The Accidental BA

I wrote this piece for the BA Digest, replicating here for posterity.

I wasn’t always a Business Analyst.

I started my working life as a technical administrator; essentially a technical dogsbody for a small I.T. firm, a bit of database work here, a bit of user documentation there, and it was the latter that took me into the world of Technical Communications. It was in Tech Comms I flourished, grew a career, became a manager, spoke at conferences, and eventually slide sideways into what I refer to as my B.A. adjacent years. I wasn’t yet a Business Analyst but I worked with, and managed, a couple of great B.A.s within my team, learned a lot from them, and realised that my career built on writing technical documentation wasn’t all that different, it was just at a different point in the software development process.

Technical writers who create user documentation (think user guides) based on the solution that is being built, are known to be user-focussed and look to provide instructions to get the most value from a process or system whilst understanding the end goal the user has in mind. Sound familiar? Shift that thinking to before the solution is being built and, et voila, hello Business Analysis. As I made the transition in career so too did some of the writing team as well, and we ended up creating a user documentation driven development process; the developers would use the pre-written documentation as part of the requirements to help build the solution, it worked well in tandem with some artefacts from test driven development processes.

That transition took place at one company over many years but eventually redundancy arrived and, after a couple of months of taking stock (essentially a holiday and a lot of trips to the cinema during the day), eventually I needed a job, saw a contract role for a Business Analyst and thought, well why not! The interview was fascinating, lasted about 8 minutes and consisted of me being asked what I thought a B.A. did, to which I respond something about figuring out the As Is is, and what the To Be could be, and was told that was all they needed to ask me… and 10 years later I’m a Business Analyst.

I don’t have any formal qualifications, and if I’m honest I feel a bit long in the tooth for that these days. I have been an Operations Manager, worked with Product Managers, Technical Architects, Software Developers, Testers, Technical Writers, UX Designers, Business Managers, Team Leaders, team members, end users, and people on a production floor. What I’ve learned about being a B.A. I’ve learned by observing how things can be done, what doesn’t work, and critically how to understand who needs to know what.

It also means that I don’t adhere to any specific methodology as I didn’t learn to be a B.A. by following one. Like the best Agile development teams will borrow and adapt from different Agile processes, rather than adhering to the given rules of, say, Extreme Programming, or SCRUM, I think the best B.A. teams do the same, tweaking and adjusting common working processes to best suit their needs. I think being able to flex your approach, and focussing on value add, has been a key mindset that has helped me in my career so far.

This is not news to you, we all adapt how we work to the environment, the processes, and the people, we work with. It’s impossible to make every environment fit within a rigid methodology. To those who determinedly hold to a specific practice and the processes it entails I ask this, do all of the things you do offer value? Are there some parts of your processes that you are doing because it’s just what is done? As B.A.s we challenge this thinking regularly with others, but how often do we look at ourselves and how we work?

My career path is atypical, and I’ve always had a problem following rules, and whilst all of what I know I’ve learned on the job, I think I’ve weaved a good enough path through the myriad of different views and voices telling me how to do my job. I’ve still got a lot to learn no doubt, but I’ve googled, I’ve asked colleagues, I’ve read books (yes that book!), and articles and I think I’m ok at my job. I’m also always happy to learn and improve, something my time as an Operations Manager taught me well; a good retrospective is a powerful thing.

I have a personal motto, I’ve had it for many years now, Keep It Simple (Stupid). That last word isn’t the insult some take it to be either, or at least I don’t take it that way, rather I look at it as an instruction, to keep things simple for people who aren’t as skilled as others, or as I’ve heard it called, be stupid in context. I’m stupid when it comes to welding, but a welder isn’t. It’s an important mindset for a B.A. I think, to keep some humility and remember the “curse of knowledge” (hat tip to Chip and Dan Heath for that phrase).

I have enjoyed my time as a Business Analyst, through a myriad of responsibilities and processes at Virgin Money, to my current role with Golden Charter. I am happy that I can bring both experience and some knowledge but, and I think most importantly, I bring a mindset of challenging how things are done, poking and prodding at processes for improvements, both within our team and for the wider business. I’ve been very lucky to have worked with very gracious and intelligent people along the way too, so whilst I didn’t start my career as a Business Analyst, it feels like I finally landed in the right role for how my brain works.

So I’ll keep learning as I go, I’ll keep challenging practices and processes, and do my very best to keep things as simple as possible. It’s how I work best.

May 13, 2025

Clearing Out

An emptied living room

I’ve been a bit more active on social media recently, mostly as a way to share thoughts as I go through a variety of processes that all kinda suck but all need done, you know the type, all the adulting paperwork stuff that you just plough through because you have to. The current focus, and likely the last thing I’ll need to deal with, has been getting my parents flat ready to go on the market (having got probate granted a couple of weeks ago).

It’s been an odd experience, which I was partly prepared for but one aspect of it kinda snuck up on me. I posted this, a succinct summary, that encapsulates many many thoughts and emotions:

Finished clearing my Mums flat, the last “family” stuff. With my Dad, Mum and younger sister all gone it feels like a very pointed END.

Life goes on, of course, but so many memories that were ours, are now just mine. It’s an odd experience.

Posted on Threads and BlueSky (no I can’t decide which I prefer yet).

As I got through the last of the cupboards, finding old letters and photos, things from my Gran, my Aunts and Uncles, cousins and family friends that my Mum had kept (including the wedding invitation my Mum sent to my Dad for THEIR wedding, with a lovely note attached), and it all just re-enforced that all those memories now only belong to me.

What really struck me was that I had expected, subconsciously, to be able to share them with my sister.

I took a moment to sit and process, just letting myself feel the emotions, and eventually found a way to focus my thoughts. Rather than be sad that Jennie isn’t here for me to discuss all the little random things from our childhood that no-one else will remember, I found myself looking for things that her children might like to see when they get older, photos of Jennie on her first day at school, gymnastics competition certificates and the like. I’m putting them aside for later.

There was a LOT to clear out, not just paperwork and photos, there was the not so small matter of my Mum’s furniture, all in pretty good nick, all good quality stuff. And it’s all gone. Some of it sold, some to charity, and some to those needing a ‘new start’ or a helping hand (thanks to a wonderful local Facebook Group). It meant I didn’t have to worry about moving a sofa, or a bed, or a chest of drawers, or a sideboard, or a desk.

It also meant that I got to here little stories about the people who were taking the items, some of which helped me make my peace with the entire process. Mum and Dad are gone, but my Dad’s big heavy computer desk has helped someone who is just starting out with their own business, a set of drawers have gone to a lady who knits so she has somewhere to store her wool (my Mum was an avid knitter before her stroke so this would’ve made her smile). My Mum’s treadmill that she used through her early stroke rehab went to a women getting a hip replacement to help with her rehab. My Mum’s relatively new bed, which was motorised to help her get out of bed has gone to a woman who couldn’t afford a new one, and last but not least our family piano went to a family with a young girl who loves playing (I sincerely hope they can get it tuned up ok!).

Piano receipt from 1952

The piano was my Gran’s, my Mum learned to play on it, I learned to play on it too. Weekly lessons, practice 3 times a week, I spent hours and hours sitting in front of it. I started piano when I was 8 (I think) and stopped when I got to Grade 6 when I was 14. I wasn’t a natural, I worked hard, and today I have an electric piano that I will one day find space to set up so Jack can see it and hear me play. I hope it serves its new family well.

When I mentioned that I was about to get clear out my parents flat to a friend, he suggested it might bring me some closure and he was right. I didn’t think it would but not only is it a big admin burden removed (once we get through the sale and all the monies are divvied up etc), but just the emotional weight of it and all the contents and memories it held were sitting heavier with me than I realised.

I have hummmm’d and hawwww’d about what things to keep, what things to throw out, and while most of it will go I am digitising a lot of it (i.e. taking photos). So much of what I found over the past week will mean little to anyone but me now, I am the guardian of those memories.

And that’s ok, for they are rich and more full of love and happiness than I dared remember.

Clearing out my parents flat has helped me clear out some of the mental debris in my head too, I think. I feel lighter, and whilst I am still mourning my Mum and my wee sister, I feel like they have a place now. I say all this fully mindful that this idea of ‘having a place’ wasn’t something that occurred to me, but was suggested by the councillor I’m talking too. She pointed out that, specifically for Jennie, the grief just didn’t have a place. We mentally prepare that our parents will die before us, so we have space in our brains for things to help process that grief, but because Jennie was younger than me and “not supposed” to die before me, I didn’t have anywhere to put my thoughts, my anger, my sadness. I would pick it up and with nowhere to store it in my brain, I’d put it back down. Then spot it again and pick it up, put it down… repeat.

I felt trapped, unable to move forward.

Clearing out my parents flat has given me a good focus and cleared out space for Jennie too, and I can now think of her without the anger and confusion about her death itself, rather I’m sad that we won’t have more memories to build which feels like a more normal form of grief (if there is such a thing).

Not quite closure then, but a definite beginning of an end. Grief is not linear but it’s shape and it’s patterns have changed for me this past week, as hard as it was.

And so, we move on.

April 17, 2025

Life moves onwards

Vera, our motorhome, has been an absolute boon this past month or so. We’ve managed to get away a couple of times now, not far but far enough that I can feel the calm release of tension descend upon me as we park up for the night. One advantage of where we live, drive for an hour or so and you can be literally in the middle of nowhere. Glorious.

I joined a new company at the end of last year and it too is going well, I’m starting to get a better grasp on the massive project I’m working on, and don’t quite feel like the ‘dumb’ new guy any more.

We’ve also had the official confirmation that we can sell my Mum’s old flat (which we are still clearing!) so that’s something positive, or at least a bit of closure.. or something. I dunno, it’s just a ‘thing that needs done’ but I know the emotional release when it finally sells will come too.

And given the past few months I’ve started to get some counselling, early days but I know from past experience it will be good for me and no doubt leave me better off than I was in the first place.

Throughout all of this, my little family has been the rock I’ve held clung on to; my amazing wife who has been a constant source of support, silliness, and encouragement and who has gotten me through each day even though I know she’s grieving too. And my beautiful, smart, daring, thoughtful son, a constant tonic who makes me belly laugh as much as he raises my blood pressure as he careers off down another hill on his bike. He is an absolute joy and we know how lucky we are that, on the whole, he’s a very even tempered wee guy who sleeps all night and rarely has a major breakdown/tantrum. 

He’s 3.5 yrs old now, and yesterday I removed all the baby gates on the stairs and his room given that for the past couple of weeks he’s being walking up and down them to go to the toilet (standing up!) all by himself anyway. 

And as usual my friends have been a wonderful constant. A day with my closest friends watching the first F1 Grand Prix of the season was a true tonic for my sould.

So, for the first time in several weeks, I’ve started looking ahead with hope. We have holidays planned, we have a roof over our heads, food in the cupboards and so much love surrounds me that I can’t help but be optimistic.

There will be harder days ahead, but I know I will perserevre through those too.

April 2, 2025

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

I’m old enough to have acquired some wisdom along the way, or at the very least some life experience, to know that life won’t always be completely shit.

When I was younger I used to think my life was kinda shit. Like all young adults I had dreams and aspirations, which of course all stemmed from my up bringing and were more about the things I didn’t want to do, or the person I didn’t want to become, than anything truly tangible. I didn’t grow up with specific goals, or a specific life/job in mind. At the time I used to think it made me ‘less than’ others who knew they wanted to join the police, or be a teacher, or a nurse, or a doctor, or a bus driver, or … I had no idea but I knew I wanted nice ‘things’ as the early part of my childhood was largely based on how little money my parents had.

As I grew older, things changed for the better, but even then I still (and still don’t) have a view of where my life should go. I guess I’ve always been a go with the flow kinda person even though I’ve never been as relaxed about it as that sounds. Regardless, my life has been pretty good. I travelled, I had lots of fun times and experiences, laughed way more than I cried, and generally felt good about most of my life choices.

That said, the last few months, from early October through to now, have been pretty fucking awful. We had to put down one of our dogs in October, my Mum died in November, my sister’s husband spent Xmas in a coma, and whilst January seemed to be going well, my sister died in early February.

I have not been ok.

But I am ok, because I know that this too shall pass. I’m leaning on the things I learned about grief when my Dad died (almost 5 years ago) and letting myself feel the emotions but it seems different this time around. Not just the timing, with Jennie dying so soon after we said goodbye to Mum, but the fact she was my younger sister.

Many thoughts of not protecting her, or failing her, have been dealt with and largely pushed away but it feels wrong that she isn’t here and I am. Her life hadn’t been the greatest for a couple of years, but even the week before she died, she’d been talking about her future, her plans for her and my nieces, about rebuilding her life as a single Mum. So many plans, and lots of positivity surrounding her and the decisions she was making.

And then, just like that, she’s gone.

I guess that’s why it feels especially cruel, knowing that she was coming out of a bad time, was rejoining the world, catching up and reconnecting with friends; the sense of bewilderment isn’t solely mine, many of her friends have said the same thing.

Be we move on, slowly, cautiously, and focussing on how much love I still have in my life, and how much life there is still left to experience.

As for my grief. I think often of my Mum and my sister, and Dad too. I smile at the many memories we share, I remind myself how lucky I was to have such a wonderful upbringing, and how close Jennie and I were. Not everyone has that. Had that.

I know there are still dark times ahead but I can already sense the lifting of the weight of the immediate grief. It lightens but never leaves us.

And that’s ok too.

March 20, 2025

Any photo will do

When my parents announced they were selling the family home and moving to a flat I can remember the feeling of disbelief that fell on me. Their reasoning was sound, it was a couple of years after my Mum had a stroke and she was struggling to get up and down two flights of stairs each day, even getting to the toilet on the half-landing was starting to be an issue.

A ground floor flat made perfect sense.

Dad did most of the clearing and decluttering of the house himself but I helped where I could, including completely emptying the loft on one of the hottest days of the summer, all on my own (my parents were on holiday). By the time they were ready to move they had sold/donated/trashed as much as they could to make their life shrink from a large 3 bedroom semi-detached with a large garage and a shed, into a spacious two bedroom flat with limited storage.

Part of the process included my sister and I taking some items that my parents were happy to pass on – I lay claim to two tapestries of geisha’s my did about 30 yrs ago and that had hung in the living room that entire time – and it was a nice way to take a little of our own personal history with us.

When Dad died, I helped Mum start to clear out his things and we soon figured out who the hoarder of the family was. Driven by pound stores and cheap Amazon deals, we started making little piles of things; 48 pairs of reading glasses, 23 pairs of scissors (varying size), a thin tall set of drawers full of paper and thin card of differing thickness and size (not sure what all that was for), blank DVDs and CDs… and so much more.

The process helped Mum deal with her grief, mostly through shaking her head and laughing at why she’d just found the third set of multi-head screwdrivers, or the second glue gun. Bags of stuff were taken to charity shops, or the dump. And I ended up finding a couple of little reminders of Dad that will mean absolutely nothing to anyone but me.

And now I’m doing the same with Mum’s stuff and the contents of her flat to get it ready to sell.

I’ve taken a couple of small sentimental items, but more important to me was something that I’d never really laid that much stock in before, – or at least not spent much time thinking about them in this way – all the old photo albums.

One photo in particular struck me not because of the composition (it’s a photo of my Dad doing the dishes) but of the instant triggering of memories. I spent about 10 mins just looking at things I’d forgotten all about; the Habitat wallpaper, the wall mounted scales, the old kitchen units with at least 6 layers of paint on them…

It made me think about the photos I take today. It’s so easy to take photos with our phones but I tend to try and make sure to get ‘good’ ones more often than not. Ones that capture the subject well, a nice pose or a smile from my boy, my beautiful wife twirling in her dress, family members framed by the trees as we all go for a walk up the hills.

But I’m realising more and more that it’s the candid ones that show nothing of note that may hold the most value. The memories held in everyday things isn’t something I’d considered until now.

I’ve always been surrounded by photographs. My Dad and my Uncle Bill being keen amateur photographers for a while, I have hazy memories of helping Dad develop some photos at home, and there were slideshows to watch as well. As technology, and life, changed my Dad fell away from the hobbyist approach but still took many photos with a whole host of digital point and shoot cameras over the years.

I too went through a spell of learning how a camera works, trying to improve the pictures I took in the hope that I’d capture great images of landscapes and people. And I took a few good ones but the cycle for me was the same as Dad, once iPhone cameras got good enough it became more of a case of the camera I always had with me, rather than lugging a DSLR around on the off chance of getting a good snap. Add in the whirling dervish that is my son and my iPhone has been my main camera for many years.

I still like to capture ‘good’ images but looking at all the old photos from our family home, I find myself looking more in the background than at the people.

So I’m going to relax a bit and take the photos, capture the every day moments not just when it looks like it might make a good photo (which in my head is loosely defined as, would we print it out and stick it on the wall?).

At the end of all of this though, it doesn’t really matter what the image looks like, how the composition holds up, if the lighting is right or not. Look at the contents of the photo for what they are, memories of times gone by and lives not longer with us.

To trigger any of your richest memories, remember, any photo will do.

March 14, 2025

Saying goodbye to Jennie

It was my sister’s funeral this afternoon.

She died suddenly and unexpectedly a few weeks ago and today was a celebration of her smile, her laughter, and the vivid grasp of life she held for so many years which, sadly, slipped away from her more and more this past year or so.

I somehow managed to speak at her funeral.

Jennie was a little bit Phoebe, a little bit Rachel, and a little bit Monica.

Like Phoebe, Jennie was a little bit ditsy, but always had a sunny demeanour and, like Phoebe, she loved fiercely. If you were one of her people you knew it and, regardless of the occasion, happy or sad, she would embrace you and hug you and make sure you knew how loved you were.

Like Rachel, Jennie loved a party, liked to be fashionable, loved shopping, and was loyal almost to a fault, she never let you down and valued being a good friend.

And as for Monica, I’ll say “Mrs Hinch” although while her home was clean, secretly, Jennie loved the “mess” made by Lucy and Daisy. And like Monica, food was a big part of her life, especially catching the latest episodes of MasterChef.

I wrote those words quite soon after Jennie died as a way of dealing with my grief. The thoughts and words came easily, but then … I stopped. I didn’t know how to go on, didn’t know what else to say, it felt like there was nothing else to write.

And then I realised why. It’s because I’m not supposed to be standing here today.

I’m not supposed to be trying to find the right words, I’m not supposed to be trying to sum up a life cut short.

More recently, I know Jennie had reconnected with many of you and, like me, you may be wondering just how this has all happened. I don’t have any answers for you, and in a way it doesn’t really matter any more.

Because here we all are.

Bemused, bewildered, grieving, numb, angry, upset, and confused.

But, no, that’s NOT why we are here.

We are here to look back and celebrate, to talk of Jennie with a smile on our faces, for there was much to smile about, so many stories to share, so many moments that will live on fondly in our hearts.

From the moment Jennie arrived home at Barloan Crescent she was, understandably, the centre of attention. My childhood memories of Jennie are full of admiration, from her gymnastic displays, to flute lessons and, begrudgingly, I found myself conceding that she was the more musically talented given I spent many years taking piano lessons only for Jennie to sit down one day and, by ear, play a little song by Billy Joel…

I should also mention the endless rewatches of Mary Poppins which she’d put on before school, watching the entire movie over the space of a couple of days… honestly, she wore through the videotape and I think I still know every word of dialogue and every lyric of every song off by heart. I have fond memories of summers in the back garden, even including the time she got me into trouble for soaking her with the hose when she knew, fine well, it was an accident. Memories of family visits to see aunts, uncles, and cousins, the long car trips to Dundee, Christmas visits to Baljaffray, and the “unofficial cousins” in Gourock. The first holidays to campsites in France, and in later years a rather drunken night in Spain where Jennie laughed so much she fell over, and then, of course, the moment she phoned me to tell me I was an Uncle, with a tiny baby Lucy crying away in the background, and more recently asking me to be Daisy’s godfather.

You will all have your own stories and favourite memories of Jennie. Some of them may be stored in one of her epic voice notes, minutes long rambles that she seemed to be able to record without taking a single breath. Of course, as her big brother, my job was mostly to torment her so the stories I tend to recall are about her ‘not so smart’ moments; washing her car with a scourer, wiring a light switch without turning the power off, that kind of thing.

Of course such ditsy moments weren’t limited to family, so, I will just say ‘Loch Lomond Monster’ and leave it at that.

But what was so wonderful about Jennie was that, on each retelling of these stories she would, as ever, take them in good spirit and laugh them off.

That was her way. A smile on her face, even when things were not as rosy as they seemed.

The messages and posts and photos many of you have shared over the past few weeks, tell more stories of how brightly she lived her life and they all say the same things, all paint the same picture of a beautiful, fun, outgoing, happy, smiling, daft girl, who became a wonderful mother, and a loyal friend.

Yet, here we all are.

So, right now, here, today, we will all agree to look forward and keep her with us.

That’s how we will remember Jennie.

We will pick our favourite memories of her and retell them.

We will say her name often and smile.

When Muse comes on the radio we will turn it up to 11.

When the DJ plays the Chemical Brothers we will dance a little harder.

When Whitney Houston starts singing I Wanna Dance with Somebody, we will sing along louder.

And, when we see a carefree butterfly floating by, we will stop and smile, watch it go, and remember that in many ways she will always be with us.

THAT is why we are here today. To take her smile and her spirit and hold it close, as we move on.

Writing this eulogy was hard, the words didn’t always come easy, and nor have they come easy to those who want to express their condolences. As we all know, words are not easy at times like these.

So, in closing, I want to leave you all with a single word, something you can take away from today.

I want to give you a word you might be able to use when … the cat has got your tongue, so you don’t need to dismay when the words don’t come easily.

And all you’ll need to do is just summon up this word.

And then you’ve got a lot to say.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

A silly word, a joyful word, and may it always bring a smile to our faces and a happy memory of Jennie to our hearts.

I am now lost, the last remaining member of my direct family. Far too soon. I am taking much comfort with friends and my own little family, Becca, Jack and I are strong and happy. We will prevail.

 

March 3, 2025