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Designing Accessibility Into Themes

I was delighted last month to spend a couple of days with Leisa Reichelt and Mark Boulton looking at the work they’re doing for the d7ux project from an accessibility point of view.

During that couple of days, we got to talking about how to make it easier for people who make Drupal themes to make them accessible, and we came up with the idea of writing a kind of hints and tips document that could be viewed online or downloaded and printed.

The resulting document – Designing Accessibility Into Themes – is now available from d7ux.org and I’ve been overwhelmed by the positive response it’s received on twitter so far. I’m even more pleased that it’s in the queue to be included in the Drupal Handbook.

It’s not an exhaustive guide to everything you should do to make a website accessible, because that would take many, many more words, but I hope it strikes the right balance of information, pragmatism and tone and gives a good overview of the main things to keep in mind if you’re designing a theme for any kind of content management system – not just Drupal.

If you’ve got any feedback on it, I’d love to hear it, and please feel free to pass it on to anyone who you think might find it useful.

Counting down the hours

In 7 hours, a taxi will (had better) turn up outside the house, ready to take us to the Heathrow Airport Terminal 5.

In 11 hours and 3 minutes, our flight is scheduled to take off.

In 21 hours and 53 minutes, our flight is scheduled to land in San Francisco.

In less than 24 hours, I will be on the holiday I’ve dreamed about almost my entire life.

I, quite literally, cannot wait.

California Dreaming

I was 7 years old when the school secretary pulled me out of the lunch line and said I should go out front of the school, because my parents were there. I panicked a little, but when I got there, it was nothing to panic about. My dad’s cousin, who’d emigrated to the US when he was a wee boy, had come to Scotland for a visit with his wife, looked us up and popped in to say hi. They only had a day because they were off to do some golf sightseeing, but I’ll never forget the hour we spent sitting in the back of the car in the school car park. They promised they’d take my sister and I to Disneyland if we ever made it over to California, and a seed was sown. Sadly, they passed away several years ago without my sister or I having made it to the US, never mind to California, and it’s one of my biggest regrets.

I don’t remember what age I was when I saw Tales of the City on TV, but it must have been when I was around 16 (I got my first telly when I passed my exams at 15) and it made an incredible impression on me. It was at that point that my vague “California” wanderlust settled firmly in San Francisco.

A few years on and I’ve discovered wine and am well on my way to becoming a potential “wine ponce”. I’ve also had good friends telling me tales of Sonoma County and Napa Valley wineries and how much fun (and good food and drink) they’ve had. Throw in a bit of Sideways and Oz and James and my San Francisco wanderlust has expanded to cover Wine Country too.

So, with the background set, you can imagine how excited I was when HFBB phoned me this morning to say that he’d booked flights for us to go to San Francisco, leaving on the 1st of July and coming back on the 17th.

Reader, I may have shed a tear.

My California dream is coming true.

In three weeks time I’ll be in my seat on the plane, somewhere over the East Coast of the US on the way to the one place in the world I’ve always wanted to go. I was beyond excited when I went to Austin for SXSW two years ago, but this has caused my excitement levels to go stratospheric.

Currently we plan to spend a few days in San Francisco when we arrive, then take off for a wee bit of a tour round Wine Country (maybe even in a convertible!) and then back to San Francisco for the last couple of days before we come home.

Thanks to twitter I’ve had some great recommendations already. I especially have to give a massive shout out to Jason Reed who has gone above and beyond the call of duty for recommendations. He is a total legend.

That said, I’m still open to recommendations. So, is there anywhere in SF/the Bay Area/Wine Country that I’d be a complete fool not to visit?

Poetry

Along with (and possibly related to) my love of oratory, is my love of poetry.

It’s not something I talk much about, or actively pursue, but it’s there nonetheless, and likes to creep up on me occasionally, to remind me it’s still there.

Read the rest of this entry »

Made it to 100 days

Last year I started to do Project 365 but I fell by the wayside quite early, managing to only upload 21 photos in 34 days.

This year, I started Project 365 again on January first, and fell by the wayside before I’d even got that far and it really bothered me.

On the basis that doing the same thing and expecting a different result leads to lunacy I decided that there was no point in shouting at my inner dustbins or beating myself up about it. So, on January 31st, I started over again.

While there may have been the odd day that I forgot until a few minutes past midnight, and that one day where I did something different for a good reason, I’ve stuck to it and am incredibly proud to have made it to 100 days.

It just reinforces the notion that if I really want to, I can do whatever I set my mind to. In an ideal world, we’d all believe that, but we don’t live in an ideal world.

So I’m taking some time to acknowledge that taking a photo a day for 100 days is an achievement. Yes, I’ve lacked inspiration. No, every photo isn’t a masterpiece, but that isn’t (and hasn’t been) the point of this exercise.

I’ve been creative and created something every day for 100 days. That’s got to be worth celebrating.

So, to celebrate, I put together a desktop wallpaper and rather than just use it myself, I thought I’d share it. It’s only available in one size – 1440 x 900 – but shouldn’t look hideous at other resolutions.

If you desperately want this in another resolution, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.

Last but not lease, I owe huge thanks to everyone who’s left a comment or encouraged me to keep going via twitter. It really has helped when the motivation has taken a dip.

Oratory

I can’t quite remember when I realised how much I love listening to someone speak well enough about a subject to move me. There’s a bit of my brain that gives the credit to West Wing, but realistically, it’s probably more closely related to the many years I spent in various churches listening to sermons when I was a kid.

That’s not to say that I love to listen to sermons – I don’t – at least, not for the religious content.

I suppose what I enjoy is being moved, and when you listen to someone who is passionate about their subject speak well about that subject, you can’t fail to be moved in some way.

I want to be inspired. I want to learn. I want to feel. I want to care. I want to leave the room a changed person from the one who entered.

A couple of months ago, I downloaded all the available audio podcasts from the TED conference. Ever since, any time I go to the supermarket, I plug in my headphones and listen to a TED talk. I’ve walked and bought groceries listening to people talk about literally everything under the sun – and above it too, and there hasn’t yet been a talk that I’ve skipped because it was boring. I’ve had my mind blown while buying broccoli and been inspired while trying not to buy ice-cream. Some of the topics have been things I wouldn’t have chosen to listen to had I been on the site and given the choice, but the randomness of the method has opened my mind to things I’d never have thought about otherwise.

It’s been fabulous, and I’m not even done with them all yet.

A few weeks ago, I came back from a days work at a client site and I was just exhausted. I flopped on the sofa with my station-bought salad and was idly flicking through the channels when I stumbled across the opening couple of minutes of The Speaker.

I stopped because it was a competition about public speaking specifically involving teenagers, but I have to admit that I was a little bit doubtful about how it would pan out. I wasn’t sure that Oratory Idol was a format that could work, but somehow, it did.

It was Stacy (who will forever in my mind be “the gobby one”) talking about her life that stopped me from flipping on to a different channel but I think it was too-cool-for-school Haroon’s speech that made me put down both my fork and the remote and really pay attention, and from that point on, I was hooked.

I was inspired. I learned. I felt. I cared. It changed me.

It was compelling in a way I didn’t expect. I lived and died with the kids as they worked their way through the tasks given to them. There were more than a few occasions where it was so uncomfortable that I couldn’t bear it and had to get up and leave the room, and I was more affected than I thought I’d be when some of my early favourites didn’t make it to the final.

I’ve always said that I hate being the centre of attention – and that’s true up to a point, in that it depends what kind of attention. Watching The Speaker reminded me how much I’ve grown to actually enjoy being a Speaker myself, and throughout the series, I actually learned a lot. It’s even left me wanting to learn more – to the extent of seriously considering joining a Toastmasters club to get more experience and hone my skills.

I know I’m never going to be Jed Bartlett from The West Wing, or Barack Obama, but I really hope that one day, I’ll be able to look back and not only feel, but know that I was able to educate, inspire or move people the way I’ve been moved by many of the Speakers I’ve listened to.

Storms

I was going to write about something else.

I came up here with a clear idea in mind of what I was going to write. So much so that the words were lining up politely in my head, ready to come out one by one.

Then it rained.

Not just the pitter patter of light refreshing spring rain.

Oh no. It rained.

Biblical rain.

Apocalyptic rain.

Proper Scottish rain.

Then came the thunder.

I’m not sure if there was lightning, as I dived under my desk at that point.

Well, not really, but storms do make me nervous, even though I’m an adult, indoors, in a house that can most likely withstand pretty much anything barring a freak hurricane.

The thing is, when I was a kid, I was actually blown away in a storm.

I was about three years old, and we were on my way to see my granny, who lived in a flat at the top of a hill. It was a nasty night. The rain was pelting down and the wind was really high.

I can’t remember exactly what delayed my mum and dad at the car after I was taken out of my car seat (it may have been getting my baby sister out of hers), but rather than wait for my parents to take my hand, I toddled off, eager to see granny (most likely for the sweeties she kept in the inner pocket of her handbag).

I must have been struggling to walk, with the high wind pushing me towards the building, but somehow, even that didn’t make me wait, and as I stepped beyond the edge of the building, a huge gust of wind caught me and lifted me clear off my feet, up into the air and down the road, depositing me unceremoniously into the path of an oncoming car, while my parents gawped, panicked and my dad ran to try and get the attention of the driver and stop him from running me over and squashing me flat.

Since I’m writing this, I obviously didn’t get squashed, but I did get very scared, and grazed hands and knees, and ever since then I’ve been anxious when it’s stormy.

Tonight, I’m not so bothered about the high wind, I’m more bothered about the broken gutter outside my bedroom window, which just happens to be directly above the plastic gas meter box – a combination which produces remarkable amplification of each and every single drop which lands on it.

It’s going to be a long night.

Dad

I remember listening to Radio 4 in the car on the way home from wherever, and sitting in the car outside the house because we were halfway through “I’m Sorry, I Haven’t A Clue” or somesuch, and we wanted to hear it til the end.

I remember going to computer fairs and buying bits and pieces and building computers together on the kitchen table.

I remember how every visit to anything had to include a stop for a “cup of tea” which almost always involved cake.

I remember “The Goon Show” re-enacted, voices and all.

I remember sitting on wooden stools in the kitchen until my bum went numb, watching the TV or talking about things.

I remember the flat bottomed handwriting, because he always wrote against a ruler, except near the end, and that shaky, unflat handwriting still breaks my heart.

I remember the stupid Tandy beachball that blew out of my hands on Lossiemouth beach and running into the North Sea after it, afraid I’d get in trouble for losing it. I remember him running after me to stop me from going too deep, and telling me it didn’t matter, but that he wished I’d dropped his (unread) copy of the Glasgow Herald before I ran into the water.

I remember having Dr Seuss read to me when I was ill with tonsilitis.

I remember him cooking “proper” fish and chips in batter at home once, when mum went away for a couple of days, and how it felt so rebellious and tasted all the better for it.

I remember him telling me to go live my life and not put everything on hold waiting for him to die.

I remember so much.

I miss him so much.

I can’t believe it’s been seven years.

Getting out more

After a year of working from home almost exclusively, I’m going to be spending the next two weeks (maybe longer) working at a client’s offices near Euston.

On one hand this is great. With HFBB being away in Poole during the week, if I’m not careful, I can go days without speaking to anyone face to face. While I’m quite happy with my own company (and that of the internet) up to a point, I’ve been getting increasingly dissatisfied with rattling around the house on my ownsome all week. So the chance to get out and about during the day, and embrace the randomness that is life outside the front door is something I’m quite looking forward to. I’m also looking forward to the photo opportunities, because frankly, I’m almost out of things to photograph indoors, and while the tree outside is beautiful, there are only so many photos of blossom one can handle.

On the other hand, I’ve spent the last year not having to get dressed up to get to work, spending most of my time wearing jeans (once I’d got beyond the “working in pj’s because I can” stage) and combined with some physical changes as a result of being on something of a health kick over the last year, it means the wardrobe is almost literally bare when it comes to work-wear. Luckily the place I’m going to be working isn’t a full-on suit and heels kinda place, but I still had to do a bit of an emergency dash along Lordship Lane on Saturday. I managed to find a couple of suitable things that weren’t ridiculously over-priced, but I will still have to hit the shops to get me to the end of the week. I’m also not entirely looking forward to the commute. In theory, it should be nice and easy: train to London Bridge then Nothern Line to Euston, but there’s enormous potential for disaster in that deceptively simple route.

It’ll be a bit of a shock to the system to get up and out the house that early every morning. It’s not that I lie in bed til noon every day – I’m usually awake by 8 and at my desk by 9, but it’s going to be a little strange dancing to someone else’s beat again.

I should really be in bed by now, but I’m not nearly sleepy enough, so I’ve been trying to kill the time usefully by preparing everything for the morning.

Outfit: check.
Accessories: check.
Camera: check.
iPhone: synced and charging.
Knitting: check.
New Moleskine: DISASTER! No fresh Moleskine available. How could this happen?!
Shoes: choice narrowed to two pairs. Final decision pending.
Bag: available selection unsatisfactory. Compromise chosen and packed.

Sorted.

Except for the sleep bit.

Damn.

Formula 1

I know who is responsible for my indoctrination into the world of F1, even if I can’t remember exactly which year it was.

I know that it became a thing, to plan weekends around the coverage. Saturday lunchtimes are about qualifying, Sundays are all about the race.

The build up starts slowly. A lazy sunday morning spent either in bed, or pottering around making breakfast to take back to bed depending on whether we’ve got company or not. Then comes the move to the sofa to watch the start of the coverage. If we’ve got company, I’ll sometimes do some preparation for a big roast dinner while this is on, stopping when they interview Jenson Button (my favourite) or Lewis Hamilton (who caught my attention for the last couple of years while Jenson was languishing in crap car hell) or if there’s anything particularly contentious or controversial happening.

As we get closer to the start, I begin to locate the various bits and pieces that are necessary to facilitate the required race experience: snacks, drinks, knitting and Sharky.

Sharky was a forgotten. I rescued him from the IKEA Warehouse in Wembley very late on Friday night and he’s my “don’t break stuff” surrogate. When things get tense or stressful, I grab Sharky rather than breaking HFBB’s fingers, and when things get reallytense or stressful, he has been known to fly. Across the room. At the TV.

But I digress.

It’s a tradition. Post-race is for talking about the race, eating Sunday dinner and trying to forget that we’re on the slippery slope downhill to Monday.

I don’t know why I’m gripped by F1 but Touring Cars leaves me cold. I think I’ve only missed one, maybe two races in the last several years. I even watched a race on Arabic TV while on holiday in Crete (the most bizarre part of which was that the commentator was actually Scottish and kept switching from Arabic to English with a Scottish accent and it distracted me no end).

I was gripped two years ago when Lewis Hamilton came on the scene and blew everyone’s ears off and nearly won the Championship. I was gripped last year when he blew everyone’s ears off again and nearly lost the Championship and I’m most definitely gripped again this year, now that my beloved Jenson looks like he’s back in the running.

I’m so gripped, I’m even contemplating staying up for the next couple of hours to watch the practice session (now it’s being broadcast as part of the shift in coverage from ITV back to the BBC) just to see for myself if Jenson’s got a hope in hell or not.

The thing I’m most excited about though, doesn’t have anything to do with the actual racing. Oh no. After enduring the godawful ITV F1 theme music from the last few years, I literally cannot wait to hear the “dum, dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum duuummm” of The Chain start up.

So come Sunday, I’ll be on the edge of my sofa, clutching Sharky, hoping for a great race. Keep your fingers crossed the soundproofing between my house and next door is decent.

I might get noisy.