I’m Jules. I like things that can be understood.

Not necessarily on the first attempt. Often not on the second.

I live in Dundee and work at a desk for most of the day. The bicycle gives the rest of the day a different texture: cold handles, a stiff garden gate, the smell of rain on the path. My shed is barely wide enough to turn around in, so every project begins with moving three things somewhere else. I have become very good at returning them afterwards.

A useful kind of slow

I did not grow up repairing bicycles. I began by cleaning my own and writing down questions about the parts I could not name. A patient friend helped me learn the vocabulary. The important discovery was that asking a clear question is a skill in itself. I still make lists before I visit the workshop, partly because I forget everything the moment someone says hello.

Outside the shed, I enjoy easy river rides, second-hand maps, and making soup in a pot that is slightly too large. My favourite journeys end somewhere familiar. I can take the same turn a hundred times and still notice a different reflection on the water or a new patch on an old wall.

What belongs in the notebook

Jules is an invented person with an ordinary, specific interest. This small site gives that interest room to breathe. The wheel notes are about observation, while the shed page introduces the current rhythm of the hobby. I hope the writing makes careful attention feel approachable. You do not need a grand project to have a satisfying hour; sometimes labelling a tray and putting the washers back is plenty.