My sincere apologies for not posting in several weeks. If this was a commercial enterprise, rather than a gentlemanly hobby, my ‘market’ would by now have been snapped up by a rival, and I would be shutting up shop. As it is, I can only hope that my readers are patient enough to wait for my humble offerings to be delivered whenever the real world does not get in the way, rather than with the robotic regularity of a professional service provider.
The truth is simply that, like any other gentleman, doing what I love does not pay the bills, while I have no love for that which gets my bills paid. And, unfortunately, the bill-paying indignities have been tiring me out more than usual of late.
Because, of late, the anger and aggression bordering on outright violence of colleagues in what passes for a workplace, the sullen manner in which they deign to communicate or do any task they cannot simply avoid, and the sheer misery they inflict on those around them (and which is deflected back onto them - because they must operate in the same physical and mental space) has been getting worse.
But it is not just in the workplace. Perhaps recently I am more thin skinned than usual, having been laid low by various physical maladies, but the absence of any social grace and the preponderance of the rude, the brutish and the unpleasant in all things around me has been more painfully obvious too.
The sad thing is that this is not necessary. What such ‘victims’ of supposed social and economic determinism will not admit is that none of this unpleasantness is necessary.
There is at all times and in all places a choice. Between beauty and ugliness, the elegant or the uncouth, between being pleasant or rude, helpful or unhelpful.
The obvious question is why would you choose the worse one? It is not even practical!
For example, the amusing thing is that much of my work would not – and in many cases should not – be necessary were it not for the stroppy, adolescent attitude of others towards public servants simply doing their job efficiently and economically, rather than when the aforementioned stroppy adolescents want it done. Some of this is simple immaturity (though how some can reach late middle age without leaving adolescence, while simultaneously teenagers act like so many acne-ridden Toryshire Colonel Blimps, is a mystery worthy of any enterprising social psychologist), some because they lack the patience to think things through or to understand straightforward and reasonable enough government procedures.
I say this is amusing because as long as it continues people like me can be sure of a job. Because at some point, usually after yet another Alpha Male has snarled one too many times at a hapless civil servant and the civil service department concerned is working to rule (which in practice means the impossible deadline said Alpha Male has promised to his equally ill tempered, equally self-regarding and really rather dim office superiors and clients will not be met) the in-house diplomat will be asked to smooth over the unpleasantness while still, somehow, delivering the impossible deadline.
I used to think it was just me who was asked to take on tasks which would rattle Kofi Annan. Then I met several other ‘chaps’ who, according to the usual rules of business, were over the hill, far too old school and pleasant to one and all, and thus should have been long redundant.
But from talking to one or two it became clear that they had something else in common besides a tendency to hold doors open for ladies. All worked in enterprises led by Alan Sugar clones, where similarly the middle management would tend towards Apprentice candidates and the office grunts were Mail-reading misanthropes with short tempers and a mistrust of anyone or anything that smelt of Radio or BBC 4.
Inevitably this meant that almost daily a vital government functionary or provider of allied professional services would deliver only when convenient or contracted to after being insulted one too many times by one of the above. Inevitably this also meant that the only way in which the unspoken ‘boycott’ could be lifted was if a co-worker whose own manners were above reproach could negotiate a settlement with the injured party.
I readily admit this is not a situation it is in my interest to change. For as long as I am surrounded by the foul-mouthed, the short-tempered and the uncouth I have a job for life just rebuilding the bridges they burn.
I have, by the funniest accident, created a 'niche market' without any professional strategy to do so. This gives me a quiet satisfaction, but there are times such as the last few weeks when I wished for more opportunity to enjoy it instead of having to duck every few seconds to dodge another incoming salvo.
Saturday, 17 March 2012
Saturday, 4 February 2012
Be a law unto yourself
Most of us long for a kinder, more pleasant world, so are well disposed towards those who treat us well. This works in your favour if you happen to find petty byelaws, or even major acts of parliament, illogical, immoral, insane….or just a huge inconvenience to a happy and productive life.
In truth, you can probably ignore any law of the land with absolute impunity, as long as you do it elegantly enough.
When I say this I do not advocate breaking the law. I only advocate making your own, informed decisions and treating others with respect in all things. Your informed decision, though, may well be that the law is an ass and that we are governed by donkeys.
I certainly do not advocate a criminal lifestyle, because it is so uncouth. Career criminals get caught precisely because they insist on behaving at all times in a violent, anti-social manner instead of just getting on with their lives in a way that does not bother others (which is the intent of any true stylist or individualist). As psychologists suggest, perhaps they choose to get caught, either because they lack the self-discipline to live outside prisons or because they see prison as part of the lifestyle.
In fact, the uber-conformism of both law-enforcers and criminals is anathema to any stylist, while the similarities between these supposed sworn enemies is really too funny for words. Who else could such bolt-necked bores possibly find to talk to, if not each other?
I simply say it is possible to live outside the law, in the same way that it is possible to ride a bike without stabilisers. Just think of it as deciding to grow up and take responsibility.
For example, if I hear someone say “You ought not to........” I listen respectfully to their reasoning, then decide if there is any sense in it. But if I hear someone say “You must not.....…” all I think is “I must escape this knee-jerking simpleton and avoid him at all costs in the future”.
Because our approach to laws and regulations in general, rather than to blindly obey them, should be to understand why they are there and if those reasons stem from common sense and decency, or just common spite, pig-ignorance or even superstition.
In some cases – such as certain sections of the highway code – there may be good reasons, so there would be some common sense consensus to go along with the thing. There you conform not because you must, but because it makes sense to a reasonable person, and it is the thing you would do anyway, without threat or reward.
In far too many cases though, it may be for no good reason other than because some inadequate needed to demonstrate power over others: in which case why on earth would you let them, unless there is an immediate threat of violence or other danger?
In such situations there is an easy solution. Keep your dignity and appear to conform until the danger or simpleton posing it goes away, then carry on as your common sense suggests and as if institutional idiocy was not an everyday constraint to civilisation.
To paraphrase that clich̩ about forests and fallen trees Рif there is a one way system in your supermarket car park, and no other cars in the car park, does it matter how you get to a space?
Far too often, the only policeman preventing us from going about our lives in a happy, inoffensive and adult manner is the one in our own head. All I am suggesting is that instead of being content to mentally police ourselves (and like the police serving only the powerful and corrupt), we should go up the food chain and mentally judge ourselves instead. Who else, in all honesty, is fit to judge any self-respecting adult?
In truth, you can probably ignore any law of the land with absolute impunity, as long as you do it elegantly enough.
When I say this I do not advocate breaking the law. I only advocate making your own, informed decisions and treating others with respect in all things. Your informed decision, though, may well be that the law is an ass and that we are governed by donkeys.
I certainly do not advocate a criminal lifestyle, because it is so uncouth. Career criminals get caught precisely because they insist on behaving at all times in a violent, anti-social manner instead of just getting on with their lives in a way that does not bother others (which is the intent of any true stylist or individualist). As psychologists suggest, perhaps they choose to get caught, either because they lack the self-discipline to live outside prisons or because they see prison as part of the lifestyle.
In fact, the uber-conformism of both law-enforcers and criminals is anathema to any stylist, while the similarities between these supposed sworn enemies is really too funny for words. Who else could such bolt-necked bores possibly find to talk to, if not each other?
I simply say it is possible to live outside the law, in the same way that it is possible to ride a bike without stabilisers. Just think of it as deciding to grow up and take responsibility.
For example, if I hear someone say “You ought not to........” I listen respectfully to their reasoning, then decide if there is any sense in it. But if I hear someone say “You must not.....…” all I think is “I must escape this knee-jerking simpleton and avoid him at all costs in the future”.
Because our approach to laws and regulations in general, rather than to blindly obey them, should be to understand why they are there and if those reasons stem from common sense and decency, or just common spite, pig-ignorance or even superstition.
In some cases – such as certain sections of the highway code – there may be good reasons, so there would be some common sense consensus to go along with the thing. There you conform not because you must, but because it makes sense to a reasonable person, and it is the thing you would do anyway, without threat or reward.
In far too many cases though, it may be for no good reason other than because some inadequate needed to demonstrate power over others: in which case why on earth would you let them, unless there is an immediate threat of violence or other danger?
In such situations there is an easy solution. Keep your dignity and appear to conform until the danger or simpleton posing it goes away, then carry on as your common sense suggests and as if institutional idiocy was not an everyday constraint to civilisation.
To paraphrase that clich̩ about forests and fallen trees Рif there is a one way system in your supermarket car park, and no other cars in the car park, does it matter how you get to a space?
Far too often, the only policeman preventing us from going about our lives in a happy, inoffensive and adult manner is the one in our own head. All I am suggesting is that instead of being content to mentally police ourselves (and like the police serving only the powerful and corrupt), we should go up the food chain and mentally judge ourselves instead. Who else, in all honesty, is fit to judge any self-respecting adult?
Saturday, 21 January 2012
A call to tea
In an ideal world, we should work at what we love and love our work. The cruelest lie perpetuated by career advisers, human resource officers and other starting marshals of the rat race is that this is possible.
Certainly I tried - in a life previous to marriage, parenthood and the compulsory home-ownership dictated by a racist ‘welfare state’ - to do that. I was quite content with my shabby genteel existence and, I hope, brought mostly happiness to those around me.
But then reality intervened. As with Mr Crisp: “For me, it was in middle age that mundane activities claimed so much of my time. For my own sake, and for the sake of other people’s survival, I tried to take part in real life.”
My experience is far from unique. The venality of estate agents and property developers, and the policy of banks run by spotty adolescents (rather than middle-aged, fatherly pipe-smokers) to smirk at those who pass off their hobbies as ‘employment’, means most of us spend our best years engaged in the utterly pointless for the benefit of the utterly unspeakable. We can do little else, but we need not sink to the level of our oppressors. As another great individualist said: “We may all be in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
Each morning we arrive at work, and even before the drudgery starts there is an opportunity to raise the standards. We can make a difference.We can, for a few minutes and with a deceptively simple ceremony, reintroduce in a small way the concept of living to generate pleasure, not pain.
In my earliest working years it was still the practice, be that workplace an office, a factory or a building site, for the most junior employee (or more usually the lowest status female employee) to make the tea before the day’s work started. When I moved to right on arty ‘collectives’ the sexism of this was challenged, though my co-workers - inevitably from privileged backgrounds - rarely (if ever) worried that younger, less formally educated working class folk seemed to do all the tea-making while they got on with ‘important’ things.
Even more recently, it was still the working custom that people took turns throughout the day to make tea for their immediate colleagues. With the retirement or weeding out by other means of older workers this instinctive camaraderie has vanished, leaving the workplace like a sinking ship in which everyone, supposedly, is out only for themselves and yet the individual and true individuality is not valued. Certainly these values are not cherished, because that would involve action rather than resigned indifference or even abject passivity in the face of corporate crud.
We could reintroduce the custom, at least by making that first cup of good cheer to greet co-workers.
Mostly the gesture will not be reciprocated, mostly we will not even be thanked. We should not expect to be, because the life of the individualist is an uphill struggle, though that struggle itself brings some purpose to an otherwise dull day at work.
But firstly the mood is lightened for a few minutes, which means the cranky comments and miserabilism which dominate most office culture do not prevail until later in the day, by which time we are better able to deal with them.
Secondly, it is curious to see what happens if we are absent one morning. Co-workers inevitably comment the next morning, which means that – at least briefly – they notice and may even join the campaign.
We can take things further.
No true individualist, for example, is content to drink tea made from a tea bag in a chipped mug sporting a corporate logo or bad joke. We should aim for tea in a teapot or coffee from at least a cafetiere served to our immediate circle. At the very least use a cup and saucer for yourself, preferably of Spode quality.
And even the worst workplaces perpetuate some custom of workers buying cakes on their birthdays for the office. Inevitably, these are awful supermarket sludge, while even senior management only stretch to corporate catering written off as ‘hospitality’ in the company accounts. We can do better here too. Home-made cakes – even if restricted by budget and pressure of time to immediate colleagues – raise the game considerably. As do, say, scones with jam and cream, which have the added advantage that people need to take time to assemble them individually.
Chairman Mao may have claimed that a revolution is not a tea party, but he was wrong. In fact, in my case a good tea party has sparked the best revolutions I have personally lent my hand to.
Certainly I tried - in a life previous to marriage, parenthood and the compulsory home-ownership dictated by a racist ‘welfare state’ - to do that. I was quite content with my shabby genteel existence and, I hope, brought mostly happiness to those around me.
But then reality intervened. As with Mr Crisp: “For me, it was in middle age that mundane activities claimed so much of my time. For my own sake, and for the sake of other people’s survival, I tried to take part in real life.”
My experience is far from unique. The venality of estate agents and property developers, and the policy of banks run by spotty adolescents (rather than middle-aged, fatherly pipe-smokers) to smirk at those who pass off their hobbies as ‘employment’, means most of us spend our best years engaged in the utterly pointless for the benefit of the utterly unspeakable. We can do little else, but we need not sink to the level of our oppressors. As another great individualist said: “We may all be in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
Each morning we arrive at work, and even before the drudgery starts there is an opportunity to raise the standards. We can make a difference.We can, for a few minutes and with a deceptively simple ceremony, reintroduce in a small way the concept of living to generate pleasure, not pain.
In my earliest working years it was still the practice, be that workplace an office, a factory or a building site, for the most junior employee (or more usually the lowest status female employee) to make the tea before the day’s work started. When I moved to right on arty ‘collectives’ the sexism of this was challenged, though my co-workers - inevitably from privileged backgrounds - rarely (if ever) worried that younger, less formally educated working class folk seemed to do all the tea-making while they got on with ‘important’ things.
Even more recently, it was still the working custom that people took turns throughout the day to make tea for their immediate colleagues. With the retirement or weeding out by other means of older workers this instinctive camaraderie has vanished, leaving the workplace like a sinking ship in which everyone, supposedly, is out only for themselves and yet the individual and true individuality is not valued. Certainly these values are not cherished, because that would involve action rather than resigned indifference or even abject passivity in the face of corporate crud.
We could reintroduce the custom, at least by making that first cup of good cheer to greet co-workers.
Mostly the gesture will not be reciprocated, mostly we will not even be thanked. We should not expect to be, because the life of the individualist is an uphill struggle, though that struggle itself brings some purpose to an otherwise dull day at work.
But firstly the mood is lightened for a few minutes, which means the cranky comments and miserabilism which dominate most office culture do not prevail until later in the day, by which time we are better able to deal with them.
Secondly, it is curious to see what happens if we are absent one morning. Co-workers inevitably comment the next morning, which means that – at least briefly – they notice and may even join the campaign.
We can take things further.
No true individualist, for example, is content to drink tea made from a tea bag in a chipped mug sporting a corporate logo or bad joke. We should aim for tea in a teapot or coffee from at least a cafetiere served to our immediate circle. At the very least use a cup and saucer for yourself, preferably of Spode quality.
And even the worst workplaces perpetuate some custom of workers buying cakes on their birthdays for the office. Inevitably, these are awful supermarket sludge, while even senior management only stretch to corporate catering written off as ‘hospitality’ in the company accounts. We can do better here too. Home-made cakes – even if restricted by budget and pressure of time to immediate colleagues – raise the game considerably. As do, say, scones with jam and cream, which have the added advantage that people need to take time to assemble them individually.
Chairman Mao may have claimed that a revolution is not a tea party, but he was wrong. In fact, in my case a good tea party has sparked the best revolutions I have personally lent my hand to.
Sunday, 1 January 2012
Good morning, a Happy New Year and Welcome
Those who already know me may also know that I have one blog already (see http://clingingtoarock.blogspot.com/). I am not abandoning that blog, or my interest in the themes which dominate it (religious bigotry, hate groups, junk science, prod-nosed paternalists, urban folk myth, fake ‘charity’, government incompetence and neglect ...... and the abuse of power in general - especially as it pertains to my life on the Isle of Man).
But this blog brings to fruition another project I have had in mind since 2008, the centenary of the birth of Quentin Crisp. I did suggest it to others with a supposedly closer interest at that time, but nobody seemed willing.
Perhaps I should say at once that this is not a Quentin Crisp tribute site. Neither is it an attempt to canonize Mr. Crisp. In fact, it is quite possible neither he, nor his work, nor any aspect of the cottage industry which has arisen since he left us will ever appear here. For those who want that, try his official archive at http://www.crisperanto.org/ and the tribute site at http://www.quentincrisp.info/ .
In fact, this was not even my first choice for a site name: I actually wanted to call the blog Age Against The Machine. My interest was in promoting elegance, individualism and good manners in the modern workplace - and in public life in general. I thought I might chronicle a few efforts to restore some calm and dignity to places more remarkable for faded industrial carpet in pastel colours, mismatched MDF ‘office furniture’ and endless exchanges of pointless information and insults between dreary characters in ill-fitting, predominantly polyester suiting.
Sadly, Age Against The Machine was already taken for a tribute site dedicated to a grumpy, middle-aged ensemble of ‘punks’ who have benefited handsomely from the contemporary corporate music ‘scene’ and the manufacture of not only consent but dissent. Curiously though, there was far less interest in a gentle man who first startled the world many years earlier, and who, unlike would-be revolutionaries since, never once stamped a petulant foot, raised his voice or published a manifesto of demands. So, as it may have been The Naked Civil Servant which first alerted me, many years ago, to the possibility of a more mannered life of absolute rebellion, ‘Crisperanto’ becomes the peg on which I now hang my other hat.
The site may take some time to get going properly as I struggle with the technology, or simply to find the time to write it. So please be patient, and abnormal service will begin whenever possible.
But this blog brings to fruition another project I have had in mind since 2008, the centenary of the birth of Quentin Crisp. I did suggest it to others with a supposedly closer interest at that time, but nobody seemed willing.
Perhaps I should say at once that this is not a Quentin Crisp tribute site. Neither is it an attempt to canonize Mr. Crisp. In fact, it is quite possible neither he, nor his work, nor any aspect of the cottage industry which has arisen since he left us will ever appear here. For those who want that, try his official archive at http://www.crisperanto.org/ and the tribute site at http://www.quentincrisp.info/ .
In fact, this was not even my first choice for a site name: I actually wanted to call the blog Age Against The Machine. My interest was in promoting elegance, individualism and good manners in the modern workplace - and in public life in general. I thought I might chronicle a few efforts to restore some calm and dignity to places more remarkable for faded industrial carpet in pastel colours, mismatched MDF ‘office furniture’ and endless exchanges of pointless information and insults between dreary characters in ill-fitting, predominantly polyester suiting.
Sadly, Age Against The Machine was already taken for a tribute site dedicated to a grumpy, middle-aged ensemble of ‘punks’ who have benefited handsomely from the contemporary corporate music ‘scene’ and the manufacture of not only consent but dissent. Curiously though, there was far less interest in a gentle man who first startled the world many years earlier, and who, unlike would-be revolutionaries since, never once stamped a petulant foot, raised his voice or published a manifesto of demands. So, as it may have been The Naked Civil Servant which first alerted me, many years ago, to the possibility of a more mannered life of absolute rebellion, ‘Crisperanto’ becomes the peg on which I now hang my other hat.
The site may take some time to get going properly as I struggle with the technology, or simply to find the time to write it. So please be patient, and abnormal service will begin whenever possible.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)