It’s clearly a matter of common sense

Air travel is statistically very safe. The chances of death on a commercial flight run by a European or North American airline are incredibly remote – somewhere in excess of 1 in 7 million. That’s very reassuring and is a tribute to years of research and advances in engineering, training and safety procedures at airline manufacturers, airports and air traffic control centres. Admittedly, very large aircraft still look as though the last place they should possibly be is 35,000 feet up in the air, but that’s just our feeble, emotional, irrational anxieties overcoming our logical, scientific, reasoning intellect.

And then a story like this one hits the news. To summarise, US fighter jets based at UK airbases were involved in 19 near misses with non-military planes in the past 5 years, and the main recommendation for ensuring future safety is……

…… to keep the glass in the aircraft cockpit clean!


Now, I don’t know about you, but I get really twitchy if the windscreen on my car gets a bit smeary. I hate it if I allow the washer reservoir to run dry and I can’t clean the windscreen as I drive along. In fairness, though, it’s rare for that to ever get to the point where my vision is so compromised that I can’t see everything around in perfect clarity. And my car doesn’t travel at 500 miles per hour 1200 feet off the ground.

I get that these fighter jets are equipped with all sorts of digitally enhanced displays and that radar and other devices keep the pilot aware of her/his position at all times. But I’ve got sensors on the back of my car that tell me if I’m getting too close when parking. It doesn’t mean that I don’t also look where I’m going!

I guess the serious point is that no matter how good the technology is, sometimes there is no substitute for human reactions and the application of common sense. Maybe something that we will need to bear in mind as we spend the Chancellor’s £500m developing driverless cars as well.


It’s not all equally bad news

It’s been too easy recently to assume that we are all going to hell in a hand-basket. Austerity and its impact on the poorest members of our society; Brexit and the feral, anti-immigrant sentiment that it stirred up; abuses of position and sexual harassment in the corridors of political power – all suggest that we are becoming less tolerant, less social, less equal as a society.

Its good to be able to reflect on two pieces of very positive news today. The first details a change in maternity and paternity leave policy by the UK’s largest insurance company, Aviva. In future, both parents will be able to claim up to 26 weeks leave at standard basic pay in the first year following the arrival of a new child or completion of an adoption. Where both parents work for Aviva, this could allow a full year of child care to be provided by the parents without any reduction in basic pay. This is not only great for the child, but has the potential to significantly reduce the negative impact on the woman’s career of taking time out of the workplace after childbirth. What’s particularly encouraging about the Aviva initiative is the recognition that changing the policy alone won’t achieve the sort of cultural shift that they are seeking to achieve. “Aviva [will] use male role models to show it is acceptable to take up the offer of parental leave, to encourage a change in perceptions and foster a cultural change. Otherwise, male employees may still be reticent about taking time off, even if paid.” I genuinely hope that this is the start of a wider review of maternity and paternity leave policies across the private and public sectors. It’s in everybody’s best interests to support women and men equally as parents and employees.


The second ‘good news’ story this Friday comes from an unusual source. Swansea City FC and AFC Bournemouth have become the first Premier League football clubs in the country to formally recognize transgender and non-binary supporters in the way that they are addressed. In future, supporters will have the option to choose to be addressed as “Mx” as an alternative to the more ususal Mr, Miss, Mrs etc.. Explaining the change in policy, Swansea City’s equality and diversity manager said : “We’re continually looking at ways to make our services more inclusive. Language plays a really important part in delivering this and ensuring that everyone feels welcome – regardless of age, gender or gender identity, sexuality or ethnicity.” Too often, football and football clubs are associated with a laddish culture in which minorities and ‘difference’ are seen as fair game for ridicule or humiliation rather than celebration. It’s great to see some clubs now taking a much more enlightened attitude to these issues. This weekend also sees the launch of the Rainbow Laces campaign, promoted by Stonewall, and designed to tackle homophobic, biphobic and transphobic attitudes in sport more generally. Of course, as with the challenges of cultural change at Aviva, adding Mx to a list of prefixes won’t suddenly lead to premiership football becoming a safe space for transgender and non-binary fans, but it may encourage those have been reluctant to attend football matches for fear of how they would be received, to go along. And that’s good for the fans and the clubs.

Have a good, equality-filled weekend!


Intimations of mortality

My knee is really painful. It started about two weeks’ ago when I’d been crammed on a Cross Country train from Birmingham New Street to Bristol Temple Meads for two and a half hours. I’m quite tall, and public transport isn’t designed with me in mind. I thought that I was fine, until I cam to stand up and found that whilst most of my body had reverted to standing shape, my right knee was still at 90 degrees and seemed reluctant to revert to straight without an encouraging shove. Initially, I assumed that it was just a reaction to having been stuck in the same position for too long. Now though, I am fearful that I have done something more serious. A trip to the doctor’s is required (a bit of a challenge when I’m in Bristol Monday to Friday and my doctor is in Cardiff). On ringing the surgery, I am non-plussed at the suggestion that the next bookable appointment is available on 12th December (do we have to predict when we are going to need medical intervention three weeks in advance now?). On further questioning, it transpires that if I need to see somebody before then (YES I DO – did I mention that my knee hurts?) then I can report to the surgery at 8.30am any morning and I will be allocated an appointment for some time that morning. Thank goodness I have an understanding boss. So, I will be dragging my sore knee (it really hurts, you know) to the doctor’s surgery next week and sitting with all the sick people waiting for one of that day’s appointments. There’s a good chance that in 10 days’ time, my blog will be about the chest infection I contracted while sitting for 2 hours in a waiting room next to somebody with borderline tuberculosis.

In the meantime, here’s a poem from John Whitworth on the theme of growing old, and dedicated to Alan Bennett, who – let’s face it – was born old.


ps I aspire to “dismal b*st*rd” status, and I’m moving very nicely along the pathway to achieving it!

When English seems like a foreign language


A ‘friendly’ football match between Rhyl FC and a Leeds United XI was abandoned last evening following a mass brawl between the two sets of players. The concept of ‘friendly’ fixtures in any sport conjures the idea of gentle matches in which participation is valued over the ‘win at all costs’ mentality that pervades formally competitive fixtures. In fact, the opposite is often the case. In August this year, a ‘friendly’ match between Premier League Burnley FC and German side Hannover was abandoned at half time when a section of the German team’s supporters attempted to attack fans of the home team. Nor is the phenomenon limited to professional teams. An over 50s walking-football match had to be abandoned after just 2 minutes when a brawl broke out following a crunching tackle.

So if ‘friendly’ fixtures can be anything but, what other oxymoronic phrases do we have in the English language? I’ve always been intrigued by ‘public schools’ that are almost invariably open only to those juvenile members of the ‘public’ with parents able to pay the often eye-watering annual tuition fees. Or what about the ‘World Series’ of baseball – a competition that purports to crown the world champions but which is only open to North American teams.


One of my favourite work-related incongruous descriptions is the ‘informal disciplinary investigation’. I always picture a kind of bohemian figure reclining on a velvet chaise-longue and asking the poor employee : “So, just relax, chill out, and give me the low down on how you came to punch your supervisor in the kisser?” The reality, of course, is much more prosaic. There’s no such thing as an ‘informal’ HR process, regardless of what the organizational procedure may suggest.

Perhaps more controversially, the Faculty of Homeopathy is an organization that challenges the normal definition of Faculty as the members of a learned profession. Homeopathy has been extensively and consistently debunked in a series of recent scientific studies, and whilst there may be a moderate positive effect where homeopathic treatments are used for some patients, this rarely exceeds known placebo effects. A Faculty of Homeopathy is no more scientifically and intellectually cogent than a Faculty of Fairies at the Bottom of the Garden.

And don’t even get me started on ‘Soft Brexit’, or ‘Jobs First Brexit’. They’re not oxymorons. They’re b*ll*cks!



Thoughts from my virtual notice board

improve the silence

It’s been two days of back-to-back meetings. Most of them have been productive and interesting, but not all. Some decisions have been taken, lots of information has been shared. Data has been pored over and questions raised. Projects have progressed – not always to the extent hoped, but they’ve moved on a little. I’m not one for talking a lot in meetings unless I have something worthwhile to contribute to the subject under discussion. In general, if I have nothing to add, I’m very happy to add nothing. It’s a function of my introverted thinking style and preference – I don’t need to think out loud and generally I’m not comfortable externalizing my thought processes. The Borges quote sits very comfortably with me, although I acknowledge that it infuriates those extroverts who work (and live!) with me. I do try to adapt my style sometimes, but I’m very happy with the silence.

achieve great thingsThe university that I work for is in the midst of a lot of change. Having spent much of the last two years working out where we want to be in the next five years, the pressure is now on to do the things that will get us there. There are some very large projects under way. A £300m plus new campus in the city centre; a £90m new library and learning commons building in the existing Clifton Campus; and new information systems to better manage student and financial data across the institution. Beneath these, there is a host of smaller initiatives running : new teaching programmes; small-scale improvements to existing buildings and facilities; process improvements to improve the service to students and academic staff.

All of this generates a significant additional workload for many of us alongside the ‘business as usual’ day job (which has to be done in addition to the sexy, project stuff). There are often days and weeks where there are simply not enough hours to get it all done, and this is where the Italian proverb comes in handy. It’s always worth remembering that a good plan well executed is always more effective than a perfect plan that never gets off the shelf. Implementation done well enough is always preferable to perfect intentions.

dalai lamaAnd finally, there’s this quote from the Dalai Lama. It’s a timely and necessary reminder that however busy things get, you must always make the time to live. When busy-ness gets in the way of life, then it’s time to review what really matters and to re-focus on what’s important.



The light in the window

office view

This grainy image is the view from my office window as I sit wondering what I should write for this evening’s post. The camera on my iPhone (other mobile communications devices are available) has lightened the shot considerably, but it’s still possible to appreciate the atmospheric lighting effect on the first floor window sill. The highlighted ledgers standing somewhat drunkenly in the window appear almost Dickensian. And this allusion is reinforced by the fact that the building was originally a 19th century almshouse.

I have no idea who occupies the space now, but I like to think that there’s an old walnut desk under the window, where an ageing writer, probably wearing fingerless gloves, is bashing out histories and tragedies on an old typewriter – manuscripts that will be sent off to a publisher before being returned with a kind but ultimately final letter of rejection. Occasionally, a short story or fact-based piece will be accepted by a periodical journal, and the resulting cheque will allow my imaginary writer to supplement her meagre civil service pension and buy a bottle of port and some stilton. A fleeting moment of congratulation in an otherwise unappreciated writing career.

The ledgers on the window sill are the completed manuscripts of novels that have been read only by my writer; lovingly crafted accounts of the lives of a family that exists only in her head – and which she long-ago gave up any hope of meeting in reality. But occasionally, she takes them down and reads them through, thinking about what could have been. She is alone, but she is not lonely; and while her writing is a solitary pursuit, she still meets up with colleagues from the office. They reminisce about what was, and what might have been, and (sometimes) about what should never have been.

When she finally dies, a distant great-niece will come to the apartment to sort out the belongings and settle the estate. She will take down the ledgers and read the meticulously presented manuscripts (my writer never lost the skills gained in the 1980s typing pool), and she will reflect that there was much more to her aunt than ever met the eye. And my writer will look down and smile, and relish the fact that her memory will live on in the crisp pages of the window sill ledgers.

Correlation, causation and chocolate labradors

I have been subject to an unrelenting and highly targeted form of lobbying in recent years. To give you a sense of the intensity of the campaign, those responsible could teach Russian social media bots a thing or two about psychological manipulation. Normally, I would be immune to this sort of thing. Being a contrarian by nature, my usual reaction is to assume that any attempt to sway my opinion one way or the other is really just a smokescreen to mask the weakness of the case being promoted. Unfortunately, my natural defences are not enough on their own to protect me when the people running the campaign are my wife and daughter.


Their aim is to persuade me that what we really need in our lives is a non-contributing, utterly dependent, mess generating, allergy-inducing, four legged friend. Others call such things a dog, apparently. I have been implacably opposed to agreeing to this proposition for as long as C. and I have been married (which is a long time now). However, recently, and possibly as a sign of my own weakening mental capacity, I may have given a non-time-bound commitment to allowing a chocolate labrador into our lives in the future.

There are lots of reasons for my historic hostility to the idea of allowing a dog into our house. I do have a minor fur allergy (although admittedly this seems to be triggered more by cats than dogs); and it strikes me that dogs (unlike children) remain dependent on you for ever, never opening up the hope that eventually they’ll grow up and start drinking all the milk and ice cream in their own homes. To be honest, there’s also a part of me that doesn’t want to open myself up to the distress that results from injury, illness or (worst of all) the death of a ‘surrogate child’.

My objections are not helped though, by news reports of research that seems to show that owning a dog is actually good for you. The most recent such report was covered by the BBC news website earlier this week. Summarising a study from the University of Uppsala in Sweden, the article claims that : “Dog owners have a lower risk of death from cardiovascular disease or other causes”. This is an astonishing claim – owning a dog apparently means that your chances of contracting heart disease are reduced and you will live longer.

The reality of course, is much more complex than the headline writers would have us believe. In the first case, it’s far from clear whether it’s dog ownership that makes people healthy, or if healthy people tend to own dogs. The correlation between dog ownership and improved cardiovascular health is greatest among owners of hunting breeds – the very people who are more likely to live active lives in the first place. It’s a good example of the maxim that correlation does not imply causation – that just because two data sets may have a statistical relationship, it does not mean that one causes the other.

In contrast, there is a causative relationship between the incessant pressure applied by wife and daughter and my diminishing resolve in holding out against a dog. And chocolate Labradors are really good looking dogs – but not just yet.

choc lab