Following my last piece, a number of readers have written in, offering …
Wait, wait. What’s this stuff about readers? Is that the right term? Can you lot really be described as readers, or is there a better word for what you are - and furthermore, one that you will be happy to answer to?
Maybe it would be more accurate to refer to you as subscribers - but that’s not quite right either. Being a subscriber implies some sort of contract and — let’s be honest — getting sent ‘New blog from Omnivorist’ emails every other day is not something you ever signed up for.
How about devotees? Now there’s a word with a nice ring to it.
All the same, there’s the undeniable fact that while devotees might be nice to have they’re not always so nice to be, besides which, having devotees — tending them, nurturing them and so on — sounds like an awful lot of work. In any case, I really can’t see the people who read my stuff being happy to think of themselves as devotees — however much they might enjoy it. Might as well go the whole hog and call them disciples while we’re at it.
Followers might work — it is very popular and has a wide currency on social media. It is still not quite right though. To describe someone as a follower suggests a dull-witted, bovine compulsion to munch-up whatever is placed in front of them — something which certainly can’t be said of you lot. It’s difficult enough even to get you to click on the link.
I wouldn’t really have a problem with the readers thing were it not for the fact that it reminds me of those lamps: the very expensive and incredibly bright ones, designed for the kind of old people who are flattered to be classed as Serious Readers.
Of course the very term Serious Reader implies there is another sort, namely the non-serious reader or the flippant reader — you know, the kind of person whose reading of Jane Austen’s celebrated opening line, might go something like:
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be ........... whatever !”
No the serious reader is one who approaches the written word with a degree of quiet determination. The first sentence is read, then the second followed by the third. Then the third sentence is read again and then the fourth begun … until the eyelids droop and the chin sinks slowly onto the chest. An unseen hand flicks off the lamp and the room is silent save for the sound of gentle snoring:
xorghf, xorghf, xagagagakkk
So where was I ?
Yes, that was it: following my last piece, a number of readers have written in, offering all sorts of excuses as to why they still haven’t bought a copy of The Wisdom of Wormwood.
Here are just a few of them, starting with the paltry ones:
I won’t have the time to read it
Be honest - that’s not really true right now is it?
I don’t like being pressured into buying things.
Go away, come back later and pretend you found it all by yourself.
I fear that buying a copy will only encourage you to write more.
There is always that risk.
I don’t want to spend £2.99 without being absolutely sure that it’s any good
Let me assure you: it is very good indeed — better than you could possibly imagine.
I’ll do it tomorrow
Yeah, yeah.
And then there are the legitimate excuses:
I don’t have a device capable of running Kindle.
Having vowed to renounce Bezos and all his works, I refuse to buy things on Amazon.
I have never really liked your stuff anyway.
Fair enough
Saturday, April 11, 2020
Wednesday, April 08, 2020
A piece of shameless self promotion
You may think you have seen this before and you'd be right but the fact is, if you haven’t already got yourself a copy, you NEED to get one NOW
“But where can I get one?” I hear you ask.
The answer is, you can get one here
And it is no use coming up with excuses: that you haven’t got the time, have too many other things to do and so on, because — sorry — but it just won’t wash.
During these difficult days [add phrases invoking wartime spirit etc etc], we should give ourselves the time to smile or even to surrender to a hearty belly laugh — you know, the kind where you rock back and forwards in your chair, slapping your thighs, while throwing your head back and emitting gales of full-throated laughter.
So if you find yourself thinking:
“I’d like some of that — it sounds just the ticket.”
Then you NEED to click here and get yourself a copy of
The Wisdom of Wormwood
Wednesday, April 01, 2020
Books
Looking at all the bookshelves appearing in people’s webcams reminded me of something I wrote some years ago that was going to form part of a larger collection called ‘HTML and all that’, which is unlikely to be brought to completion for the simple reason that it was rooted in the time I spent writing computer software and is now somewhat dated. This chapter is about building a technical library. I was thinking of modifying it with the intention of giving it wider appeal but, life being too short, I decided to leave it as it is.
So you have to buy some books. Notice I say 'buy', by the way, and not 'read' or 'borrow', for this is an important point - you must own them. In fact I can safely say without exaggeration that owning the book - or more precisely - taking possession of its content is the very essence of what we're talking about here. Bringing the book home, taking it out of its little bag and making a special space for it on your shelf - this is what it’s all about. Now (already), to all intents and purposes, you have appropriated the knowledge it contains. Think of it, if you like, as a sort of long-term storage. Your own memory, the bit you carry round with you inside your head, is a precious resource and should not be treated as a mere shopping bag in which to lug around all sorts of arbitrary information. No the proper place for that kind of thing is on your bookshelf, or on the disk of your computer, both of which can be thought of as extensions of your own intellect, holding information ready to be loaded up the moment you require it.
But I am running ahead of myself; before you can buy the book you must select it from amongst all the others in the shop. How do you go about doing that? In this piece I will give you a few guidelines which, if followed, will guarantee satisfaction.
So there you are, in the bookshop confronting an enormous set of shelves on which is arrayed the most magnificent collection of books. Let me acknowledge right away that at this point it is not unusual to suffer a kind of dreadful premonition in which you see the selfsame books stuffed, dog-eared and slightly mildewed, in cardboard boxes outside some depressing second-hand bookshop, tagged with a handwritten label announcing '15p each - 5 for 50p' Should this happen - and it is inevitable from time to time - there is nothing else for it but to leave the shop immediately. Go and do something else; this isn't the right time.
But today the books are looking pristine and inviting. Where do you begin?
Well, you have to narrow down the choice and this should be done in the most efficient way possible - that is with your hands in your pockets. The first selection criterion is a simple one - thickness. You are looking for books that are between 1 and 2 inches thick. Less than that and, I guarantee, it's going to be heavy going. It's difficult to explain - but there's a certain quality of meanness about a thin book. You can be sure the author considers himself very clever and is somehow justified in receiving a small fortune for the privilege of parting with a few pages of incomprehensible gobbledegook. The only exception to this rule applies to those cases where the title alone is so enigmatic and impressive that it might be worth acquiring the book for it's spine alone. Tastes vary but something along the lines of In Defence of Failure or Cloud Geometry would be strong candidates for my own shelves.
The very opposite can be said of thick books. Though it is a somewhat arbitrary threshold, anything over 2 in thick has to be considered distinctly suspect. There's an increasing tendency in this direction with books of 4-5 inches thick regularly on offer.
Who are these authors who can say so much on a subject that only a month ago was completely outside the sphere of human knowledge? The suspicion is that these books are not so much written as generated. For some reason only known to the publishers they are invariably red and have titles that are either boastful: The Guru's Guide to Goo or simply enigmatic: FffD Secrets. If you were to heave one of these tomes down from the shelf - and be warned, this can be dangerous - you will be presented with a photograph of the author while, at the same time, your fingers unconsciously trace the outlines of a CD glued into the back cover. In case 900 pages is not enough, you are offered a 600 Megabyte memory dump of the author's own personal computer.
Only now, having narrowed down the field somewhat, should you give serious attention to titles. Titles are important. When you are interviewed on the Horizon programme in a few years time you will be filmed against the backdrop of your bookshelf and, however clever you sound, the impression is going to be seriously compromised if titles such as The Beginners Guide to Basic or First Tottering Steps in Computer Programming are clearly visible over your shoulder. Avoid these books like the plague. They serve no purpose whatsoever. As long as they remain unread they will only serve as a source of anxiety, causing you to wake up in a cold sweat the night before you are due to address an international conference on Image Recognition Architectures with the unshakeable conviction that there was something in Fun Pictures on your PC in 3 days that you completely overlooked. If you do choose to read them (and as we shall see later, this should be considered a strategy of last resort) then you will want to heave them out of the house as soon as possible.
So you have eliminated about half the books on the shelves without touching any of them and now you're left with books between 1 and 2 inches thick with good, dependable titles - like Comprehensive C++, A Lisp Primer and so on. Even so there are still an awful lot to choose from and, there's nothing else for it, this is where you're going to have to reach up and handle them.
First thing to look for is the front cover. It’s difficult to state hard and fast rules here but a few simple guidelines can be stated.
Animals are good. If the book has an animal on the cover it is definitely worth looking at more closely. So keep that book with the picture of the amphibian on the cover for further consideration. Another good indicator is the cover illustration that looks like it might have been painted by the author - you know the kind of thing: a wizard or suchlike, floating awkwardly against a background depicting badly painted castle walls with maybe a medieval maiden in a wimple. Is that the right word? You know, one of those conical hats with a bit of gauze draped from it. The whole composition is enough to make you feel sick of course, but let's try to understand this. The author, being some arch-nerd, has thought it a really Great Idea to provide his own cover illustration and the publishers (shrewdly) have the insight to appreciate that Like Attracts Like (or some other such principle) and, ignoring the protestations of the art department, have gone along with it. The guy must have something about him to be worth flattering in this way and the publishers have no doubt calculated that the nerd-market alone is going to be sufficient to bring in a healthy return. No - put aside your understandable distaste and keep the book on one side for further consideration.
The cover illustrations to reject are easily recognisable. Anything that looks vaguely technical - flow charts, circuit diagrams and the like - these go straight in the reject bin. There's no safer indication than this that the book has been commissioned by serious business people. It is going to be boring. No, worse - it's going to be deeply depressing. Don't take my word for it though. Go on, open it up, turn to the Preface or Introduction or whatever it is that immediately follows the horribly long and turgid Acknowledgements. Read the first sentence. It starts: "In today's dynamic business environment … " doesn’t it? Need I say more?
To go any further, you're going to have to open the book and look inside but don't despair - a glance at the dedication is sufficient to eliminate a good 50% of the volumes remaining. What you're looking for is something distinctly quirky like:
To Annette for feeding the marmosets
A dedication of this sort should be readily distinguishable from the more pathetic:
To my wife for her patient and selfless support.
In the first case, we're talking about someone who is clearly deeply in love with the author. Even though Annette is clearly somewhat afraid of the small animals, doesn't like touching them, let alone changing their soiled bedding, she willingly does it simply to be occupying the same space as her brilliant partner, who spends every evening hammering out his life's work on the PC.
The second dedication, on the other hand, speaks of an abandoned and resentful woman whose selfless support consists of nothing more than a willingness to tolerate, endless lonely evenings patiently explaining to the children how their father is very busy earning the money to pay for their riding lessons. See the difference? You don't want to spend good money on a book written by someone so uncaring.
So now, finally, we come to the part where you must delve deeper. This doesn’t need to take as long as you might imagine. Raise the book to your nose and riffle through the pages. Does it smell right? Tastes differ but you’re looking for something like new-mown grass or the smell of rain on stone paving after a long dry spell.
If you follow the principles outlined above you will find yourself with a technical library that not only provides you with the comforting assurance that you have a vast body of knowledge at your fingertips but will also be the envy of others.
Books undoubtedly have a number of additional qualities that I might have touched upon. There are some individuals, for example, who are passionate about the contents of the book – specifically by the detailed way in which the words are grouped into sentences, paragraphs and chapters. This is something of a specialised topic which I do not propose to embark on here and is one that, in my own experience at least, I have not felt the need to trouble myself with.
So you have to buy some books. Notice I say 'buy', by the way, and not 'read' or 'borrow', for this is an important point - you must own them. In fact I can safely say without exaggeration that owning the book - or more precisely - taking possession of its content is the very essence of what we're talking about here. Bringing the book home, taking it out of its little bag and making a special space for it on your shelf - this is what it’s all about. Now (already), to all intents and purposes, you have appropriated the knowledge it contains. Think of it, if you like, as a sort of long-term storage. Your own memory, the bit you carry round with you inside your head, is a precious resource and should not be treated as a mere shopping bag in which to lug around all sorts of arbitrary information. No the proper place for that kind of thing is on your bookshelf, or on the disk of your computer, both of which can be thought of as extensions of your own intellect, holding information ready to be loaded up the moment you require it.
But I am running ahead of myself; before you can buy the book you must select it from amongst all the others in the shop. How do you go about doing that? In this piece I will give you a few guidelines which, if followed, will guarantee satisfaction.
So there you are, in the bookshop confronting an enormous set of shelves on which is arrayed the most magnificent collection of books. Let me acknowledge right away that at this point it is not unusual to suffer a kind of dreadful premonition in which you see the selfsame books stuffed, dog-eared and slightly mildewed, in cardboard boxes outside some depressing second-hand bookshop, tagged with a handwritten label announcing '15p each - 5 for 50p' Should this happen - and it is inevitable from time to time - there is nothing else for it but to leave the shop immediately. Go and do something else; this isn't the right time.
But today the books are looking pristine and inviting. Where do you begin?
Well, you have to narrow down the choice and this should be done in the most efficient way possible - that is with your hands in your pockets. The first selection criterion is a simple one - thickness. You are looking for books that are between 1 and 2 inches thick. Less than that and, I guarantee, it's going to be heavy going. It's difficult to explain - but there's a certain quality of meanness about a thin book. You can be sure the author considers himself very clever and is somehow justified in receiving a small fortune for the privilege of parting with a few pages of incomprehensible gobbledegook. The only exception to this rule applies to those cases where the title alone is so enigmatic and impressive that it might be worth acquiring the book for it's spine alone. Tastes vary but something along the lines of In Defence of Failure or Cloud Geometry would be strong candidates for my own shelves.
The very opposite can be said of thick books. Though it is a somewhat arbitrary threshold, anything over 2 in thick has to be considered distinctly suspect. There's an increasing tendency in this direction with books of 4-5 inches thick regularly on offer.
Who are these authors who can say so much on a subject that only a month ago was completely outside the sphere of human knowledge? The suspicion is that these books are not so much written as generated. For some reason only known to the publishers they are invariably red and have titles that are either boastful: The Guru's Guide to Goo or simply enigmatic: FffD Secrets. If you were to heave one of these tomes down from the shelf - and be warned, this can be dangerous - you will be presented with a photograph of the author while, at the same time, your fingers unconsciously trace the outlines of a CD glued into the back cover. In case 900 pages is not enough, you are offered a 600 Megabyte memory dump of the author's own personal computer.
Only now, having narrowed down the field somewhat, should you give serious attention to titles. Titles are important. When you are interviewed on the Horizon programme in a few years time you will be filmed against the backdrop of your bookshelf and, however clever you sound, the impression is going to be seriously compromised if titles such as The Beginners Guide to Basic or First Tottering Steps in Computer Programming are clearly visible over your shoulder. Avoid these books like the plague. They serve no purpose whatsoever. As long as they remain unread they will only serve as a source of anxiety, causing you to wake up in a cold sweat the night before you are due to address an international conference on Image Recognition Architectures with the unshakeable conviction that there was something in Fun Pictures on your PC in 3 days that you completely overlooked. If you do choose to read them (and as we shall see later, this should be considered a strategy of last resort) then you will want to heave them out of the house as soon as possible.
So you have eliminated about half the books on the shelves without touching any of them and now you're left with books between 1 and 2 inches thick with good, dependable titles - like Comprehensive C++, A Lisp Primer and so on. Even so there are still an awful lot to choose from and, there's nothing else for it, this is where you're going to have to reach up and handle them.
First thing to look for is the front cover. It’s difficult to state hard and fast rules here but a few simple guidelines can be stated.
Animals are good. If the book has an animal on the cover it is definitely worth looking at more closely. So keep that book with the picture of the amphibian on the cover for further consideration. Another good indicator is the cover illustration that looks like it might have been painted by the author - you know the kind of thing: a wizard or suchlike, floating awkwardly against a background depicting badly painted castle walls with maybe a medieval maiden in a wimple. Is that the right word? You know, one of those conical hats with a bit of gauze draped from it. The whole composition is enough to make you feel sick of course, but let's try to understand this. The author, being some arch-nerd, has thought it a really Great Idea to provide his own cover illustration and the publishers (shrewdly) have the insight to appreciate that Like Attracts Like (or some other such principle) and, ignoring the protestations of the art department, have gone along with it. The guy must have something about him to be worth flattering in this way and the publishers have no doubt calculated that the nerd-market alone is going to be sufficient to bring in a healthy return. No - put aside your understandable distaste and keep the book on one side for further consideration.
The cover illustrations to reject are easily recognisable. Anything that looks vaguely technical - flow charts, circuit diagrams and the like - these go straight in the reject bin. There's no safer indication than this that the book has been commissioned by serious business people. It is going to be boring. No, worse - it's going to be deeply depressing. Don't take my word for it though. Go on, open it up, turn to the Preface or Introduction or whatever it is that immediately follows the horribly long and turgid Acknowledgements. Read the first sentence. It starts: "In today's dynamic business environment … " doesn’t it? Need I say more?
To go any further, you're going to have to open the book and look inside but don't despair - a glance at the dedication is sufficient to eliminate a good 50% of the volumes remaining. What you're looking for is something distinctly quirky like:
To Annette for feeding the marmosets
A dedication of this sort should be readily distinguishable from the more pathetic:
To my wife for her patient and selfless support.
In the first case, we're talking about someone who is clearly deeply in love with the author. Even though Annette is clearly somewhat afraid of the small animals, doesn't like touching them, let alone changing their soiled bedding, she willingly does it simply to be occupying the same space as her brilliant partner, who spends every evening hammering out his life's work on the PC.
The second dedication, on the other hand, speaks of an abandoned and resentful woman whose selfless support consists of nothing more than a willingness to tolerate, endless lonely evenings patiently explaining to the children how their father is very busy earning the money to pay for their riding lessons. See the difference? You don't want to spend good money on a book written by someone so uncaring.
So now, finally, we come to the part where you must delve deeper. This doesn’t need to take as long as you might imagine. Raise the book to your nose and riffle through the pages. Does it smell right? Tastes differ but you’re looking for something like new-mown grass or the smell of rain on stone paving after a long dry spell.
If you follow the principles outlined above you will find yourself with a technical library that not only provides you with the comforting assurance that you have a vast body of knowledge at your fingertips but will also be the envy of others.
Books undoubtedly have a number of additional qualities that I might have touched upon. There are some individuals, for example, who are passionate about the contents of the book – specifically by the detailed way in which the words are grouped into sentences, paragraphs and chapters. This is something of a specialised topic which I do not propose to embark on here and is one that, in my own experience at least, I have not felt the need to trouble myself with.
Contact tracing
Since I first posted this piece late last night, discussion of contact tracing appears to have gone viral (as the saying goes), partly in response to the rumour that the UK is about to launch something very similar to TraceTogether (first developed in Singapore and described below). I was going to add some links but you can find them everywhere. So, by all means skip the piece below; it adds very little to the general discussion. I do however recommend taking a look at the Youtube link at the end - if you haven't see it already.
There appears to be a growing consensus that the only effective way to manage (and eventually eradicate) the Covid-19 pandemic is through a rigorous program of testing and contact tracing. This is the policy advocated by amongst others: the WHO’s Bruce Aylward and the UK former Health Minister, Jeremy Hunt. The merit of the approach is supported by evidence from SE Asian countries — most notably Singapore and South Korea — where testing and contact tracing were adopted from the outset with a measurable degree of success.
So how does it work? At the simplest level, public health bodies identify people either testing positive for the virus or showing symptoms and then, by means of interviews, ask them to remember with whom they have been in close contact. These people would be followed up in turn and offered testing and advice on limiting further spread.
It doesn’t take long to see the impracticalities of this method. For a start, people are unlikely to remember all of their close contacts and would be unable, in most instances, to identify individuals - for example, after travelling on a bus or visiting a supermarket. Also the resource requirements involved in tracking down and interviewing a widening network of contacts would be considerable.
So how was it done in Singapore and South Korea?
In South Korea the government texted people to let them know if they were in the vicinity of a diagnosed individual using location data from mobile phones. In any case, it is an approach that would be unlikely to gain acceptance in the UK on account of the privacy implications. It is also difficult to see how this would help trace contacts of asymptomatic individuals who later tested positive.
The method adopted in Singapore is more interesting. Here they encouraged people to install an app on their phones called TraceTogether. Each app was assigned a unique ID and the Ministry of Health maintained a database linking each ID to the user’s phone number.
The way it works is this: every time you come into close contact with another person with the same app installed on their phone the apps communicate (via Bluetooth) and each simply stores the ID of the other contact together with the current time. If you remain free of the virus there is no need for you to pay attention to the data being collected - in fact, it is virtually meaningless, consisting simply of a number of timestamped numerical IDs. If you test positive for the virus however, you are encouraged to contact the Ministry of Health and allow them to access the data stored on your phone. The Ministry is then in a position to inform those contacts whom they deem to be at risk and advise them to be tested.
Although this still requires the involvement of a government ministry, the TraceTogether app is designed in such a way as to reassure users with regard to privacy. In essence it is little more than a streamlined version of the contact tracing approach described earlier, the main advantage being that it does not rely on individuals being able to recall (or identify) the people they have been in contact with.
Before I heard about the TraceTogether I found myself thinking about something along similar lines. As it turned out, this was very similar to TraceTogether except for the fact that, in my own scheme, the records would be uploaded to a central body which would, as a consequence, be in possession of the data necessary to construct a detailed representation of contacts across the entire population. Not only would this allow those at risk of infection to be identified and contacted but it would also enable the co-ordinating body to evaluate the effectiveness of social isolation directives as well as assessing the consequences of contacts involving key workers (emergency services, medical staff etc.)
It is the sort of idea that seems wonderful for a while, until one realises it could also be a nightmare.
Many of these issues are discussed in a recent article by Jon Evans. In it he makes the observation:
More generally, at what point does the urgent need for better data collide with the need to protect individual privacy and avoid enabling the tools for an aspiring, or existing, police state? And let’s not kid ourselves; the pandemic increases, rather than diminishes, the authoritarian threat.
The whole article makes very interesting reading. You can find it here:
https://techcrunch.com/2020/03/29/test-and-trace-with-apple-and-google/
The author comes to the conclusion that Apple and Google are capable of constructing a near-complete contact model within the time frame necessary to bring the virus under control and that furthermore they can be trusted more than governments not to misuse the information obtained.
I am not inclined to comment further other than to point out that such a proposal would be — at the very least — controversial.
Finally though, you should take a look at the following short presentation. It shows what is presently possible using location data from mobile phones.
It is a bit of an eye-opener.
There appears to be a growing consensus that the only effective way to manage (and eventually eradicate) the Covid-19 pandemic is through a rigorous program of testing and contact tracing. This is the policy advocated by amongst others: the WHO’s Bruce Aylward and the UK former Health Minister, Jeremy Hunt. The merit of the approach is supported by evidence from SE Asian countries — most notably Singapore and South Korea — where testing and contact tracing were adopted from the outset with a measurable degree of success.
So how does it work? At the simplest level, public health bodies identify people either testing positive for the virus or showing symptoms and then, by means of interviews, ask them to remember with whom they have been in close contact. These people would be followed up in turn and offered testing and advice on limiting further spread.
It doesn’t take long to see the impracticalities of this method. For a start, people are unlikely to remember all of their close contacts and would be unable, in most instances, to identify individuals - for example, after travelling on a bus or visiting a supermarket. Also the resource requirements involved in tracking down and interviewing a widening network of contacts would be considerable.
So how was it done in Singapore and South Korea?
In South Korea the government texted people to let them know if they were in the vicinity of a diagnosed individual using location data from mobile phones. In any case, it is an approach that would be unlikely to gain acceptance in the UK on account of the privacy implications. It is also difficult to see how this would help trace contacts of asymptomatic individuals who later tested positive.
The method adopted in Singapore is more interesting. Here they encouraged people to install an app on their phones called TraceTogether. Each app was assigned a unique ID and the Ministry of Health maintained a database linking each ID to the user’s phone number.
The way it works is this: every time you come into close contact with another person with the same app installed on their phone the apps communicate (via Bluetooth) and each simply stores the ID of the other contact together with the current time. If you remain free of the virus there is no need for you to pay attention to the data being collected - in fact, it is virtually meaningless, consisting simply of a number of timestamped numerical IDs. If you test positive for the virus however, you are encouraged to contact the Ministry of Health and allow them to access the data stored on your phone. The Ministry is then in a position to inform those contacts whom they deem to be at risk and advise them to be tested.
Although this still requires the involvement of a government ministry, the TraceTogether app is designed in such a way as to reassure users with regard to privacy. In essence it is little more than a streamlined version of the contact tracing approach described earlier, the main advantage being that it does not rely on individuals being able to recall (or identify) the people they have been in contact with.
Before I heard about the TraceTogether I found myself thinking about something along similar lines. As it turned out, this was very similar to TraceTogether except for the fact that, in my own scheme, the records would be uploaded to a central body which would, as a consequence, be in possession of the data necessary to construct a detailed representation of contacts across the entire population. Not only would this allow those at risk of infection to be identified and contacted but it would also enable the co-ordinating body to evaluate the effectiveness of social isolation directives as well as assessing the consequences of contacts involving key workers (emergency services, medical staff etc.)
It is the sort of idea that seems wonderful for a while, until one realises it could also be a nightmare.
Many of these issues are discussed in a recent article by Jon Evans. In it he makes the observation:
More generally, at what point does the urgent need for better data collide with the need to protect individual privacy and avoid enabling the tools for an aspiring, or existing, police state? And let’s not kid ourselves; the pandemic increases, rather than diminishes, the authoritarian threat.
The whole article makes very interesting reading. You can find it here:
https://techcrunch.com/2020/03/29/test-and-trace-with-apple-and-google/
The author comes to the conclusion that Apple and Google are capable of constructing a near-complete contact model within the time frame necessary to bring the virus under control and that furthermore they can be trusted more than governments not to misuse the information obtained.
I am not inclined to comment further other than to point out that such a proposal would be — at the very least — controversial.
Finally though, you should take a look at the following short presentation. It shows what is presently possible using location data from mobile phones.
It is a bit of an eye-opener.
Sunday, March 29, 2020
Webcam whimsy
With each passing day we’re becoming accustomed to seeing all sorts of politicians, personalities and pundits speaking to us directly from their homes.
Surely I can’t be alone in finding this trend absolutely fascinating. For while the online contributors imagine us to be hanging on to their every word, in reality we are busy conducting a detailed inventory of their furniture, light fittings and choice of curtain fabric.
There are very few of these domestic backgrounds that have nothing to offer. It is simply a matter of taking the time to look carefully. A few examples will suffice to illustrate what I mean.
Firstly, here is a still from a recent interview with Chris Hopson, CEO of NHS Providers.
I can’t quite put my finger on it but I get the distinct impression that he’s doing the interview from his mum’s house. One doesn’t require Sherlock Holmes’ powers of deduction to arrive at this conclusion - the evidence it right in front of you.
To start with: where is he sitting? Behind him we can see two easy chairs arranged so as to suit watching TV, but judging from the camera angles Chris is clearly sitting at a table or desk. Furthermore, the short sections of wall to left and right are strongly indicative of the kind of home conversion that consists of ‘knocking through’ the wall between lounge and dining room to form a larger space. This isn’t the sort of living space you would normally associate with the chief executive of a major public body. If he were in his own home, he would surely be doing the interview from his private office. No, Chris is in his mum’s house, having requisitioned her dining room table as a place to put his laptop.
And then there’s the other evidence: that lamp, for example — the sort advertised in those leaflets that fall out of your Sunday paper and aimed at ‘the serious reader’. That is an old person’s lamp and those easy chairs look like old people’s chairs. Of course I might have it all wrong; Chris might just be an old-fashioned kind of guy.
By way of a complete contrast let’s say hello to the physicist Carlo Rovelli in his home in Canada.
Here, Carlo has clearly opted for the bookshelf theme and, it has to be said, has done it with a degree of enthusiasm. His books, furthermore, are not organised by size, style of binding etc. - as is so often the case with those of more modest intellectual abilities - but in accordance with an entirely different organisational principle - albeit one that is not immediately apparent to the rest of us.
Of course, without being able to examine the titles we can’t be absolutely sure that his library does not include such classics as Cosmology for Dummies or Fun Pictures on your PC in 3 days. Unfortunately, the webcam used is of lamentably low quality so, for now, we must grant Mr Rovelli the benefit of the doubt.
David Liddington’s method of organising his library couldn’t be more different.
He appears to be in the habit of storing his books in piles, which is oddly disturbing. I don’t quite know why — but I find it impossible to shake off the impression that his office is in a converted garage. There’s a hint of trouble here. Has he been banished from the main part of the house and forced to take his clutter with him -- and in a hurry at that? While we’re unlikely to know, it doesn’t stop the imagination from getting to work.
And it is not always a matter of what is there; it can be equally intriguing to speculate on what is absent. Here is Shami Chakrabati pictured against a neutral, whitish background - blank except for the small, brass picture hook behind her, demonstrating that it is possible for there to be something even emptier than a featureless wall.
But the prize must go to a recent Newsnight interview with Ian Duncan Smith, which has since achieved cult status on account of the fact that, in it, IDS appears to be literally incandescent.
This video has since given rise to a whole wave of comments on twitter to the the effect that he had forgotten to activate his cloaking device and so on. Quite apart from the startling appearance of the principal character, the image has many more small jewels on offer including, to the right of IDS’s head, a disturbing picture reflected in the mantlepiece mirror. This would appear to be a picture of someone laughing - or are they screaming?
Of course, all good things must come to an end and it can only be a matter if time before people in the public eye get themselves set up with anodyne home studios. So we have only a brief time window in which to enjoy this rich field of study.
When it comes to choosing a setting for my own videoconferencing, I am considering an entirely synthetic approach in which I contrive to be pictured in front of a raging sea or some other dramatic backdrop, chosen to suit the occasion
Surely I can’t be alone in finding this trend absolutely fascinating. For while the online contributors imagine us to be hanging on to their every word, in reality we are busy conducting a detailed inventory of their furniture, light fittings and choice of curtain fabric.
There are very few of these domestic backgrounds that have nothing to offer. It is simply a matter of taking the time to look carefully. A few examples will suffice to illustrate what I mean.
Firstly, here is a still from a recent interview with Chris Hopson, CEO of NHS Providers.
I can’t quite put my finger on it but I get the distinct impression that he’s doing the interview from his mum’s house. One doesn’t require Sherlock Holmes’ powers of deduction to arrive at this conclusion - the evidence it right in front of you.
To start with: where is he sitting? Behind him we can see two easy chairs arranged so as to suit watching TV, but judging from the camera angles Chris is clearly sitting at a table or desk. Furthermore, the short sections of wall to left and right are strongly indicative of the kind of home conversion that consists of ‘knocking through’ the wall between lounge and dining room to form a larger space. This isn’t the sort of living space you would normally associate with the chief executive of a major public body. If he were in his own home, he would surely be doing the interview from his private office. No, Chris is in his mum’s house, having requisitioned her dining room table as a place to put his laptop.
And then there’s the other evidence: that lamp, for example — the sort advertised in those leaflets that fall out of your Sunday paper and aimed at ‘the serious reader’. That is an old person’s lamp and those easy chairs look like old people’s chairs. Of course I might have it all wrong; Chris might just be an old-fashioned kind of guy.
By way of a complete contrast let’s say hello to the physicist Carlo Rovelli in his home in Canada.
Here, Carlo has clearly opted for the bookshelf theme and, it has to be said, has done it with a degree of enthusiasm. His books, furthermore, are not organised by size, style of binding etc. - as is so often the case with those of more modest intellectual abilities - but in accordance with an entirely different organisational principle - albeit one that is not immediately apparent to the rest of us.
Of course, without being able to examine the titles we can’t be absolutely sure that his library does not include such classics as Cosmology for Dummies or Fun Pictures on your PC in 3 days. Unfortunately, the webcam used is of lamentably low quality so, for now, we must grant Mr Rovelli the benefit of the doubt.
David Liddington’s method of organising his library couldn’t be more different.
He appears to be in the habit of storing his books in piles, which is oddly disturbing. I don’t quite know why — but I find it impossible to shake off the impression that his office is in a converted garage. There’s a hint of trouble here. Has he been banished from the main part of the house and forced to take his clutter with him -- and in a hurry at that? While we’re unlikely to know, it doesn’t stop the imagination from getting to work.
And it is not always a matter of what is there; it can be equally intriguing to speculate on what is absent. Here is Shami Chakrabati pictured against a neutral, whitish background - blank except for the small, brass picture hook behind her, demonstrating that it is possible for there to be something even emptier than a featureless wall.
But the prize must go to a recent Newsnight interview with Ian Duncan Smith, which has since achieved cult status on account of the fact that, in it, IDS appears to be literally incandescent.
This video has since given rise to a whole wave of comments on twitter to the the effect that he had forgotten to activate his cloaking device and so on. Quite apart from the startling appearance of the principal character, the image has many more small jewels on offer including, to the right of IDS’s head, a disturbing picture reflected in the mantlepiece mirror. This would appear to be a picture of someone laughing - or are they screaming?
Of course, all good things must come to an end and it can only be a matter if time before people in the public eye get themselves set up with anodyne home studios. So we have only a brief time window in which to enjoy this rich field of study.
When it comes to choosing a setting for my own videoconferencing, I am considering an entirely synthetic approach in which I contrive to be pictured in front of a raging sea or some other dramatic backdrop, chosen to suit the occasion
Monday, March 23, 2020
The Calm before the Storm
There can’t be many people who aren’t worried right now. I for one, find myself flicking between a slightly dreamy sense of unreality and a state of mild anxiety.
Of course, watching the news or listening to the radio can be something of a mixed blessing. There is no shortage of people eager to explain how we are heading for a health service meltdown with social unrest, troops on the streets etc. And then there are the people who say that it’s all a lot of fuss about nothing, that it’s just flu and that, like Stanley Johnson, they’ll be damned if someone tries to stop them going to the pub.
So it was with a degree of trepidation that I decided to listen to yesterday’s The World This Weekend at 13:00 on BBC Radio4 (22/03/2020). 5 minutes into the program there was a lengthy piece on Queen’s Hospital in NE London as it prepares itself for the predicted wave of COVID-19 patients. The presenter, Jonny Dymond, spoke to a number of health service professionals — admittedly all in more senior positions — the chief medical officer, the clinical director of the emergency department and a respiratory consultant.
The whole piece had a strangely surreal air. With routine appointments cancelled and all but the most unwell patients having been discharged from the wards, there was something about the acoustic quality of the interviews that conveyed a vivid picture of this huge, virtually empty hospital as it readied itself for the storm to come.
Each of the contributors offered a clear and straightforward account of the challenges they were about to face. There was nothing grim in their manner. They simply described how they planned to go about their various tasks, about the unique aspects of treating COVID-19 patients and some of the difficulties and shortages they faced in caring for them and protecting themselves. It was both terrifying and reassuring; something both planned for and unparalleled in living memory.
I found the whole piece immensely moving and it left me with an enormous admiration for ALL the people working in the NHS.
Of course, watching the news or listening to the radio can be something of a mixed blessing. There is no shortage of people eager to explain how we are heading for a health service meltdown with social unrest, troops on the streets etc. And then there are the people who say that it’s all a lot of fuss about nothing, that it’s just flu and that, like Stanley Johnson, they’ll be damned if someone tries to stop them going to the pub.
So it was with a degree of trepidation that I decided to listen to yesterday’s The World This Weekend at 13:00 on BBC Radio4 (22/03/2020). 5 minutes into the program there was a lengthy piece on Queen’s Hospital in NE London as it prepares itself for the predicted wave of COVID-19 patients. The presenter, Jonny Dymond, spoke to a number of health service professionals — admittedly all in more senior positions — the chief medical officer, the clinical director of the emergency department and a respiratory consultant.
The whole piece had a strangely surreal air. With routine appointments cancelled and all but the most unwell patients having been discharged from the wards, there was something about the acoustic quality of the interviews that conveyed a vivid picture of this huge, virtually empty hospital as it readied itself for the storm to come.
Each of the contributors offered a clear and straightforward account of the challenges they were about to face. There was nothing grim in their manner. They simply described how they planned to go about their various tasks, about the unique aspects of treating COVID-19 patients and some of the difficulties and shortages they faced in caring for them and protecting themselves. It was both terrifying and reassuring; something both planned for and unparalleled in living memory.
I found the whole piece immensely moving and it left me with an enormous admiration for ALL the people working in the NHS.
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Vernal Equinox
Down the hill from where we live is the little Hamlet of Washpool - so named on account of an old stone-lined basin worked into the course of the stream which, in former times, served as a sheep dip.
We walked down there last night, on the way to the woods, to find a group of our neighbours, well-spaced apart and working together, clearing the ground of brambles and other thinnings and heaping them onto a large billowing fire.
Today is the Spring (or Vernal) Equinox, Ostara in the Wiccan calendar — traditionally a time to celebrate the end of winter and the promise of warmer days. On the face of it, nothing would seem more at odds with the frightening plague that promises to change all of our lives.
We have it easy here — so far. The virus seems far away, like the sound of distant thunder. It will touch us eventually. Right now we watch the thick smoke spiralling from the fire and exchange smiles of encouragement.
We walked down there last night, on the way to the woods, to find a group of our neighbours, well-spaced apart and working together, clearing the ground of brambles and other thinnings and heaping them onto a large billowing fire.
Today is the Spring (or Vernal) Equinox, Ostara in the Wiccan calendar — traditionally a time to celebrate the end of winter and the promise of warmer days. On the face of it, nothing would seem more at odds with the frightening plague that promises to change all of our lives.
We have it easy here — so far. The virus seems far away, like the sound of distant thunder. It will touch us eventually. Right now we watch the thick smoke spiralling from the fire and exchange smiles of encouragement.
The Pied Piper
If there is anything good about the present crisis it is the fact that, mercifully, coronavirus does not appear to cause anything but the mildest symptoms in children.
The emergence of the virus, whilst it might have entailed a number of careless and inadvisable practices, was clearly unforeseen. Nevertheless, our lack of preparedness in the UK has been inexcusable. Austerity, after all, was not the unavoidable necessity we were told it was, but a calculated, politically-motivated policy that has been responsible for the present fragile state of our health and social care systems.
The dogma that, until very recently, has shaped government thinking — namely that unrestrained capitalism is capable of fulfilling every legitimate human need — all that is gone now, at least in a form that can be given a veneer of respectability.
At the same time, years of growing inequality and social polarisation have given rise to shocking levels of child-poverty, homelessness and ill-health - both physical and mental. Young people have borne the brunt of this and little children were to be next in line.
The recent closure of schools will no doubt affect children in different ways, according to their age and family circumstances. Nevertheless, in the long term and taken on balance, it is difficult to imagine it being anything other than a negative experience. For many children, and in particular those for whom school represents a refuge from a stressed or chaotic home, the present disruption risks leaving them further alienated from the rest of their peer group.
One also has to feel for teenagers, whose examinations have been suddenly cancelled and who find themselves unexpectedly confined to the very nests they were about to fly.
Thinking about all of this brought to mind the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin. In case you need reminding, it goes something like this:
In 1284, the town of Hamelin was suffering from an infestation of rats. A piper appeared, dressed in multi-coloured clothing, and offered to get rid of them in exchange for a reward. The mayor of the town agreed and the piper used his pipe to lure the rats in the River Weser, where they all drowned. The townsfolk however, reneged on their promise and accused the piper of deceiving them. He stormed out of the town, vowing to return later to take his revenge. On St John and St Paul’s day, while the adults were in church, the piper returned and, playing his pipe, led the children of Hamelin out of the town and down into a cave under the mountain. With the exception of a little boy who was lame and couldn’t keep up, not one of the children was ever seen again.
I don’t propose trying to draw too many parallels between the Pied Piper and the present pandemic, for while it is tempting to see the rats as a reference to the Black Death, this did not appear in Europe until the 14th century and, in any case, it seems the rats in the story are the result of a 16th century embellishment.
Nevertheless, old stories like this, having been retold, reshaped and added to over many years have a power of their own that is capable of resonating with contemporary experience.
For some reason (that is not particularly clear to me) the story highlights the fact that, over the coming months, our children and grandchildren will, of necessity, see their horizons narrowed and that, when we emerge from this crisis the last thing we should think of doing is to get things back to normal.
The children who are now confined to their homes will eventually re-emerge into a world in which the air is cleaner and CO2 emissions are lower than they have been for years. They might go on to show how it is possible to live in harmony with one another and with nature without the need for grotesque excesses. The experience of taming the virus might even teach us how to confront the threat of climate change, with the difference that in applying ourselves to that task we can, once again, enjoy the power and satisfaction of working together.
Goodness - though I mean every word, I might have got a bit carried away here. There have been other occasions, after all, when it seemed as if everything was blowing up, only for us to watch in disbelief as the fragments, unexpectedly and disappointingly, assumed their former positions.
But — as we are beginning to appreciate — this is a big one.
The emergence of the virus, whilst it might have entailed a number of careless and inadvisable practices, was clearly unforeseen. Nevertheless, our lack of preparedness in the UK has been inexcusable. Austerity, after all, was not the unavoidable necessity we were told it was, but a calculated, politically-motivated policy that has been responsible for the present fragile state of our health and social care systems.
The dogma that, until very recently, has shaped government thinking — namely that unrestrained capitalism is capable of fulfilling every legitimate human need — all that is gone now, at least in a form that can be given a veneer of respectability.
At the same time, years of growing inequality and social polarisation have given rise to shocking levels of child-poverty, homelessness and ill-health - both physical and mental. Young people have borne the brunt of this and little children were to be next in line.
The recent closure of schools will no doubt affect children in different ways, according to their age and family circumstances. Nevertheless, in the long term and taken on balance, it is difficult to imagine it being anything other than a negative experience. For many children, and in particular those for whom school represents a refuge from a stressed or chaotic home, the present disruption risks leaving them further alienated from the rest of their peer group.
One also has to feel for teenagers, whose examinations have been suddenly cancelled and who find themselves unexpectedly confined to the very nests they were about to fly.
Thinking about all of this brought to mind the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin. In case you need reminding, it goes something like this:
In 1284, the town of Hamelin was suffering from an infestation of rats. A piper appeared, dressed in multi-coloured clothing, and offered to get rid of them in exchange for a reward. The mayor of the town agreed and the piper used his pipe to lure the rats in the River Weser, where they all drowned. The townsfolk however, reneged on their promise and accused the piper of deceiving them. He stormed out of the town, vowing to return later to take his revenge. On St John and St Paul’s day, while the adults were in church, the piper returned and, playing his pipe, led the children of Hamelin out of the town and down into a cave under the mountain. With the exception of a little boy who was lame and couldn’t keep up, not one of the children was ever seen again.
I don’t propose trying to draw too many parallels between the Pied Piper and the present pandemic, for while it is tempting to see the rats as a reference to the Black Death, this did not appear in Europe until the 14th century and, in any case, it seems the rats in the story are the result of a 16th century embellishment.
Nevertheless, old stories like this, having been retold, reshaped and added to over many years have a power of their own that is capable of resonating with contemporary experience.
For some reason (that is not particularly clear to me) the story highlights the fact that, over the coming months, our children and grandchildren will, of necessity, see their horizons narrowed and that, when we emerge from this crisis the last thing we should think of doing is to get things back to normal.
The children who are now confined to their homes will eventually re-emerge into a world in which the air is cleaner and CO2 emissions are lower than they have been for years. They might go on to show how it is possible to live in harmony with one another and with nature without the need for grotesque excesses. The experience of taming the virus might even teach us how to confront the threat of climate change, with the difference that in applying ourselves to that task we can, once again, enjoy the power and satisfaction of working together.
Goodness - though I mean every word, I might have got a bit carried away here. There have been other occasions, after all, when it seemed as if everything was blowing up, only for us to watch in disbelief as the fragments, unexpectedly and disappointingly, assumed their former positions.
But — as we are beginning to appreciate — this is a big one.
Friday, March 20, 2020
Learning from the Beveridge Report
In the Guardian (19th March 2020) Martin Kettle wrote:
"The second world war remains the foundation myth of modern Britain. Invoking it is a familiar default setting in British party politics. It has a Conservative version, embodied in Churchill, with whom Johnson compares himself. And it has its Labour version, in the form of veneration of Attlee and the post-1945 welfare state."
One of the things that has never ceased to amaze me about the Second World War is that, at the moment of greatest existential threat, when the bombs were still falling, detailed plans were being drawn up for the kind of country that might be built once peace was restored.
The Beveridge Report was the result of a study undertaken in June 1941 by an inter-departmental committee of the wartime coalition government who were tasked with looking at widespread reforms to the system of social welfare. The resulting 300-page document entitled “Social Insurance and Allied Services” laid the foundations for what was to become the Welfare State - a blanket term covering the National Health Service, Pensions and National Insurance, Family Allowances and Rent Control.
There is something almost unbelievable about the idea that such an ambitious, visionary and seemingly idealistic set of recommendations could be drawn up during the darkest days of the war. But then these ideas didn’t just emerge from nowhere. They were rooted in wartime emergency measures designed to address fundamental issues of survival. Thus there were initiatives to provide milk and nutrition to nursing mothers and school children; an emergency hospital service provided free treatment to those suffering from war injuries, whilst rationing — maybe surprisingly — led to significant improvements in the diets of poor families.
I have been thinking about this and trying to write down my thoughts. As fast as I do so however, I find myself overwhelmed by further questions. Nevertheless, there is one insight that appears to have taken root, namely that it is in times of crisis that the seeds of change are sown. Just as in the Second World War the threat of military annihilation and subsequent occupation forced the British government into an unspoken pact with the people to do ‘whatever it takes’ to survive, so the present government is asking people to subject themselves to a number of distressing restrictions in order — as Johnson puts it — to ‘see off’ the coronavirus.
But there is always a contractual aspect to such impositions. If people are to confine themselves within their own homes and to home-educate their children then it is reasonable for them to expect some protection from profiteers and ruthless landlords. Similarly, at a time when thousands of people are being made redundant it is essential they have the means to obtain the basic necessities. The idea of a universal basic income — a monthly distribution of money made without preconditions — is a sensible and efficient way to ensure this, as well as a means to prevent economic meltdown. We are still in the early days of this crisis but it seems reasonable to expect the government will be forced, however reluctantly, to do something of the sort.
To return to the Beveridge Report: it is worth noting that its publication during the war was met with enthusiasm from all sections of the community. The Ministry of Information Home Intelligence found that the Report had been "welcomed with almost universal approval by people of all shades of opinion” and seen as "the first real attempt to put into practice the talk about a new world"
Nevertheless, once the war was over Churchill found all sorts of good reasons why the proposals for social reform should be watered down or delayed. In this, it seems, he misjudged the mood of the populace who, after years of deprivation and austerity were eager for change. The Labour Party won the 1945 General Election and set about implementing the report’s recommendations through a series of Acts of Parliament. The rest, as they say, is history.
And here we are now - not strictly at war but in a time which, by common consensus, has many of its characteristics. The concept of the ‘small state’ is suddenly out of the window; there will undoubtedly be government initiatives designed to ensure the supply of basic necessities as well as the introduction of ‘special powers’ justified on the grounds of maintaining order. Along with these state interventions, we will also hopefully see the growth of community-based networks whose aim will be to foster social cohesion, support the vulnerable and to build and sustain resilience.
When we emerge from this crisis however, one thing is sure: we must on no account allow things to go back to normal.
"The second world war remains the foundation myth of modern Britain. Invoking it is a familiar default setting in British party politics. It has a Conservative version, embodied in Churchill, with whom Johnson compares himself. And it has its Labour version, in the form of veneration of Attlee and the post-1945 welfare state."
One of the things that has never ceased to amaze me about the Second World War is that, at the moment of greatest existential threat, when the bombs were still falling, detailed plans were being drawn up for the kind of country that might be built once peace was restored.
The Beveridge Report was the result of a study undertaken in June 1941 by an inter-departmental committee of the wartime coalition government who were tasked with looking at widespread reforms to the system of social welfare. The resulting 300-page document entitled “Social Insurance and Allied Services” laid the foundations for what was to become the Welfare State - a blanket term covering the National Health Service, Pensions and National Insurance, Family Allowances and Rent Control.
There is something almost unbelievable about the idea that such an ambitious, visionary and seemingly idealistic set of recommendations could be drawn up during the darkest days of the war. But then these ideas didn’t just emerge from nowhere. They were rooted in wartime emergency measures designed to address fundamental issues of survival. Thus there were initiatives to provide milk and nutrition to nursing mothers and school children; an emergency hospital service provided free treatment to those suffering from war injuries, whilst rationing — maybe surprisingly — led to significant improvements in the diets of poor families.
I have been thinking about this and trying to write down my thoughts. As fast as I do so however, I find myself overwhelmed by further questions. Nevertheless, there is one insight that appears to have taken root, namely that it is in times of crisis that the seeds of change are sown. Just as in the Second World War the threat of military annihilation and subsequent occupation forced the British government into an unspoken pact with the people to do ‘whatever it takes’ to survive, so the present government is asking people to subject themselves to a number of distressing restrictions in order — as Johnson puts it — to ‘see off’ the coronavirus.
But there is always a contractual aspect to such impositions. If people are to confine themselves within their own homes and to home-educate their children then it is reasonable for them to expect some protection from profiteers and ruthless landlords. Similarly, at a time when thousands of people are being made redundant it is essential they have the means to obtain the basic necessities. The idea of a universal basic income — a monthly distribution of money made without preconditions — is a sensible and efficient way to ensure this, as well as a means to prevent economic meltdown. We are still in the early days of this crisis but it seems reasonable to expect the government will be forced, however reluctantly, to do something of the sort.
To return to the Beveridge Report: it is worth noting that its publication during the war was met with enthusiasm from all sections of the community. The Ministry of Information Home Intelligence found that the Report had been "welcomed with almost universal approval by people of all shades of opinion” and seen as "the first real attempt to put into practice the talk about a new world"
Nevertheless, once the war was over Churchill found all sorts of good reasons why the proposals for social reform should be watered down or delayed. In this, it seems, he misjudged the mood of the populace who, after years of deprivation and austerity were eager for change. The Labour Party won the 1945 General Election and set about implementing the report’s recommendations through a series of Acts of Parliament. The rest, as they say, is history.
And here we are now - not strictly at war but in a time which, by common consensus, has many of its characteristics. The concept of the ‘small state’ is suddenly out of the window; there will undoubtedly be government initiatives designed to ensure the supply of basic necessities as well as the introduction of ‘special powers’ justified on the grounds of maintaining order. Along with these state interventions, we will also hopefully see the growth of community-based networks whose aim will be to foster social cohesion, support the vulnerable and to build and sustain resilience.
When we emerge from this crisis however, one thing is sure: we must on no account allow things to go back to normal.
Monday, March 16, 2020
A Journal of the Plague Year
In her column for last Saturday’s Guardian, Marina Hyde chose to talk about Daniel Defoe’s account of the 1665-1666 London Plague — A Journal of the Plague Year (which, somewhat confusingly, was written in 1722). This gave me an idea. Since I am highly likely to be holed up at home for some time as a consequence of the coronavirus pandemic, I thought it might be interesting to write my own journal and to publish it via my blog.
Of course one of the many unusual things about the current pandemic, is that there are few people whom it will not touch — either directly or indirectly — and consequently the prospect of not only dealing with your own stuff but reading about mine as well might strike you as a bit too much of a good thing. With this in mind, I have decided against sending out an email with every new blog post, as I have done till now. Instead I propose limiting email notifications to the occasional reminder that I’m still around. Of course, you are free to have a look at the blog any time at the usual web address.
But I can’t recall a time when there was a greater sense of impending change and over the coming days and weeks I intend largely to reflect on how this story plays out and, frankly, on anything else that comes to mind. For the most part it is likely to be a reflective, interior narrative as that is the sort of person I am, but hopefully there will be a few laughs to be had as well.
Please email me if you’d like to — most of my email appears to be spam these days so I would welcome the interchange.
Wishing everyone the best over the coming days.
Of course one of the many unusual things about the current pandemic, is that there are few people whom it will not touch — either directly or indirectly — and consequently the prospect of not only dealing with your own stuff but reading about mine as well might strike you as a bit too much of a good thing. With this in mind, I have decided against sending out an email with every new blog post, as I have done till now. Instead I propose limiting email notifications to the occasional reminder that I’m still around. Of course, you are free to have a look at the blog any time at the usual web address.
But I can’t recall a time when there was a greater sense of impending change and over the coming days and weeks I intend largely to reflect on how this story plays out and, frankly, on anything else that comes to mind. For the most part it is likely to be a reflective, interior narrative as that is the sort of person I am, but hopefully there will be a few laughs to be had as well.
Please email me if you’d like to — most of my email appears to be spam these days so I would welcome the interchange.
Wishing everyone the best over the coming days.
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