“Darling, where’s my cell ’phone?”
Like many residential buildings in Beirut, the ground floor of the one I live in has multiple uses: the marble clad entrance, the car park: and, of course, shops; two of which sell mainly lady’s handbags.
What is it about handbags? Perhaps variety plays a part. Certainly, they range from the ones that are completely full with a set of keys and a lipstick, to those that can compete on equal terms with a medium sized suitcase.
It’s that last type that appeals to one lady of my acquaintance. As well as finding all the usual suspects of purse, telephone, credit cards, cigarettes, nail file, etc., she seems to be able to dig into the depths and produce a three course meal (well, she may get hungry), a change of clothes (well, she may not get the chance to go home), a couple of good books (in case she has to wait) and assorted medicaments (in case of urgent first aid). It wouldn’t surprise me if I needed emergency transportation and heard “just a moment, there’s a fold-away bicycle in here somewhere”.
In a recent survey, women in the UK claimed to have an average of forty handbags - each. Forty! Now us Brits are not that famous for our fashion consciousness, but we’ll be generous and suppose that the number here in Lebanon is much the same (and not greater). Certainly my wife seems to manage that, there’s a whole closet given over to the things. Multi-coloured, multi-fabricked and multi-sized, they do have one thing in common, they all have multiple compartments. About six in each. And that makes over two hundred and forty different places to lose, sorry, I mean put something. Like her mobile.
The standard way to find a wayward mobile ’phone is to dial the number, listen for the ring and then locate it by sound, a bit like a bat finds its prey by hearing its own squeaks reflected back to it. So in answer to her question posed above, that’s what I do, dial her number from my cell ’phone.
Oh, horror, the ring is coming from the handbag closet. OK, open the door, listen carefully and try to locate the bag. Oops, wrong first attempt, try a second one … and then the ringing stops. Why? Is the battery discharged, please not, for then there’ll be no hope of avoiding a manual trawl through all two hundred and forty compartments. Has the battery on mine emptied? No, all looks OK and the little screen even says I’m still connected, so I pick it up and hear my wife’s voice…..
“I’d really like to talk to you, but I’m not able to come to the ’phone right now, please leave me a nice chatty message”. Yeah, right!
Wednesday 31 March 2010
Tuesday 30 March 2010
Accessible mathematics achievements
The twentieth century is now over a decade away. Time enough for some degree of perspective to be obtained. There are so many lists: top films, top personalities, top sporting achievements, that another one might seem out of place, but I want to add one.
Open a book in the mathematics section of a bookshop, or try searching Wikipedia for a mathematical topic and you will quickly be confronted with words and symbols that seem designed to put up an impenetrable barrier between the casual reader and the subject matter. So I wanted to try to put together a short list of mathematical achievements from the twentieth century that are accessible.
Let’s look at the first item. Suppose we take a map of Europe; and we paint France in blue, Germany in red, Belgium in green and so on, making sure that each time we colour in a new country it doesn’t touch a different country painted in the same colour. What is the fewest number of colours you need to paint Europe complete? Any map maker will tell you the answer - four. Try it out for yourself if you don't believe it. What about a different map, say one of Africa or Asia (no, I’m not going to fall into the trap of the asking about Australia). What about the counties of England? The answer, in each case, is four, but is it still four for any map you can imagine?
Before we go any further, we need to talk about proof. Proof, in the mathematical world, means that there is sequence of reasoned steps deducing a proposition from a set of assumptions and already proven propositions. The logical reasoning leaves no room for doubt. AT ALL. Why is this so important? Because, once a proof has been found, it is true for ever.
Now let’s go back to our map colouring problem. Finally, towards the end of the twentieth century, and with the help of computers, a proof was found showing that any map needs just four colours. The search for the proof inspired numerous forays into “tough” mathematics, the sort that would make most of us hastily put down that book referred to earlier. But the end result, buy four colours only if you want to make maps, is accessible to all of us.
That links us to the second mathematical achievement on my list, the stored program computer, perhaps more an achievement by mathematicians, specifically John von Neumann and Alan Turing, than a mathematical achievement. Nevertheless, it is included because whatever machine you’re running your browser on, it operates according to a theoretical model developed by the two aforementioned gentlemen. What vision they had!
Step up to the podium number three please. You have a lot of oranges and one large crate. What is the best way to pack the oranges so as to maximize the number packed into the crate? Are you crazy, I hear you ask, every green grocer and fruiterer knows how to do that. Here’s how it’s done: make a line of touching oranges on one edge at the bottom, make the second line interleaved so that the centres of three touching oranges form an equilateral triangle. When the bottom layer is finished, make the second layer so that each orange in that layer rests on three oranges below it. Continue layer by layer until the crate is full. It’s actually harder to describe than to do. But it’s much harder to prove than to describe. Indeed the proof wasn’t found until the last decade of the twentieth century. Once again it was the search for the proof that was the inspiration.
Painting maps, stacking oranges and making calculating machines, is that it then? Not at all, the theme running through each of these was that the search for a certainty, a proof, an absolute to a simple problem, revealed much more than could have been imagined at the start of the quest. Here is a quote from David Hilbert’s famous address to the Paris International Congress of mathematicians:-
“It is difficult and often impossible to judge the value of a problem correctly in advance; for the final award depends upon the gain which science obtains from the problem. Nevertheless we can ask whether there are general criteria which mark a good mathematical problem. An old French mathematician said: ‘A mathematical theory is not to be considered complete until you have made it so clear that you can explain it to the first man whom you meet on the street.’ This clearness and ease of comprehension, here insisted on for a mathematical theory, I should still more demand for a mathematical problem if it is to be perfect; for what is clear and easily comprehended attracts, the complicated repels us.
“Moreover a mathematical problem should be difficult in order to entice us, yet not completely inaccessible, lest it mock at our efforts. It should be to us a guide post on the mazy paths to hidden truths, and ultimately a reminder of our pleasure in the successful solution”.
He said that to launch the twentieth century hunt for problems – and solutions.
Open a book in the mathematics section of a bookshop, or try searching Wikipedia for a mathematical topic and you will quickly be confronted with words and symbols that seem designed to put up an impenetrable barrier between the casual reader and the subject matter. So I wanted to try to put together a short list of mathematical achievements from the twentieth century that are accessible.
Let’s look at the first item. Suppose we take a map of Europe; and we paint France in blue, Germany in red, Belgium in green and so on, making sure that each time we colour in a new country it doesn’t touch a different country painted in the same colour. What is the fewest number of colours you need to paint Europe complete? Any map maker will tell you the answer - four. Try it out for yourself if you don't believe it. What about a different map, say one of Africa or Asia (no, I’m not going to fall into the trap of the asking about Australia). What about the counties of England? The answer, in each case, is four, but is it still four for any map you can imagine?
Before we go any further, we need to talk about proof. Proof, in the mathematical world, means that there is sequence of reasoned steps deducing a proposition from a set of assumptions and already proven propositions. The logical reasoning leaves no room for doubt. AT ALL. Why is this so important? Because, once a proof has been found, it is true for ever.
Now let’s go back to our map colouring problem. Finally, towards the end of the twentieth century, and with the help of computers, a proof was found showing that any map needs just four colours. The search for the proof inspired numerous forays into “tough” mathematics, the sort that would make most of us hastily put down that book referred to earlier. But the end result, buy four colours only if you want to make maps, is accessible to all of us.
That links us to the second mathematical achievement on my list, the stored program computer, perhaps more an achievement by mathematicians, specifically John von Neumann and Alan Turing, than a mathematical achievement. Nevertheless, it is included because whatever machine you’re running your browser on, it operates according to a theoretical model developed by the two aforementioned gentlemen. What vision they had!
Step up to the podium number three please. You have a lot of oranges and one large crate. What is the best way to pack the oranges so as to maximize the number packed into the crate? Are you crazy, I hear you ask, every green grocer and fruiterer knows how to do that. Here’s how it’s done: make a line of touching oranges on one edge at the bottom, make the second line interleaved so that the centres of three touching oranges form an equilateral triangle. When the bottom layer is finished, make the second layer so that each orange in that layer rests on three oranges below it. Continue layer by layer until the crate is full. It’s actually harder to describe than to do. But it’s much harder to prove than to describe. Indeed the proof wasn’t found until the last decade of the twentieth century. Once again it was the search for the proof that was the inspiration.
Painting maps, stacking oranges and making calculating machines, is that it then? Not at all, the theme running through each of these was that the search for a certainty, a proof, an absolute to a simple problem, revealed much more than could have been imagined at the start of the quest. Here is a quote from David Hilbert’s famous address to the Paris International Congress of mathematicians:-
“It is difficult and often impossible to judge the value of a problem correctly in advance; for the final award depends upon the gain which science obtains from the problem. Nevertheless we can ask whether there are general criteria which mark a good mathematical problem. An old French mathematician said: ‘A mathematical theory is not to be considered complete until you have made it so clear that you can explain it to the first man whom you meet on the street.’ This clearness and ease of comprehension, here insisted on for a mathematical theory, I should still more demand for a mathematical problem if it is to be perfect; for what is clear and easily comprehended attracts, the complicated repels us.
“Moreover a mathematical problem should be difficult in order to entice us, yet not completely inaccessible, lest it mock at our efforts. It should be to us a guide post on the mazy paths to hidden truths, and ultimately a reminder of our pleasure in the successful solution”.
He said that to launch the twentieth century hunt for problems – and solutions.
Monday 29 March 2010
The iSporran
Clever people the Scots.
They've managed to produce a skirt and handbag outfit for a bloke that makes him look masculine and menacing at the same time. If you don't believe me check out Liam Neeson's performance in the film version of Rob Roy from a few years back.
And what a design that handbag thing is! Better call it by it's proper name - a sporran. Have you ever looked at one? Well it's just right for carrying a blackberry or an iphone. And it's a good handy size for those credit card carriers that I always keep misplacing. You'd never think the thing was around in Shakespeare's day, it's perfect for the twenty-first century.
But there's more. Have you ever needed a mouse mat in emergency and couldn't find one? Our kilted friends have no problem, whip off the sporran, put it face down on a flat surface and there you have it, an emergency mouse mat.
Now be imaginative, look at the side of this thing. Have you noticed it yet - that edge is perfect for a USB port! Wow! The person who designed the sporran knew his future proofing.
So, the race is on. There's a buzz that Bill Gates is toying with an XPorran to be released next year but my money is on Steve Jobs. Rumour has it that prototype iSporrans, complete with connections for the iPhone and iPod are already being field tested .
So if you see a young Scot alone in the woods playing about with his kilt, give him the benefit of the doubt, he's probably just trying to experiment, in secret, with the USB ports on the latest beta release of his iSporran.
Sunday 28 March 2010
I will versus you should
Chaps gossip too. Usually in the pub.
And sometimes really juicy, useful stuff comes up. OK, so I was chatting with a friend last week and attention turned to, let’s call him Mr. A. “Oh, he’s a ‘you should’”, said my friend “what do you mean?” said I. “There are two sorts of people in the world, the ‘you should’s and the ‘I will’s”.
That reminded me of another conversation a few weeks ago, when the remark “he’s a be-er rather than a doer” was made.
Are we onto something here? Perhaps so, for I can certainly recall working and socializing with people who make things happen, as well as those who expect others to get on with things.
Here’s the first test question, “what do you do?” If the answer includes a verb (a doing word no less), then chances are you’re talking to a doer. “I make chairs”, “I drive a bus” or even “I run a company” will do (whoops, no pun intended), suggesting an attitude of well, er, getting things done. Titles as an answer, “I’m the King’s wig-carrier”, “I’m the administrative assistant to the administrator of administrative affairs” may suggest a different attitude to life, one who is content to be, for example.
The second test question carries more risk, “shall we have lunch?” But here’s where you flush out the “you should”-er. Answers like “Love to, I’ll cook us something”, “Gigolos has got it’s third Michelin star, I’ll book a table and extend the mortgage” or even “Great, I’ll get us a KFC, two pieces or three?” may be over the top, or under it in one case, but they certainly expose the doers. “Good idea, we should try Mongolian”, “I haven’t found a good curry here yet, could you try to find us one?” on the other hand, suggest those of a “you should” disposition.
I’m not making judgements here, the world needs all three. The “you should”s make good advisers, auditors, reviewers; the “be-ers” are excellent chairman, and know when to leave stuff alone. It’s just that the doers make the world move.
But don’t take doing to excess, next time you’re having a gossip in the pub, there’s nothing wrong with “your round!”
And sometimes really juicy, useful stuff comes up. OK, so I was chatting with a friend last week and attention turned to, let’s call him Mr. A. “Oh, he’s a ‘you should’”, said my friend “what do you mean?” said I. “There are two sorts of people in the world, the ‘you should’s and the ‘I will’s”.
That reminded me of another conversation a few weeks ago, when the remark “he’s a be-er rather than a doer” was made.
Are we onto something here? Perhaps so, for I can certainly recall working and socializing with people who make things happen, as well as those who expect others to get on with things.
Here’s the first test question, “what do you do?” If the answer includes a verb (a doing word no less), then chances are you’re talking to a doer. “I make chairs”, “I drive a bus” or even “I run a company” will do (whoops, no pun intended), suggesting an attitude of well, er, getting things done. Titles as an answer, “I’m the King’s wig-carrier”, “I’m the administrative assistant to the administrator of administrative affairs” may suggest a different attitude to life, one who is content to be, for example.
The second test question carries more risk, “shall we have lunch?” But here’s where you flush out the “you should”-er. Answers like “Love to, I’ll cook us something”, “Gigolos has got it’s third Michelin star, I’ll book a table and extend the mortgage” or even “Great, I’ll get us a KFC, two pieces or three?” may be over the top, or under it in one case, but they certainly expose the doers. “Good idea, we should try Mongolian”, “I haven’t found a good curry here yet, could you try to find us one?” on the other hand, suggest those of a “you should” disposition.
I’m not making judgements here, the world needs all three. The “you should”s make good advisers, auditors, reviewers; the “be-ers” are excellent chairman, and know when to leave stuff alone. It’s just that the doers make the world move.
But don’t take doing to excess, next time you’re having a gossip in the pub, there’s nothing wrong with “your round!”
Wednesday 24 March 2010
Immediately if not before
“To be done immediately if not before!” was a favourite expression of one of my teachers at school. His particular subjects, French and (if my recall is correct) Spanish had given him, I suppose, an insight into the Mediterranean races love of urgency. The Levantine “Yallah!” meaning “come on let’s go” and “Pronto!” – “Quickly” have passed into common use far beyond their geographic origins.
Even if I’d thought of it at the time, I probably wouldn’t have dared to ask my teacher. “OK, so it’s urgent, but is it important?” And if I had, a swift clip round the ear could well have been the response. However, in the grip of adrenalin fuelled urgency, it’s important to ask ourselves that question, even if only as a fleeting check. For if we don’t, we can be rushed along on a torrent of minor tasks that just have to be done now.
The mobile ’phone is a wonderful invention. Remember those thrillers of the sixties and seventies whose tension depended on searching for a working public pay ‘phone? Mobile ’phones have improved personal safety. Trouble is, they have to be answered: or do they? At least three people of my acquaintance use them only for making calls, and not for receiving them, they just don’t answer if they ring; it is for such people that silent mode was invented. Can you do that, just for a day? Well perhaps that may be going to extremes, but it demonstrates the capability of a thing to be both urgent (if you don’t answer that ‘phone within a few rings, the opportunity for communication may be lost) and unimportant (it was no-one you knew, just a ’phone jockey trying to make his sales target).
So what about the other way round, can something be important but not urgent? Just think about the classic one-liner, “Just because one woman can have a baby in nine months, doesn’t mean that nine women can have a baby in one!” the important principle underlying this is that steadily working at something important is likely to lead to a better result than trying to throw a pile of resources at it at the last minute.
But what if that does happen, what if you have something to do that’s both important and urgent? Well, just drop everything and get on with it is the normal (and probably only practical) human response. So if we let everything get into this state, we wind up having to do a tax return on our wedding anniversary. Ouch! Stress! Never again!
This leaves only one possible combination, something that is neither. Well, in a disciplined world, that’s what the waste paper basket and delete button are for.
The ideal, for a happy, healthy and successful life therefore has to be, distinguish between urgency and importance and try always to work on the important stuff before it gets to be urgent
Right, sorry, got to go, but my ’phone’s ringing and I’m expecting calls from the Tax Man ... and my Wife.
Even if I’d thought of it at the time, I probably wouldn’t have dared to ask my teacher. “OK, so it’s urgent, but is it important?” And if I had, a swift clip round the ear could well have been the response. However, in the grip of adrenalin fuelled urgency, it’s important to ask ourselves that question, even if only as a fleeting check. For if we don’t, we can be rushed along on a torrent of minor tasks that just have to be done now.
The mobile ’phone is a wonderful invention. Remember those thrillers of the sixties and seventies whose tension depended on searching for a working public pay ‘phone? Mobile ’phones have improved personal safety. Trouble is, they have to be answered: or do they? At least three people of my acquaintance use them only for making calls, and not for receiving them, they just don’t answer if they ring; it is for such people that silent mode was invented. Can you do that, just for a day? Well perhaps that may be going to extremes, but it demonstrates the capability of a thing to be both urgent (if you don’t answer that ‘phone within a few rings, the opportunity for communication may be lost) and unimportant (it was no-one you knew, just a ’phone jockey trying to make his sales target).
So what about the other way round, can something be important but not urgent? Just think about the classic one-liner, “Just because one woman can have a baby in nine months, doesn’t mean that nine women can have a baby in one!” the important principle underlying this is that steadily working at something important is likely to lead to a better result than trying to throw a pile of resources at it at the last minute.
But what if that does happen, what if you have something to do that’s both important and urgent? Well, just drop everything and get on with it is the normal (and probably only practical) human response. So if we let everything get into this state, we wind up having to do a tax return on our wedding anniversary. Ouch! Stress! Never again!
This leaves only one possible combination, something that is neither. Well, in a disciplined world, that’s what the waste paper basket and delete button are for.
The ideal, for a happy, healthy and successful life therefore has to be, distinguish between urgency and importance and try always to work on the important stuff before it gets to be urgent
Right, sorry, got to go, but my ’phone’s ringing and I’m expecting calls from the Tax Man ... and my Wife.
Tuesday 23 March 2010
Driving in Lebanon
“Turn left here” said Bassim.
“But there’s a sign saying ‘One Way, No Entry’”, I protested.
“Ignore it, Graham, road signs here are only for decoration!”
Being taught, trained and accustomed to British Roads, things here are, well, just not British. Driving on the wrong side of the road is the least of the many worries, partly because car manufacturers have put all the controls on the wrong side of the vehicle as a useful aide memoire and partly because the rule of the road is ‘if you can see an empty bit of road, then you’re free to use it’, and for almost anything to boot. Say, parking your hand cart, overtaking or most importantly making sure no-one else can, for example by leaving an oil drum full of concrete on it, so the bit of road you wanted will still be there when you get back.
But I get ahead of myself, probably because I’m thinking of driving and getting ahead of themselves and everyone else is what most road users here try to do.
Let’s go back to basics and imagine getting into a car with the intention of going somewhere. In the forties, in winter, in North America and Europe, where most cars were manufactured, it was important to run an engine for a few minutes after starting to ensure that lubricants were properly, well, lubricating. This is perhaps the only rule of driving carefully adhered to, even in high summer and a in a modern car. Anyway, time to move off, when it is essential to have mobile telephone glued to one ear, leaving the other hand free to operate smoking equipment, cigarettes and lighter; this is designed to show other road users that you haven’t the least intention of noticing their existence, never mind actually taking account of their maneuvers.
The corollary of this attitude is simple, no-one makes road signals. Partly because there is no free hand to operate them and partly because anyone seeing it would take blocking the announced maneuver as a personal challenge.
The Lebanese are a highly sociable people, so look for friends and relatives at all times in order to stop abruptly for animated conversation. No problem even if they are coming in the opposite direction. they stop too; oh! and don’t expect or give any warning. It’s expected to stop and request shopkeepers to bring goods out for you to peruse and maybe even buy, this is especially true of fruit and vegetables of which there is a staggering variety and abundant supply,
OK, so we have some idea what to expect on the open road, but what about junctions? Lebanon has purchased and installed a large number of continental style traffic lights. At major junctions, there is also a policeman directing traffic who may or may not be synchronized with the lights. As traffic police carry side arms, ignore the lights in favour of the policeman. This is not that simple as said police wear camouflage army style uniforms and can be difficult to spot, especially after dark.
You may by now have the impression that other road users are to be ignored, as you will be. There is one class for which exception has to be made and that is two-wheeled vehicle users. In an accident between a motor bike, scooter, push bike etc. and a car or truck, the two-wheeler is blameless by law. If you own a car, and someone rides his bike off a balcony, landing on your parked vehicle and killing himself in the process, you, as the car owner, will be arrested for murder. Such total immunity is abused, to the extent that I have seen bikes in the middle lane of motor ways driving unconcernedly against the traffic flow, while cars and trucks are swerving out of the way, but this is an extreme, even by the standards (or lack of them) here.
Just beside my flat there is a short road which has a no-entry sign at both ends. Perhaps as your might expect by now, traffic is happily flowing in both directions.
“But there’s a sign saying ‘One Way, No Entry’”, I protested.
“Ignore it, Graham, road signs here are only for decoration!”
Being taught, trained and accustomed to British Roads, things here are, well, just not British. Driving on the wrong side of the road is the least of the many worries, partly because car manufacturers have put all the controls on the wrong side of the vehicle as a useful aide memoire and partly because the rule of the road is ‘if you can see an empty bit of road, then you’re free to use it’, and for almost anything to boot. Say, parking your hand cart, overtaking or most importantly making sure no-one else can, for example by leaving an oil drum full of concrete on it, so the bit of road you wanted will still be there when you get back.
But I get ahead of myself, probably because I’m thinking of driving and getting ahead of themselves and everyone else is what most road users here try to do.
Let’s go back to basics and imagine getting into a car with the intention of going somewhere. In the forties, in winter, in North America and Europe, where most cars were manufactured, it was important to run an engine for a few minutes after starting to ensure that lubricants were properly, well, lubricating. This is perhaps the only rule of driving carefully adhered to, even in high summer and a in a modern car. Anyway, time to move off, when it is essential to have mobile telephone glued to one ear, leaving the other hand free to operate smoking equipment, cigarettes and lighter; this is designed to show other road users that you haven’t the least intention of noticing their existence, never mind actually taking account of their maneuvers.
The corollary of this attitude is simple, no-one makes road signals. Partly because there is no free hand to operate them and partly because anyone seeing it would take blocking the announced maneuver as a personal challenge.
The Lebanese are a highly sociable people, so look for friends and relatives at all times in order to stop abruptly for animated conversation. No problem even if they are coming in the opposite direction. they stop too; oh! and don’t expect or give any warning. It’s expected to stop and request shopkeepers to bring goods out for you to peruse and maybe even buy, this is especially true of fruit and vegetables of which there is a staggering variety and abundant supply,
OK, so we have some idea what to expect on the open road, but what about junctions? Lebanon has purchased and installed a large number of continental style traffic lights. At major junctions, there is also a policeman directing traffic who may or may not be synchronized with the lights. As traffic police carry side arms, ignore the lights in favour of the policeman. This is not that simple as said police wear camouflage army style uniforms and can be difficult to spot, especially after dark.
You may by now have the impression that other road users are to be ignored, as you will be. There is one class for which exception has to be made and that is two-wheeled vehicle users. In an accident between a motor bike, scooter, push bike etc. and a car or truck, the two-wheeler is blameless by law. If you own a car, and someone rides his bike off a balcony, landing on your parked vehicle and killing himself in the process, you, as the car owner, will be arrested for murder. Such total immunity is abused, to the extent that I have seen bikes in the middle lane of motor ways driving unconcernedly against the traffic flow, while cars and trucks are swerving out of the way, but this is an extreme, even by the standards (or lack of them) here.
Just beside my flat there is a short road which has a no-entry sign at both ends. Perhaps as your might expect by now, traffic is happily flowing in both directions.
Saturday 20 March 2010
Not doing the job we expected.
Many many years ago, I started a job as a computer programmer. Computers were new and sexy. I had just graduated in mathematics and the belief was that the skills needed to do hard sums and program computers were likely to be very similar. When the subject of my career came up with friends of my parents, the most likely question was “what’s a computer and what does it do?”; by comparison in less than twenty years the most common question had become “ah, you’re in computers, can you help me making Windows work?”. But I get ahead of myself.
Whatever else school, university and other sorts of education prepare you for, having a job is not one of them. They prepare you for learning things, so spending six weeks on courses and another two weeks in seminars worked fine. Four weeks were spent on vacation (bank holidays and the compulsory two weeks off) and a week went on sick leave. Wow, that was thirteen weeks gone - a quarter of the first year taken up - and not a day’s “work” done.
On those days that I actually went to work, I had a desk in an open office. With a telephone on it. But for internal calls only. No PC, no mobile, no internet, no blackberry, no iPod; this should have been a really productive workplace; there was even an ashtray, so no need to clutter up the marble building entrance with furtive looking employees dragging on fags and throwing down a carpet of dog ends for distinguished visitors. There wasn’t even a coffee machine, a lady came round twice a day pushing a trolley on which were sandwiches, chocolate bars, a real cake with a knife to cut it and real plates, hot water from which tea and coffee were made on the spot and cold drinks. Not possible today of course, as the elfin safety people would insist that the hot water, knives and plates are all safety hazards and pushing a trolley likely to lead to severe industrial injury. Oh, and anything not wrapped in plastic and stored behind glass would be a salmonella risk. But the point I really wanted to make was that queuing up, deciding what to drink, what snack to gorge and to have a chat with like beveraged and nicotined colleagues zapped another half hour.
I actually wrote computer programs in a special language (known as code), in pencil, on paper forms printed for the purpose. The handwritten code would then be sent off to be converted into punched cards, which the computer could read. My handwriting is not of the best so numerous corrections were necessary before a “clean” deck of punched card was available. This process of correction and re-correction took about an hour a day.
Like most human endeavours, a hierarchy of roles and jobs developed in what was to become the IT industry. Near the bottom were the key-punch operators, those who took the various forms with hand-writing on them and converted said hand-written forms to machine readable cards. Next were computer operators, lowly individuals whose role was to obey the machines’ exacting commands with the minimum of fuss and delay. Above them (or so they thought) came the programmers, and at the top of the food chain were systems analysts. Systems analysts talked to those who would use future computer systems, divined what they would need to do and then wrote that down into specifications of computer programs.
Understanding what the analyst really meant and wanted took up about half a day a week.
I should have mentioned management. Reading management directives, going to communication meetings, writing reports for management again took up half a day a week.
There were a whole variety of liaison activities such as talking to other departments about what a wonderful thing this new fangled machine was, talking to the supplier (IBM) of the monster, discussing difficult problems with colleagues all of which again gook up about half a day a week.
You can see where all this is leading. About three days a week were left for doing the work for which I was nominally employed. A few minutes with a calculator will convince you that in the first year only 45% of my so-called work time could have been spent writing programs.
Now start to add additional responsibilities, like team leader, expert in something or other and the actual time spent on real work continues to drop.
All of that is not confined to any one profession. How much of a doctor’s time is spent healing the sick and how much organizing the surgery, managing the receptionists, filling in forms for the NHS and so on?
What does this mean then for you, a new and fledgling professional? In all probability, you’ll spend less than half your working life professionalling (and I know that word doesn’t exist, I just liked the sound of it), the rest will be liaising, reaching out, discussing with colleagues, writing papers, advertising and selling yourself, keeping up to date, managing the office and generally trying to get rid of the essential administrivia that any job brings with it.
The trick is to get someone else, that you trust, to sweep as much of the s**t up as possible. Better still, get a computer to do it for you.
Whatever else school, university and other sorts of education prepare you for, having a job is not one of them. They prepare you for learning things, so spending six weeks on courses and another two weeks in seminars worked fine. Four weeks were spent on vacation (bank holidays and the compulsory two weeks off) and a week went on sick leave. Wow, that was thirteen weeks gone - a quarter of the first year taken up - and not a day’s “work” done.
On those days that I actually went to work, I had a desk in an open office. With a telephone on it. But for internal calls only. No PC, no mobile, no internet, no blackberry, no iPod; this should have been a really productive workplace; there was even an ashtray, so no need to clutter up the marble building entrance with furtive looking employees dragging on fags and throwing down a carpet of dog ends for distinguished visitors. There wasn’t even a coffee machine, a lady came round twice a day pushing a trolley on which were sandwiches, chocolate bars, a real cake with a knife to cut it and real plates, hot water from which tea and coffee were made on the spot and cold drinks. Not possible today of course, as the elfin safety people would insist that the hot water, knives and plates are all safety hazards and pushing a trolley likely to lead to severe industrial injury. Oh, and anything not wrapped in plastic and stored behind glass would be a salmonella risk. But the point I really wanted to make was that queuing up, deciding what to drink, what snack to gorge and to have a chat with like beveraged and nicotined colleagues zapped another half hour.
I actually wrote computer programs in a special language (known as code), in pencil, on paper forms printed for the purpose. The handwritten code would then be sent off to be converted into punched cards, which the computer could read. My handwriting is not of the best so numerous corrections were necessary before a “clean” deck of punched card was available. This process of correction and re-correction took about an hour a day.
Like most human endeavours, a hierarchy of roles and jobs developed in what was to become the IT industry. Near the bottom were the key-punch operators, those who took the various forms with hand-writing on them and converted said hand-written forms to machine readable cards. Next were computer operators, lowly individuals whose role was to obey the machines’ exacting commands with the minimum of fuss and delay. Above them (or so they thought) came the programmers, and at the top of the food chain were systems analysts. Systems analysts talked to those who would use future computer systems, divined what they would need to do and then wrote that down into specifications of computer programs.
Understanding what the analyst really meant and wanted took up about half a day a week.
I should have mentioned management. Reading management directives, going to communication meetings, writing reports for management again took up half a day a week.
There were a whole variety of liaison activities such as talking to other departments about what a wonderful thing this new fangled machine was, talking to the supplier (IBM) of the monster, discussing difficult problems with colleagues all of which again gook up about half a day a week.
You can see where all this is leading. About three days a week were left for doing the work for which I was nominally employed. A few minutes with a calculator will convince you that in the first year only 45% of my so-called work time could have been spent writing programs.
Now start to add additional responsibilities, like team leader, expert in something or other and the actual time spent on real work continues to drop.
All of that is not confined to any one profession. How much of a doctor’s time is spent healing the sick and how much organizing the surgery, managing the receptionists, filling in forms for the NHS and so on?
What does this mean then for you, a new and fledgling professional? In all probability, you’ll spend less than half your working life professionalling (and I know that word doesn’t exist, I just liked the sound of it), the rest will be liaising, reaching out, discussing with colleagues, writing papers, advertising and selling yourself, keeping up to date, managing the office and generally trying to get rid of the essential administrivia that any job brings with it.
The trick is to get someone else, that you trust, to sweep as much of the s**t up as possible. Better still, get a computer to do it for you.
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