Don’t mention the R—; it’s just a BAGEL

Clearly there’s no escaping the economic downturn. Most people are now convinced we’re facing a slowdown, and first the Today programme (Radio4), then the mighty GB himself, used the R-word yesterday. These people ought to be more careful with their terminology.

Today, in fact, specifically said “… the R-word …”, which caught my ear over the cornflakes (well, porridge, actually). There must be a West Wing fan in the Today editorial team; for all WW fans know that it’s not an *R—, it’s just a ‘bagel’.

Shame on me for not knowing off the top of my head which particular episode this is from (I DO have all of them on DVD), but through the wonder of t’internet I can tell you that it’s from Season 5, Episode 1, first screened in 2003.

The context is that Pres. Bartlett (Democrat) has had to hand over the presidency to the Speaker of the House, Walken (Republican), because Bartlett’s daughter Zoey has been kidnapped. Meanwhile there’re various other crises rumbling along, not least the impending Bagel.

Josh Lyman (played by Bradley Whitford) can’t bear the idea of mentioning the R-word, and quite right too! I’m sure there’s a saying (but can’t bring it to mind) about naming a thing bringing it into existence. If there isn’t, there should be – especially in the field of economics.

I do accept that current circumstances are, to say the least, exceptional. Nevertheless, the more the media harp on about the Bagel, the worse it is likely to get.

Funny thing is, I barely remember the Bagel last time around, even though it landed me and Mr Ms_well in negative equity territory. Back then, I’d just finished a stint writing for an electronics magazine (that industry was going great guns); and I'd moved to work for one of the UK’s largest trade unions.

The economy was certainly high on our list of priority issues, but the focus was much more on the loss of manufacturing jobs in the midlands and the north. So despite the (moderate) fall in house prices in the South East, the City carried on regardless and as I recall there was less hype about the Bagel, and more concern about the ‘balance of trade’ deficit. On top of that, with high inflation, those of us who didn’t lose our jobs were getting decent pay rises – my salary increased by £15k in the five years after I graduated in 1988 (though, admittedly part of that was linked to rising up the career ladder).

Things certainly don’t seem the same this time around. For one thing, I now listen to Today – guaranteed hype-on-toast Monday to Friday – and for another, as a freelance, I’m potentially more likely to feel the effects of organisational purse-string-tightening.

No sign of that yet, so far, for me (but I’m keeping everything crossed), but just this morning I bumped into a neighbour who’s a freelance PR, off on her way to an interview for a secretarial job at our local school. She says she’s sick of working at home, but I can’t help wondering whether the downturn is making her (and others) worry unduly about their employment prospects.

C’mon folks, I agree that we’re living in uncertain times (no change there then?), but life WILL go on. The only thing that IS certain, is that panic and media hype won’t help anyone. Sorry to quote Michael Winner, but “Calm down, dears” is the only advice I’m currently willing to take.

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* R—, of course, stands for recession. Nice to be able to use an em-rule once in a while!

Do I need 'Psychologies' magazine?

I'm vaguely worried about the appearance of Psychologies on the newsstands of the nation. I say 'vaguely' because I admit that I haven't succumbed to buying a copy, so it's perhaps not fair of me to pass judgement … But here I go anyway!

It came to my attention via ads in the Guardian's G2 section, and I've surfed around the mag's website to try to get a handle on what it's about. Skimming over the contents of the latest issue, it looks like the usual mix of celebrity interviews, problem pages, and {skincare/healthfood/holiday}-vendor-driven items masquerading as helpful health-related info. What worries me is the mag's title/raison d'être. What could be interpreted as research-driven reportage is more likely the same old women's mag guff dressed up in a pseudoscientific overcoat*.

The main reason why I'm concerned about the emergence of this publication is that I don't like the way that the popularisation of knowledge about human psychology is taking hold in society. [Originally I'd posted a second reason, but I've just deleted it for fear of a lawsuit from the mag's contributor I was moaning about.]

It's so easy for people to read a few articles about, say, posture or gestures, then sit in a meeting (or worse, a job interview) and analyse every move you make. This has become engrained in our society to such a degree that I find myself consciously wondering whether I'm making eye contact often enough when talking to friends (never mind interviewers), and uncrossing my arms when waiting at the school gate for fear of looking unapproachable, when really I'm just feeling chilly!

All in all, I'll stick to New Scientist for my weekly insight into theories of human behaviour, thanks very much.

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* Talking of overcoats, I see this month's issue has an article on "What Your Clothes Say About You: How our life journeys are woven into our wardrobe". They'd better not come round here to analyse me. I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes (saggy old trackies) pulled on in haste at 7:00 so that I could get straight to the computer to meet a 9:00 deadline…

Goodbye Grange Hill… and good riddance

So, today sees the broadcast of the last ever episode of the BBC's 'flagship' children's drama, Grange Hill. Well, now I'm 42-and-three-quarters I'm a bit out of their target demographic, I guess, but I'm really glad they're finally getting rid of GH.

The show's been running for 30 years, so back in 1978 when it started I'd just 'escaped the horrors of the English comprehensive system', that is, I'd been packed off to an all-girls boarding school to try to keep me away from the trouble-makers and get on with some proper study.

Our TV diet was very strictly controlled (Top of the Pops on Thursdays; Dallas on a Saturday; Robin of Sherwood on a Sunday) and so I only saw Grange Hill in the school holidays. And I remember that it definitely did conform to the prejudices I was being force-fed - that the comprehensive system was a disaster, that kids bunked off, cheeked their teachers, got into trouble, and teenage pregnancies were the norm.

Of course, I now know different (hey, they have bullies, drugs, and teenage pregnancies in boarding schools too, folks!), but I didn't find it entertaining then, and I don't like it now.

These days, though, I see the programme in a different light - as a parent. (Watch out: rant approaching!!)

The thing is, instead of stretching kids' imaginations and engaging them in things they'd never otherwise encounter, GH just reflected back 'real life' which, for some kids then and now can be dull, depressing, frightening and lacking in opportunity.

It's not so much the bad behaviour that bothers me. Mischief can be entertaining, and 'cute', providing it doesn't go too far (I'm still a fan of Dennis the Menace and his pals; not so sure about Horrid Henry, though). What gets to me is that the kids of GH often had little respect for the adults around them (admittedly, some of the adults certainly didn't deserve any). I can't help wondering what subliminal effect GH had on classroom behaviour then and now.

There were some great shows back then that were eclipsed by GH. And GH started a trend for grittier children's shows, so that today the BBC's offering is pretty low-grade - too many progs are just imitating adult reality TV formats.

One last thought: I'm not saying that all kids' TV should be Blyton-esque; but the schedulers ought to bear in mind that programmes for 13-year-olds are probably also watched by their 6-, 7- or 8-year-old siblings.

Can we scrap Tracy Beaker next please?

Crystal on txtng and blogs at SfEP Conference

(The post formerly known as: "A blog a day keeps the sanity inspectors at bay")

Some people have suggested that blogging is the worst form of vanity publishing - unmoderated, unedited outpourings from all and sundry - but I'm pleased to report that two 'experts' this week have confirmed my view that blogging is an activity that's, so far, been underestimated as a communications technique.

Students of journalism may already be drafting their final year dissertations on "…The symbiotic relationships between bloggers and journalists…" [insert quasi-academic phraseology of your choice] but when a highly respected and serious academic says that of all the various forms of 'electronically mediated communication' (EMC), blogging looks set to have the greatest impact on the English Language, I'm happy to bow to his greater knowledge.

David Crystal, speaking at this week's Society for Editors and Proofreaders (SfEP) annual conference, gave an entertaining insight into the impact the World Wide Web is having on the English Language.

He was on to a winner with me from the start, because he's been studying how people behave when they communicate electronically - a topic that's been getting under my skin for quite some time. Why do some people get so snippy in chatrooms and newsgroups? Why do I feel nervous when an unknown correspondent emails with a cheery "Hi, X" instead of "Dear Ms…"? And why did one client accuse me of being 'brusque' when I thought I was 'saving time by getting straight to the point'? But enough of my anxieties…

DC started out by explaining that 'conversation' is so successful because you look at the other person while they're speaking and there's an element of 'simultaneous feedback'. The listener isn't passive; they're making gestures and helping the speaker to keep on flowing by 'offering corrections', that is, clues about how the recipient is reacting to what the speaker is saying.

He rightly pointed out that although we call it 'chat', that's not really what goes on in a chatroom or a newsgroup. He compared the chatroom to being at a party and trying to chip in on all the conversations that are going on around you. In real life, it's neither possible nor sensible; but in a chatroom (i.e. on-screen) you can do this - though it's a skill that some have yet to acquire.

For example, an interesting snippet from his research is that there's a limit to how many times you can bat an email back and forth before one or other of the readers loses the plot [tell me about it!]. Email programs helpfully 'frame' the replies for you, by flagging the previous comments down the left hand side of the message with a coloured line. But DC suggested people can only handle up to about six iterations before, in my case, I throw up my hands in despair and pick up the phone instead.

He didn't say anything about how this might affect people in newsgroups such as SfEPline [I guess he wanted to make it to the conference dinner without getting his shins kicked] but it's easy to see how some people get discombobulated by the multiple threads and iterations, and tempers start to fray.

All of which was in interesting diversion on the way to his main point (fair dues, he had a book to plug) which was that, contrary to 'popular opinion', the growth of EMC does not signal the ruination of English-as-we-know-it.

DC's book, txtng, aims to allay fears that the next generation will mangle the English Language to such a degree that us oldies will be cast out to the fringes of pedantry. Sensibly he points out that "You have to know how to spell before you can txt"; and that we've been using contractions and abbreviations to communicate for donkeys' years.

If 'txtng' is harmless, what then of 'blogging'?

Well, DC reckons that blogging could have the greatest impact on the English Language, because it's grass-roots opinion, unmoderated and unedited - a communications methodology we haven't seen since the Middle Ages. He's seen some amazing examples of English usage (and abusage) on his travels in cyberspace: "It's the written language in its most naked form". Of greatest interest are the blogs that pay little heed to the usual conventions - ungrammatical, lacking punctuation - and yet are still perfectly intelligible.

What does that tell us about the endless rounds of "should it be a comma or a semi-colon" that twitter away in an editor's brain? Well, another speaker at the SfEP Conference (Charlotte Brewer, talking about the Oxford English Dictionary) had plenty to say on that subject, but I'll have to leave that for a later post.

Suffice to say that my take on DC's presentation is that blogging isn't a waste of time. For me, at least, it's a way to flex my writing muscles without being bogged down with my clients' expectations. And I'm pleased to hear that it's also good for my mental health (according to Joanna Moorhead's article in Tuesday's Guardian; though I hasten to add I'm well aware my problems are as nothing compared to those of the folks she's writing about).

Thought for the day: "Blogging: 'syrup of figs' for the 21 Century."

CERNtainly not a whimper

Well, we're all still here, folks. We haven't yet been sucked into a Black Hole as a result of the scientific shenanigans in Geneva this morning. But I gather the scientists did commission a study a while back, just to be certain that turning on the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) wouldn't be the end of life on Earth (well, Earth itself, actually).

Twenty years ago I'd just finished my Finals (BA Joint Hons) in Physics and Music. I had never set out to be a physicist; all I wanted to do was gain an appreciation of this fundamental science. My final year dissertation was on "Potential applications for superconductors" - the technology that's today powering the beam of particles round its 27km circuit somewhere underneath Geneva. Guess what? I didn't predict this! But it was, I now realise, my first piece of 'science communication', because basically it was a literature search/summary of what was going on in physics labs around the world in what was then a pretty esoteric topic.

Fast forward 10 years, and I had just finished a Diploma in Science Communication at Birbeck. In the first year of this (then) two-year course, one of our number was from the CERN press office. I wonder whether he's still there? And I wonder whether he's one of the science communicators who, it seems, have learnt a thing or two from the 'spin doctors'.

Because this morning's coverage in the UK broadcast media is testimony to the CERN scientists' expertise as communicators. The Big Bang end-of-the-world-is-nigh-style coverage has grabbed the imaginations of small boys of my acquaintance (hopefully small girls too, but I haven't talked to any this week). I don't entirely approve of taking this tabloidese tack, but you have to admit, it's got a result.

Am I jealous of those science communicators who've finally got physics on the front pages? You bet! But I'm more niggled by the up-coming programme on Radio 4 this morning that's going to talk to 'celebrities who like science' in Physics Rocks.

Why should that get up my nose? Simple: the most enjoyable part of the Diploma for me was the Radio topic. I scripted and produced a radio programme aimed at schoolchildren on great careers in science, which included our take on the TOTP of celebrity scientists - Brian May being the best known back then. The intro theme tune for our programme "Free to choose" was Oasis's "Whatever" (You're free-ee, to be whatever you…) and we wound up with The Verve's Bitter Sweet Symphony. And now I can't hear either of those tracks without being transported back to the BBC World Service studio where we put our programme together under 'live' conditions.

I loved it. I loved the teamwork, I loved the live action; and it was great working in the studio with all the slidy-fader-doodahs (reminded me of recording projects for the music half of my weird degree); and for a little while I really did think that a career in radio beckoned. Science radio - what better use of a degree in Physics and Music?

But just a couple of months later I made the ultimate 'choice' and gave up my freedom for ever (OK, slight exaggeration there; call it poetic licence). What am I on about? I became pregnant.

So yes, I'm jealous - a bit. But I made my choice and I don't regret it. Who knows, one day I may get back into the studio. In the meantime, well done to all the scientists and engineers at CERN - and three cheers for the fantastic internationally collaboration which goes to show that we can all work together when there's something we really want to achieve (please solve climate change next, chaps!!). But I'd like to give an extra cheer to the CERN press officers and all the PRs who've done a grand job in getting this story into the headlines.

Police, politicians and paintings

Sometimes the juxtaposition of news items simply can't be ignored.

A snippet on Today (Radio 4) this morning caught my attention: A couple in Cambridgeshire were being burgled, and phoned 999, only to get a text message from the local police instead of an actual Bobby.

Next item up was Nicholas Penny, director of the National Gallery, asking the nation to stump up £100 million to buy a couple of paintings. Well, they're Titians, and I'm sure they're fabulous. But they're owned by the Duke of Sutherland and they've been on loan from the Duke of Sutherland's estate since 1945. Is the guy really so hard up that he needs to cash in his family heirlooms? I doubt it.

Normally I wouldn't join the chorus who cry for 'money for nurses/schools' [insert pet issue of your choice], mainly because the sums involved in such cases tend to be trifles in the overall scheme of government spending (and as a former civil servant I know that a million quid doesn't go very far).

Nicholas Penny said that buying the pix would "end decades of anxiety about them being sold overseas". Doesn't the man realise that one of the many things people do when they holiday abroad is visit famous galleries to see famous painting? I could take him a tiny bit more seriously if he was wanting to save something from destruction, but overseas? What's the big deal?

Sometimes public spending is a case of 'what goes around comes' - e.g. give civil servants a 4% pay rise and they'll have a tiny bit more spending power in the high street and the VAT will dribble into the Treasury's coffers. In this case, though, I can't see it happening. Do we really think the Duke will stump up the Capital Gains from his 'car boot sale'?

On the other hand, £100 million (or even half of that - which is what he's likely to get) would buy quite a few bicycles for the Bobbies of Cambridgeshire, and if it's a choice between fighting off burglars rummaging through my drawers and keep a couple of paintings on home turf, I think I know which I'd choose.

[Sorry; links are to Daily Telegraph (top when I Googled), as BBC website has gone temporarily awol.]

Weird radio

I don't usually listen to Classic FM, but my desk-side radio is still tuned in because I was working over the weekend (when R3 goes a bit jazzy).

I'm interested in demographics, and how advertisers tap in to same to get us all to buy stuff. But they've got me worried this morning.

My ear'oles were assaulted by a weird ad for the Classic FM chart show: "Will the Three Tenors knock the chanting monks off the top of the chart?" [Ans: "Do I give a damn?"] followed by the programme sponsor's 'ident' which went something like:

"The Classic FM chart, brought to you by Pedigree Joint Care - putting the bounce back into old dogs."

Conjures up some very strange images in my mind (surely Classic FM's listeners would be better off sticking to the Viagra?)