Part time punks

Many of my posts are the wreckage of a collision of two trains of thought. Some are a little more tangled than others.

On this occasion it was reading the obituary in The Economist of Sydney Wignall – adventurer, spy and rebel with a sense of humour (despite some terrible adversity) – and a post from @FlipChartRick about the God Save the Queen moment (in the Pistols sense) of BrewDog.

In the case of the latter, a short Twitter debate considered whether self-destruction was actually a defining component of punk. The camp was split. My position was that it was – but then other than for the tragic case of the drug-addled, iconic but talentless Sid Vicious, I couldn’t think of any other cases of self-destruction from the genre worthy of a mention. So many of the rebels of the late 70’s are still gigging, rather sad parodies of their former-rebellious selves from the days when music was urgent, energised, and politicised like never before (and not since).

In a former life, I witnessed rock and roll self-destruction under my own roof from extended family members addicted to heroin. I can tell you that – despite the fairytales that arise from the vulnerability of tortured genius – it’s about as horrific a condition as can be witnessed in a person. No surprise then that I am not a fan of self-destruction – but also can’t find a lot of respect for the self-parody epitomised by those dragging an idea on well beyond its time.

Back to Sydney Wignall – a genuine punk. Never satisfied, never still, never defeated in a series of questionable quests – irrepressible, cheeky, disrespectful, and contemptuous. He didn’t have spiky hair and spit, but he did it his way. While the punk rockers who gave us life and purpose as teenagers are still gigging, still singing about smashing it up to Thatcher’s children, the real punks like Wignall are crashing through another crazy project, cocking a snook to authority.

The punk rockers of their day were self-preserving part-timers by comparison. They didn’t self-destruct, they slipped into middle age looking to make a living from what they knew best – understandable. In many respects, as their followers we are their heirs. We tweet and blog our provocations, we challenge established thinking, expose guff wherever it mushrooms, and campaign for a different perspective. Blogs are the fanzines of our time.  But we respect each other, we pay our taxes, bemoan poor etiquette on the tube, and quietly pity self-destruction.

So BrewDog can have its God Save the Queen moment, and we either have, or will, too. That little bit of rebellion will always be in us. As the song below goes……

They play their records very loud
And pogo in the bedroom
In front of the mirror
But only when their mums gone out

The real rebels are out there doing it their way, with no time to blog about it. As Sartre said in Nausea “one has to choose, to live or to tell.”

We are the part-time punks. Great, isn’t it?

Resurrection (Joe) Blog

I took this blog down after publishing it, as I wasn’t happy with it - but folowing a massive Twitter campaign (by @ChangeContinuum) it has been digitally re-mastered from previously lost tapes….

In over four years of sourcing and reading children’s stories, most have seemed to offer a fairly acceptable and benign morality. At that age, discussion of contentious moral questions is of limited appeal.

But one book has caused me considerable angst – The Rainbow Fish. It was no surprise when I started doing a little digging that its interpretation has been varied and controversial.

The Rainbow Fish, the most beautiful in the ocean, is covered in wonderful shiny scales. It is proud, and protective of its gift. One day a small insignificantly-adorned blue fish approaches it and asks for a scale. It receives short shrift from the technicolor porpoise and so spreads the word of its treatment, and secures an ostracism. The Rainbow Fish visits a “wise” octopus, whose guidance is for the shimmery one to give its scales away, in order to find true happiness. When the blue fish asks again, it reluctantly gives it a scale – and just like a free latte at Starbucks, soon every fish wants one and it is giving them all away – bar one. The ocean is filled with fish with a single shiny scale, and of course the Rainbow Fish is welcomed back into the fold, relieved (and relieved of what made it special).

Is it a cautionary tale of the dangers of vanity and selfishness, and the happiness and acceptance that comes from sharing – or a submission to envy, and justification of bullying and the use of emotional blackmail? Is it teaching children the value of sacrifice and selfless generosity  – or encouraging them to give away their gifts in order to fit in, submitting themselves to the safety and insignificance of the mediocracy? Is the story really about attributes, or attitude?

The most ridiculous interpretation is that the octopus is a rampant socialist, and is encouraging homogeneity as an end in itself. This clearly ignores Marx’s recognition of the necessity of diverse talents and abilities, and the contribution to society they are able to make, in the famous phrase “from each according to his ability, to each according to his need” from his Critique of the Gotha Programme of 1875.  You will notice from the story summary that the blue fish didn’t need a scale. It just wanted one.

What, therefore, of recognising the gifts you have, seeking to make the best of them for both your own and a wider good, while preserving and displaying a generosity of spirit, recognising that we necessarily all bring something different?

So two questions for you to ponder:

  1. You are the wise octopus – what would you have told the Rainbow Fish?
  2. Witnessing the incident, what would you have subsequently told the octopus about its advice?

My view? Let’s just say, the book is in the paper recycling. There is already enough mediocrity in the world. Next, we’ll be told it’s the taking part that counts.

Exhibition Road: an HR/workplace docusoap

Although it says “property” on the tin, I often describe the area in which I work as a grey patch between workplace and HR. One could call it a “shared space”.

Having openly and enjoyably engaged with ConnectingHR, and attempted through blogs, tweets and even songs to bring the two communities closer together – because it is rather lonely in the grey area at the moment – it has not transpired to the degree that my most sceptical mindset might have predicted.

I noticed an article in the Economist this week about Exhibition Road in West London, a newly created physical “shared space” where normal road and pavement markings and levels have been replaced with uniform tiled surfaces and variuous shades of street furniture. The concept was developed in that living road laboratory, the Netherlands, and is said to increase safety through creating greater awareness. Instead of nestling within the visor of predictable layouts and markings, where we consequently expect every user to behave in a particular way, we are drawn to be vigilant, we notice each other, we make eye contact (heaven forbid – in London?). They also naturally take some of the heavier, more antisocial traffic away from the space.

Since occupying an office just off Sheldon Square in Paddington (which is really a plectrum but clearly we only understand “square” – a lovely inherent irony, there), itself a shared space, I have found myself doing the same. I pay more attention to everyone and everything around me, and behave accordingly. It works. It also creates a subtle sense of participation, rather than simply passage.

Relations between the professions are presently arranged like the standard, demarcated British road layout – lines, warnings, barked instructions and separate defined paths, enforcement. Interaction is too dangerous, people would get hurt. We cannot be trusted, and are instantly visually remonstrated when stepping out of our front door, thereafter nervous of the risks. We need to understand our place, for our own safety – after all, the segregation and exercise of authority is an act of kindness.

The promotion of Exhibition Road promises “vibrant programmes that challenge and surprise” – just, perhaps, what lies in the grey space between workplace and HR, if only we would look. They also state “generating and sharing knowledge are at the heart of what we do” – isnt that what both our professions claim to do, too? In our own spaces, of course, despite the common issues.

We will only progress when we take the type of risks that the urban planners have taken, with the courage of their convictions, and develop the shared space. It promises an energised re-definition of relations. We may even just start with eye contact.

Its time to step off the kerb.The bus driver has seen you.

 

The Guff Quotient: are we wasting our time?

We have all had to write reports, prepare information and documentation, either to meet ad hoc requests or as a regular submission. Have you ever noticed that it usually takes far more time to prepare that information than it ever seems for the recipient to read it, or for any action or follow-up to emanate and drive activity?

I have always held that reports and information provided are pointless unless they inform a hypothesis, or serve an action or a decision.

I was explaining the delights of Occam’s Razor once again last week. For those who have never heard of it, according to an English 14th Century Franciscan friar, when presented with options we are always better off selecting the simplest. That discussion gave me over to considering the volume of pure waste created within industry from preparing information that was not required. Picture it – Alps of real or representational paper, the frozen detritus of misrepresented requests, unchallenged requirements or habit. As Roethke put it:

Ritual of multigraph, paper-clip, comma,
Endless duplicaton of lives and objects

For the sake of argument, let’s call it guff.

I am as guilty as the next person, both of producing the guff without challenging the reason, and requesting others produce the guff and then not reading it properly, or at all.

It’s because in organisations, much as we loth to admit it, the need for information is almost always over-specified.

So how about a calculation to apply to all requests for information – the Guff Quotient:

Of course the Guff Quotient isn’t ever likely to be a real measure – but it takes a step towards understanding the sheer quantum of wasted time and effort involved.

If we all considered as both requestees – asking why information was needed – and as requesters – asking why we actually need the information and what might happen if we didn’t have it – we could possibly make an enormous contribution to collective organisational productivity, and free significant time for more worthy, valuable and creative activity.

What will you do next time you are faced with a guff decision?

 

The wonder & wisdom of King Thistle

You can’t work in an organisation of any sort without conflict, tension and affront. The tendency when seemingly wronged is to confront or vent. When complete, the feeling is like two bars of chocolate in the afternoon – an instant, delectable high, followed swiftly by overly prolonged remorse and a battle with the consequences.

Wisdom comes from many sources. Like it or not I get to spend a lot of time watching children’s TV. Overly moral as most of it tends to now be, occasionally the simplicity of a message cuts through decades of igneous coaching. And what a joy that is.

Step forward King Thistle, the absolute monarch whose Royal See is Ben & Holly’s Little Kingdom of elves and fairies, where everyone is rather small. He is not the brightest, but never claims to be. He is charismatic but unkempt. In a lazy, underwhelmed and mildly cynical manner, his minimal laissez faire style creates a relaxed and respectful society, where the fairies dispense enchanting (and sometimes calamitous) magic while the humble yet resourceful elves delight in repetitive but dignified, happy toil. His pleasures are simple, but he clearly enjoys the trappings of his office. When called upon – for he could be considered reactive – he exercises judgment underpinned with common sense, and is very happy to acknowledge the expertise and contribution of others. Even when irritated, he remains dignified. In many respects, he is a decent manager.

So when a relatively harmless witch turned his arrogant and opinionated resident Nanny Plum to stone for one too many needless insults, he almost decides to let it pass believing she probably deserved it. When it is pointed out by his daughter Holly that this may mean not being served his favourite evening meal, he reluctantly pays the witch a visit to retrieve the situation. With exceptional manners and calm, a gentle charm and a healthy dose of flattery upon the warty stereotype, Nanny Plum is returned to life.

When Holly asks why he didn’t deal with the witch with all the vengeful force his office entitles, he responds:  “there’s a time for telling someone they’re smelly and ugly, and a time for being just – nice” – reflecting a little further that “saying nice things about people goes a long way”.

If you can take a deep breath when the red mist rises and construct a more sensible response, just imagine what might be possible. When faced with such a situation just ask yourself – what would King Thistle do now?

 

One step BYOD

We hear a lot about BYOD – Bring Your Own Device. Yet it strikes me that in twenty seven years of working I have had to bring far more in my own man-bag (yes, I was an early adopter) than just a device.

Other than a piece of glass covered in fingerprints, what else do we have to bring that we can’t rely on our organisations to provide?

  • Inspiration: we talk about it a lot, we oft claim that our achievements were a result of it. Inspiration is a personal, experiential ghost in our machine. Lack of inspiration is often externalised, a handy deflection of personal responsibility. It’s not in the induction pack, or on the tea trolley. We need to actively seek the sources of our own inspiration – they are all around us.
  • Network: we need people around us, too. In turn we are all in some way one of the people around others. We need their ideas, their inspiration, their contribution, and sometimes just the knowing that they are there. Yet there is another need – it was Anne Marie McEwan who last year made the excellent point that when an organisation hires someone, it hires their entire network. This stresses the importance of developing a diverse, informed and active diaspora. If you think you can do it on your own, you are missing your EQ. which brings me on to….
  • Emotional intelligence: in an age of governance, tape of various colours and the need for a corporate stab-vest under your non-iron shirt, it is tempting to see all activity around us through a technical frame, forgetting that all that compliance – even brilliance – is almost useless without EQ and self-awareness. If you can recite Byron perfectly but are not moved or changed by it, did you really read it at all?
  • Personal development: how many times, early in our careers, did we say we wished to join an organisation that would provide training and development? As it became apparent that this was a Careers Office deception, and with changes in our access to information, the ubiquity of the hyperlink (real and metaphorical), and the ability to selectively create networks that can inspire and stretch us, personal development rests ever more in our own hands.
  • Patience: in a world of instant gratification and information on demand, it is a paradox that organisational change seems to take ever longer, and be harder fought for than at any time since the Romans came ashore to play football. No-one teaches you to be patient, yet it is expected and often demanded. It is – truly – a virtue.
  • Open mind: think you’ve seen it all? The longer we serve in an organisation, and if we do not bring our own of the above, the narrower our field of vision becomes, and our mind closes like a sated flytrap. New day, new surprises. Don’t miss them.
  • Flexibility: you know how you work best. You know the place, the times and the methods that suit you. You can behave as convention would have you do, or you can demonstrate how much more productive you can be if you determine your own patterns – and share your experience, to provide others with enough confidence to do so too.
  • Deviance: not in the “naughty, 150 lines” sense, as some may interpret it, but as the will to consider alternatives, try different things and to do things differently – and talk about it all openly – that is, enough courage to beneficially break a habit or two. In community activity it is often called “positive deviance” – because every idea is claimed by someone – but I like to think of it simply as a spark.
  • Donuts: well, you have to, don’t you?

And of course you can bring your own device too. If you want to.

Blogsport for all?

Having been blogging (and loving it) for over a year, I asked myself recently when reading some tweets discussing how to maximise readership, at what point does blogging lose its innocence? When does the thrill of self-publishing, of sharing questions, ideas and views and generating a response from others – often people we don’t even know (yet) – make way for the addrenalin rush associated with sport, and the competitive urge?

When does blogging become sport?

Bloggers want influence. We want to know what we are saying is read, and to provoke thought and response. We want to be a source of reference, even to be quoted. Deep within the mix of excitement and nervousness at releasing a new post, our vanity desires a reaction.

Yet we (as in so many areas of life and work) are riders of the normal distribution – albeit refreshingly it is an ever-shifting population. It may not quite be a case of you only being as good as your last post, but a run of inspiring – or pointless – posts will shift your appeal.

As most who blog know, it is hard work. Garnering a readership takes time, thought, effort and persistence. We are often limited by the size and maturity of the field we are in or the subjects we cover, or of the composition of the network we have created. When we break out to other fields we are strangers, and it takes time once again to earn readership. “Here I am barbarian for men understand me not” as Ovid said.

But those stats packages are transfixing. So much rich detail. They look like a powerpoint slide the finance team create. Our mood and emotions react when we process what we find. We check them regularly after each post is released. And regularly thereafter.

Nietzsche, essentially a philologist, stated that “we think because we have named something that we have described it”.  In the same way, from data on the number of times a post has been viewed we have no measure of influence, and the extent to which our writing has reached deeply into our readership. We don’t know how many read the first two lines and gave up. Or got there by accident.

It’s the same with Twitter and followers – it’s not about the number, it’s about who they are, how they engage with you, and how they can add to the richness of your network – and you can add to theirs. It’s about the social relationship created. But you can see that for some, its sport too.

So when blogging is all about messaging tailored for the purpose of boosting readership , is it no longer genuine? Has it become in its own (generally non-remunerated) way just like the shallow business of music, authorship or the “popular press” – “blogsport”? Can the blogosphere, as a self-regulating, self-balancing community, detect this, and somehow correct it?

For those souls tortured by their data, when will the first stats-induced nervous breakdown occur, and when will blogsport counsellors emerge, to re-build the shattered egos?

As a contribution to the body of counselling that will undoubtedly emerge, I am reminded of Rick Wakeman’s response to a journalist who (quite rightly, at the time) savaged his latest offering – “it’s my f—ing album, isn’t it?”

I think these questions are important – so will be checking my stats later. And tomorrow. And comparing them to last week. OK, breathe, and relax…..do you have that counsellor’s number?

Never lose that innocence.

 

The Global Institute of Nowhere

So that’s it then.

I have given in my cards. I have declined to renew my memberships to the British Council for Offices (BCO) and CoreNet Global (in reality CoreNet USA). And now that the Workplace Consulting Organisation (WCO) – on the brink of obscurity – has decided to charge for membership, I have left that too. That would just leave the British Institute of Facilities Management (BIFM), but I believe the corporate membership I was once included within was cancelled. So now I don’t belong to anything professional that charges a fee. Free. Or lonely?

I used to rely heavily on professional bodies and their organised events for the building of a network, in the days before social media (if there were actually days before). You proudly displayed the badge on your CV. You talked up your commitment to networking. You attended CPD events and marked them off in your diary.

True, there are some bodies whose professional exams confer the right to enter and practice a profession. I acknowledge their right to do so as examination boards. However even they, in their broader sense, lie within the scope of what I say below.

The contention of this blog is that their place and future of professional and trade organisations in our working lives is no longer assured. Here are some possible reasons why:

  • They – like guilds – are internally focussed, committed to preserving the mystique and unique character of the trade, and creating real or perceived barriers to entry – yet the value of interaction is increasingly being derived from an all-encompassing open environment, where multiple perspectives and differing experience is valued… this is the essence of co-working, jellies, tweet-ups, unconferences, barcamps…. who only wants to mix with people who do similar things to you?
  • “Structured” is now more likely than not instantly unappealing – it implies format, rigidity, constraint, format, authority, direction – all concepts that are anathema to free thought, tangents, inspiration and surprise
  • The bulk of membership fees levied go toward funding and supporting a bloated self-fulfilling zero-value bureaucracy with rules, policies, regulations and other expected but unnecessary “services”
  • They are inherently out-dated – there will always be those whose thinking and practices have moved on, while the organisations languish – by the time they are recognise trends that may affect themselves or their profession, and a committee or working group is formed to discuss them, the trends have matured, and new trends are emerging from them
  • Younger professionals have already established informal networks made possible by social media, and therefore have already peeled away by the time they may be ready to join – or do so soon after joining, realising that the benefit is minimal at best
  • They fund and issue publications that no-one needs, and claim ownership of knowledge and information – but the best stuff is already out there, freely available, as its published
  • The credibility once associated with membership – on your CV, say – is now better expressed through your full three-dimensional identity – your wider networks, your blog, your social interactions – you no longer need the stamp of legitimacy that membership once conferred, as it is your broader activity that generates a greater credibility
  • They rely on the energy, commitment, enthusiasm and IP of the individual members to create their value proposition, despite charging them to belong – and the members are realising that the same (and greater) value can be obtained outside the organisation, and without charge
  • They confer a multitude of “awards” that are becoming increasingly meaningless as in a networked world success and achievement is transmitted quickly and appraisal almost instantaneous – and a far greater value is placed on experimentation and courageous initiative that wards do not recognise – the judgment of the organisation no longer equates to the value in the profession

So in celebration of all that is unplanned, unstructured, tangential, multidisciplinary and undisciplined, and of course free of charge, I thought I might create the Global Institute of Nowhere (GiN). A pointless, non-membership, ungoverned professional body for everyone. And everything has a lower case “i” in it these days.

Here at GiN we encourage active participation. It really is very easy. Get a blog, get a Twitter account, get off your backside and meet people. See you out there.

 

All cats are grey

I have previously suggested that perhaps there may be reasons why the property and workplace industry had not embraced social media  (ignore the date, it’s when I moved the blog over from Posterous).

Almost a year later and the situation remains the same. In certain respects could be argued that it has further retreated. The reticence of a profession that has so much influence on people’s working lives across the planet to share its perspectives and opinions – considered or otherwise – has led me to ask – is the profession scared of the dark?  If so, why? Some reasons may be…..

  • In the face of the emergence of the social organisation, the influence of the profession may be waning altogether, as we seem to need less space to work and demand less of our workplace – other stuff may be more important
  • Others may know more than we do about people working together, and what they need – we might no longer the experts we one were – others may know stuff too
  • As workplace issues shift into the realms of interaction, engagement and trust, the knowledge and skills commonly associated with – and pursued by – the property and workplace industry could be becoming increasingly irrelevant – we may know the wrong stuff
  • It is an industry that seems to be fundamentally geared towards case studies, portfolios and examples, carefully stated and manicured – awards and published “success” as that’s where future business is generated – we may need to learn from difficult stuff too
  • It is an industry with an apparent learning problem derived from what seems to be an inability to be honest and open about what did not go right with an experiment or attempt to do something differently – it espouses the need for workplaces to be able to support innovation but its DNA seems to deny itself the opportunity – being social means we may have to learn stuff
  • It is an industry that seems to lock itself away in subscription-based “professional” bodies – that are in effect collectives, without barriers to entry – and places undue reliance on their scripted, traditional, periodic and seemingly out-dated offerings, rather than seizing the chance to co-develop itself – we may need to embrace the informal stuff
  • It means practising what is preached – “openness”, “interaction” and “collaboration” are the ubiquitous spam of the profession, yet al too often, it seems, NIMBY, as it could reveal a little too much about ourselves – we may have to do the stuff we talk about

Are we in bed amongst the stones?