Prejudice, Elections and Eavesdropping

Eavesdropping on conversations can be rewarding and annoying in equal measure.. here’s my metaphorical take on some of them, and on some of the more irritating leaflets we’ve had through the door lately.

“So it seems like we’ve got new neighbours. Well, to be honest I’d only seen the removal van until last week, but I got a note from the couple inviting us round for their housewarming barbecue on Saturday, which was nice. Yes, I know, it is unusual, isn’t it? But I thought it was a nice gesture, if a bit over the top. But that’s not the problem.

The thing is that they’re short-sighted.  Now, you know me, I’m not sightist in the least – but I got the shock of my life when I saw both of them wearing glasses! It’s certainly going to take a lot of getting used to and I’m not really sure about going to this barbecue now. By all accounts, they socialise with other short-sighteds and a lot of them wear glasses too – I’m beginning to feel like a minority. It feels odd to think I might be the only person with 20/20 vision in my street, now that the Wilsons are thinking of downsizing, and we’re getting more and more short-sighteds looking around the houses. Some of them like to put large numbers on the door as well, you know, as a sort of adaptation thing? The neighbourhood won’t look the same at all.

I’m a bit worried about the effect on the schools, to be honest. Of course I work with a few short-sighteds,  but they’re very discreet about it in the workplace – most of them wear contact lenses so you’d never know, they’re more like us in that respect. I don’t mind short-sighteds with contact lenses at all, but with all the laser eye surgery available, there’s just no need for glasses any more, is there? It’s a bit medieval if you ask me. And they even make their children wear these things! Poor mites, it’s not their fault. But I think the parents really need to take a look at themselves, making their kiddies wear those heavy things on their little faces like that. Take a look at themselves! See what I did there! Ha ha!

Oh dear, I shouldn’t laugh. Naughty me. Anyway, there’s the adaptation – the short-sighteds have to sit near the front in class, PE lessons are a minefield because they have to consider the short-sighteds and their glasses all the time, and I’ve heard that some of them need specially adapted books with bigger letters, eye checks at schools and the like, which is another expense that the taxpayer doesn’t need. I’ve heard that in some parts of the country, they have really hardcore bespectacled people who claim that laser surgery doesn’t work for them – do they call themselves astigmatics or something like that? I lose track. I don’t know much about it but it doesn’t sound like it really has a place here, does it? I mean, did Queen Victoria wear glasses?  No. I’m just not comfortable with it all.

Of course I’m not prejudiced. I have to say that the short-sighteds I work with have been really pleasant, but they’re discreet – they’re not really the same as short-sighteds with the glasses, are they? They say that short-sighteds tend to be better at working with screens, and the programming jobs are filling up with short-sighteds, but you can’t deny that it’s taking jobs away from the ordinary sighted people. Funny how there just seem to be more of them these days: there are parts of London that are practically short-sighted ghettos, with those big glasses everywhere. I went through one of those areas once: it was horrible, like being in a town full of owls. I remember there was only one short-sighted in my school – poor lad, he got beaten up all the time for being a four-eyes, it was a shame. Not that you can say that these days, the PC brigade would be on you like a shot.

I don’t agree with the BSP, Clear Vision For Britain and the sightists, of course, that they should be forced to have laser eye surgery or deported. Of course that’s a bit extreme, but I do think USEE talk a lot of sense.  We’re not asking them to leave, just to pay the extra taxes it takes to keep them. Let them have their own specially adapted schools that can really deal with the children with glasses properly – and give jobs to the specialist short-sighted teachers – rather than having this invasion into the mainstream schools. Yes, you can have your glasses, but no tax breaks, and keep the opticians to specialist short-sighted areas where they’re most needed – we don’t need them on our high streets, do we? And I don’t think it’s wrong when employers put their foot down and say – nobody wants to see glasses, or outward signs of short-sightedness, it’s contact lenses – which are an option – or you go into a specialist, short-sighted industry. I mean they have laws about that in other countries, don’t they? I don’t really think we should be so accommodating towards the glasses-wearers – it’s not about tolerance, it’s about saying no to extremism, isn’t it? No, I really do think I’ll be voting for USEE, this time round. It’s not that I don’t think the short-sighteds down the road are lovely people; I just worry about how things are going these days. I think normally sighted people have been overlooked for too long – it’s time we were really seen properly for a change.

Oops, did it again, didn’t I? Naughty me!”

It’s a sad fact that prejudice is alive and well, however silly it may be – and around election time there are plenty of people trying to prey on fears of ‘otherness’ to gain votes. Fortunately there are a lot of people and organisations who try to challenge this. Here are a few:

European Network Against Racism

IMADR (worldwide)

International Disability Alliance

International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission

Totalitarianism in Thomas the Tank Engine

Simple stories of little engines on the Island of Sodor. Could there be a political subtext? Or have I just read them aloud once too often?

Few people in the English-speaking world will be unaware of the Thomas the Tank Engine series, where a fictional island based loosely on the Isle of Man is populated almost entirely by talking steam trains with human-like faces. This series, which began in 1946 as a series of whimsical tales for children written by a country vicar, has mushroomed over the years into a huge franchise that the reverend could hardly have imagined (and apparently disliked). The talking steam engine has featured in a television programme, been relocated to an Appalachian village for a Hollywood film, and been the subject of a huge spin-off series of books featuring tractors, barges and diggers. There have been studies showing that the “cheeky little tank engine” is a comforting focus for children on the autism spectrum. But as I settled down to read yet another book from the modern series to the mini-brioche, my inner academic surfaced once again, and the totalitarian subtext became disturbingly clear…

We begin with the first page of the book “Thomas” and the introduction of a concept which is prevalent throughout the series – the desire to be a Really Useful Engine (sic).

Thomas – Right-to-Buy adherent?

While the phraseology appears innocuous enough, a glance at the context reveals an underlying reinforcement of post-Thatcherite societal norms. Thomas surmises that only with “his very own branch line” can he be valued as making a true contribution to society – without this sense of individual ownership, Thomas feels invisible in the social structure of the Island of Sodor.  Was this subliminal propaganda for the Right To Buy policy? Perhaps.  And yet, Thomas is no oppressed hero for the masses. The property owning (or kulak) class, represented here by Gordon the Express Engine, is relentlessly mocked by Thomas without apparent provocation – or punishment from the real power, the Fat Controller (Sir Topham Hatt in the – ostensibly – more politically correct US version). We shall examine his role in more detail later.

Furthermore, if Thomas is supposed to represent the proletariat striving to make good, we see no solidarity with the truly oppressed – the Trucks.

The Trucks – systematically oppressed

These anonymous figures function as a universal scapegoat, to an extent that draws chilling parallels with the Cultural Revolution.  The Trucks are rarely even mentioned without the disapproving epithet ‘Troublesome’ – an echo of Mao’s ‘class enemies’? –  and are blamed automatically for every mishap on the line. Once again, “Thomas” sets the tone here. On hearing the news that another engine has derailed and that a breakdown train is required, his first reaction is to blame the trucks – “Bother those trucks and their tricks!” This is reinforced by the ‘official’-style figure of the Driver, who states that the accident was the fault of the Trucks without seeking a fair hearing from their side. Outright victimisation of the Trucks is the norm in this series – in the later story “Gordon” , we see Edward the steam engine behaving aggressively towards the Trucks, and although their obvious distress is noted – “’Oh!’ they cried, “Whatever is happening?’” this is not only dismissed as harmless horseplay but is positively encouraged between the engines. When they attempt revolutionary activities (pushing Emily into a pond) we hear nothing of any subsequent attempts by the governing powers to find the root of the issue – we can only assume that a depressing cycle of arbitrary arrest, show trial and punishment ensues.

Gordon – kulak representative?

Yet ‘Thomas And Friends’ also casts a critical eye on the Tender Engines – sending the message that over-achievers must be cut down to size, and that total conformity must be adhered to at all costs. Gordon the Express Engine is shown as ‘a proud engine’ that is mocked by the others.

Notably, it is Gordon who is the only engine to express any degree of recognition of the trucks’ plight, albeit with a dubious moral disclaimer – “Don’t play around with the trucks, Edward. It isn’t wrong, but we just don’t do it”. Admittedly Gordon displays snobbish behaviour in other areas – he pours scorn on engines who shunt trucks based on their position in the class system, and defends outmoded convention (again echoing the ‘Olds’ of the Cultural Revolution) by declaring that Henry should stop whistling at stations. However, Gordon’s supposed redemption by suffering the mockery of others after a humiliating accident is one which cannot withstand any degree of liberal scrutiny. Humiliation is used as a tool of the State to ensure conformity.

The Fat Controller wields absolute power on the Island of Sodor, though satellite regimes are alluded to at the Quarry (Miss Jenny) and the Mountain Pass (the Thin Controller).

Fat Controller / Supreme Leader

It is the Fat Controller who dispenses bounty or punishment as he sees fit; it is the Fat Controller who determines the function of each of the engines; and it is the Fat Controller who ensures that the engines maintain absolute obedience to the regime – or, as he himself puts it, “Engines on my railway do as they are told!” The ‘Thomas and Friends’ series can show the Fat Controller in the Benevolent Dictator role– sourcing ‘special Welsh coal’ for the ailing Henry, or accommodating the refugee engine Oliver – but his absolutist style of government is apparent throughout the series. His own story (“The Fat Controller”) tells of his suppression of a strike – the striking union of Tender Engines are replaced by smaller engines who pledge total obedience to the regime:

“’If I choose you, will you work hard?’ he said.

‘Oh Sir! Yes Sir!’ peeped the little green engine.”

The tender engines, meanwhile, are imprisoned and basic utilities withheld – “There was no coal for them, no washdown and they missed their passengers.” The eventual collapse of the strike, along with the subsequent “re-education” of the strikers, is achieved by humiliation and deprivation of basic rights –illustration of a state ruled by fear. The Fat Controller states again and again throughout the series that non-conformity will result in exile, at the very least – “Only Really Useful Engines can work on my railway!” We can only speculate at what form of gulag-like ‘education’ programmes might be employed for habitual dissenters.

Nowhere is the totalitarian ethic more apparent than in the stories of Jack the Front-Loader and Alfie the Excavator, two Stakhanov-like figures with a near-obsessive devotion to manual labour.

Jack and Alfie – idealised worker figures

These propagandist tales go even further than the utilitarianism demonstrated in earlier ‘Thomas and Friends’ stories:  demonstrating to workers that work must be an ideal in itself, without reference to personal reward or to the purpose of the work done.

“Jack and Alfie were loading the dump truck, Max. Dust and dirt were flying everywhere. Work had never been such fun!”

In each story, the absolute work ethic is augmented by a theme of self-sacrifice – Alfie risks himself in a building declared unsafe by the Foreman to rescue a family of kittens, while Jack endures significant injury in holding up a damaged bridge to save Thomas. It is made clear that while his peers admire him for his heroic act, and while the State is prepared to cover his medical care, he must expect no reward or special recognition – indeed, his only reward is to stay with the Pack and be allowed to continue his labour.  Consistent with the ‘idealised worker’ model used by many totalitarian regimes, Jack is keen to be part of the collective, work as hard as possible without question for the good of the State, and provide unthinking devotion to the State’s ideals. The workers of the Pack are all shown as productive, but Jack and Alfie’s preparedness to sacrifice themselves unquestioningly for the good of the  State is presented as the ideal to which all workers must strive – even as Really Useful Engines.

So amid this propaganda, what subliminal messages are being fed to impressionable minds? Will they latch on to the Thatcherite theory of property ownership, the class struggle against the Tender engines, the systematic legalised oppression of the Trucks or the unquestioning ethic of the Pack under the totalitarian regime of the Fat Controller?

I posed this question to the mini-brioche.

After some thought, she sighed. “It’s just a story. Trains don’t actually talk in real life, you know.”

Oh well. It’s still better than Barbie.

American History X – Talking By The Book (or not)

I have to admit that I’m not terribly good at small talk. It isn’t that I’m naturally shy – avoiding speaking to people isn’t part of my genetic makeup. However, the ability to engage an acquaintance in light conversation while sticking to topics that can never be taken as offensive –  the weather, for instance, or the state of the roads, or which junction is better for avoiding the roadworks on the M25 – is something that I can’t say comes naturally. Over the years I’ve learned to curb my natural tendency to blurt out a philosophical question two seconds into the conversation – “Lovely weather we’re having this morning. Do you believe that true democracy exists?” – but real small talk is something that’s never really been an automatic thing for me.

The M25 – a safe subject for conversation

Talking to small children falls into the same category, and since I have one of my own, it should perhaps be a matter of concern that I’m not a ‘natural’ at that either.  At various occasions in the mini-brioche’s life, I have been given helpful advice on how to talk to her – from the baby-talk that would encourage her to form words, to the open-ended questions that might encourage her to reveal more than a ‘dunno’ about her day at school. I was even recommended a book with ‘How To Talk To Your Child’ in the title, so it can’t be an isolated problem. Looking at all of this official information, it’s amazing that the mini-brioche can say a single word. I failed to double-barrel everything I said (‘is ba-ba hungry? Does ba-ba want din-dins? Yummy din-dins!’) or refer to her  (and myself) in the third person. I failed to make affirming statements  – “it makes me so happy when you remember to pick up your things” as opposed to “Aaargh! Who on earth left that Lego on the floor?”

At one point, I did try the techniques outlined in one article I’d been sent, and posed some of the open-ended questions that are supposed to encourage your school-aged child to open up a bit about playground politics, but it didn’t quite work in the way the article had suggested.

“So,” I began, “if you could sit next to anyone at lunch, who would it be?” This question is apparently designed to highlight any particular friendships that you might not be aware of.

She thought for a minute, and looked puzzled. “We sit next to whoever we like,” she shrugged.

“Oh.”  I tried another. “If you could arrange it that anyone in your class could be abducted by aliens, who would it be?” Apparently this one helps to identify anyone that your child might not be getting on so well with.

“Jake,” she said promptly. I was surprised – Jake seemed like a nice lad, and I couldn’t imagine the mini-brioche not getting along with him. “Because he really likes aliens, so he’d like it best.” A nice answer, I felt, and left it at that.

Socks – a typical flashpoint

One book in particular explained that parents must express empathy for a child whenever the child is kicking off, so that you encourage them to express their feelings and enhance their natural bond with you. A typical flashpoint with small children is the clash over hurrying up in the mornings – as all the books will tell you, small children don’t wear watches, and parents do. According to the ‘empathising parent’ book, the best approach is to say “I know. It must be so tough and upsetting for you to get your socks on, and you wish that you could just stay here pretending to be an astronaut – a barefoot one at that – rather than doing something really boring like putting your socks on. Wouldn’t it be lovely if socks didn’t exist, or if they flew to our feet with fairy wings so that we didn’t have to do anything about putting them on ourselves?” The effort of all this, combined with the sing-song voice I felt had to adopt to make it credible, resulted only in me feeling like screaming, and the mini-brioche asking me why on earth I was talking like that. Clearly, the book’s approach was not really helping us. Tough-love enthusiasts reckoned that a barked “SOCKS! NOW!” followed by the threat of some dire consequence, whether a clip around the ear or no TV for a week, would be sufficient, but I didn’t really see that working either.

I stuck to the straightforward approach. “Put your socks on, or we’ll be late.”

She looked cross. “When you say things like that, it really makes me sad. And angry.”

A flash of inspiration crossed my mind, and I mentally sent all the manuals flying out of the window. “That’s a shame,” I said briskly. “But you can waste your energy getting angry about small things like putting your socks on, when there are other ways to use your anger that get to the root of things.”

“Like what?” she said, as I handed her a sock.

I said the first thing that came into my head. “Have I ever told you about a man called Malcolm X?”

Malcolm X

My summary of Malcolm X’s autobiography – judiciously leaving out the Harlem hustler phase – was met with open-mouthed fascination. How ridiculous that people might be judged on what they looked like! Do people still think like that? Why didn’t people agree with him? Why were people afraid of him? The discussion continued through a brisk application of socks, shoes and coat, out the door and down the road: by the time we got to the school gates I felt I’d planted some sort of seed. Malcolm X had been an angry person – angry at the rules that judged people on the colour of their skin rather than their actions or what they were really like inside, angry at a whole people losing everything they had and everything they were, and angry that people had been treated so badly for so long with nothing getting better. He had said some things when he was angry that he regretted later, but he had been open to learning from new experiences. And when we looked at what he had achieved, we could remind ourselves about how we can use our anger to change things that really need to be changed.

This wasn’t small talk – the parenting books would consider it inappropriate for a five year old.  It didn’t tell me a thing about playground politics, and it won’t help her with the phonics or handwriting tests that will come sooner than I can blink. But it was real conversation about something that matters, and maybe it helped her think a bit more widely. It might spark an interest in history, or law, or social justice. She might remember it the next time she’s about to stamp her foot, or if she sees someone getting picked on in the playground. It might not come to fruition, but the seed is there. And she got her socks on without either of us yelling.

Perhaps an inability to make conversation in an ‘approved’ way isn’t quite so bad after all. If nothing else, I’m beginning to suspect that the lack-of-small-talk thing might be genetic. And next time there’s a stand-off over footwear, we might start talking about glasnost.

World Book Day – A Feminist Dilemma

“In the spring, a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love,” said Alfred, Lord Tennyson, probably while looking out untroubled over a sunny meadow. But then, he wasn’t a teacher, didn’t have children, and World Book Day hadn’t been invented yet. This event, which will be going on in schools across the UK this week, is designed to encourage a love of reading in children and teenagers of all ages, through extra-curricular activities, book tokens, and above all, the chance to come into school dressed as your favourite book character.

Being the sort of person that leaves a trail of books wherever I go and would be happy to live in a library, I am all for anything that encourages a similar enthusiasm (or addiction) in the next generation. From a distance, it all sounded like a lot of fun, and up to recently I would wonder wistfully why World Book Day hadn’t been invented when I was of the age to dress up as Encyclopedia Brown (of ‘Encyclopedia Brown Takes The Case’ and ‘Encyclopedia Brown Finds The Clues’ fame) or Sherlock Holmes. I wondered why my similarly bookish friends would go into meltdown at the mention of World Book Day – it all seemed like a pretty sweet way to encourage discussion of the books favoured by each child in the class.

Encyclopedia Brown – an easy costume

Then my own child started school, and I’m beginning to understand the angst.

I should have seen the clues – Encyclopedia Brown would have done. First, the mention of World Book Day – an event that takes place in March – in the school newsletter that was issued around Halloween.  That level of warning implies that parents will need plenty of preparation time. However, like so many innocent parents of small children, I was too busy kitting out my child with a witches’ costume and a broomstick to take note. Then there were the numerous photos appearing on Facebook of children dressed in their World Book Day costumes – a natural admiration of how adorable a seven year old looked dressed up as a knight or Gobbolino the Witches’ Cat, I thought. Now I realise that this marks the pride and relief of a parent that has spent the previous night assembling an alien costume out of tin foil and a tablecloth in the hope that it might bear a passing resemblance to Dr Xargle, and stay together long enough for the child to get through the school gates.

And so, like the disorganised pastry I am, World Book Day escaped my radar until last week, when I suddenly realised that I, too, would have to assemble a costume for the mini-brioche to wear into school for World Book Day. I approached it all the wrong way by asking her what her favourite book was, so we could construct a costume around it.

The Worst Witch – another easy costume

Had the answer been ‘The Worst Witch’ we would have been home and dry. A recycled witches’ costume from Halloween (check), a broomstick (check), disheveled hair (not difficult at the best of times) and striped tights (not too difficult to get hold of, and not entirely essential anyway) – and we’d be ready to roll. The outfit would be practical enough to run around in, unlikely to disintegrate, represented a realistic, well-developed heroine and crucially, required minimal effort from me. My daughter would not be relegated to a simpering, drippy princess, and I would not be reduced to a quivering wreck by a complicated costume. Sadly, this was not to be.

“Hm,” she mused, “I think my favourite book of all is… Fantastic Mr Fox.” Oh.  It’s a typically well-written book by Roald Dahl, of course, with a resourceful lead character and a nice message about sticking together in adverse times, so in that respect it was a heart-warming answer. However, my sewing skills extend no further than sewing on name tapes very badly, and I was pretty sure that rustling up a fox costume in three short days would be far beyond my capabilities. Ordering one online seemed both extravagant – fancy-dress companies can smell costume-related desperation from miles away – and optimistic. I began to suggest that she had also really enjoyed The Worst Witch, when she reached into her wardrobe and pulled out a frilly concoction with a crinoline that, despite my best efforts, she loves.

“Or I could go as Beauty and the Beast!” she said brightly, assuming a celluloid-friendly smile and waltzing around the room. “I’ll look really pretty!”

I felt instantly relegated to feminist purgatory. Evidently my five-year old child is already obsessed with external appearance – which is ironic, given the subject matter of the fairy tale – and prefers to be the simpering Disney heroine with a crinoline than the more believable female leads of the BFG or Harry Potter. I didn’t expect to send her in as A Vindication Of The Rights of Woman – well, not this year, anyway – but the feminist in me felt a pang of disappointment. Had she really chosen ‘looking really pretty’ over representing a book that interested her more? I hoped not.

But the costume is ready-made, said my practical side, like a devil on my shoulder. You need do nothing whatsoever between now and next Thursday. She gets to dress up, you make no effort at all, and everyone’s happy. Plus the fact she is unlikely to be the only one dressed as such – after all, you’re not the only harassed parent with a daughter that caught the princess virus despite all your efforts to the contrary.

In the end, my aversion to sewing has won out over the radical feminist in me, and in all likelihood she will walk slowly into school on World Book Day wearing the frilly dress, clutching a single rose and simpering all the way. With luck, she’ll get it out of her system this year, and want something both feminist-friendly and easy to assemble to wear to next year’s World Book Day (a Rosa Luxemburg costume can’t be too difficult, can it?). In the meantime, I might get into the spirit of World Book Day and throw together a costume for myself. I wonder how ‘The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat’ will go down at the school gates?

The official site for World Book Day is http://www.worldbookday.com, which has a really nice ‘start your story’ tool, amongst other activities you can do when you’ve recovered from the costume angst. Courage, mes braves!

SPIN Client

The world of business can often be a dizzying place, with employees encouraged to be ever-more evangelical about the industry’s latest product or service. This is something I wrote while employed by a large firm – somehow it never made the corporate website…

It’s a really exciting time to be working in IT.

The last few years have moved technology on from tools which address specific, ringfenced business areas into a more holistic business view: the ultimate goal being a truly agile, all-encompassing landscape that enables all aspects of the business to work together. Ten years ago we struggled to achieve this kind of integration; today, using next-generation toolsets, everyone can benefit.

SPIN-Client is a key feature of this leading-edge environment. More than a tool or even a methodology, SPIN-Client touches everyone and operates across all sectors: tangible business benefits can be achieved by implementing the SPIN-Client philosophy in both the private and state sectors, allowing a greater scope for cross-industry collaboration. SPIN-Client can truly open doors for those prepared to embrace a holistic, flexible way of working. Of course, more research will be needed to understand all that SPIN-Client can achieve: but we know it is already making headway for key industry players. SPIN-Client is hardware-light and can be easily adapted to smaller-scale enterprises: something which is often overlooked in Big Technology innovation. By getting on board quickly, we can really make the most of this trailblazing opportunity.

If I felt so inclined, I could probably write a series of articles about how SPIN-Client can help the public sector save money or how it might be used to assist a mobile workforce. Depending on where my articles are published, my audience might have a type of mobile phone in mind, a server consolidation tool or a sort of ‘super app’. If I’m persuasive enough, people will be falling over themselves to get hold of this amazing thing, or to sell it on to their client base.

What I haven’t said, however, is what SPIN-Client actually is. In fact, it could be anything at all – I think I was vaguely thinking about a chocolate biscuit. The point is that it’s surprising how often people fail to ask the basic question- “What is this thing that’s so amazing, and what does it do?”

Why is this? Advertising has been around in all sorts of forms for years, and we think we’re smart enough to see through it. No matter what the pictures may claim, a new car is a new car and won’t get you the model girlfriend or expensive apartment. And yet, when our bosses tell us we ought to be ‘pushing’ a new product or service, we often get caught up in the hype long before we ask what it is we’re supposed to be selling.

There are a few theories on why this is the case. The precarious nature of the job market has its part to play: it’s all very well saying the Emperor has no clothes if you’re a small child, but if you’re a courtier with an axe-happy employer, you’re likely to prefer going along with the stunt and keeping your head than questioning it and risking execution. There is also the fear of looking ridiculous. We’re supposed to be experts – we’re hired as such – so we fear being shown up if we ask the ‘silly question’. Then there’s the question of speed – in a fast-moving industry such as IT, new products are coming out all the time, and we’ve barely managed to consider the capabilities of the last innovation before another one comes speeding along. Sure, I’ll figure out exactly what the pros and cons of value-stream storage are, once I’ve got my head around mainframe consolidation, Big Data or the Cloud.

There’s a cultural thing at work here too. Watch The Apprentice and you’ll see a group of clean-cut young professionals, carefully chosen for their camera-friendliness, who battle it out in a war of buzzwords and competitive ‘passion’. If you’re willing to get behind the latest initiative 100%, you’re falling short of what the organisation is looking for – everyone else is willing to give it 150%! Many businesses have adopted this culture, consciously or otherwise, and while it creates a swarm of enthusiasm for the product, it doesn’t create an environment that encourages people to ask questions.

So, isn’t it better to keep your head down and avoid asking questions? The irony is that a culture that stops people asking questions is a real blocker to innovation. If I think that this all-singing, all-dancing SPIN-Client is the answer to everyone’s prayers, I won’t see problems that don’t have a solution – yet. The energy that might go into creating something really innovative is wasted in creating ever-more elaborate means of marketing something nobody’s really sure about. There’s a risk to losing the trust of clients: as a client, I’m a lot more likely to trust someone who knows that Product X isn’t suitable for me, and can articulate why Product Y would be better, than someone with 150% worth of ‘passion’ for Product X who thinks it will not only transform my business, but get me a better house, new car and erase my wrinkles into the bargain. (OK, maybe I made that last one up – but if it’s out there…)

There has to be a balance. Enthusiasm is great, and we need people to tell us about new products – otherwise nobody would know that they existed. But being enthusiastic isn’t quite enough: we need to have the maturity to step back and examine what it is we’re marketing so we can really understand how best to target it. And, as employers, maybe we should give the little boy who suggested the Emperor might need a coat a little bit more credit.

For my money, once I knew that SPIN-Client was a chocolate biscuit rather than a technology initiative costing millions, I would surely buy one for myself – as well as ordering a box or two for my business.

Charlie says

After the attacks in France last week, I couldn’t help thinking of Voltaire’s statement that ‘I disagree with what you say, but will defend to the death your right to say it’ – and my conflicting feelings about how people were reacting to it. This is why I’m not Charlie – or not exactly.

I AM CHARLIE said the world
As we read about the white cartoonists murdered in their offices
For drawing something that poked fun at something else –
Not for shooting, bombs or missiles; this was not an eye for an eye.
We were shocked, we mourned,
And I AM CHARLIE was beamed across public buildings, Facebook profiles, newspapers and the chests and the faces of the liberals who mourned the loss of people like them,
The people who went to work one day and never came back.

And I AM CHARLIE with its hashtag appeared in the Twitter feeds of the celebrities.
This was an attack on freedom, they said.
We must stand and fight, they said, and publish the pictures that the killers hated wherever we can.
The pen is our weapon, they said.
And anyone who refuses to publish the pictures that the killers hated is a coward, they said, and no better than a killer themselves.
And the world with I AM CHARLIE beamed across its faces and public buildings gave the celebrities a million likes, cause we were down with that. We don’t like bombs, we use cartoons instead. We loved that shit.

And I AM CHARLIE appeared in the newspapers and the journals where the intellectuals talked about why religion should be satirised, why culture should be ridiculed, why the pictures that upset the terrorists and extremists – for only extremists can be upset by pictures, after all – should be shown proudly, everywhere.
And the world with I AM CHARLIE emblazoned on its T-shirts and its hashtags and its million likes for the celebrities skim-read the articles and gave them a like as well, because we were Charlie and we were liberal and we mourned, so we were down with that.

I AM CHARLIE brought the politicians to the streets. We stand in solidarity with those who fought for freedom of speech, they said.
And the newspapers with I AM CHARLIE emblazoned on its taglines and its Twitter feeds and its hashtags took their pictures and talked about the solidarity and the Europeans who cherish freedom of speech, and how wonderful it was.
And nobody really talked about who marched, and why they were doing it, because they were Charlie.
And I was Charlie too, and so were you.

And then I saw the pictures, and I wondered why.

Why nobody was putting up I AM SYRIA on their profile page when the chemical weapons gassed whole towns;
The same weapons that had been supplied by the same nations that had I AM CHARLIE emblazoned on their newspapers and their public buildings and whose politicians marched to say I AM CHARLIE
When protests against repression turned into a war that seemed to have no end
And the whole reason for fighting seemed to have been lost in bloodshed.
No I AM SYRIA here.

Why nobody was Baga in Nigeria
When the terrorists attacked the town, just because it was there
The world was too busy saying I AM CHARLIE to say that I AM BAGA too,
Except for a few.

And why, behind the I AM CHARLIE signs
Nobody was saying it was OK to mind a bit
That it was OK to hate terrorism and hate the killing and still dislike things that offend –
Because not liking something is not the same as killing –
And to worry about the people who felt threatened
Because they shared a religion and culture with the killers
And feared someone might make them take the blame
If they weren’t screaming I AM CHARLIE loud enough
And to worry about the racists who might now attack,
So long as they had I AM CHARLIE on their Facebook profile and their Twitter feeds, because the celebrities said so and the intellectuals said so and the politicians said so and they could say they were part of a glorious fight for freedom of speech because only extremists can be offended by racism.

Perhaps it was easiest to ignore all that
And say I AM CHARLIE with the rest of them

Christmas Jumper Day (and other made-up festivals)

Yeah, yeah, so it’s January and we’re well past the Christmas period. However, I’ve still seen some of these things around the place, and I’m still baffled...

The email pinged into my inbox, a missive from someone I knew vaguely from around the office. It looked eerily similar to the fourteen emails I had received from other people I knew vaguely from around the office, and had appeared on Facebook umpteen times – again, usually from people I was acquainted with (Facebook-friends of Facebook-friends, if you will) rather than anyone I would consider privy to my innermost thoughts. Thus, the accusatory nature of the email’s opening gambit came as something of a surprise.
“I know you think I’m a SCROOGE!” it shouted – or at least said in very large letters, carefully adjusted to 12 point in a 10-point Arial message to make its point all the clearer. “because I’m not sending Christmas cards this year!!” it continued, with an enthusiasm for exclamation marks that seemed to surpass the sender’s regard for grammar. “Well I’ll tell you why I AM NOT sending Christmas cards this year because I’m donating to CHARITY!! Instead of WASTING paper, money and time on writing CHRISTMAS CARDS I’m doing something GOOD with my time and donating to CHARITY!! I know YOU won’t do this and YOU will keep on KILLING THE PLANET from your NEEDLESS WASTE of paper on Christmas Cards but just REMEMBER the SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS and give to CHARITY instead just like ME!! Cos there are people DYING from horrid things like EBOLA and GLOBAL WARMING when we are sending each other CHRISTMAS CARDS – REMEMBER THIS!!!!! Luv u all!!!! Kisses, Mel! Xxxx”

I have no idea who Mel is, or who Chris or Stu or Claire or Tina or all the assorted senders of the all-staffers are. I have no recollection of having in-depth conversations with Mel (or Chris, Stu or Tina) about the ethics of sending a folding bit of card to one’s friends and colleagues at this time of year. However, I’m fairly willing to bet that they will have bought whole-heartedly into what has become one of the weirdest – and apparently most recent – of the ‘Christmas traditions’ – the Christmas jumper.

Christmas Jumper Day. WTF??

Although aficionados will probably argue that the Christmas jumper is an ancient and revered tradition, endorsed by the likes of Bing Crosby and Wham! across generations of Christmas cheer, the Christmas jumper has morphed into a huge emblem of the consumerist society over the last few years (and not just because they don’t usually do well in the washing machine).Until quite recently, the novelty Christmas jumper was something your embarrassing auntie or small child gave you for Christmas and which you were obliged to wear for a seemingly endless 24-hours to show both your gratitude and your festive jollity. A prime example of this attitude features in the film of Bridget Jones’ Diary, where the otherwise eligible Mark Darcy appears in a jumper emblazoned with a large reindeer – and is scorned by the heroine as a particularly tragic dresser. Quel horreur! Celebrities hoping for a Christmas number one (such as Wham!) might well wear one on the Top Of The Pops Christmas special, but they knew they looked ridiculous – they might well be wearing novelty Christmas jumpers, but they were also wearing tinsel around their heads and had decorations hanging off their guitars, and that wasn’t a fashion statement either. One might wear a Christmas jumper in extremely limited circumstances, if you were unfortunate enough to receive it as a present, but it certainly wasn’t the sort of thing you went out and spent money on.

And then something weird happened. Suddenly Christmas jumpers were everywhere. It was easier to get a jumper with a reindeer’s head on it than it was to get a plain one. Even the reluctant or the shy could opt for the vaguely-Nordic-looking ones with rows of knitted reindeer outlines (the ‘Bing Crosby’), though these were still outweighed by the unapologetically jolly sort (the ‘Mark Darcy’). Christmas jumpers were no longer the hand-knitted things your granny made or the kerazzzy souvenir from a trip to a Christmas-World-style shop – they were in every single shop on the High Street. With a greater availability came a greater expectation – a trip to the shops, the opticians or even the bank would reveal a sea of employees wearing jolly Christmas jumpers. Offices mandated employees to wear Christmas jumpers. A major charity joined the mufti concept of Jeans for Genes and Wear It Pink, exhorting people everywhere to wear their Christmas jumpers for a good cause because – well, it’s festive and it’s jolly and everyone has a Christmas jumper, don’t they?

Coming soon to a boardroom near you.

Hold on. Let’s rewind for a second. We now appear to be at the stage where Christmas jumpers are now assumed to be as much a part of everyone’s wardrobe as a pair of jeans. Where on earth did that come from? The shop-bought Christmas jumper is worn once, or maybe twice, before being discarded or, at the very least, shoved to the back of the drawer until next year: it isn’t the sort of thing that can be worn every day. It isn’t made to be hard-wearing or practical. It isn’t made to be flattering, either – even the vaguely-Nordic ones can make the short among us look like one of Santa’s elves, which, while it might be many things, certainly isn’t flattering. So why would everyone need to have one?

Ah, but it isn’t about need, is it? Christmas is hardly a time for Utilitarianism after all – we don’t need Stollen, mulled wine, Christmas pudding, Christmas trees or enough mince pies to turn us all into inebriated raisins, but we still buy them each year. A Christmas jumper is a festive treat – we can send the family out into the wilds with a jolly reindeer on their jumper and know we’ve put a smile on their face, a bit like a Werther’s Original advert but without the sepia tone. Except that buying a Christmas jumper costs at least £20 and buying a bag of chocolate coins costs £1 (or £1.25 if you buy the posh ones). This seems like an expensive throwaway treat. And of course, if you do buy the cheap ones – or even the luxe version – there is the knowledge that this knitted festive bauble was probably made in a sweatshop halfway across the world, by someone who isn’t entirely sure that the building isn’t going to collapse on them at any moment, and who certainly won’t see very much of the £15 or £25 or even £50 you paid for it. Not a very jolly thought.

Oh Brioche, you’re overthinking this! Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without everyone wearing a Christmas jumper to work! Well, perhaps it could be said that Christmas jumpers might act as a sort of herald to the start of the festive season, but the same could also be said about a bagpipe orchestra playing All I Want for Christmas Is You – which I think most people would agree that they could live without. A December office bereft of Christmas jumpers needn’t be bereft of cheer – people might start by simple festive gestures, like saying hello, not yelling at each other, not sending emails in capital letters to everyone in the office – and so on. Being sworn at by someone in a festive jumper is just as depressing as being sworn at by someone in a shirt and tie, believe me.

So if you feel like doing something GOOD for CHARITY, (sorry, I’ll stop) I might make a humble suggestion. Send Christmas cards – or not – as you see fit, and if you do feel like doing it, choose those that give a donation to your favourite charity in the process. Wear Christmas jumpers if you really feel like it – and if you do see fit to buy one, buy one that you like and that will last you through many Christmases. Or better still, pin a bit of tinsel to a plain sweater you wear all the time. And above all, don’t make it obligatory for those of us who choose to eschew the Christmas sweater for something else, and just possibly, spend the £25 on a charity donation. But you probably think I’m a SCROOGE for saying so, don’t you?

Black Friday

Every year I swear blind that I’m going to be more ethical in my Christmas shopping, and most years I end up just swearing – not just at the consumer madness of Black Fridays, Cyber Mondays and the like, but at my inability to make anything that doesn’t turn into a complete disaster. Hence this festive verse…

I’m going to have a really right-on Christmas this year.

The news is full of pictures of the mobs that flood the stores

To get their Christmas presents slightly cheaper than before

They push and shove and jostle and they thump the other shoppers

They might commit a murder that’s unnoticed by the coppers

Cause a bit of bloodshed’s worth it for a cheap computer game

The kids all want that console, and it’s not a time for shame

The people don’t know what to do, should they join in or sneer?

But I’m going to have a really right-on Christmas this year.

I’ve got it all thought out. I’m going to shun the plastic tat

The lights that clog up landfill and the bows that choke the cat

The things we can’t recycle that just get chucked in the bin

This time I’ll be more meaningful to see the new year in.

I’ll support the local traders selling pricey crochet gloves

They don’t sell a great deal more than that, but make them all with love

I’ll make some homemade shortbread, though my oven’s on the blink

(and the smoke last time I tried to make some gave off quite a stink)

With jars of homemade marmalade, I’m sure to raise a smile

(Especially if they’re packaged in a homemade eco style)

The kids don’t need more plastic toys that get lost on the shelf –

Instead, I’ll make them outfits that I’ve sewn by hand myself.

I’ll give charity certificates to friends both far and near –

Cause I’m going to have a really right-on Christmas this year.

There is just one slight problem with my perfect, right-on view –

I should plan this in July, but now December’s halfway through

I’m not much cop at baking, and can’t sew to save my skin

I’m not sure crap homemade presents would appeal to all my kin

I’d need a second mortgage to buy artisanal craft

And I’m not sure Great-Aunt Elsie really wants a fair-trade raft

I’m running out of options, and it’s giving me the fear –

But I really want to have a right-on Christmas this year.

And so I give a heavy sigh and head off to the shops

To spend several joyless hours to the sound of festive pop

(‘It’s CHRIIIIIST-MAAAAAASSSS!’)

And spend money I don’t really have on gifts they might not like

My nephew gets a sweater when he’d much prefer a bike

The shopping bags are heavy and my conscience prickles too

I’ve turned into a consumer, and I don’t know what to do.

A tawdry commercial Christmas seems devoid of any cheer

And I really wanted to have a right-on Christmas this year.

So let’s bring out the brown paper and the berries from the yard

The charity donations on the back of Christmas cards

There might just be a middle way, for when I’m short on time

I’m crap at all the homemade stuff, but can compose this rhyme

A very merry Christmas to friends both far and near

I hope you have a lovely, moderately right-on Christmas this year.

Sainthood

Friday 28th November is Carers’ Rights day in the UK. A while ago I tried to write something that describes some of the frustrations and the grind of being a part-time carer, and the things a carer can end up taking on; here it is.

“Hey Dad, I got your paper!”

This is what I say, day in, day out,

While I’m getting out the key to get in my father’s house

Cause ever since something happened to his mind

Every day I turn the key and I don’t know what’s there to find

Don’t know if it’s my dad that’ll be behind the door

Or some medical emergency that’s sprawled across the floor

But hey, I got the paper so he’s got some routine

And while he’s reading it I’m OK to get his house clean

“Hey Dad, you had your lunch yet?”  Persuading him to eat

That’s another of the little challenges I got to meet

There’s always something wrong, always got some reason why

He doesn’t eat that sort of salad or that bread’s too dry

But I try, and I try, and I try…

“So how’s the golf? Who’s winning?” Conversation’s artificial

It’s not like I’ve got much to say, but some talk is beneficial

He has to be interested in something, right?

And I try not to worry how he’ll manage tonight

Because after all, at three I’ll be closing this door

Cause I have to be back home to my little one at four

From carer to a mother, there’s nothing in between

But every day I want to shout –  this isn’t me!

I’m not some safe, floral-clad retiree

Watching daytime TV and just waiting to die

Getting what kicks she can get from the WI

Nah, this isn’t me!

Of course I over-compensate.

Cause I’m only thirty-eight

So in my car I’m listening to drum and bass

Turned up so loud it makes the car shake

And my ears bleed

And for a second, I feel free…

And then I get out

And I’m back

At the school gate

With a smile

And a handshake

And I make small talk that I can’t take

And I smile and I nod and I tell them that I don’t work

Cause these days my situation’s all in reverse

I’m a parent to a parent and a parent to a child

I’m a lawyer with the doctor and a doctor with the lawyer

(And a pain in the arse to social services)

And I can speak in tongues.

In medical terms, in legal terms, in welfare terms, in financial terms, in parent terms, in teacher terms, in half terms, in inset days, in non-uniform days, in jolly bloody phonics cause I’m engaged in my child’s education..

And for this, I don’t get paid.

And for this, I don’t get thanks.

And for this, people say – nothing.

Except for a few that might call me saint

And tell me I should do all of this with a smile on my face.

Cause that’s what you do in the big society

Cause they say that we’re the answer to austerity

Be an example, carers! Be proud!

So this is me, day in, day out

Day in…

Day out..

Day in…

Day out…

Bring the paper

Bring food

Well and truly

Trapped in sainthood.

http://www.carersuk.org is a great resource for carers, and highlights many of the obstacles carers have to face. Do check it out and consider supporting their campaigns if you can.