Circular logic

It’s possible than living in the vicinity of some of London’s architectural landmarks, the London Eye, the Gherkin, City Hall, the dome of St Paul’s. Buildings are definitely getting more curvaceous (I’m ignoring the Shard). This, combined with my own extensive experience of inhabiting confined space has led me to be convinced of the inevitability of round rooms – or circular spaces.

Here’s my reasoning.

A big problem with optimising small is fitting everything in and it only takes a little reflection to track the root of the issue literally into the corner. A corner stops you putting the desk alongside the bookcase and, for the sake of a couple of inches, you are forced to waste a couple of feet. This is why kitchens often wind up as elongated galleys: they postpone the dreaded right-angle. The shorter the walls relative to the furniture the stricter the constraints and the greater the resultant waste.

Not only that, but corners are easily blocked, difficult to reach and generally gather crap. This is why I look forward to a glorious future where corners have been aptly banished to the corner themselves and rooms with only one wall become the norm.

Of course, there are minor considerations to be resolved first. Not least among these is the question of curvature. A fixed range is implied.

For the straightforward office cubicle, one metre radius may be the new A4. Office chairs could comfortably give you 300 degrees of nearly 22m of reachable desk area. Arranging these cubicles for easy access has interesting creative possibilities which you might have fun sketch out yourself.

Geeky London Beers

A nice routine I’ve adopted in the last month or so is to hook up with a couple of like-minded souls every week or two and sample a pub where the history has stained the timbers and talk a particular dialect of computing nerdish.

In Ye Old Cheshire Cheese where Dickens found inspiration, we recall our own childhood influences: Bertha, Button Moon and Chock-A-Block, GOTO statements and the sound of tape loading that was as familiar as bird song.

From the pub where Pepys watched London burn in 1666 we leapfrog impatiently into the present to hook up on Last.fm and Latitude. The Shard emerges like a crystalline volcano behind us meanwhile.

The historical scribblers above could not have begun to imagine. They may have fitted into each other’s world – a mere couple of centuries apart – with some adjustment but history has since compressed. The future is not evenly distributed, even amongst the tightest generation. This is why this time and place crackles with possibliites.

London room

It’s been over a month since I headed down to the big smoke. Now I’ve actually sorted accommodation for the next month or two I have time to pull some random nuggets out the experience bank while they are still fresh.

The plan, as you may recall, was to use the excellent Airbnb.com service (basically, premium couch-surfing) to buy some time to find a nice room in a nice part of London at a nice price. Whilst Airbnb proved useful for trying different areas, finding a place that matched all criteria was getting hard — particularly as I only wanted a place for 3 months. One week rolled into two and then three. I even contemplated going south of the river before the lovely landlady of my most recent stay made me a special long-term offer.

So, for the next couple of months I’m in the Blenheim Lodge on the Great North Road at East Finchley. It sounds posher than it is. I’m in the London Room, so-called because of the heavy theming for tourists: union jacks, London buses, telephone boxes and local landmarks all over. East Finchley itself is notable for being the constituency of Margaret Thatcher, the home of The Kinks and the birthplace of Jerry Springer (East Finchley Tube station during the war). This is such a random mix it must be true. Round the corner, on the way to Hampstead Heath, is Bishops Avenue – also known as millionaire’s row. This might be billionaire’s row these days. Huge LA-style houses, some of which are rumoured to be protected by ex-gurkhas.

I commute in on the propelled human sausage that is the Northern Line. Aside from this localised overcrowding, transport in London is pretty good. Everything is on Oyster cards which avoids faffing around with change. The tube is always fast, dry and warm. The Boris bikes are genius. Grab one from wherever and park it within 30 mins and it’s no charge. You can get a 24 hour window of use for £1, £5 for a week or £45 for a yearly membership. I’ve a widget on my Android phone that points the way to the nearest bike rows (with stats) and can whisper directions in my ear via Google Navigator to get me there. This feels reassuring like the future.

Enough for now: I just wanted to shift some backlog. Next instalment is likely to feature people and conversations.

On Dropping

I keep meaning to write something about the beneficial side-effects of juggling. Something along the lines of ‘everything I know about life I learned from juggling’ but it always sounds a little contrived once I start thinking it through. One idea that sticks, however, is one that I want to expand upon more fully later: mastering failure.

Juggling is a bit like magic in that you hide something from the audience. There is nothing up your sleeves but – squint as they might – the casual observer will totally fail to see thousands upon thousands of drops. All these fumbles, collisions and runaways happened while they weren’t looking. You repeated, varied and noticed them over and over again until they became as familiar as the feel of your knackered beanbags.

Then you turn the drops off for a few seconds and it looks good.

You can probably see the point coming around the corner right about now. Success is the sweet juice from many crushing failures. Or alternatively, it’s a tower built from failure’s bones. It’s been expressed far more poetically over the ages but in it’s purest form: befriend failure.

This ramble was brought to you in conjunction with the fine beers at the Dove Free House, Broadway Market.

big papery thing tied up with string

As noted in an earlier episode, I love books. Or I thought I did. Now I’m wondering if I actually like well-edited prose in the palm of my hand and I just got confused. I’m just starting to twig there might be a viable alternative in the form of e-books.

I know what you are thinking: e-books aren’t real. They’re ghostly, massless substitutes for books. Real books can be tossed about, lent, and displayed as testaments to accrued wisdom and badges of affinity. Yet I can imagine similar objections to the innovation of the pulped wood printing: Made out of paper? What if it gets wet? Won’t the goat eat it? Paper tears – it doesn’t wear! Stick to tablets!

A more serious consideration is the reading ‘experience’. I’m not a fan of reading off a laptop for whatever reason but have no problem with a smartphone and an iPad. And anyone who thinks that the latest Kindle is not for the serious reader needs to shut up and go play with one right now.

Book ownership is like gym membership: there’s no point having it if it’s inaccessible. I always have my phone with me (and usually my iPad) so can whip it out and dip into that awesome book instead of checking Facebook for the latest Farmville stats. When I switch devices, it knows where I got up to – no more bus ticket bookmarks! I can annotate and highlight passages without feeling guilty and, intriguingly, see which passages make popular highlights. Most importantly, I can read in bed without getting out to turn out the light.

End result: more reading and that can’t be bad.

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the end of jobs

The history of progress is a long list of people of losing their jobs. From farm workers, typing pools, messengers, coal men: you name it, some pesky innovation has come and made the human redundant.

Yet the population remains employed, by and large. The grandsons of blacksmiths become mechanics, cobblers to surf-boarders, typesetters to WordPress themers.

Technology relieves the human of the mundane, repetitive and physical work compelled by economics. Services and products get cheaper which makes everyone gets relatively richer to how they were. New product and services become viable.

Career-wise, the best escape from this logical encroachment is to head for the high ground of human creativity, rich interaction – anything with soul that cannot be automated or mass-produced. Anything else will be available so easily to be virtually free.

The safe money, following the wobbly arc of this logic, is on the wranglers of the intangible: artists, poets, philosophers, gurus and the like. Those not inclined this way will still be able to live in far greater comfort than is typical today, free to pursue whatever happens to take their interest. Historical quirks may have us calling them students.

History also suggests that once physical and leisure needs are amply met there’s a thirst for status, respect and possibly fame. This is a conundrum. Everyone might have 3 hour working weeks and personal Nutri-Matic drinks synthesizer but not everyone can be famous: it’s a limited resource.

People will scrabble for attention and recognition, awarding themselves titles, honours and distinctions until someone conceives a mirror which gives everyone the impression they are top of the heap. Then we are done.