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I left Priory in 1994. 17 years ago. Half a lifetime ago for me. A whole lifetime ago for you. 1994. Not a year that the history books will dedicate much space too. No famous assassinations, no memorable cataclysms, not much at all springs to mind. But an important year, nonetheless, for me.

1994 should be justifiably remembered and revered as the year that Oasis released their first album, the soaring and supreme classic Definitely Maybe. 1994 was the year that also brought us the magnificent Parklife from Blur. Between them, those two albums represent the highwater mark of Britpop and the start of Cool Britannia.

And surprisingly, I can distinctly remember buying Definitely Maybe. The much missed John Peel played a track on his radio show one night and the very next day I went out and bought the album. And buying it marked a significant milestone in my life. It was the last time I ever bought music in an analogue format. You see, I bought Definitely Maybe on tape.

You may not remember tapes. It occurs to me that you are, at the age you are, the first group of Britons who can truly claim to have been Born Digital. Born Digital. You have always had computers in your life.

The first time I encountered a computer was at primary school. It was a big beige BBC Micro, that was wheeled into the classroom on a trolley with great ceremony. The school only had one computer. And we children would sit on the carpet and watch in awe as the teacher (who had probably only learnt how to use the thing a week before) cautiously operated it on our behalf. Huge delicate floppy discs whirred as programs loaded. That machine had significantly less technical capabilities than your mobile phone.

And, of course, we had a computer at home at some point. That would load tapes. But it wasn't connected to the internet. There was no internet at all unless you were an academic, a soldier or a spy. Tim Berners-Lee didn't theorise the world wide web until 1989.

Mine was an analogue childhood. Of FM radios, video tapes and letters, in envelopes, with stamps on. We would phone people at home and just hope they were in. There were no texts to say you were running late. The only digital thing I had was a digital watch. And that was only digital because it didn't have hands, but little digits on a small LCD screen.

Some people in the web industry say that people are either digital natives or a digital immigrants. I'm a digital immigrant. Just about everything I know about computers and the web, I have learnt as an adult. When I left Priory, I had never surfed the web, never sent an email, never used a mobile phone or a laptop. Devices like an iPad or a Kindle, could be seen on Star Trek in the 23rd century. Not in the home.

And this is one thing I can't emphasise enough. If you don't know what it is you want to do yet. Don't worry. I have spent my entire working life in the web industry but when I was sat there where you are now, I'd never used the web.

My most significant job to date was working for eBay from 1999 until 2006. I was part of the team that founded eBay here in the UK. I got that job by lucky coincidence, and if I am honest, a few white lies. But It has proved to be the most fortuitous opportunity of my life. I got it by word of mouth, I didn't offer a CV.

I am neither particularly technical or at all competent as a coder or programmer. But the internet has opened up thousands of new careers that simply didn't exist before. Marketers, strategists, project managers, designers, writers. I have been one of the lucky beneficiaries of the emergence of this new industry and I'd expect that a fair few of you too will do some similar jobs to me in years to come.

Many of the jobs you will do, the organisations you will work for, don't exist yet. So your primary task is to keep your eyes open so you can spot them when they do. Or to start them yourself.

The other dramatic way in which the new technologies have proved to be revolutionary in the workplace regards HOW people work. Email, Skype, instant messenger and cheap international calls means that traditional 9 – 5 desk jockey jobs are waning, even if they are not yet entirely dead.

Remote working, flexible working, working from home and virtual teams of people who work across different timezones and continents, but rarely meet, are increasingly normal. Here are a few examples. I often write web content for a woman in America. I have never met the woman I'm working for. All the files whizz across the Atlantic by email and we regularly talk on Skype. Very often, in the web industry, if you're developing a new website or service, your coders and developers, the techies if you like, will be in India or Pakistan. You'll likely never meet them.

These changes do also put pressures on employees and workers. The conference call is a curse that has no cure. For all but the most disciplined, the temptation to fire up the iPhone or the Blackberry and check your work emails at the weekends or in the evening is overwhelming. Work has encroached into leisure time and the boundaries have blurred to a worrying extent. The notion that people can be reached 24/7 is not a development we should welcome.

The third, and most exciting way, I think, that the internet has revolutionised work are the opportunities it opens up to people who want to start their own enterprise. Gone are the days when you needed premises, a bank loan and a good suit and tie to go into business.

With the help of the web, a good idea can become a small business with no outlay and a few clicks in moments. In these hard times, I've noticed a trend towards people having a small business on the side, generating a bit of cash on top of a full time. Only once these businesses generate proper money, do people give up the day job.

I reckon that each and every one of you will, at some point in your life, start your own business. There really is nothing to stop you. Having a little sideline is also good insurance. The job for life is dead. You will probably have 3 or more careers in your life. You will be laid off, made redundant or sacked probably more than once. Having a wide range of income and talents could save your skin at some point. Don't forget, if you need any encouragement. Two thirds of the world's billionaires are self-made.

So whilst these forward leaps for technology have brought great utility and amazing opportunities. They also bring risks. I have quite deliberately avoided giving too much advice in this talk. But this is one key word from the wise. It will serve you very well indeed. Be discreet on Facebook.

Never have there been more platforms to talk about yourself, offer an opinion, share your creativity. But there is a thin line between a bit of fun and ruination.

Information on the internet will last forever, it is laid down like wine and stored until someone dusts it off, nothing is forgotten, anything you ever say, do, post or share online will be remembered.

Privacy is a myth and your youthful indiscretions may well come back to haunt you. You are Born Digital. You are essentially cataloguing your own life on Facebook, Twitter, tumblr or wherever you lurk online.

The mooning arse, the bared breasts, the Nazi salute that seemed oh so funny at the time could scupper a job application or a romance at some point in the future. So, be careful to curate your digital footprint. Prune. Delete. And remember that some things are best left unpublished. Discretion is a virtue.

To those of you who have aced your GCSEs. Well done. You've cleared this hurdle, prepare for the next one. And to those who hoped to do better. Well done too. Get ready for the next hurdle as well.

The thing is, more than ever before, the world is changing faster than the speed of light. Which is a useful example. Neutrinos can travel faster than the speed of light and we didn't know that a month or two ago.

There's no time, or need, to be complacent, cocky, downhearted or despairing. Especially with the world in meltdown as it is, none of us can have any idea of what's around the corner. What was true this morning, is false this afternoon.

So just be ready. That golden opportunity, chance meeting or life changing moment will come and find you. Just be ready to notice it and grasp it when it does. A willingness to embrace the uncertain future is far more valuable than an A* GCSE.

Ends

Pier Review

The West Pier spangled brand new in the filtered sunlight. Serene and perfect. Every rivet in the right place. The delicate, decorative ironwork gleaming and freshly painted stretching over the pebbles and out to sea.

Smiling staff in ersatz Edwardian garb made the final preparations before the official opening as people admired the pier from the shore anxious for their first promenade. I wanted to be excited but something wasn't right. The exact flaw eluded me. Obviously the sea smelt all wrong but that was to be expected. Some things can't be faked.

“As promised,” boomed the jovial piermaster Captain Stroudley as he approached, hand outstretched from his absurd period naval uniform, like something out of an old Titanic movie, “the West Pier reborn. There's just one thing missing!” He was accompanied by a small, precise woman “How rude of me. Professor Russell, meet Miss Freshfield, our chief engineer. The genius behind the replication. She'll show you everything you need to see, if you'll excuse me.”

“All we need now Professor,” Freshfield said shyly as we shook hands, “is your certification from Earth Heritage. Shall I give you a tour?” Over the next few hours, she led a methodical examination from end to end of the new pier, taking in every detail. Miss Freshfield pointed out the pebbles, nearly a million tons, imported all the way and completely authentic. The lattice of supports below dipping down into the waves were bare now but hopefully in time they would work out a way to recreate the seaweed and barnacle encrustations. “But we will need to reconstitute the sea for vegetation. It can't support life yet.” I made notes as we went along.

When we reached the end of the pier and leant against the balustrade looking back down the pier, I told Miss Freshfield I had a few questions.

“And remember, I'm not an architect or an engineer. I'm a consulting historian specialising in relatively modern history, specifically the 19th and 20th Century. The Earth Heritage council criteria are quite vague but I am required to ascertain that the attraction has an 'atmosphere of authenticity.'”

“We have followed the original plans as best we can,” Freshfield explained, “making design alterations only for safety concerns and, shall we say, the unique environmental situation of the replica.” She chuckled. “And naturally, some allowances were inevitable with regard to materials. It quite simply hasn't been possible to source everything that was available 500 years ago.” Miss Freshfield spoke quietly, never quite meeting my gaze. “But we have done our best.”

“Yes, it is impressive. A beautiful pier. But why replicate an old British Seaside pier at all? Does the West Pier warrant Earth Heritage status?” I wondered. Not really meaning to say it out loud.

“What do you mean?”

I paused to get my thoughts straight. Earth Heritage exists to protect the treasures of humanity from the searise. When the ice melted and the water rose, so many wonderful buildings were lost. It happened so quickly. An indestructible bubble protected the Acropolis in Athens but most of Rome can now only be admired by divers. I'd presided over the transportation of the Eiffel Tower to the Alps where it stands today next to the Tower of Pisa. This West Pier represents a problem.

“You see, my concern isn't the quality of the replication. It's good. And I have nothing against replication per se. The new Taj Mahal is twice the size of the original and more beautiful than ever up in the Himalayas.” I felt I must reassure Miss Freshfield that my objection wasn't with the quality of her work. “My question is whether this new West Pier deserves Earth Heritage status at all. Can we demonstrate it has 'global human importance'? The searise didn't destroy it. The pier was neglected. Unloved by the people of the twenty-first century, they let it rot. Some feeble efforts were made but nothing substantial. The didn't try to save it. Why should we?”

Miss Freshfield was about to speak when Captain Stroudley strode towards us beaming and confident. “Ladies, I will now exhibit the bells and whistles, because they really are something.” He carefully removed a control from his pocket and brandished it like a wand. “As you can see, this is now 1905. But by activating the magic of the holographic components we can travel in time. How about the 1970s? Very popular with the stag and hen parties!”

With a purple shimmer, the pier was transformed. The staff I'd assumed to be real, changed from bustles and boaters into flares and hotpants. Holograms too. Even the seafront flickered and altered. Pretty Victorian buildings were replaced with towerblocks and grey concrete. “And I can roll back time too!” He ostentatiously waved his control handset and we were back in 1905 once again. “We have 15 different settings. We'll develop more in time. That'll really drag the punters in.”

Stroudley continued with his pitch. The concert hall could host Mozart and the Beatles on the same bill. Shakespeare could tread the boards. Pirate ships could attack the pier! There was apparently no end to the possibilities! And then I just blurted it out. I realised what was missing. Silly really. “Why aren't there any seagulls? Every pier needs seagulls. You could have holographic seagulls.”

He was quiet for a second. “Hmm, seagulls you say. I'll think about it. Not sure that seagulls will excite people.” Stroudley wasn't convinced, and changed the subject. “It's nearly daychange, Professor. Shall we reconvene at 9am for your formal endorsement?” He doffed his naval cap and strolled jauntily down the pier content that he was the luckiest child with the whizziest toy.

“Is it true,” asked Miss Freshfield when the piermaster was out of earshot, “that you are from Brighton? The proper Brighton, I mean.”

“Yes, Brighton's home for me. Such as the city is now.” I paused. Yes, she would appreciate knowing, I thought. “You know, I saw the West Pier once. What was left of it. I was just a little girl. You're too young to remember the Atlantic Tsunami of '34. It was huge and we felt it coming. We lived on one of the islands of Brighton in an old house not far from the ocean. That day the tide just kept going out, all the way, you could see the ruins of the submerged city below. And just before the water rushed back the West Pier emerged. Just a rusty skeleton, hung heavy with seaweed like long hair. The first time anyone had seen her in 200 years and just for a few minutes.”

“Amazing engineering. 500 years and she survived. Even underwater. I hope this pier lasts half as long.” Miss Freshfield then quickly added. “I'm sorry. Lots of people died that day.”

We walked back to the shore end of the pier. Miss Freshfield asked whether I'd like to join her for dinner. I declined: “I'll linger a moment if you don't mind. And enjoy the view. I've never been to the moon before and I thought I'd watch the sun rise over Europe.”

I sat on a new bench and looked back to Earth. The moonshield filter, that made the sunlight safe to human skin, was moving to a night setting and within moments I could see my so blue home planet up in the sky. The changing of the days on the same pattern as Earth was one way of keeping the colonists on this unlovable rock sane.

In the light of the Earth I admired this new West Pier. A slice of home on the moon. The atmosphere was pleasant under the gossamer dome and a manmade sea ebbing and flowing with mechanised tides sounded reassuring. I listened to the waves lapping underneath as the sun rose over home. I could just pick out the islands of Sussex at the south eastern reaches of the British Archipelago. Were those grey specks Brighton's crammed isles, just visible?

Walking back along the prom alone, I turned to look at the pier against the inky blue background of space. It looked almost like a toy model, so neat and pristine, with lifeless dusty grey mountains majestic behind the moon dome. Behind the lunar peaks, Earth dominated the sky. The sea. The pier. The moon. The Earth. So many stars. A beautiful view that I'd never seen before.

But I wasn't sure yet. Would I give Earth Heritage approval for a pier on the moon? Maybe. But I'd need to sleep on it. And I would definitely insist on the seagulls.

One is an interest in British Piers, which saw me join the National Piers Society and travel in Sussex and East Anglia last year for some pier spotting. And I'll write all about that another time. My other burgeoning interest is in Sussex churches.

Often at weekends my mum and I (henceforth known as Parker because she does the driving) like to venture out into the stunning Sussex countryside to visit somewhere “of interest”. Over the years we've exhausted pretty much all the National Trust has to offer locally and because we need some sort of purpose aside from lunch, an amble and a general nosey off the beaten track, we turned to churches. They have the merit of being somewhere to aim for, free to get in to and most usually fascinating.

This may seem like an unusual passion for a secularist and atheist but for me the churches of Sussex offer a particular lens on the history of our county. The most obvious point is that they represent our oldest buildings. They also highlight Sussex's rather unusual relationship with Christianity.

Aside from the Isle of Wight, Sussex was the last place in the British Isles to be converted, at some point in the late 7th century. Despite our relative proximity to Canterbury, the gospel was better known in remote islands off Scotland and Ireland before the missionaries of St Augustine penetrated the dense woodland of the Weald. It also speaks to Sussex's relative unimportance, poverty into the 19th century too and that it remains the most wooded county in Britain.

As a result, here in Sussex we have relatively few Saxon churches and very few great religious houses, and most of our Church heritage is post-Conquest. So, for me, the Saxon churches we have are rather special and fascinating because they represent some of the few physical links with the South Saxon people who give us the name Sussex.

That's not to say that I don't appreciate newer churches, I do. With the able guidance of Niklaus Pevsner I am gradually building a little knowledge of architectural terminology. I can now tell my piscina from my architrave. But I must confess that the ancient delights me most.

I've already compiled a gallery of the various Sussex churches I've been too in 2012 and will be developing that 2013. But I have dragged my heels in offering written commentaries and reflections so far. And I'll start adding those over the next few weeks.

It was chaos outside. Trees uprooted and branches everywhere, tiles had blown off roofs, phone lines down, everything that wasn't secure was strewn all over the place. But we trekked on up Islingward Road regardless.

I think it was somewhere close to Queen's Park, as we all climbed over a tree trunk blocking the road and pavement, that my brother said: "I don't think school will be open, Mum."

He was, needless to say, correct. So we went to the park instead. (I think mum knew school wouldn't be open too, because she took the camera.)

Here are a handful of snaps* my mum took and which she dug out of the family album...

Queen's Park, Brighton. 16th October 1987. With my brother.

Dan in Queen's Park, Brighton. 16th October 1987.

Queens Park pond, Brighton. 16th October 1987.

*And snaps they are. This was the age of film, cameras didn't have Preview screens, every shot was precious, and developing the film was expensive. So we only took a handful, and these are the most interesting. In this digital age, we'd have taken hundreds. Maybe even using our phones. Imagine it.

Firstly, that Brighton is a tourist resort and tourists are critical to the city's economy and soul. So, holiday lets are always going to be part of the mix. Secondly, housing is a very precious commodity in Brighton. We have an acute shortage of homes, rents are sky high and house prices are astronomical. A holiday let essentially takes one house out of the community and doesn't put anything back in. Thirdly, I make no bones about it, these holiday lets and the related agencies are money-making enterprises. They are 'second homes' that exist predominantly as investments to generate profits.

I wish I could tell you how many homes in Brighton are holiday lets but I can't find out an accurate figure from a reputable source. Which leads to my first suggestion....

Registration of holiday lets
If you run a property predominantly as a holiday let (I don't mean the occasional Airbnb type thing), it should be publicly registered with the council using an online form with contact details made available.

When we had our Brighton Holiday Homes problem, we didn't know who to contact or alert. This way we'd have known immediately, with a quick postcode search.

It would also be useful to have a sense of how many holiday lets we have in town and where they are. In particular, that would help determine whether greater regulation of the sector is required. The last thing we want is an area with a very high density of holiday lets.

This all has to be paid for.
I'd also suggest a fee payable for all holiday lets on a per-property basis (whether agency or let by an individual) and that fee should adequately fund the registration process and cover the cost of the website, officer and team. I moot £500 (as a starter) per property per annum as a very modest fee to cover these costs. Agencies will also have to pay a registration fee, if they want to operate in the city. (I'm not clear how that would work exactly, but no problem is insurnountable). £500, please note, is only the cost of 25 day's parking on the seafront.

The relevant holiday lets officer and team could also ensure that properties meet basic standards and even provide a Stars system or the like so visitors would know that the properties themselves were of a good standard and rent them with greater confidence.

A Neighbours' Charter
One of the first things this holiday let team should do is frame the Neighbours' Charter. This will be a code which lays out what neighbours can expect from a local holiday let and provide a framework for judging whether a holiday let landlord or letting agency is being neighbourly enough.

This can cover noise and the like. It should be drawn up by the officer with input from landlords, holiday let firms and also community groups and residents' associations.

There are a few things I would like to see included in this charter. Firstly, that the neighbours of a new holiday let arriving in the area should be informed of that and who to contact in the event of a problem. I also think that in the event of a noise complaint, that a representative should visit the property within one hour 24/7 and remedy the situation.

The “Good Neighbour” Levy
This is my favourite idea, even if I am a bit hazy on exactly how it would be administered. All the individuals and agencies profiting from holiday lets will be required to pay an annual sum, not into the council coffers but a separate pot. Let's say £100 a year, per property. This fund would then be made available to the neighbours of holiday lets to undertake something worthwhile in the immediate vicinity. I'm thinking about things like a grant for hanging baskets, money towards planting up a green area with spring bulbs, cash towards a street party. You get the picture.

Shutdown powers
In the most extreme cases, if problems are not addressed over a period of time, then the council should have the power to shut down a holiday let. Hefty fines for negligent landlords and their agents also seems like a good idea.

Isn't this all more needless red tape?
Red tape, yes. Needless, no. Holiday lets and agencies (rather like the private lettings sector) are currently almost entirely unregulated. Apart from some minor legal requirements (and more for bigger properties), all you need is cash to get on this particular gravy train.

And frankly, compared to the qualifications and registrations that other industries and professionals are expected to adhere to, these are not onerous responsibilities or costs. Consider the guest house proprietor or the hotelier: they have a lot more regulation to put up with.

It could also be argued that holiday lets merely offer the same headaches that can come with a rowdy household. And that's true. An unruly family can be a nightmare. So can a loud HMO. But the critical distinction with holiday lets, for me, is that they only take from a local community and don't, as far as I can see, add anything meaningful.

As we saw from Michelle Stonehill of Brighton Holiday Homes at the Chamber of Commerce Big Debate (her comments have been partly reported in the Argus today), they think they are doing a great job and are good neighbours. My view is that they are making lots of money but not doing enough to ensure their holiday lets have a minimal negative effect on local people. I think the balance now needs to be redressed with the empowerment of local communities.

None of these ideas will affect the genuinely responsible, profitable holiday lets firm or landlord. They will be doing this already (bar the levy). And if these suggested minor rules and regs deter some people from choosing to get in to the holiday let game, or they choose to invest elsewhere, then that's not a massive problem.

But I was very surprised to see people praising "responsible" firm Brighton Holiday Homes, represented on the night by Managing Partner Michelle Stonehill. Apparently she talked* about the measures her company takes with rowdy guests. Brighton Holiday Homes lets flats and houses to tourists in our great city by the sea.

Apparently, Stonehill waxed about how Brighton Holiday Homes care about the neighbours and make efforts to shield locals from unruly guests. They have a 24 hour hotline for neighbours and a car patrols all the properties (especially the party houses), every hour, on Friday and Saturday night to ensure all is tickety-boo. That's what she said, I believe.

I was aghast. Open mouthed. This woman has more front than Brighton herself, I thought. Even Martha Gunn, our fair city's most distinguished dipper, never saw so much cheek. I live opposite one of Michelle Stonehill's Brighton holiday homes and I know that she was talking, shall we we say, bollocks.

I won't go into details but we've experienced some very rowdy weekends this year down our way as a result of our new, unannounced, local Brighton Holiday Home. My neighbour Alice Wright very eloquently blogged about her own concerns a few months ago on the Argus website.

In short: Brighton Holiday Homes took on the house across the road in a very quiet spot of Hove. It was marketed originally as a house for groups on their website and no patrols were ever to be seen until complaints were made about the noise.

I'm almost impervious to noise but some of Stonehill's guests were rowdy beyond belief. The nadir was the Jubilee weekend. Brighton Holiday Homes let the small three-bed house on our little street to a party of at least fifteen people. Party being the operative word. A bit of noise is fine. But their din was non-stop for four days.

Let me say: we never did see that patrol car Michelle Stonehill raves about. Not once. Let alone every evening. One neighbour thinks he might have seen a seen a seagull declaiming Shakespeare in a tiny ruff collar (those reports are unconfirmed), but we certainly NEVER, EVER did see that Brighton Holiday Homes patrol car.

When everyone in the street complained though, Brighton Holiday Homes did eventually listen. But it took days to get a response. Now, at the holiday let, family groups are preferred and it's been much quieter. (We still have to act as "concierge", on occasion, to arriving guests who can't find the house: the chat on the Brighton Holiday Home's website about hosts and welcoming parties is as mythical as the patrols. Blimey. Did you just see that unicorn?)

A fair outcome? Yes, perhaps. But a lot of heartache and annoyance to get there. And it took time to get Brighton Holiday Homes to even open a dialogue with the neighbours.

As for the 24 hour hotline? We didn't know the house had become a holiday let, we didn't know who was letting it and so we had to snoop about to find out anything.

But this isn't a post about noise. It's a post about community. A holiday home in the street adds nothing. It only takes away. People come and go at weekends, often it stands empty, there's noone to get to know, build a bond with, learn from. That holiday home on my street is just a community void.

What angers me though, and spurred me to write this post months after the event of rowdy visitors, is the lie. The claim from Brighton Holiday Homes at the Chamber debate that they are responsible and care about the neighbours. No. No. Just not true.

Where is the prominent, frontpage neighbour link on the Brighton Holiday Homes website for starters? And if Michelle Stonehill cares about our street. Why has she has never been to visit the holiday let that in part pays her (doubtless lavish) salary?

As a Brightonian, I am wedded to the notion that to complain about visitors and tourists is like moaning about the pebbles on the beach. It's what we are. The city must be welcoming to all the people who come and enjoy the place. But it does seem to me that if there are people seeking profit from tourism, such as Michelle Stonehill, that they should respect their fellow citizens rather more than they do and contribute a lot more to the city's coffers.

And I may well have a few ideas on that... (watch this space!). It is surely time to ensure that holiday lets, and agencies such as Brighton Holiday Homes, pay their way rather than just leach money and spirit from Brighton and Hove.

* I wasn't there. I take the info from tweets reporting the event.

Interestingly, Glasgow's police boxes used to be red. Indeed, the Wilson Street box was red until relatively recently. Now they are coloured in the more familiar Gallifreyan Azure shade of the Doctor's Tardis. And very handsome they are too.

Firstly, that Olympic Torch is yours to sell. Relay runners have already bought it from the Olympic organisers for £199. It's a not a gift (unless you ran for health drink sponsor Coca-Cola). It evidently already has a monetary value because they sold it to you. It just may be the case that they valued it too low.

Secondly, the Olympic Games have a commercial aspect. Sponsors are protecting their investments (you can pay for your Olympic Torch with Visa but not by Mastercard, apparently, because Visa are a sponsor), so why shouldn't relay runners cash in too?

Lastly, these are hard times. Plenty of people need a bit of extra cash. There's nothing wrong with turning a shilling. After all, we live in a country where soldiers sell their Diamond Jubilee medals on eBay.

I'm just worried that some of the hopefuls who have already listed their torches on eBay aren't going to realise the best price they can. I know a thing or two about eBay. Here are my tips:

Snaps, words and vids work well on eBay: Don't rely on stock photos or hasty descriptions. Tell the story of the Olympic Torch you are selling. Describe it well. Where in the relay is it from? Use original snaps you have taken and maybe consider a video of it too. If you want people to shell out big bucks, give them info.

Fend off phoney bidders: There are plenty of jealous, condemning and critical people who think you shouldn't be selling your Olympic Torch. Protect yourself. On eBay you can Cancel Bids, set up Bidder Requirements and require Immediate Payment via PayPal from buyers. Use the tools to stop the spoilers ruining your eBay sale.

Free P&P works: If you want to sell your Olympic Torch for thousands, get top billing in eBay search by offering Free P&P. If you expect a buyer to shell out thousands of quid for the torch, it's a bit naff to expect them to also pony up a tenner for carriage.

Charity sales: If you are selling your Olympic Torch for charity, use eBay for Charity or expect to be pilloried for profiteering at the expense of a good cause.

Get in early (or hang on): There will be 8000 Olympic Torches out there and 8000 runners. To get the best prices, get selling now. Or wait. You may find that in years to come that the prices rise.

And another thing. Just face off the criticism. It is your item to sell. Lord Coe, Boris Johnson and David Beckham may all have big ideas about the Olympics and what they represent. But none of them is short of a few jam butties.

Dan Wilson is the bestselling author of Make Serious Money on eBay UK (a guide to building a business on eBay). He is also a freelance writer, digital consultant and internet marketer. A former eBay staffer from 1999 - 2006, he was part of the team that founded eBay.co.uk.

* Somewhat unlikely. I'd wheeze and gasp myself through a 300m run but still look like a fat idiot in a white shellsuit.

From the BBC News website earlier today. Isn't the word those brainiacs at the Beeb were struggling for, for which there is ample space, and which would have been correcter: "victory"? Tsk. Grumble. Bleuuurggh. *shakes fist*

A young man walks into a pub. He's from faraway, his English isn't the best, but he's trying hard. The barmaid couldn't be less helpful.

Him: A beer please.

Her: Ale or lager?

Him: Yes, a large beer.

Her: What beer?

Him: Normal beer.

Her: (quickly) Carling, Grolsch or Coors Light?

Him: (pausing) Yes.

Her: Lots of people like Grolsch.

Him: Yes Grolsch please.

(Ends)

* Formerly Brighton Scenes... but now I have crossed the border...thus the new name.