Dan's Daily

I’m often reminded that ‘I’m never lonely if I have a book.’

When something goes awry, or there’s a delay, always carrying a book allows us to jump into stories set in far flung places, or converse with intelligent minds on subjects we want to learn more about.

And if we choose a good book, we’ll always have good company.

I’ve known for a while that WhatsApp is heavily used across South America for commerce, but I’ve been awed by the extent to which I’ve seen it here in Peru.

Booking a table at a restaurant. Organising transport. Scheduling a tour, spa session, or medical treatment. Even some of the hotels we’ve stayed at told us not to call them, but rather send them messages via their reception’s WhatsApp.

I’ve really enjoyed seeing—and experiencing—how a simple messaging app can support so many use cases.

I wish the UK used messaging apps more—it’d be a lot more efficient than navigating the individual websites of companies to book things. And it’s asynchronous nature makes it better than phone calls.

Whether you’re strolling in the hills or climbing a mountain, it pays to remember that most injuries happen on the downhill.

It’s easy to fixate on the summit, only to lose focus once the goal has been achieved.

The idea extends beyond hills and mountains too.

We can tell how important something is based on whether it’s a first thought or an after thought.

First thoughts are often automatic, but they can be learned. They can be trained.

Afterthoughts reveal our priorities.

When you think about work, family, friends, hobbies, projects, and goals, what’s your first thought? And what’s an afterthought?

Whilst in Peru, we’ve been watching a few documentaries on the sights, cuisine, and local culture. Although a decent amount of our viewing has focused on places we’re going and food we want to try, during our search we came across a movie called ‘Wiñaypacha’ that moved us.

It’s the first feature film made in Aymara, a language spoken in the Bolivian and Peruvian Andes with only 1.7 million native speakers. It was also Peru’s nomination to the Oscars for best foreign film.

It follows the lives of an octogenarian couple who try to survive in the Peruvian Andes whilst they wait for their only son to return.

The bond between the pair is equal parts mesmerising and heart breaking. The themes of abandonment, ageing, survival, and religion are explored with nuance. It’s not an easy watch, but it’s films like this that remind me of the important role art plays in making us feel emotions that we wouldn’t have experienced in our day-to-day.

There may be some geographical restrictions, but if it’s available in your country, it’ll be on either Netflix or Amazon Prime Video. Let me know what you think of it if you get round to watching it!

Maru and I are currently Peru. We’re here for the wedding of some good friends next weekend, and are making the most of it by visiting Machu Picchu—the famous Incan ruins. It’s been a bucket list item for both of us for a long time!

Back in 2013, I spent 2 months learning Spanish in neighbouring Ecuador, but I decided not to come down to Peru to see Machu Picchu as I wanted to go with Maru one day. I’m stoked we’re making it happen almost a decade later.

This is my first experience of altitude. Cusco, the city you fly into to get to Machu Picchu, sits at 3,400m. And Machu Picchu itself is at 2,400m.

I was surprised to learn about the precautions you need to take at altitude in the first few days—even at our current level, which isn’t all that high!

Hydration is important. So is deliberate rest. As well as not over extending yourself physically. Carbohydrates are important to keep glycogen stores full. And we were also given a herbal remedy called AltiVital—the mixture is said to reduce the risk of nausea and headaches associated with altitude sickness.

I definitely felt a slight heaviness on my chest after arriving in Cusco. But we took things easy, and had a good nights sleep. I’m feel great about the days ahead.

We’re currently in a small town called Ollantaytambo, which is one of oldest continuously occupied villages in South America, and are enjoying the fresh trout ceviche and the alpaca steak.

As the wheels hit the tarmac, the passengers in the airline cabin erupted into applause.

I don’t remember where I was going, nor the airline, but I do remember that applause and being surprised by it—never having heard it on on a previous flight.

I found it to be a funny insight into human psychology.

Firstly, the applause. It’s contagious. If a small group start clapping—say, at a good joke at a comedy show—the rest of the audience join immediately. Clapping is a sound we’ve been conditioned to respond to.

Secondly, the landing. Almost all passengers are aware of, and feel some relief, upon landing. The journey has ended and we can all move on to the thing that awaits us at our destination.

When you pair these two things together, it creates an automatic, knee-jerk reaction among passengers on a plane. And when this happens, it’s fun to deliberately make it happen.

Maru and I tried it on our trip earlier this year to Malaysia. Moments after we started clapping, it began to ripple through the plane. People automatically joined in because their minds connected the clapping with the landing.

So now I resolve to start the clap upon landing on every flight.

Perhaps on your next flight you’ll give it a go!

I’m enjoying ’Wolf of the Plains’, the first book in a historical fiction series by Conn Iggulden.

The series follows the story of Genghis Khan and his descendants during the Mongol conquest of the 12th and 13th centuries.

This first book paints a vivid picture of the harsh realities of nomadic life, and the precarious situation Genghis Khan found himself in as a 9-year-old boy.

In particular, events such as the brutal murder of his father, him taking the life of his own brother, and amassing a following of tribe-less wanderers whilst he was still a teenager, build a believable narrative for how Genghis Khan became a ruthless and feared ruler.

Iggulden’s writing moves at a clip, but still gives a great sense of what life was like back then. Highly recommended if you’re into historical fiction!

Earlier this week the UK’s energy regulator, Ofgem, increased the annual household energy price cap to an eye watering £3,549, or about $4,200 USD.

I used to work in the UK’s energy industry between 2017-2019, and when I started, the average annual household bill was only £900.

Much of the increase has come in the past year, and has been driven by two main factors. Firstly, economies reopening in 2021 after COVID have seen an increase in demand for energy. Secondly, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and their throttling of gas supply to Europe sent prices skyrocketing across the continent. Although the UK only receives about 3-4% of its gas from Russia, its a net importer of gas from Europe, meaning its prices are closely correlated to Europe’s.

Although a price cap is typically put in place to protect and reassure consumers, this one protects, but it doesn’t reassure. If anything, being reminded constantly about the price cap number is causing significant stress and frustration.

Sadly, things are set to worsen. Auxilione, a consultancy, forecasts the price cap to increase to £4,650 and then to £5,456 in subsequent quarters. Scarily, this would mean the average household energy bill would be more than 20% of the median income. If it gets this bad, I also have concerns about the knock-on effect this could have for the economy as a whole.

This winter, and likely the next, is going to be extremely difficult for people in the UK. I’ve already heard worrying stories such as people cutting back on buying fresh vegetables because they can’t afford the energy to cook them.

Today’s post is grim and offers little warmth for the winter ahead. Here’s hoping for better news in the months ahead, and that things won’t be as bad as experts fear.

“Never write more than two pages on any subject.”

This was one of the 10 pieces of writing advice David Ogilvy shared with his employees in a 1982 memo.

The constraint forces the writer to do the thinking up front.

It forces clarity.

In order to write clearly, one must first think clearly.

I was shocked to read the following excerpt in a recent edition of the Economist about the United Kingdom’s National Health Service (NHS).

“Only 36% of people are satisfied with the NHS, the lowest figure since 1997. Fully 6.6m are on a waiting list for treatment, up from 4.4m on the eve of the covid-19 pandemic. Ambulances are supposed to respond to “category 2” incidents, such as suspected heart attacks and strokes, within 20 minutes. The average in June was 52 minutes. One in ten waited for at least 1 hour and 54 minutes. [Regarding GPs], 47% of patients said they had found it hard to make an appointment with their practice, up from 19% ten years ago.”

These numbers are staggering. More than 10% of the population are on a waiting list for treatment. Furthermore, I can’t imagine a family’s anguish as they desperately hope for an ambulance to arrive and wait for almost an hour whilst their loved one is dealing with a suspected heart attack or stroke.

I had a recent, non-serious experience which brought the problem closer to home. My doctor recommended that I have a series of tests done, and gave me two options: 1) pay £450 to access the tests now, or 2) wait 12-18 months to get it via the NHS.

Fortunately, I was able to pay the fee. I did this because I wanted peace of mind today, not in 547 days time! But with inflation and the current cost of living crisis, some people aren’t able to afford privately funded tests.

All this got me thinking: at what point do people lose faith? When and how does the system find its way out of such a hole? Or is it an intractable problem? And is it possible that the system one day collapses because it can’t keep up with an ageing population?

I don’t have answers, but I have a lot of concerns.

When a kid gets lost in Argentina, they have an amazing tradition for helping the parent and child reunite.

The lost child is placed on the shoulders of an adult, and all people nearby clap together in unison. The rhythm of the clapping brings attention to a wider audience, and because the attention of the clappers is on the hoisted child, it usually leads to the parent quickly finding their child.

I love this for so many reasons. It’s pure. It’s ubiquitous—everyone in Argentina knows it. And it’s a thoughtful and creative way to solve a very real problem.

Maru shared a video with me the other day that takes this tradition to the next level.

A child got lost in a public square, and when they were lifted onto a man’s shoulders, a nearby busking group took notice. They started singing an improvised song with the words “Eduardo, vení a buscar a Juan Cruz.” Which means, “Eduardo, come and find Juan Cruz.”

It’s such a wholesome video. Well worth a watch.

When I walked into our local Tesco supermarket 2 weeks ago, all the fridges were broken. There was no produce, meat, milk, cheese, nor any frozen goods. It was a pantry-only supermarket.

Thinking it was a one-off issue, I went back the following week. Broken fridges again.

I went back this morning, confident the fridges would be fixed. Still broken.

When we rely on a company, a product, a service, a team, or a person for something important, we form an expectation.

When that expectation isn’t met, we may let it slide once, twice, maybe three times. But at some point, we hit an expiration date when the milk tastes sour, and we don’t want to go back.

It’s a good reminder that reputations are built over decades, but lost in moments.

“I decided who I wanted to be, and that is who I am.”
—Gabrielle Chanel

I saw a middle-aged gentleman walking along the street today with this quote printed on his tote bag. Underneath his slim, straw hat he wore a contented smile that paired well with his skyward looking eyes.

He looked calm, grounded, and assured.

He was wearing the quote.

It made me smile.

How many of our meetings, commitments, or tasks are required?

And how many are optional?

And if we realise there’s an imbalance between the two, what is the cost? What are we missing out on? What hours are we wasting on unnecessary things?

And most importantly, once we know, what are we going to do about it?