You have to arrive at the office early in the morning to meet Peter. He arrives at 5am and by 8:30am he's gone. Peter has been a cleaner here for several years. He is 80 years old today.

Peter was born only a couple of km from our office in Cambridge, England and was for many years an Engineer for Pye Electronics. I'm lucky enough to arrive in the office early enough to catch Peter, dressed smarter than most of us in shirt and tie, and he tells stories of how Cambridge was years ago. He says the site of our office is on land between what would have been a prisoner of war camp (camp 1025), and a few hundred metres North, a camp of American allies.

In February 1944, Peter was 13 years old. One night, a Dornier Do 217 heavy bomber heading towards London was hit by anti-aircraft fire and the crew of four parachuted from the plane. The plane however, continued on autopilot for over 50km. Gradually dropping lower and lower, narrowly missing the spires of Cambridge, it eventually came to land, largely intact, in allotment gardens by Peter's house near Milton Road. He told me that he was quick to the scene, along with some other young lads, and grabbed parts of the plane as souvenirs.

It's one of many tales that Peter recounts, but I happened to discover a chapter about this particular plane crash in a history book called the War Torn Skies of Great Britain by Julian Evan-Hart. It reads:

'It slid to a halt in the allotment gardens of Milton Road. The cockpit ended up crumpled against a wooden fence and several incendiary bombs that had broken loose from their containers in the ruptured bomb bay were strewn over the ground behind the Dornier.'

I smiled when I read the following line:

'Many residents came to see the Dornier in the allotments. Several lads made off with souvenirs'

It seems a young Peter has been captured in print! For his birthday, among other things, we gave him a copy of the book.

Working for a software company and rushing headlong through the 21st century, it's easy to forget even our recent history, or what feet stood on the same ground before us. That aircraft crashed only 700 metres from where our office now stands. The disused and overgrown railway line that runs down the side of the office closed to passengers 30 years ago. The industrial estate the other side was the site of a farm, Trinity Hall Farm, as recently as 60 years ago. Roman rings and Palaeolithic handaxes have been unearthed nearby.

I suppose Peter will be one of the last people I'll ever hear talking first-hand about Cambridge during the war. It's a privilege to know him. Happy birthday Peter.

There's a tale of supposed rock star excess, originally told of Van Halen and since attributed to many other groups and divas, about brown M&M's. They would demand, so the story goes, a bowl of M&M's in their dressing room, but with the brown ones removed, and there would be a fit of petulance should an errant brown M&M be discovered.

It sounds like an urban myth, but Van Halen's singer, David Lee Roth, revealed in his autobiography that there was truth in it, and good reason for it. In the age of 1970's stadium shows, the planning and execution took on previously unknown complexity. Truckloads of lighting rigs and sound systems would precede the band to the venue, and this gear would need to be set up to a high degree of technical precision; the girders and flooring had to support the weight, there had to be a specific number of sockets with certain amperage, etc. If a small error was made in the setting up, it could spell disaster for the show.

As a way of testing the attention to detail of the venue's staff, Van Halen's rider would contain the request for a bowl of M&M's, with a clause hidden away in the pages of the contract, stating that all of the brown M&M's should be removed. Arriving at the venue, they would head straight to the dressing room and check the bowl. If there were no brown M&M's, they could relax, confident that attention had been paid to detail, and the show would go without incident. But if brown M&M's were discovered in the bowl, invariably there would be other details missed, and errors would unfold throughout the show.

I was reminded of this anecdote yesterday as I evaluated a product offered by two different companies. The first company's sales rep answered the phone after two rings, took interest in my specific requirements, enthusiastically gave me a live demo there and then and followed the call with an email containing all the details I might need. The second company engaged me in a live chat then took 5 minutes to respond to my initial question about pricing. Their response was that they didn't know and could I try finding the info on the website! I couldn't. I then tried calling the sales number, and was placed in a call queue. Three times. I never got to talk to anyone.

The first company made me feel relaxed and confident about entering into a contract with them. The user experience was good from the off. The second company - well it's probably best for us both that we don't pursue a relationship. After an initial experience like that, I'd be the kind of user that would thereafter find brown M&M's everywhere I looked.

So now when I evaluate products, I think it useful to ask, "what would Van Halen do?" And if I find brown M&M's in the bowl? Well, I'll kick a hole in the dressing room door and trash the buffet.