but if you’ve followed Oldham over the years, you’ll know it means something.

  • What’s Got You Most Hyped for a Reform UK Government?

    What are people actually looking forward to if Reform wins the next General Election and forms a government?

    Is it the generous tax cuts that will inevitably gut public services across the country, leading to the slow dismantling of everything from libraries to local councils, already held together by little more than duct tape and goodwill?

    Maybe it’s the vision of a skeleton Civil Service, hollowed out in the name of “efficiency,” where job cuts are spun as progress and oversight becomes optional.

    How about the long-rumoured privatisation of the NHS? Selling off the very institution people clap for, while quietly preparing us to pay American prices for insulin and A&E visits?

    Perhaps you’re excited for chlorine-washed chicken and hormone-laced beef, as British food standards are sacrificed for post-Brexit trade deals that no one asked for.

    There’s also the small matter of workers’ rights. What could be more liberating than losing your right to union protection, fair dismissal processes, or sick pay?

    Then there’s the slow erosion of bodily autonomy, with hard-won reproductive rights under threat, framed as a return to “traditional values.”

    And we can’t forget the overt bigotry that appears regularly in the words and tweets of many Reform candidates. This seems to be a feature, not a bug.

    So I ask again, in all seriousness, with just a touch of sarcasm:

    What is it you’re most looking forward to when Reform takes the reins?

    Because I suspect the people clapping them into power may not be ready for what happens when the applause stops and the policies begin.

    I’d love to hear your thoughts.
    Do you agree, disagree, or have your own worries about a Reform government? Drop a comment below and let’s talk about it.

  • It’s not about the flies

    I heard the old saying again the other day.
    You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

    It’s one of those phrases that feels too neat to be useful. But it’s stuck with me.

    I’ve tried vinegar.
    Sharp words. Cold silences.
    Avoiding people who rub me the wrong way.
    It doesn’t do much. You just end up bitter and still alone.

    Honey is harder.
    It takes more patience. You’ve got to swallow your pride. Smile when you don’t feel like it. Make the first move. Let things slide.

    But every so often, it works.
    Someone opens up.
    You get a second conversation instead of a dead end.
    And it feels better. Not in a smug, self-righteous way. Just… lighter.

    It doesn’t mean being fake. Or letting people treat you badly.
    Just choosing softness when the world’s offering you friction.

    Other sayings circle the same idea.
    A gentle word turns away wrath.
    Kill them with kindness.
    Politeness costs nothing.

    They’re not magic spells. But they shift the weight a bit. And most days, that’s enough.

  • Running, Stopping, and Starting Again.

    I’ve completed the Couch to 5K programme twice before. It’s not magic, but it works. Each time I finished, I felt quietly pleased with myself. I’d reached a point where running 5 kilometres in around half an hour was comfortable. Not easy, exactly, but doable.

    I enjoyed it, too. Or at least, I enjoyed the feeling afterwards. A clear head, lungs awake, the simple satisfaction of having moved my body for half an hour. And yet, both times, gradually and predictably, my trainers ended up back in the cupboard. Days between runs turned into weeks. Motivation faded, routines slipped.

    I’m not running right now because of a back injury. But I’m hoping I’ll start again soon. My aim is simple: run 5K in about 30 minutes, three times a week. The NHS recommends at least 30 minutes of vigorous activity weekly, enough to break a sweat and get properly out of breath, and this ticks that box neatly.

    For anyone unfamiliar, the Couch to 5K (often shortened to C25K) is straightforward. You run three times each week, for nine weeks. Early on, it’s mostly walking, with short bursts of jogging. Over time, the jogging bits get longer, and the walks shorter, until you’re running continuously for half an hour or so. It’s structured, manageable, and it doesn’t assume you’re already fit.

    I’ve never struggled with completing the programme itself. It’s after finishing, once I’ve proven to myself that I can do it, that the difficulty begins. Without a schedule nudging me forward, I slip quietly back into the old routines of not running at all. Maybe the issue is that I think of myself as having ‘finished’ something. Perhaps running isn’t something that can be finished. It’s more of an ongoing conversation between motivation and habit, between intention and routine.

    This time, I wonder if acknowledging this up front might help. There’s no great secret to staying motivated. It’s probably about quiet acceptance that some days I won’t want to run at all. But maybe running anyway, gently defying the urge to stop, will help me find a sustainable rhythm.

    For now, my shoes are waiting. Soon enough, I hope, I’ll be lacing them up again.

  • The Nap That Ate the Evening

    We had a plan.

    Gym bags by the door. Water bottles filled. The noble intention of movement pencilled in for after work.

    But then the sofa looked inviting. And the thought of a “quick refreshing nap” crept in like a cunning little idea. Just twenty minutes, we said. Just a recharge. Nothing serious.

    Two hours later, we woke up bleary-eyed, limbs heavy, the room dimmer than before. Not quite sure where we were in the day. Definitely not at the gym.

    Now we’re talking about takeaway, not treadmills. Chatting about what kind of beer to pick up instead of whether to do intervals or a long slow stretch on the mat. There’s a quiet agreement between us. No mention of the gym. We are both gracefully, strategically, ignoring it.

    We’ve let the monkey mind steer the ship tonight. The part of us that likes naps and noodles more than effort and structure. And honestly, I’m not even mad.

    There’s something funny and human about it. We try to keep it all together. Health, routine, responsibility. But now and then it slips. Or we let it slip. Sometimes what we need isn’t discipline. Sometimes it’s just a pause, a laugh, and a decent curry.

    Maybe tomorrow we’ll do better. Maybe not. But for now, I’m just glad we’re in it together.

  • Like Shit Off a Shovel

    I first got online in 1994. Back then, just saying that felt futuristic. Most people I knew didn’t have the internet at all. You had to dial in, literally. That high-pitched screech of a modem connecting was the sound of something new.

    We called it the information superhighway, and it really did feel like that, a strange and open road with no clear destination. You just explored.

    The web was small. Pages were mostly grey. Text was blue and underlined. If you wanted a picture, it took time to load. Search engines weren’t very good. But there was something honest about it. You were more likely to stumble upon someone’s handmade website or message board than be guided by an algorithm. It felt like wandering.

    I remember someone in my family trying my 28.8k modem for the first time. After watching a page load faster than expected, they leaned back and said, “That thing goes like shit off a shovel.” At the time, it really did feel like that.

    I spent time on Usenet newsgroups, where people held long, often thoughtful discussions, threaded and searchable. And I used IRC, where you could drop into a channel and chat in real time with strangers from around the world. There was something raw but real about it. No profiles. No bios. Just usernames and conversation.

    There was no social media, no feeds, no notifications. If you wanted to connect with someone, you’d read their post or their homepage and send them an email. Maybe they’d write back. It was slow in the best way.

    Now the internet is always on, always loud. Every platform wants your attention. Content is chopped into algorithms and pushed into your day whether you asked for it or not. People compete for visibility, likes, reach. It’s not all bad, but it’s a long way from how it started.

    I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. About how the internet used to be made up of small, personal spaces. And how it could be that again, at least in a quiet corner.

    That’s what I’m trying to build here. This site doesn’t run on likes or shares. I don’t have to post at the right time or follow trends. I just write when I want to. People can leave a comment if they feel like it. Or not.

    The difference is, I control this space. No ads. No feeds. Just a small corner of the internet where I can show up as myself.

    It might seem old-fashioned, but I don’t mind that. I’m from the dial-up days. And I still think there’s something worth keeping from that time.

    At the same time, I’m not anti-technology. Quite the opposite. I still get excited about new ideas and tools, especially AI. I think we’re only just beginning to see how it’s going to change how we work, create, communicate and learn. Used well, it can help us cut through noise, automate the boring stuff, and make space for more human connection, not less.

    So I’m not turning my back on the future. I just want to bring a little more of the past into it.

  • Moved a Bit, Felt Better

    Bank holiday Monday. No rush, no pressure. Just the quiet decision to go back to the gym for the first time in a while.

    I’ve been out of action since a herniated disc left me in hospital for four nights. It’s been a slow recovery, and today felt like the right time to move again. I wrote a bit about that in Showing Up, but this was the first time I’ve really been back in the gym properly.

    Starting slow on the Power Plate. This position helps release my lower back.

    After the Power Plate, I hit the treadmill. No incline, just a brisk pace. Music in my ears, a workout supermix, and a steady rhythm that felt surprisingly good. By 22 minutes I was breaking a sweat. I finished at 30 minutes, 3.03 km. Not pushing it. Just showing up, moving, breathing.

    30 minutes on the treadmill. My favourite kit, the West Germany shirt from Italia 90.

    Then it was time for some yoga with Stephanie. We kept it gentle. Yin yoga, slow and supported. Four poses, all on the mat.

    Positive rest. A way to let the nervous system settle before stretching. Allowing the spine to reset to its natural position.
    Drawing knees in again, easing tension from the lower back and massaging the back of the pelvis, spine and back into the mat.
    Supine twist. Gentle rotation, softening through the spine.
    Caterpillar pose, using a step to raise my hips and meet the pose where I’m at.
    Walking out feeling lighter. Hoodie on, good work done.

    Now we’re home. Bit of housework, cuddles with Chipshop, pizza and beer lined up. A good session, and now a good rest.

  • Showing Up

    Later today, I’m going back to the gym for the first time in a while. I had a torn disc in my back and ended up in hospital for four nights. It was incredibly painful, and recovery has been slow. Painkillers helped, but rest was the real work.

    I’ve missed movement. Not in a dramatic way, just in that quiet, background sense of knowing I feel better when I move. Even the small things like stretching, walking, or just feeling my body do what it’s meant to do.

    Coming back after something like this isn’t glamorous. There’s no big comeback moment. It’s just me, trying again, seeing how it feels. I’ll be happy even if all I manage is a short walk on the treadmill. Because after everything, showing up feels like enough.