And the truth (or at least, an attempt at redressing the balance)

Book review: JavaScript & jQuery (by Jon Duckett)

I was excited to sit down and read the newly-published JavaScript & jQuery by Jon Duckett, produced by the team behind the hugely well-received HTML & CSS book. It’s a large and beautifully-designed tome aimed at newbie developers with familiarity with HTML/CSS but no experience with programming in the browser. In this post I’ll offer some thoughts and feedback on a couple of aspects of the book, but the TL;DR version is: if you’re new to front-end web development, buying this is a no-brainer.

Things that are amazing about the book:

  • It’s very thorough. It rarely rushes (it’s over 600 pages long) and builds things up logically, “linking” to future chapters where topics that are hinted at will become fleshed out. For someone new to the language it will give them a thorough grounding in many aspects of JS.
  • It’s good at answering the “why should I care?” question. Many of the code examples would be challenging to explain in purely theoretical terms, but by pairing them with screenshots of an attractively-designed mock website and using the code to manipulate the page, it’s never a challenge to work out why a particular function or property is useful for making websites.
  • It’s gorgeously designed. The image on the book website of the for-loop flow diagram is probably the money shot, but generally it’s a pleasure to read and may be the only published JavaScript book which will make you look cool while you’re reading it in a coffee shop.
  • It’s great value. I came into the jQuery plugins section thinking it’d just be a way to pad out the last hundred pages or so with cheap instructions on using lightbox or something, but in fact it broke down the concepts and the DOM structure in almost obsessive detail and really got into the idea of building things in modular, configurable way. This is probably a bit advanced for the casual reader but represents good value for money (and plenty of repeat reading value when someone’s digested the basics).
  • It works for experienced developers as well as newbies. I’ve been writing JavaScript for quite a while these days but there were things in here that were new to me (I didn’t know jQuery had a $(“:header”) selector…) and it also cleared up a few niggly things that I could never quite adequately explain to myself. In general it’d be a great reference book to have around an office or home, regardless of experience level.

Things that I found a bit weird about the book:

  • Early on in the book there are code examples where a HTML element’s class attribute is set to the string “true” or “false” depending on a Boolean. There’s a quick disclaimer that this is rarely useful but it seemed odd to me to demonstrate it all rather than using a proper, semantic string for a classname.
  • Some of the layout choices made it difficult to know what order to read things. It did sometimes feel that things had been placed on the page in order to achieve optimum symmetry or alignment rather than to aid readability. Here’s an example:IMG_20141001_223200
    Some pages have this style of text but without the numbering and it’s not always clear if you’re reading in columns or rows.
  • In the section on JavaScript’s Date object, the book explains that getMonth() will return a month number ranging from 0-11, but doesn’t flag this up enough in my opinion (or attempt to explain why this is the case, although I have no idea either…). This feature often catches out newbie developers with JS.
  • This code sample is a bit weird too. I understand the technique and why it’s mentioned but I think it’s an unhelpful and confusing thing to show to a new developer (mangling HTML to fix cross-browser issues?) and just serves to make them think browser support for fairly innocuous stuff is even worse than it is.

  • As beautiful as the pages must’ve looked on a screen during design, the all-black pages lose something by the time a sticky set of paws like mine touch them:IMG_20141001_223339
  • This page (and a few others like it) seemed a bit incongruous:IMG_20141001_223400
    Again, I can see why they felt it should be included, but why give it a whole page?
  • The Handling Exceptions section feels a bit rushed and glosses over some concepts that are fairly challenging for anyone who’s never come across try/catch blocks before (eg. most of the intended audience?). The tone of some of these pages was (to me) markedly more complex than other parts of the book.
  • This sentence:IMG_20141001_223525
    Maybe I’m just immature, but the quote marks around “closed” felt a bit melodramatic.
  • I can’t really see any reason to angle the “blurb” text on the back cover except to make it feel like decoration and not something you’d actually read:IMG_20141001_233948
  • Similarly, the angle of the text on the spine is different from all the other books I own which is mildly jarring to my OCD:IMG_20141001_234043

These are almost all minor quibbles though. There are a couple of clear code/printing errors (which the website already corrects) and one or two fonts which feel a bit large to read comfortably up close, but otherwise nothing to be worried about.

So, overall thoughts? Well, I already recommended the book to members of the HTML, CSS & JavaScript beginner’s course I teach, which should tell you something. It’s massively well-researched, works on multiple levels and has been put together in a beautiful, readable and understandable format. The team working on this have worked really hard to create something that will no doubt go down as a classic of the genre (as the HTML & CSS book has) and I’ve already had multiple people in my office eyeing up my review copy and asking to borrow it when I’m done.

If you’re new to JavaScript or need a refresher, go out and pick this up – I was really impressed.

Note: the photos above are all from my fairly rubbish camera on my phone, so if text looks weird / blurry etc, that’s almost certainly my fault. The book itself looks lovely – check out the website for more.

Full disclosure: I received a free copy of the book for review, but that’s all.

London, I love you, but you’re bringing me down

I turned 28 this week and have begun to find that my life and those of my peers seems to have come to a fork in the road. The ones who live in the general area I’m calling “not London” have taken one fork in the path, while those of us in the “London” camp are voyaging down a different route. Every now and again I get a reminder from the people on the other track that things are diverging even quicker than I thought.

I moved to London four years ago, primarily for my career – I’m a web developer with an interest in working for media organisations, and both of those industries tend to align themselves to capital cities. Likewise, my partner Maddy: she’s worked for a succession of charities who also tend to base themselves in major cities like London.

I have a bunch of friends here in London and a similarly-sized group back in Nottingham where I grew up. While both groups consist of people (mostly in couples these days) aged in their mid-to-late 20s, the differences are becoming more and more striking.

Almost all of the “serious” couples I know back home in Nottingham are already homeowners, or at least, well on the way to becoming one. Quite a few are married, and a few weeks ago, one of my closest friends revealed that he and his fiancee are expecting a child. This is the first of my best friends to enter this phase of the relationship (end?)game and won’t be the last. I can’t begin to imagine the same things happening in my London circle.

In London, my friends of my own age are almost exclusively renting, paying over the odds for small, random flatshares in a variety of areas. One or two somehow own places (I’ve always assumed this is down to improbable good fortune or simply support from their parents), but everybody else is in the same position I am: stuck in the 12 month rental contract cycle. As for pregnancy: nobody. Or at least, nobody I can think of in that mid-to-late 20s group.

Maybe that’s normal: living and working in a city like London is likely to mean that you’re more career-minded than someone living somewhere more provincial, and thus starting a family is probably lower on your agenda. But if Maddy and I decided tomorrow that we were ready to have kids, I’d still be completely unprepared to make it happen: we’re renting a flat where the landlord could boot us out on a month’s notice, and by August 2015 we’ll be out whether or not we want to be (assuming the landlord raises the rent to an unaffordable level, as has happened almost everywhere else we’ve lived in the capital). What kind of environment is that to bring up a child in?

It’s worth pointing out here that I do have a bunch of slightly older friends in London who hover around the mid-to-late 30s/early 40s mark. Quite a few of these have kids and own their own places. Here I can only conclude that they managed to do so when the housing climate in London wasn’t nearly as insane as it is in 2014, and the majority live outside London (or further out than zone 3) which tends to reduces the cost of living on its own.

The divergence between these two groups was made clear to me when my friends revealed their pregnancy: I literally can’t imagine it happening to us, or to any of our couple friends. I know there’s a cliché of “there’s never a good time to have kids” and I’m sure it’s true. But as much as I love London, I can’t see how it will figure in my future. I’m being priced out of a city I love and even if I did have a spare £40k lying around for a deposit (or the mental energy to save that much up), I’d feel morally opposed to blowing it all on a one bed flat in a shitty part of town you’d never look twice at if it didn’t have a 30 minute connection to Kings Cross.

What’s the answer? Clearly people can and do bring up children in London and buy homes and I’m fortunate enough to be better off than many of the people struggling to do just that. But while I’m feeling smug about London’s cultural heritage and career opportunities compared to other UK cities, my homebody friends back in the north are settling down and starting families while I feel like my development on that front is on pause as long as I live here. I have no idea what I’m going to do next.

How animated gif selfies fixed our team’s morale

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about software team morale. I’ve switched teams a couple of times so far this year at work and have had a fairly different experience on each one. Some were large (10+ people), some small (3 people, one on a different continent) and each has had its own mix of positives and negatives. Morale varied: some were doing well, others had issues on and off. The team I’m currently on seems to have found a way to make sure the positives outweigh everything else. How have they managed this? Selfies.

I’m being entirely serious: the majority of GitHub pull requests on the team feature animated gif selfies, recorded via webcams using the ingenious GitHub Selfies browser plugin. Here’s an example:


When I first joined the team, someone explained that it was semi-mandatory to include a mildly-relevant gif along with a pull request or comment. Here’s my nervous first foray into GitHub selfies:


Initially I was bemused. This was just a bit of fun, a sort of initiation ceremony for a new member on an established team. But as time wore on I noticed that the team (and gradually, me) were putting in a good amount of effort into producing stuff that was entertaining, clever and endearing. Here are some of my favourites, along with the contents of the code changes:

I made a pull request making some changes to the footer (get it?):


Will hilariously responded:


Will swapped out one card processing system for another:


Jenny and Will did some work to swap over user credentials (this one took some serious co-ordination):

swap-2 swap-1

Will removed a “friend” tier from the app


Roberto and Will refactored payment flows:


I did a few quick fixes; Will gave his approval:


Ben removed an “optimisation”


I fixed something for stupid IE9:


Chris corrected an embarrassing error:


Will playing a ukulele (I don’t think there was a good reason for this):


The key impact here for me is that I now actively look forward to pull requests, and put some thought into how I can present mine to the rest of my team. Obviously there’s a risk that you end up spending more time thinking about funny animated gif selfies than you do about the actual code, but in practice it doesn’t work like that for us – we’re on quite a strict deadline and I genuinely believe if we didn’t have something like this to lighten the mood then we’d all be tense and snapping at each other.

On previous teams I’d come to dread code reviews: developers can sometimes (often, even) be terrible communicators. The whole “asynchronous communication” thing makes total sense when working in private on something difficult, but when it comes to collaboration, the situation where somebody sat three feet away from you is tearing apart your code can be quite difficult to manage. Sometimes it becomes easy to forget that the person producing the code is a human being with needs and emotions, rather than just a factory producing code that either is or isn’t up to scratch.

These animations and jokes have really helped my team bond: there’s a camaraderie, a sense of playfulness: it’s impossible to forget that a person is at the other end of these things and is submitting their work (and therefore, themselves) for your judgement. Making it a little more friendly and personable is so, so crucial. The web is playful at its very core: it’s a creative, experimental medium. This kind of thing is part of the whimsy and humanness that sits atop the whole thing: it’s silly, but it really works.

Mostly to avoid this post being solely comprised of gifs (good though they are), I asked some developer friends for their thoughts and got some smart tweets back:

There was also a great recommendation from Jonathan Kahn, who pointed to Alice Bartlett’s great blog post about her new role at GDS. Specifically, Alice said (emphasis mine):

I put stuff in pull requests that I know isn’t perfect, because nothing is perfect. Really what you’re aiming for is some collective level of OK-ness. Someone told me “think of the pull request comments as a to-do list” rather than a list of every single thing you cocked up, with which to flagellate yourself. This helps me now, but it took a long time to sink in. As a result, if I’m giving feedback on a pull request, I always go find the person first and check how they’d best like the feedback, sometimes I’ll offer to pair with them on it, or email them feedback privately. I think it’s polite to give people options.

This kind of thing, too, is so crucial. It all comes down to the same thing, I think: treating people like human beings, who make mistakes, have mostly good intentions, and are your friends (or, at least, colleagues…). Sometimes it’s easy to just treat someone as though they are their code. When there’s an animated gif of them playing the ukulele, you’re reminded right away that there’s more to them than that.

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Why do we think developers are special?

I teach a Guardian Masterclass as part of their “Digital Journalism Bootcamp” course. Specifically, my part of the month-long class is a 90 minute workshop aimed at journalists, outlining how developers work, what they do, and how they use process to organise work (there’s an Agile taster session). There are also some more general tips on how to get on with a type of person who’s traditionally seen as a bit grumpy, difficult to communicate with, or even hostile.

In this latter section, I found myself being challenged by one vocal member of the group who interrupted me a few times to point out that “I do that too”, particularly during a section on the cost of context-switching. I was talking through a slide which looked like this:

Digital Journalism talk


I was beginning to say something about the situation where a developer is juggling multiple things in their head at any one time, and how costly it can be when someone comes along and interrupts that flow. She spoke up to say that when dealing with clients, for example, she too is often juggling multiple things around. I tried to fumble an example of how a developer may be thinking about variable scope, cross-browser API implementation, an outstanding pull request to review and remembering which branch to commit on – all at the same time – but to a non-technical audience this was quite a challenge to explain.

It did get me thinking, though. I have other slides in this section dealing with the developer clichés: don’t fill their calendar with meetings; don’t disturb them when they have headphones on; keep communications brief and ideally asynchronous. But why do any of these things apply specifically to developers?

This same woman had challenged me earlier in the session when I hinted at some of these points and she suggested developers were “just being precious”. I conceded this, saying that because of their (likely) introvert personas, sometimes humouring them with this was the way to achieve results. This resulted in some challenging questions from another attendee at the end who felt I was telling them to “pander” to developers. Again, I was left wondering why we talk about things in this way.

I’ve already written here in the past about “the love affair of the tech nerd with themselves“. I wrote back in 2012:

Developers (“makers”) aren’t some special race of superhumans, whose every sensitivity and quirk needs to be preciously catered for. We’re normal people and shouldn’t be made to feel otherwise. Developers love to scoff at project managers and HR people, clogging up important coding hours with pointless meetings and busywork. Again, while there’s some truth to that, it’s also supremely arrogant to label ourselves as somehow above the systems everyone else works with (grudgingly or not).

Maybe my slides are just plain wrong and these tips just apply to people in general. But when researching the talk and reading up on other people’s top tips for productive relationships with developers, these were the kind of points being raised time and time again. Do we really think that as a profession we deserve special treatment?

The woman at the end suggested there was some give and take in both directions, which I agreed with, pointing out I was teaching a class to journalists about working with developers, and not vice-versa. Still though: why do you think we treat developers like their needs are special and different from others? How much of this is really true?