Workspeak

Workspeak is a new word I've coined to describe the lexicon of an Office. As you've probably guessed, I have a new job. However, unlike any job I've had in the past, this one is in a properly corporate environment. Attached to this come certain benefits; decent personnel management, well maintained building and adequate parking. Also attached to this is a completely new vocabulary and one that is entirely like any I've encountered before. In homage to Orwell, I have called it workspeak; defined as words that bear little if any relation to their dictionary definition.

Avid readers of my blog might think this observation a bit rich. After all I did train as a lawyer; infamous for their Latin epithets. But that's the point. Latin is a recognised language and while using it in conversation may be a little anachronistic it is still a valid use of the language (and rather charming if you ask me). Before Law I studied medicine for a while; again an environment known for it's inner language. However again most of the words are rooted in either Latin or Greek. The same can be said of yet another subject I studied, Biology.

Where workspeak differs is that it takes words commonly recognised in the English language and distorts them beyond all normal recognition. Allow me to give you some examples:

"Solutions". When I was a scientist, a solution was something dissolved in something else. Therefore something could be described as, "a solution" or "in solution". Simple. In the wider world a solution can also be a procedure used to obtain a successful outcome to a problem. Now let's move to workspeak. Solutions are oft talked about and little defined. The term seems to be an aggrandised way of describing services on offer.

"Going forward". Not strictly a word but they are inevitably used together. Under normal circumstances one would take it to mean a description of motion. Not so in workspeak. Here it is used as a suffix to any form of sentence that involves some form of plan as in, "We will do X, Y and Z followed by A going forward." Eh? What exactly does that mean? What exactly is wrong with making definite statements. Unless I'm very much mistaken, time travel isn't yet possible so why do these statements need to be qualified by a statement intimating which way time travels.

Finally "action". In workspeak the word "action" is a verb. "Can you please action... ?" Again, what the hell is this supposed to mean? Is the English language really so limited that we are unable to describe our requests without spurious rubbish?

I am surrounded by similar corruptions of the English language on a daily basis. Sometimes it is genuinely difficult to decipher what is being said couched as it is in workspeak. Other times it is simply a challenge not to start laughing at how utterly ridiculous people sound. I have tried speaking plainly. It does work but speaking one's mind does make one sound rather confrontational. You want something? Apparently asking for it is a bit blunt (despite the fact that everyone is there to work and it's generally a bit of a team effort). Instead the request has to be dressed up in pointless jargon ensuring it doesn't sound like a request. Why? What exactly is the point?

To stay sane I use a few techniques. First is "bullshit bingo". I got the idea from the programme, "Sirens". One draws up a list of pointless non-words and ticks them off as they occur in conversation. Getting a full house doesn't get any prizes but there's a sense of satisfaction, not to mention amusement. As well as this I satirise mercilessly. Every time I participate in communication with my colleagues I heap in as much workspeak as physically possible. I action my workspeak vocabulary to achieve communication solutions, going forward... as it were!

JR

I LOVE the British Press

A quick one today to say that, as mentioned, I LOVE the British press. On Friday, rather fittingly since it was Burns Night, Andy Murray won his semi-final in the Australian open against Roger Federer. Top show. Top show. Why I love the British press (and the Daily Express in particular) is that on Saturday, with suitably jubilant headlines, they took the opportunity of publishing huge photos... of his girlfriend. The man did well but you can't deny, his other half is far, far, far more photogenic. Even girls would agree (except one girl I used to work with who decided Mr Murray was officially HOT when she heard his accent and realised he is Scottish).

Keep it up chaps!

JR

German Christmas Markets

Last winter was a bit of a momentous occasion. Not only did I visit some German Christmas markets with my girlfriend; it was also my first holiday away with the in-laws. A fairly daunting prospect I'm sure you will agree!

Given I have German heritage (my granny was born and brought up in Berlin and I undoubtedly still have relatives there although for various boring family reasons I haven't ever really been in contact with them and probably wouldn't recognise them in the street) I haven't really spent much time in Germany. I certainly haven't been to a Christmas market despite them achieving an iconic status. So it was with a sense of cautious optimism tinged with a slight sense of apprehension that I embarked on the trip.

Things did not start well. We were going by coach and the prospect of 13 hours in transit was not a happy one; less so given that it started at about 6am. It got worse. Rather than taking a direct route, we toured the South of England picking up many, many others along the way. Each time new people got on we were greeted with an overly jocular, "Morning" and some facetious patter that tried to pass for bonhomie. My heart sank. I had a horrible feeling I was aboard a mobile Butlins and we were all expected to be bestest of buddies because we shared the same mode of transport.

The journey improved marginally when we got on the ferry as there was the opportunity for a rest from the people, some scoff and a pint or two. I was rather hoping for some high seas for a bit of fun but sadly the water was flat enough to row on. Never mind.

A good book got me through the rest of the journey and the hotel provided some excellent hearty soup and another beer or two to see me off to sleep nicely.

The next day things got a bit better. People still insisted on greeting everyone like long-lost friends before going into excruciating detail about how much they had eaten at breakfast. Fortunately the thing I was dreading most didn't happen. My biggest fear was that the coach drivers were going to bombard us with every banal fact that could be mustered about our location, the market and anything else they could think of creating an impenetrable wall of white noise that couldn't be escaped. Let's face it; these days everybody has google in their pockets so if we want to know anything we can look it up. This didn't happen. Quite the opposite in fact. The coach drivers were gloriously professional telling us our drop off point, pick up point, pick up time and how to get to the market and nothing else. Well done boys!

Sadly this was spoiled a bit by everyone else frantically commentating on what could be seen out of the window. Apparently everybody but them (plural) had gone blind and needed the audio-description version. The coach echoed to genuinely astonished cries of, "Look, there's a market!". I was having to work VERY hard not to bawl, "Well done dipshit. The holiday was advertised as a tour of German Christmas markets so what the fuck did you expect... a bloody Turkish Bazaar? Perhaps an overly elongated trip to Westfield Stratford? Or maybe, just maybe an excursion to bloody Tesco. Of COURSE it's a fucking Christmas market you cretins!"

My misanthropic streak was not eased by disembarking. I then had to encounter the crowds. Oh the crowds. I don't especially like being manhandled (womanhandled I can cope with). I especially dislike being jostled. In fact if I see it coming I am known to brace myself to provide something of an immobile obstacle just to be awkward. You can imagine then that the alleys between the stalls which had capacity for, at most, half the number of people that were actually inhabiting them was great fun. One particular highlight was the people who seemed to think that stalls had only been properly viewed when EVERY item on it had been in some way physically fondled and in the process either body-blocked the entire stall or moved into my eye-line just as I was seeing something I rather fancied buying. AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I digress. Despite the above rant, I had an absolutely magical time (and this isn't written just in case my girlfriend stumbles across the blog!). Genuinely, I thought it was wonderful. Everywhere I looked, there was a certain picture-postcard feel that I usually get in St. Andrews. The atmosphere was genuinely festive as well. Everybody was smiling and cheery and the spot the silliest hat competition I had going on internally kept me amused for hours. I will admit, most of the stuff on sale was absolute and unmitigated tat but it was pretty tat and I was parted with not insubstantial sums of my hard-earned pittance in exchange for it. There were also some absolute gems there too and I did manage to get some wonderful Christmas presents. Between all of us we also managed to amass quite a collection of mulled wine mugs (sorry anyone reading in Germany, I am translating for a British audience AND - crucially - my computer doesn't have an umlaut on it!). Sadly neither of the ladies in the party drink alcohol so it fell to my girlfriend's father and me to drink the lot. Tough life!

In previous posts I have written about how much I hate feeling like a tourist and I have to say, one of the best things about this trip is that I really didn't. I'm not going to spin you some sentimental bollocks about 'coming home', I don't feel a particular connection to my German roots but that said I didn't feel out of place. This is probably partly due to the fact that the German Christmas markets are so internationally famous that there is a fairly cosmopolitan crowd there but we did venture off the beaten track and into the cities. It probably helped that we all spoke varying levels of German and I like to think earned the respect of the locals for giving it a go (despite knowing we were making complete tits of ourselves). My love of protein (meat), carbohydrate (bread) and fat (cheese) also marked me out as being ideal to feast on standard German fare and I made sure to do so with gusto. Apart from the standard sausages with some of the best mustard I've ever tasted, a particular favourite was a giant hash brown with apple puree. Yum!

So in short, would I advise someone I knew (and liked) to go on one of these trips. Of course, without hesitation. It was great fun (despite the previous rant). I would caution anyone doing so that you are unlikely to find anything vastly different from the Christmas markets that are springing up around the UK so if it's just a shopping trip you want then head to Hyde Park. What it can't replicate though is the experience and the atmosphere and for that I would urge you, go to Germany in the run up to next Christmas.

JR

Immortal Memory 2013

Evening all. Here is a rather belated immortal memory for Burn's night (I have decided to make it into something of a tradition). Sorry it's a bit late. Uncharacteristically, I was actually doing stuff!

It's that time of year again when we are celebrating the birthday of Robert Burns; Scotland's national poet. Again I am going to take the opportunity to examine why we do this. my post on the subject last year focused on celebrating greatness. This year  I am going to take another tack and suggest that in Burns night, we celebrate the ordinary.

Being ordinary seems a bit of an odd characteristic to celebrate but I think it's worthwhile. Burns was a fairly normal Scottish bloke (excluding the successful poetry leading to well... an immortal memory). However in being ordinary, he exemplified large swathes of the Scottish character and for this, we use him as a vehicle to celebrate Scotland and Scottishness.

So what are these characteristics we celebrate annually? Well firstly, he was hard-working. If you had a look at his CV, it would be extensive ranging from menial farm work to tax collection. Now a lot of Scots are known as tough, sturdy and not averse to a bit of graft. Unlike some, hard work doesn't scare us. What's impressive is that, as well as the day job, he wrote so extensively as well.

Secondly, he was a poet. This, to me, indicates profound romance of the soul. Indeed, when you are surrounded by the true, undeniable beauty of the Scottish countryside, it is easy to imagine one's mind and heart being filled with love and passion. If  that isn't good enough, he had a reputation for a love of liquor and women in great quantities too. Holding a drink while being suave and attractive are traits that come easily to most Scottish men I know (hopefully including yours truly). Despite this, we are usually big softies at heart.

Perhaps the best example of this link between Burns and Scottish character comes in my last example. The celebration of Burns night is the celebration of the Scottish tradition of hospitality, warmth and friendliness (to those we want to be friendly to). The warmth and fun atmosphere of a ceilidh (literal translation from the gaelic being gathering) is a great example of this. We have a long tradition of spending time together; sharing food, a few drams, stories, poetry, music and dancing. In fact pretty much everything that happens at a Burns supper.

So with that I urge you to don yer kilt, have some haggis and raise a dram to the immortal memory of Robert Burns.

Sliante

JR

Strictly Come Dancing.

As a rule, I really dislike television "talent" contests. At first I was put off by the idea of watching other people humiliate themselves in front of a huge audience. Rather than amusement, I just felt sorry for them. I also find the trait in the human psyche of laughing at others deeply distasteful. My view of them was not enhanced by reading Ben Elton's book, "Chart Throb"; a thinly-veiled parody of various ITV talent shows. I know this book is fiction but the cynicism of the producer characters is all to easy to believe. You will therefore be unsurprised to read that, generally, I have avoided watching these shows at all costs. (Although I will state for the record now that I have seen the odd episode of most of them for various reasons).

There is one exception to this rule. Strictly Come Dancing. I'm not going to lie, the only reason I started watching it was because the model Jodie Kidd was one of the competitors. There then followed a hiatus of a couple of years until I met my girlfriend. She is a huge fan of the show and so gradually I drifted back into watching it and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

The main reason I like it is because I watch it and think, "Good god I could never do that!" and it's true. Even in the first week, the contestants move in ways that I am dimly aware that the human body is capable of moving but have no idea how to make happen. My hips for example don't wiggle and trying to get my legs to do one thing while my arms do another is a recipe for injury both to myself and to those around me. Therefore I am genuinely impressed when otherwise novices stand up and get on with it after only brief (albeit intensive) training. Seeing the skill that is obtained by the end of the competition is, to me at least, hugely impressive (far more so than say, forming yet another manufactured boy/girl band).

Another thing I like about the show is that it appears constructive rather than destructive. By that I mean the scenes shot backstage focus very much on a team mentality with the competitors urging each other on and supporting each other rather than focussing on "Their dreams". Some may say that this diminishes the competitive aspect but I disagree; i think it is not only possible but desirable to remain on good terms with one's rivals. I suppose part of this could be due to the fact that the competitors have all achieved a measure of success in their chosen fields before appearing on Strictly therefore it's not the battle for the Z list that some of the other shows have turned into.

The judging of the show continues this theme. Rather than being directly insulting or offering a hyperbolic load of rubbish, the judges generally offer genuine feedback (not always to the pleasure of the watching audience). Yes, Craig Revel-Horwood has a bit of a pantomime villain persona to play up to but if you actually listen to what he's saying, most of it is fair and constructive. Similarly Len Goodman, playing the favourite uncle, can be quite harsh while never being unfair. Darcey Bussel was my favourite this year and not just for her stunning good looks. As well as offering honest pointers about errors, she also took the time to give fairly detailed advice on how to improve. Ultimately, and this is a more global point, this is a good example of what criticism should be; balanced and offering suggestions for improvement.

Of course another big draw of Strictly is Sir Bruce Forsyth; a true icon of Saturday evening light entertainment. Although his jokes are uniformly cringe-worthy and his script sometimes resembles a game of spot the catchphrase, he is still wonderful. He is still remarkably light on his feet and it is impressive watching him dancing at the start of the show... except when the dance is gangnam style! In a way, he reflects a lot of what about the show in that he is light-hearted, funny (just about) and has more than a trace of self-parody about him.

If all of the above aren't reason enough to like the show then the abundance of pretty girls in skimpy outfits more than make up the difference.

The most recent series may have ended but already I am quietly looking forward to the next one.

JR

Boffins

There are some words in the English language that I can't stand. Some I don't like because of how the sound (strange I know), some I dislike because they are absolutely meaningless and finally there are some that I dislike because of what they stand for. The word "boffin" fits nicely into the last category.

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it!

I think I've made my feelings clear.

We've all seen it used before. There's a programme on telly, usually at prime time, and as soon as something vaguely technical happens, the (ludicrously dumbed-down) explanation is preceded with, "Boffins tell us!". The image conjured up, and no doubt intended, is one of a lonely mad scientist sitting alone in his lab (or shed) counting test tubes while everyone else is getting on with life. A sad billy-no mates who, because he (and we're going with s. 1 of the Interpretation Act and reading the masculine as feminine also) is into science, obviously has no other interests what so ever and can only derive satisfaction from data generation.

As I have said before, my first degree was in Human Biology. In some small way, I call myself a scientist and am extremely proud to do so. Science as a field is cool: yes I know I sound like some camp GCSE recruitment poster but I genuinely believe that. Not just the field I chose to study either (although, obviously that's the most interesting of the lot) but more generally than that. How can people not be interested in the way the world works. I don't necessarily mean gaining a detailed understanding of the finer points of all branches of science but taking away a rough grasp. The basics really aren't hard, especially if you're prepared to open you're mind a bit.

When I was younger I did some tutoring of special needs kids in my school giving them one to one help with their science. I was originally supposed to be helping out generally but when the special needs department found out about my passion and background in science, a lot of that was delegated to me since a lot of them came from arts backgrounds. I am pleased to say that I opened the eyes of a lot of the kids I was tutoring to science and gave them genuine enthusiasm, Their grades went through the roof as well and we all got a lot out of it.

In the wider world, Prof. Brian Cox is doing a lot to popularise astrophysics. Undoubtedly his boyband looks help as does his generally endearing nature. Dara O'Brien is also doing his bit by adding a popular face (he himself studied physics so has understanding as well as an ability to present). This is a good start but we need more. Scientists are still largely classified as a bunch of geeks who are not really in touch with the world as others see it. This is of course rubbish and needs to change.

On a related note, if any TV or radio producers are reading this and fancy making a human biology series with a handsome(ish) front man with subject knowledge and infectious enthusiasm... give me a shout.

JR

Doggy Tails

As you may have guessed from some of my previous posts, I'm a bit of a dog lover. In fact I'm on a bit of a canine high at the moment and I thought I would share some dog-related anecdotes with you from the last month or so.

One of the main reasons for this is that not only did my girlfriend's parent's dog get involved in Christmas; he stayed with us as the hotel her parents were staying in didn't allow dogs (cretins). It was absolutely wonderful having a dog around all the time. Although my girlfriend makes a mess and moults it's not quite the same! He seemed to enjoy himself too, especially as he knows we're stupidly indulgent when it comes to him. As such he had the run of the sofas, chair and bed naturally. We did try to get him to sleep in his basket for the first night but the big eyes staring at us over the edge of the bed soon melted us. After that he was on the bed (although slightly put our when he found himself scruffed and relocated to the bottom of the bed from my pillow... we do have some standards).

The doggy feeling was enhanced over Christmas when I received a copy of, "It's All About Treo" as a Christmas present. This tells the story of a British Army explosives search dog (and his handler) on tour in Afghanistan. The book is moving and exciting in equal measures. It is also unintentionally funny. The image of loads of huge, hairy-arsed squaddies in full battle kit going all gooey over a dog is a wee bit amusing.

The local animal sanctuary where I volunteer has also provided me with a couple of laughs. I was out with one bug staffy who did NOT like getting her paws wet. Under normal circumstances this would not be a huge issue but given my local area had been suffering from severe flooding there was a lot of water around. About 90% of the area I was in consisted of thin mud. For the most part, bribed by treats, she deigned to tiptoe round most of the walk but then we came to a big obstacle. A local stream had buts its banks and flooded over the path and up to the wall next to it. To make matters worse, the flood included a fence and style crossing. I went through the flood first making a big show of walking through it and not getting wet above my ankles to show the dog how shallow it was but did she move? Not a chance. A few firm tugs on the lead did nothing to move her and treats only managed to get her to the first step on the style. Further she would not go (apparently she was afraid of heights too). Eventually my only option was to pick her up and heave her over myself. At first she looked a bit perplexed to find herself in the air but quickly she got the hang of the idea of being carried. By the end of the manoeuvre she was really rather enjoying herself.

The dog in the next story suffered no such qualms about getting wet. In fact she rather enjoyed it; that was the problem. No puddle was left un-jumped in. When we arrived at the local stream she went nose-first in. This was to be her undoing as the normally shallow stream had morphed into a good-going river with the flood water. Quickly the dog found herself significantly out of her depth and was none too pleased about it (well if the expression on her face was anything to go by). Fortunately yours truly kicked into David Hasslehoff mode and dragged her out by the lead before she had properly realised she was in trouble and she was back on terra firma in no time although she did look rather bedraggled.

My final doggy story, and probably the best one of all, also comes from the sanctuary. I know one isn't supposed to have favourites but I have one. He's a big bull mastiff cross with an eye condition and a bald spot. Despite his brutal looks, he is a big softie. I joke that he's so gentle he barely bites his food so as you can imagine he's great with people. One of his favourite activities is being cuddled. This dog and I have formed a real bond over the last couple of months. We have spent a lot of time exploring the local woods, fields and streams. His stock rose even more when he was introduced to my girlfriend and got on famously with her. Just before Christmas I found out that he had been adopted. While I'm more than a little sad I won't be seeing him again, I am absolutely delighted for him. I am so pleased he is going to a home where he can be loved (and spoiled) until his heart's content. The last time I saw him I think he knew what was happening. He made even more of a fuss of me than usual. It was a truly fond farewell.

Right, that's all my canine news Sorry if you're not a dog lover and found the last few paragraphs dull.

JR