Call for Proposals - ACCU 2011
April 13-16, 2011. Barcelo Oxford Hotel, Oxford, UK
Submission deadline: 26th of September 2010
Email proposals to: Giovanni Asproni, conference@accu.org
http://www.accu.org/conference
twitter: @accu2011 #accu2011

We invite you to propose a session for this leading software development conference.

We have a long tradition of high quality sessions covering many aspects of software development, from programming languages (e.g., Java, C#, Python, Erlang, Haskell, Ruby, Groovy, C, C++, etc.), and technologies (libraries, frameworks, databases, etc.) to subjects about the wider development environment such as testing, architecture and design, development process, analysis, patterns, project management, and softer aspects such as team building, communication and leadership.

Sessions may be either tutorial-based, presentations of case studies, or take the form of interactive workshops. We are always open to novel formats, so please contact us with your idea. The standard length of a session is 90 minutes, with some exceptions. In order to allow less experienced speakers to speak at the conference without the pressure of filling a full 90 minutes, we reserve a number of shorter 45 minute sessions.

If you would like to run a session please let us know by emailing your proposals to conference@accu.org by the 26th of September 2010 at the latest.

Assuming your some kind of programmer and even slightly interested in being batter at your practice, you should think pretty hard about going. Really quite hard. Even better, you should think about presenting. You do have something to say, even if you don't yet realise it. That stuff that seems commonplace to you actually isn't. There are people who will benefit from hearing about it, and you'll benefit from talking about.

Have a shuffle through the conference website to see what's in play (just about anything) and make a pitch. If you can come up with a title, the rest will write itself. Don't fret about filling time - you will. You'll probably have to cut down so you don't over run, but don't worry about that either. Find that title, and make your pitch.

On Saturday morning, Hal and I put in a few miles on the tandem before stopping in the city centre for breakfast. While we might have considered ourselves just two chaps out for spin and a feed, we do, as we did on the 8 Freight, tend to draw comments from both pedestrians and other road users.

Here's a selection:

Aw, that's so sweet!

Dad, look! Can we get one!

Wow, that's cool.

Nice. (Jazz fan, I guess)

There's a cycle path over there.

One of these comments came from an Audi A3 driver as he overtook us between speed bumps while approaching a roundabout on a road which had no cycle lane. Can you guess which one?

Off on a charity bike ride in support of Breakthrough Breast Cancer on Sunday with some chaps I work with. Apparently we'll "raise vital funds for charity, ride through beautiful countryside, get fitter, lose a few pounds and feel a real sense of achievement." The first two bits are true, but a gentle 60 miles between London and Cambridge shouldn't really tax anyone. While I'm mindful of what Jeremy Hardy said earlier this week, if you'd like to chip in with the cash that would be lovely.

The tandem arrived sporting ridiculously large and knobbly tyres. They'd have been just the ticket if we wanted to pedal our way across open country. About the city, however, they make a lot of noise, alarmingly so going round corners, and only serve to slow you down with their enormous rolling resistance. Have just spent ten minutes swapping them out for some nice slicks, and it's like a different bike - speedy on the straight, smooth in the corners, and near silent.

Then:

Two days later, found myself toying with the idea of getting a tandem. Gah!

Now:

While we didn't get the 8 Freight for the express purpose of carting Harry to gymnastics, that's what I'm doing for most of my long-bike miles. Twice or three times a week we head out to the gym. I get hot and sweaty on the way, he gets hot and sweaty while I cool down, then I get hot and sweaty for a second time while he cools down. Most of the time it's really easy and we zoom, but occasionally it feels like really hard work. He's not getting any smaller, obviously, and sooner or later his growth will outpace my legs' ability to get stronger.

Since hauling Harry round the Welland Wonder 50km last September, I've been turning over the idea of a tandem. I was cautious though, because I knew nothing about tandems, they're not cheap, and I didn't want to end up with a lemon or something that was too large or too small. What nudged me over the edge was one of the other gymnastics-Dads. He occasionally brings his son on tandem, and a few weeks ago we had a bit of a chat which ended with me sitting Harry on the back of his bike. At the end of the conversation I was armed with a name - Dawes Discovery Twin. A little learning is a dangerous thing.

Harry's feet weren't quite reaching the full extent of the pedals, so I wasn't in any rush but a few days later there I was browsing eBay late at night. There aren't a terrific number of tandems up for auction and they fall into distinct categories. There are the vintage frames people have found in the back of their Grandad's garage, there are much loved tourers that have done thousands of miles, and there are the virtually unused machines that were bought because it seemed like a good idea but it didn't work out that way. Nearly every one had to be collected so the pool of potential bidders was small. Prices were not outrageous. Looked like the chances of getting a decent machine were actually pretty good. I followed a couple of auctions in far-flung parts of the kingdom to get a bit of a measure of things. Going for half list price at around £500, Discovery Twins were well within my bike-spend comfort-zone.

Two days later, one came up for sale in Dudley.

And went over my budget. *Sob*

Another Discovery Twin came up for sale the next day. It was miles away, in the little Dorset town of Wimborne. Where Natalie's mother lives.

I won the auction - no way I wasn't going to win that - and seller Rob pedalled round to my mother-in-law's and stashed it in her garage.

That was over a fortnight ago and I was finally able to bring it home this morning. The bike's in terrific order - it's a 2006 model I think, but has clearly only done a handful of miles. It's gone far enough for the gear cables to have stretched a bit, but not enough to noticably wear tyres or brakes. I had to tighten the mudguard stays, but otherwise it's in near-perfect nick.

I was right about Harry not being big enough - he'll need to grow another 3 or 4 inches. Unfortunately, Natalie had walked him to school and he'd be expecting me to collect him on the tandem. So while I was right, I had to be wrong. By swapping the stock seatpost for the one on Daniel's old mountain bike, I was able to drop the back seat sufficiently to avoid an emergency session on the rack.

It only took a few yards to get the hang of synchronised pedalling, so I've entered us for this year's Welland Wonder 50km. He can help push.

What the hell are we going to do with all these redcurrants?

There was only one thing to do - make a summer pudding.

• A kilo of mixed berries. Last time out I used half and half raspberries and redcurrants. If you have blackcurrants, a handful or two would add a pleasant tang.
• 250g of light brown sugar
• Several slices of white bread, crusts removed. The bread is important, so don't skimp. Anything too dense won't soak up the berry juices, anything too light will disintegrate. Something like a good decent sandwich loaf will work.

1. Lightly grease a 1½l pudding basin, of the type you used to buy in Woolies. Line the basin with slices of bread. Make sure there are no gaps. Slightly overlapping the slices round the sides of the basin gives a good seal.
2. Destalk the berries and pick out any iffy ones. Pulling half a kilo of redcurrants off their stalks is a little tedious, I'll grant, but it only takes a few minutes if you stick at it.
3. Mix the berries and the sugar together. The berries will start to release some of their juice and it will all start to look a syrupy. Mix enough to incorporate all the sugar, but not so long that all the fruit is crushed. Some recipes call for the fruit to be cooked briefly - three or four minutes at most - to encourage more juice to be released. I've not, yet, found this necessary.
4. Tip the fruit into the bread-lined basin. It should almost fill it. Cover the top with some more slices of bread.
5. Put a small plate on the top of the pudding and weight it down. (I use two or three more plates on the top.) Pop it all into the fridge (rearranging shelves if need be), and leave it overnight.
6. To serve, put a plate on top, turn the whole arrangement over, and give it a firm shake. You should hear a slight noise as the pudding comes away from the basin, and you can carry it proudly to the table. It's surprisingly firm, and will cut into slices. Serve with cream.

I used to think there were only a handful of songs that made me tear up (in a manly misting kind of way). Have recently discovered that if I sing with sufficient conviction, almost any song at all will prick tears to my eyes. Slightly ridiculous, although I like the song very much, case in point - Satellite by The Hooters.

Whenever I see an XML library described as "easy to use" I know the bloke who wrote it knew stuff all about XML.

I am excited. Fact. Today is launch day for Volume 2 of The Rainbow Orchid, a terrifically splendid comic by my long-time-comics-chum-although-we've-never-actually-met-and-that's-quite-normal-in-this-modern-age Garen Ewing. I've just ordered a signed copy direct from the man himself, and I'd strongly encourage you to do the same. Of course, if you don't have Volume 1, you'd probably best grab a copy of that too. And perhaps another for your kids.

This shameless hucksterism may seem a little out of character, but right from the off when I read the first episode it was clear to me that this could be something that would appeal to, if I can put it this way, normal people as well as comics readers. I've read a lot of comics that I love, but I wouldn't give to someone who wasn't comics-literate. The Rainbow Orchid is not such a beast - it's a really good comic that (I'm trying to avoid the word "accessible" or "appeals") anyone can enjoy. Alternatively, anyone can read and enjoy it, but it has the comics-literary chops to thoroughly satisfy comics-nerds like me and m'chum Richard. I not only admire Garen's skill, but his patience and dedication in seeing The Rainbow Orchid out in the shops, where it should be.

Look, if you don't believe me, go and read the extended preview ...

It's that time of year in the vegetable garden. One day you've got nothing, the next day your wife is handing over a trug full of something and telling you to get on with it. Earlier this week, it was broad beans. I can't claim ever to have eaten broad beans (that's fava beans for you Silence of the Lambs fans) in my life (except possibly in a bag of frozen mixed veg I bought by accident when I was at university), but I had a crack at them and it turned out really rather well.

Like I said, I'm not intimate with the ways of the broad bean, but I do know they feature pretty large in Levantine cooking. After digging through my Claudia Roden and a little light googling I cooked up the beans with dill and mint, served it with flatbread, garlic yoghurt, and lettuce salad, and we were, as the phrase goes, not disappointed.

These quantities made tea for two. So, head to your veg patch and search your cupboards for

• about a pound of fresh broad beans, newly liberated from their pods
• a nice big onion
• a tablespoon of dried dill - if I had fresh I would have used that instead
• handful of chopped fresh mint leaves - you probably could use dried, but you'd need much less
• a touch, a tiny touch of dried chilli flakes
• olive oil, 100ml or so
• some water

1. Choose a pan that's going to fit everything, but quite snugly. You're aiming to cook the beans in as little liquid as you can.
2. Chop the onion nice and fine, and fry it gently for a few minutes until brown around the edge but not all crispy. (I know it when I see it, but I'm not sure I've described it very well.)
3. Throw in the beans, herbs, and chilli. Give it a mix. Pour over a goodly slug of oil. Add water to just cover the beans.
4. Fire up the heat and bring to boil. Knock the heat back and simmer gently for 20 or 25 minutes, until the beans are nice and tender. Add a bit more oil, if you fancy.
5. Let it stand for a moment to cool slightly, then chow down on these beautiful fresh beans in their lovely herby liquor.