Fresh urinal blocks.
Wee rains down; you smell nicer.
A lesson for life.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Tuesday, 2 February 2010
Vapid, Vacant and Vacuous: The Venal and Virulent, Violently Voracious Violation that is the Vox Pop
Don't worry if you don't understand the title of this post - I'm not sure I do.
All you need take in is that what follows is about Vox Pops.
Now for those of you who don't know what a vox pop is, I can't tell you how lucky you are (nor how envious I am of you).
But unless you know what one is, the rest of what I write won't make much sense.
So take this as your chance to bail out: navigate away from this page, and go and live a long, happy and fulfilled life.
Right, I think I've given sufficient warning. So if you're still reading, on - or rather, in - your own head be it.
Vox Pops are those throwaway bits of telly or radio where members of the public are asked to comment on a particular issue, or news story.
On the face of it they're harmless enough. And that's because they are.
In fact, the title to this post is little more than scaremongering. There's nothing corrupt about a Vox Pop, so "venal" is a tad harsh. And no research has yet proved that they're bad for your health (despite my wealth of anecdotal evidence), so to describe them as virulent is also unfair. I'm afraid I only used them because they were scary-sounding words beginning with V. But I stand by vapid, vacant and vacuous.
I realise that my words probably reek of bias (whatever bias smells of). And maybe they are biased. But in my defence, I only think what I think because I think it's right.
In my condemnation, however, I'm pretty sure Nick Griffin would employ the same logic.
So what's actually wrong with them?
Well, nothing in principle. It's fine to ask people about their opinions. Surveys do it all the time. But surveys (when done well, at least) are rigorous pieces of research, with well thought-out and non-leading questions. They sample large numbers of the public (again, when they're done well) and these samples take in an accurate cross section of society.
In summary, they conclude nothing more and nothing less than that which they find to be true.
Vox pops purport to be arbiters of public opnion, in much the same way that a survey is.
But they aren't.
For a start, the only people sampled are those who are willing to help out the strange man or woman with a tape recorder in hand and a hint of desperation in the eyes. And let's face it, such people are likely to be either wonderfully helpful people (who'd probably just tell you what they think you want to hear, just to be nice), or shouty people whose opinion represents an extreme either way. Or the borderline insane.
Nor are vox pops as rigorous as proper surveys. If they were, they'd be even more boring than they are, because the vast majority of people, on the vast majority of issues, have a fairly neutral opinion. So Vox Pops should be chacterised by "dunno"s and "not that bothered to be honest"s.
But actually they're filled with "Absolutely"s and "Disgraces", because the more extreme opinions are seen as the most interesting ones.
The result is that news stories are presented as divisive, even if they're not, particularly. That encourages viewers and listeners into the notion that an opinion isn't worth anything unless it's an extreme one. And that's wrong. In fact, the only opinion that's worth something is a true one. Boring, mundane, predictable - if it's well thought-out, it's worthy of airtime in my opinion. Unfortunately, any journalist who follows this ideal, and makes his or her vox pop an accurate sample, is unlikely to find regular work!
One other criticism of Vox Pops that's often mentioned is that they represent lazy journalism. As an argument it's easy to follow - the idea that, rather than going to the trouble of tracking down an expert to comment on a story, journalists seem to just hit the streets and ask any old member of the public for his or her opinion.
It may surprise you, but this is the criticism with which I take most issue.
And that's because I've tried doing vox pops myself, and - trust me - there's nothing lazy about the process. It's gut-wrenching, heart-sinking, crest-falling and most boring.
You're probably beginning to realise now why I said what I did earlier on about me being biased. I'm embittered by personal experience as a Postgraduate Broadcast Journalism student. So you should definitely take this into account when considering everything you've just read. But I do think that what I've said is, in the main, well-reasoned.
To finish, I'm not going to deconstruct the vox pop gathering process. You've endured quite enough of my attempted deconstructions for one day. Instead, I'll leave you with my steps and tips on how to go about doing your own Vox Pop, should you be unfortunate enough to have to do one:
1. Do a poo.
Making Vox Pops takes most people a long way out of their comfort zones (accosting people on the street, being pushy etc isn't easy). People get nervous when out of their comfort zones. And as we all know, nerves tighten all sets of muscles in the body except one. So help yourself, take a minute or five, and do a poo.
2. Check your recording equipment (N.B. You should've left the loo at this stage).
Checking the recording equipment, in my experience anyway, is completely unneccessary. This is actually code for giving youself more time to form questions. Which is, itself, code for stalling.
3. Go into town and have a nice walk.
This is another excercise in nerve mastery. But you can justify it in your mind as "sussing out the local patch".
4. Check the sound recording levels.
Getting the sound levels right is paramount. And it's a process that can take many tens of minutes to complete.
5. Have another nice walk.
You decide the background noise in your chosen location is too intrusive. It'd be unprofessional not to move.
6. Check the sound levels.
New location, new levels.
7. Go and get yourself something to eat.
You want to ingratiate yourself with locals and that burger van looks like the perfect place to start. And all this preparation has been very hard work.
8. Blend in.
You're ready to vox. But before you do, it's best that you hang around for a bit in your chosen location, so as not to appear too conspicuously out of place to the public. (Don't worry, you won't look suspicious at all.)
9. Make your approach.
Choose someone who you think will neither pose a physical threat, nor see you as a physical threat.
9.1. Prey on the weak.
Take into accout the physical threat problem, but remember that the slow, the considerate, and the preoccupied must all be seen as fair game. You've got journalising to do.
9.2. Be nice.
A smiling face and plenty of eye contact is disarming.
9.3. Don't be nice.
Put it this way: Whom do you choose to sit next to one the bus? The person who looks out of the window in determined disengagement, or the one who looks at you, smiles, and pats the vacant seat?
9.4. Try again.
Okay, the first attempt didn't come off. Don't worry. Just carry on, and console yourself in the solid journalistic ideals that have brought you to this place. Oh, wait...
10. Repeat all of the above.
Carry on until you have the material you need, or until you realise there's a deadline looming (whichever comes first).
Happy Voxing!
All you need take in is that what follows is about Vox Pops.
Now for those of you who don't know what a vox pop is, I can't tell you how lucky you are (nor how envious I am of you).
But unless you know what one is, the rest of what I write won't make much sense.
So take this as your chance to bail out: navigate away from this page, and go and live a long, happy and fulfilled life.
Right, I think I've given sufficient warning. So if you're still reading, on - or rather, in - your own head be it.
Vox Pops are those throwaway bits of telly or radio where members of the public are asked to comment on a particular issue, or news story.
On the face of it they're harmless enough. And that's because they are.
In fact, the title to this post is little more than scaremongering. There's nothing corrupt about a Vox Pop, so "venal" is a tad harsh. And no research has yet proved that they're bad for your health (despite my wealth of anecdotal evidence), so to describe them as virulent is also unfair. I'm afraid I only used them because they were scary-sounding words beginning with V. But I stand by vapid, vacant and vacuous.
I realise that my words probably reek of bias (whatever bias smells of). And maybe they are biased. But in my defence, I only think what I think because I think it's right.
In my condemnation, however, I'm pretty sure Nick Griffin would employ the same logic.
So what's actually wrong with them?
Well, nothing in principle. It's fine to ask people about their opinions. Surveys do it all the time. But surveys (when done well, at least) are rigorous pieces of research, with well thought-out and non-leading questions. They sample large numbers of the public (again, when they're done well) and these samples take in an accurate cross section of society.
In summary, they conclude nothing more and nothing less than that which they find to be true.
Vox pops purport to be arbiters of public opnion, in much the same way that a survey is.
But they aren't.
For a start, the only people sampled are those who are willing to help out the strange man or woman with a tape recorder in hand and a hint of desperation in the eyes. And let's face it, such people are likely to be either wonderfully helpful people (who'd probably just tell you what they think you want to hear, just to be nice), or shouty people whose opinion represents an extreme either way. Or the borderline insane.
Nor are vox pops as rigorous as proper surveys. If they were, they'd be even more boring than they are, because the vast majority of people, on the vast majority of issues, have a fairly neutral opinion. So Vox Pops should be chacterised by "dunno"s and "not that bothered to be honest"s.
But actually they're filled with "Absolutely"s and "Disgraces", because the more extreme opinions are seen as the most interesting ones.
The result is that news stories are presented as divisive, even if they're not, particularly. That encourages viewers and listeners into the notion that an opinion isn't worth anything unless it's an extreme one. And that's wrong. In fact, the only opinion that's worth something is a true one. Boring, mundane, predictable - if it's well thought-out, it's worthy of airtime in my opinion. Unfortunately, any journalist who follows this ideal, and makes his or her vox pop an accurate sample, is unlikely to find regular work!
One other criticism of Vox Pops that's often mentioned is that they represent lazy journalism. As an argument it's easy to follow - the idea that, rather than going to the trouble of tracking down an expert to comment on a story, journalists seem to just hit the streets and ask any old member of the public for his or her opinion.
It may surprise you, but this is the criticism with which I take most issue.
And that's because I've tried doing vox pops myself, and - trust me - there's nothing lazy about the process. It's gut-wrenching, heart-sinking, crest-falling and most boring.
You're probably beginning to realise now why I said what I did earlier on about me being biased. I'm embittered by personal experience as a Postgraduate Broadcast Journalism student. So you should definitely take this into account when considering everything you've just read. But I do think that what I've said is, in the main, well-reasoned.
To finish, I'm not going to deconstruct the vox pop gathering process. You've endured quite enough of my attempted deconstructions for one day. Instead, I'll leave you with my steps and tips on how to go about doing your own Vox Pop, should you be unfortunate enough to have to do one:
1. Do a poo.
Making Vox Pops takes most people a long way out of their comfort zones (accosting people on the street, being pushy etc isn't easy). People get nervous when out of their comfort zones. And as we all know, nerves tighten all sets of muscles in the body except one. So help yourself, take a minute or five, and do a poo.
2. Check your recording equipment (N.B. You should've left the loo at this stage).
Checking the recording equipment, in my experience anyway, is completely unneccessary. This is actually code for giving youself more time to form questions. Which is, itself, code for stalling.
3. Go into town and have a nice walk.
This is another excercise in nerve mastery. But you can justify it in your mind as "sussing out the local patch".
4. Check the sound recording levels.
Getting the sound levels right is paramount. And it's a process that can take many tens of minutes to complete.
5. Have another nice walk.
You decide the background noise in your chosen location is too intrusive. It'd be unprofessional not to move.
6. Check the sound levels.
New location, new levels.
7. Go and get yourself something to eat.
You want to ingratiate yourself with locals and that burger van looks like the perfect place to start. And all this preparation has been very hard work.
8. Blend in.
You're ready to vox. But before you do, it's best that you hang around for a bit in your chosen location, so as not to appear too conspicuously out of place to the public. (Don't worry, you won't look suspicious at all.)
9. Make your approach.
Choose someone who you think will neither pose a physical threat, nor see you as a physical threat.
9.1. Prey on the weak.
Take into accout the physical threat problem, but remember that the slow, the considerate, and the preoccupied must all be seen as fair game. You've got journalising to do.
9.2. Be nice.
A smiling face and plenty of eye contact is disarming.
9.3. Don't be nice.
Put it this way: Whom do you choose to sit next to one the bus? The person who looks out of the window in determined disengagement, or the one who looks at you, smiles, and pats the vacant seat?
9.4. Try again.
Okay, the first attempt didn't come off. Don't worry. Just carry on, and console yourself in the solid journalistic ideals that have brought you to this place. Oh, wait...
10. Repeat all of the above.
Carry on until you have the material you need, or until you realise there's a deadline looming (whichever comes first).
Happy Voxing!
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
Of Spinning Things and Natural Supercomputers...
Well, it's been about twelve days since my last post, which is about twelve days in blog days. And about a hundred days in Twitter days, if you're interested.
I often try and work out what to write about in this blog whilst cycling home in the evening. Spending forty five solitary minutes on dark, deserted country roads does have a way of relaxing my mind (when I'm not busy roaring at the wind, that is).
And sometimes, if I'm particularly lucky, a topic falls into my lap. Or rather, my lap - and the rest of me - falls to the floor and that becomes a topic (see my first post).
Incidentally, where does your lap go when you stand up? Troubling...
Anyway, I often wonder, while cycling, how on earth I do it. I'm really quite proud of myself to be honest. I mean, I manage to tame this two wheeled contraption and bend it to my will. I don't fall over, in general (again, see my first post). In fact, I move more swiftly from A to B than I would if I didn't have a machine to wrestle with. And I do it all without an intelligent octopus in sight. Just man and machine working as one. The bike an extension of my arse.
And it seems I'm right to wonder how I manage it, because the science of how bikes work still seems to be the subject of some conjecture.
It might strike you as strange that something as simple as the mechanics of a bike can defy full scientific understanding, especially given the incredible things science can do.
But there's a big difference between "simple" and "deceptively simple". And the interraction between a bike and the human riding it is actually quite complex.
It's often said that bikes stay up because the spinning wheels act as powerful gyroscopes.
The theory of how the gyroscopic force keeps bikes on the straight and narrow is outlined (in a simplified way) in the diagram above.
But now I want you to strike that image from your mind, because - alas - it's wrong.
Or rather, it's not entirely right.
Yes, my handywork with Microsoft Word Drawing Tool isn't entirely in vain. It represents a perfectly fine theory of how the bike stays balanced, if you're one of those annoying show-offs who likes to cycle without the use of handlebars.
If you detect a hint of bitterness at this point, you'd be right. For all my poise, grace, power and speed in the saddle (I'm almost certain I broke the sound barrier the other day), I've never been able to master riding without holding the handlebars.
The use of handlebars, then, and the weight of the body pressing down on them, makes the gyroscopic force insignificant.
This has been confirmed in experiments. A Dr Hugh Hunt from Cambridge made a bike with a second front wheel (see below), which rotated in the opposite direction to cancel out the gyroscopic force. And it turned out that this bike could be ridden just as easily.
So if the gyroscopic force doesn't keep bikes upright, what does?
Well, the answer seems perhaps more mundane, but is actually probably more impressive.
It boils down to the human brain's incredible ability to react to the world around it, and instruct the muscles in such a way as to make the tiny corrections neccessary to keep bike and rider balanced.
So perhaps I was right to be proud of myself after all!
I often try and work out what to write about in this blog whilst cycling home in the evening. Spending forty five solitary minutes on dark, deserted country roads does have a way of relaxing my mind (when I'm not busy roaring at the wind, that is).
And sometimes, if I'm particularly lucky, a topic falls into my lap. Or rather, my lap - and the rest of me - falls to the floor and that becomes a topic (see my first post).
Incidentally, where does your lap go when you stand up? Troubling...
Anyway, I often wonder, while cycling, how on earth I do it. I'm really quite proud of myself to be honest. I mean, I manage to tame this two wheeled contraption and bend it to my will. I don't fall over, in general (again, see my first post). In fact, I move more swiftly from A to B than I would if I didn't have a machine to wrestle with. And I do it all without an intelligent octopus in sight. Just man and machine working as one. The bike an extension of my arse.
And it seems I'm right to wonder how I manage it, because the science of how bikes work still seems to be the subject of some conjecture.
It might strike you as strange that something as simple as the mechanics of a bike can defy full scientific understanding, especially given the incredible things science can do.
But there's a big difference between "simple" and "deceptively simple". And the interraction between a bike and the human riding it is actually quite complex.
It's often said that bikes stay up because the spinning wheels act as powerful gyroscopes.
The theory of how the gyroscopic force keeps bikes on the straight and narrow is outlined (in a simplified way) in the diagram above.
But now I want you to strike that image from your mind, because - alas - it's wrong.
Or rather, it's not entirely right.
Yes, my handywork with Microsoft Word Drawing Tool isn't entirely in vain. It represents a perfectly fine theory of how the bike stays balanced, if you're one of those annoying show-offs who likes to cycle without the use of handlebars.
If you detect a hint of bitterness at this point, you'd be right. For all my poise, grace, power and speed in the saddle (I'm almost certain I broke the sound barrier the other day), I've never been able to master riding without holding the handlebars.
The use of handlebars, then, and the weight of the body pressing down on them, makes the gyroscopic force insignificant.
This has been confirmed in experiments. A Dr Hugh Hunt from Cambridge made a bike with a second front wheel (see below), which rotated in the opposite direction to cancel out the gyroscopic force. And it turned out that this bike could be ridden just as easily.
So if the gyroscopic force doesn't keep bikes upright, what does?
Well, the answer seems perhaps more mundane, but is actually probably more impressive.
It boils down to the human brain's incredible ability to react to the world around it, and instruct the muscles in such a way as to make the tiny corrections neccessary to keep bike and rider balanced.
So perhaps I was right to be proud of myself after all!
Tuesday, 12 January 2010
Locution Reclamation
Above is a picture of a truly excellent beaver.
And within that one sentence, and your reaction to it, my problem is described.
You see, I know exactly what you thought when you read that first sentence. I thought it too.
It's not that we're perverts, you or I. It's just one of the (mostly) useful quirks of the human brain that what we see in print we can't help but picture. If I say the words "yellow tulip", for example, you picture a yellow tulip.
If I say "pink elephant", up it pops in your subconscious.
And if I say beaver?
Well, yes, the animal as pictured above comes to mind, but so does... something else.
If you're lucky enough not to know what the hell I'm talking about, good. I'm not going to "enlighten" you. I'm not your older sibling or a public information service. I'm just one man and his blog.
And if you do know what I'm on about and think I'm talking about beavers for a cheap laugh, I'm not - I promise.
You see, for the first eleven or twelve years of my life I told anybody who cared to ask (and for some reason people do care to ask much more often when you're a child) that my favourite animal was the beaver. But as I got older, I realised that I couldn't make that admission any more.
There wasn't any embarrassing moment of realisation that has haunted me ever since. It was a more gradual process. At first I just knew, somehow, that I wasn't allowed to admit the beaver was my favourite animal any more, without knowing why. The true second meaning of the word followed later, but again it came not suddenly, but more by absorption.
Beavers still are my favourite animal - with good reason. They're nature's great builders, lumberjacks, and engineers. They fell trees, dam rivers, and make elaborate homes with underwater entrances. They can hold their breath for fifteen minutes, are webbed of foot, have orange teeth, a sophisticated communication system and are undeniably charming and cute. Best of all, they're once again native to Britain having been recently re-introduced.
So why have I decided to rhapsodise about this rodent now? Well I'm afraid the answer lies in the unfortunate second meaning.
Yesterday I came across this news story.
The great "The Beaver" magazine is having to change its name to the more prosaic "Canada's History". The reason, as you may have guessed, is that beaver's second meaning plays havoc with internet searches for the publication.
Now I know that in world terms, it's nothing more than a small shame. But it's a shame nonetheless. I want to live in a world where a magazine about canadian history can name itself after one of its greatest inhabitants, and where I can be honest about my favourite animal.
Readers, remember the time. For this is the day I reclaim the beaver.
Sunday, 10 January 2010
Oh Simple Thing, Where Have You Gone?
The first thing to say as I write this post is that I’m not working on commission (if only!) nor do I have any shares in the Renault company. I’ve never owned a car, let alone a Renault. And – as far as I know – I don’t have any preconceived notions about the company.
As such, I start from a fairly neutral standpoint when talking about... that which I’m about to talk. The only challenge to my neutrality comes from the fact that I’m less enamoured with the car, in general, than some. But I wouldn’t say that I’m anti-car in any extreme way. So while I may not be entirely neutral, I do consider my opinion to be balanced.
In today’s entry I’d like to describe my internal response to the new Renault advert:
I’m hoping that the enticement of Ewan McGregor will mean that by now you’ve seen the advert at least once.
I first saw it a couple of days ago. But before I go on...
For those of you who don’t know me, which – I suspect – is none of you, I should make it known explicitly that global climate change is a subject I feel very strongly about. I implied it above, but without knowing this about me, the rest of what I write won’t make much sense, so I thought I should just clear that up.
Anyway, I first saw the advert a couple of days ago. And as you can imagine (knowing me as you now do), it captured my attention straight away. It’s an oft-used trick in adverts to keep the identity of the product hidden until the opportune moment, and this ad did just that. So as it progressed I became more and more intrigued as to its origin, which, of course, is exactly the intention.
My initial guesses as to whom the advert belonged seems laughably naive with hindsight. I suppose it was partly that wish was the master of thought for me, but my first guess was that it was either a government-sponsored climate awareness campaign, or that Greenpeace had maxed-out their budget for one last crack at winning over hearts and minds.
Whatever its origin, I was beguiled by the beauty of the advert. As a piece of film it drew me in completely.
The first seconds conjured up memories of my childhood love of cars. I know that almost all young boys love cars, but I was an obsessive. For a time, I wasn’t complete without one of my dozens of toy cars in hand. I took them to the dinner table. I even took them to bed with me. Cars represent ambition, discovery, and adventure. And it’s always been a sadness that I’ve felt compelled to disown them when they brought me so much happiness.
After those opening words the advert quickly progressed to its nub: Cars may be wonderful inventions but our over-use of them, given their level of carbon emission, is threatening the lives other people. There are plenty of people who still contest this and see it as overly-emotive hyperbole. I wish I could be one of them, I really do, but I’m afraid there’s simply no debate. I’ll save an in-depth discussion for another post but for now, know that there’s overwhelming scientific evidence that the global climate is changing dangerously quickly, and that the warming is caused by human activity (see link at bottom for more). Nor is there any doubt that people are already being ousted from their homes by its effects.
As you can imagine, the combination of this, a subject on which I feel so passionate, combined with my continued weeping for lost innocence from the opening scenes, meant that the ad struck quite an emotional chord with me. Add to these the Keane instrumental (say what you want about them, but Somewhere Only We Know was a fantastic song!) and it wasn’t long before I was practically tremulous with the desire to exclaim my approval:
“Absolutely! Making the most of today really shouldn’t imply a lower quality of life tomorrow!”
“Quite right! Enjoyment for some SHOULDN’T cost the lives of others!”
(I should draw your attention to the word “practically” – I didn’t actually make the exclamations aloud. I’m far too repressed and English for that.)
But all in all, I was in a stiff-upper-lipped fervour.
And then came the hidden punch line.
This advert, about how harmful the car is, had been made by a car company.
Of course it had! As real as my excitement had been, my adult scepticism returned in a flash. This was priceless – are we meant to believe that this huge, faceless car company’s about to go all “good” and ditch its oil addiction? Get real!
But do you know what? I’m tired. Tired of my scepticism.
I’m not saying my cynicism hasn’t served me well – it has. Like when the oil company BP’s logo went all flowery and they made BP stand for “beyond petroleum”, only to continue feverishly digging up Canadian Tar Sands to get more oil. Not so much “Beyond Petroleum” as “Beyond Parody”.
Or when the energy company Eon made an advert with loads of people being blown off the ground by wind turbines. Firstly, from a science perspective they seem to have missed the point of wind turbines with that ad – the mooncalves seem to think wind turbines make wind. And secondly, the advert is rather two-faced coming from a company that’s aggressively trying to invest in new coal power stations.
So cynicism has its place. But I want to believe that Renault are trying to do good. I need to believe it. I can’t take much more disappointment.
Of course the company won’t ditch petrol cars over night. There are jobs to safeguard, and many other considerations that, whether we like it or not, affect big business. But it’s encouraging that, as we move into a new decade, they want to (be seen to) take a lead in creating the cars of a sustainable future. Perhaps if the media doesn’t take too cynical a stance towards their motives, and rather tries to highlight what a good thing electric cars are, the 2010s could be the true beginning of the electric revolution.
As the boys from Keane would put it: I’m getting old and I need something to rely on.
Stern Report – Part 1: Climate Change – Our Approach (The Science of Climate Change)
As such, I start from a fairly neutral standpoint when talking about... that which I’m about to talk. The only challenge to my neutrality comes from the fact that I’m less enamoured with the car, in general, than some. But I wouldn’t say that I’m anti-car in any extreme way. So while I may not be entirely neutral, I do consider my opinion to be balanced.
In today’s entry I’d like to describe my internal response to the new Renault advert:
I’m hoping that the enticement of Ewan McGregor will mean that by now you’ve seen the advert at least once.
I first saw it a couple of days ago. But before I go on...
For those of you who don’t know me, which – I suspect – is none of you, I should make it known explicitly that global climate change is a subject I feel very strongly about. I implied it above, but without knowing this about me, the rest of what I write won’t make much sense, so I thought I should just clear that up.
Anyway, I first saw the advert a couple of days ago. And as you can imagine (knowing me as you now do), it captured my attention straight away. It’s an oft-used trick in adverts to keep the identity of the product hidden until the opportune moment, and this ad did just that. So as it progressed I became more and more intrigued as to its origin, which, of course, is exactly the intention.
My initial guesses as to whom the advert belonged seems laughably naive with hindsight. I suppose it was partly that wish was the master of thought for me, but my first guess was that it was either a government-sponsored climate awareness campaign, or that Greenpeace had maxed-out their budget for one last crack at winning over hearts and minds.
Whatever its origin, I was beguiled by the beauty of the advert. As a piece of film it drew me in completely.
The first seconds conjured up memories of my childhood love of cars. I know that almost all young boys love cars, but I was an obsessive. For a time, I wasn’t complete without one of my dozens of toy cars in hand. I took them to the dinner table. I even took them to bed with me. Cars represent ambition, discovery, and adventure. And it’s always been a sadness that I’ve felt compelled to disown them when they brought me so much happiness.
After those opening words the advert quickly progressed to its nub: Cars may be wonderful inventions but our over-use of them, given their level of carbon emission, is threatening the lives other people. There are plenty of people who still contest this and see it as overly-emotive hyperbole. I wish I could be one of them, I really do, but I’m afraid there’s simply no debate. I’ll save an in-depth discussion for another post but for now, know that there’s overwhelming scientific evidence that the global climate is changing dangerously quickly, and that the warming is caused by human activity (see link at bottom for more). Nor is there any doubt that people are already being ousted from their homes by its effects.
As you can imagine, the combination of this, a subject on which I feel so passionate, combined with my continued weeping for lost innocence from the opening scenes, meant that the ad struck quite an emotional chord with me. Add to these the Keane instrumental (say what you want about them, but Somewhere Only We Know was a fantastic song!) and it wasn’t long before I was practically tremulous with the desire to exclaim my approval:
“Absolutely! Making the most of today really shouldn’t imply a lower quality of life tomorrow!”
“Quite right! Enjoyment for some SHOULDN’T cost the lives of others!”
(I should draw your attention to the word “practically” – I didn’t actually make the exclamations aloud. I’m far too repressed and English for that.)
But all in all, I was in a stiff-upper-lipped fervour.
And then came the hidden punch line.
This advert, about how harmful the car is, had been made by a car company.
Of course it had! As real as my excitement had been, my adult scepticism returned in a flash. This was priceless – are we meant to believe that this huge, faceless car company’s about to go all “good” and ditch its oil addiction? Get real!
But do you know what? I’m tired. Tired of my scepticism.
I’m not saying my cynicism hasn’t served me well – it has. Like when the oil company BP’s logo went all flowery and they made BP stand for “beyond petroleum”, only to continue feverishly digging up Canadian Tar Sands to get more oil. Not so much “Beyond Petroleum” as “Beyond Parody”.
Or when the energy company Eon made an advert with loads of people being blown off the ground by wind turbines. Firstly, from a science perspective they seem to have missed the point of wind turbines with that ad – the mooncalves seem to think wind turbines make wind. And secondly, the advert is rather two-faced coming from a company that’s aggressively trying to invest in new coal power stations.
So cynicism has its place. But I want to believe that Renault are trying to do good. I need to believe it. I can’t take much more disappointment.
Of course the company won’t ditch petrol cars over night. There are jobs to safeguard, and many other considerations that, whether we like it or not, affect big business. But it’s encouraging that, as we move into a new decade, they want to (be seen to) take a lead in creating the cars of a sustainable future. Perhaps if the media doesn’t take too cynical a stance towards their motives, and rather tries to highlight what a good thing electric cars are, the 2010s could be the true beginning of the electric revolution.
As the boys from Keane would put it: I’m getting old and I need something to rely on.
Stern Report – Part 1: Climate Change – Our Approach (The Science of Climate Change)
Friday, 8 January 2010
A Video on Snow
Here's the short-awaited beginning of the video component of the blog. I had a snow day off from uni today so I felt this was the only appropriate thing to do. It's a light-hearted, surreal-ish description of some of the aspects of snow science. Watching always beats reading, so I hope you like it!
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
Express Fools
I think it's time - as my blog enter its third day - to talk about some science and fulfil my top of page pledge. But before I do, I feel I must declare an interest.
You might have been wondering why I think that my talking to you via this blog somehow improves the world. The truth is, I don't. But I'd like it to.
And that's the interest I must declare: I'm looking to get into the broadcast industry.
Ah, those fateful words, how they grate! I feel bad just saying them.
Why? Because "I'm looking to get into the broadcast industry" is the kind of thing people say. In my mind, when I say it, I feel no more worldly than a child saying "when I grow up I want to be an astronaut", because, like children who declare extraterrestrial ambitions, the number of people who say it does not compare favourably to the number who actually do it.
As a scientist (I have a physics degree) I'm keenly aware of the numbers. And so I feel the need to justify my aims with dubious humour, hence this blog.
Part of the reason this blog exists, then, is to help me flex my creative, descriptive and critical muscles. After a few weeks' hard blogging I have every confidence that I'll be journalistically "ripped". That was my first use of that word in that context. I feel quite queasy.
In a very ideal world I'd love to become a science broadcaster, and I feel that if, one day, my audience were more than just me, I have the potential to have a positive impact not only on people's knowledge of science, but also on their care for the world and personal empowerment.
Heady aims need a lowly start. So here we are. And first up, a few quick words on the difference between WEATHER and CLIMATE.
The image above illustrates the need to clarify this difference. Unfortunately, though, my blog post won't be circulated as widely as the words of those Express morons.
The difference is key, but doesn't take much explanation.
WEATHER refers to short term conditions. Hour by hour, day by day or even week by week changes in our experiences of the elements.
CLIMATE refers to longer term patterns in the general behaviour of the weather systems across countries, continents, or even the whole world.
So when The Express refers to SNOW CHAOS in its subtle, considered way, and tries from this WEATHER anomaly, in one area of the world, to suggest that thousands of eminent climate scientists have got predictions about the movement of the global climate wrong, they are proving themselves to be huge mooncalves. Especially as it's all in the name of a quick titter that could do lasting damage to the opinions of their many readers.
The question is, will the Express lead with "DROUGHT CHAOS - It turns out they were right" when water runs out across large areas of the world?
You might have been wondering why I think that my talking to you via this blog somehow improves the world. The truth is, I don't. But I'd like it to.
And that's the interest I must declare: I'm looking to get into the broadcast industry.
Ah, those fateful words, how they grate! I feel bad just saying them.
Why? Because "I'm looking to get into the broadcast industry" is the kind of thing people say. In my mind, when I say it, I feel no more worldly than a child saying "when I grow up I want to be an astronaut", because, like children who declare extraterrestrial ambitions, the number of people who say it does not compare favourably to the number who actually do it.
As a scientist (I have a physics degree) I'm keenly aware of the numbers. And so I feel the need to justify my aims with dubious humour, hence this blog.
Part of the reason this blog exists, then, is to help me flex my creative, descriptive and critical muscles. After a few weeks' hard blogging I have every confidence that I'll be journalistically "ripped". That was my first use of that word in that context. I feel quite queasy.
In a very ideal world I'd love to become a science broadcaster, and I feel that if, one day, my audience were more than just me, I have the potential to have a positive impact not only on people's knowledge of science, but also on their care for the world and personal empowerment.
Heady aims need a lowly start. So here we are. And first up, a few quick words on the difference between WEATHER and CLIMATE.
The image above illustrates the need to clarify this difference. Unfortunately, though, my blog post won't be circulated as widely as the words of those Express morons.
The difference is key, but doesn't take much explanation.
WEATHER refers to short term conditions. Hour by hour, day by day or even week by week changes in our experiences of the elements.
CLIMATE refers to longer term patterns in the general behaviour of the weather systems across countries, continents, or even the whole world.
So when The Express refers to SNOW CHAOS in its subtle, considered way, and tries from this WEATHER anomaly, in one area of the world, to suggest that thousands of eminent climate scientists have got predictions about the movement of the global climate wrong, they are proving themselves to be huge mooncalves. Especially as it's all in the name of a quick titter that could do lasting damage to the opinions of their many readers.
The question is, will the Express lead with "DROUGHT CHAOS - It turns out they were right" when water runs out across large areas of the world?
News Knows Best
Worst in a decade, that’s what the news said.
So when will you get it into your head?
With Fergus in place with his caption machine,
Soph on the case with your pics on the screen
And grave, dire warnings from Robbie McElwee,
Surely you’ll notice it’s really quite snowy.
Apparently not, so it would seem,
As you load up the car and defrost the screen.
And set off to work with a steely resolve,
With an extra thick jacket, and salt to dissolve
This weird, white stuff which covers the floor.
“It looks sort of familiar – have I seen it before?”
From the car radio the warnings you hear:
“Travel chaos - nowhere is clear”
Must be of use to those who are stranded,
And the many poor souls whose planes haven’t landed.
But this road’s just fine, these tyres’ll last.
“Was that a camera crew that just went past?
The News tried to warn you not to go out.
Savage was adamant, no hint of doubt.
It’s funny when you miss what’s right in your face.
Like the road where a snowdrift had taken its place.
Perhaps now you’ll listen to the guys on TV:
“That car looks familiar - oh look, it’s me!”
So when will you get it into your head?
With Fergus in place with his caption machine,
Soph on the case with your pics on the screen
And grave, dire warnings from Robbie McElwee,
Surely you’ll notice it’s really quite snowy.
Apparently not, so it would seem,
As you load up the car and defrost the screen.
And set off to work with a steely resolve,
With an extra thick jacket, and salt to dissolve
This weird, white stuff which covers the floor.
“It looks sort of familiar – have I seen it before?”
From the car radio the warnings you hear:
“Travel chaos - nowhere is clear”
Must be of use to those who are stranded,
And the many poor souls whose planes haven’t landed.
But this road’s just fine, these tyres’ll last.
“Was that a camera crew that just went past?
The News tried to warn you not to go out.
Savage was adamant, no hint of doubt.
It’s funny when you miss what’s right in your face.
Like the road where a snowdrift had taken its place.
Perhaps now you’ll listen to the guys on TV:
“That car looks familiar - oh look, it’s me!”
Monday, 4 January 2010
And so it begins...
Ah, the inaugural post. Everyone who ever starts a blog must have to confront this problem, and most probably start just as unoriginally as this. Nevertheless, here it is!
To expand on the brief description at the top of the page, this blog will, I hope, mix discussion of current affairs with explanations of basic scientific principles. And combined with this is likely to be some comment on more general (and trivial) topics in life.
This is sounding dangerously like a pitch for a Jeremy Clarkson book, so let me be clear: I'm not a grumpy old man. I'm 22 years old, I do, in general, think the world is a wonderful place, and I've never been known to combine jacket and jeans in the same outfit.
As for the title of the blog, "My Kingdom for an Intelligent Octopus", this is a quote from one of my favourite characters, Hawkeye, in one of my favourite television programmes, M*A*S*H. I chose to name the blog this because I'd say that, on average, I think this to myself at least once a day.
There are very few situations in life in which an intelligent octopus wouldn't be of great use. And such an occasion presented itself to me on this very night.
I was cycling home from university earlier this evening. During the course of the day, the weather had gone from clement to in-bloody-clement (in science that's the next level up from simply "inclement", in case you were wondering). As I pressed on along the unlit country lanes that make up my route, hail was pelting the ground and frosty wind made moan. Death was all but inevitable.
And so it nearly proved when, on a patch of rain-greased ice, the bike slipped from under me and I was sent crashing to the floor. If you've ever seen the extended version of the video for Celine Dion's "It's All Coming Back To Me Now" (as I'm sure you all have), you'll be able to envisage just how spectacular the crash was.
Well, as is evident, I didn't die. They don't call me the Captain Scarlett of cycling for nothing....
Oh, alright - I don't call MYSELF the Captain Scarlett of cycling for nothing.
But let's just examine quickly how an intelligent octopus would have improved this situation.
With four tentacles he or she could have provided stability and suction on the road. Two could have held supplementary lights. Which leaves two to give a nice head massage to combat the stress of the experience.
I don't think any of you can now fail to understand why I chose the title as I did...
To expand on the brief description at the top of the page, this blog will, I hope, mix discussion of current affairs with explanations of basic scientific principles. And combined with this is likely to be some comment on more general (and trivial) topics in life.
This is sounding dangerously like a pitch for a Jeremy Clarkson book, so let me be clear: I'm not a grumpy old man. I'm 22 years old, I do, in general, think the world is a wonderful place, and I've never been known to combine jacket and jeans in the same outfit.
As for the title of the blog, "My Kingdom for an Intelligent Octopus", this is a quote from one of my favourite characters, Hawkeye, in one of my favourite television programmes, M*A*S*H. I chose to name the blog this because I'd say that, on average, I think this to myself at least once a day.
There are very few situations in life in which an intelligent octopus wouldn't be of great use. And such an occasion presented itself to me on this very night.
I was cycling home from university earlier this evening. During the course of the day, the weather had gone from clement to in-bloody-clement (in science that's the next level up from simply "inclement", in case you were wondering). As I pressed on along the unlit country lanes that make up my route, hail was pelting the ground and frosty wind made moan. Death was all but inevitable.
And so it nearly proved when, on a patch of rain-greased ice, the bike slipped from under me and I was sent crashing to the floor. If you've ever seen the extended version of the video for Celine Dion's "It's All Coming Back To Me Now" (as I'm sure you all have), you'll be able to envisage just how spectacular the crash was.
Well, as is evident, I didn't die. They don't call me the Captain Scarlett of cycling for nothing....
Oh, alright - I don't call MYSELF the Captain Scarlett of cycling for nothing.
But let's just examine quickly how an intelligent octopus would have improved this situation.
With four tentacles he or she could have provided stability and suction on the road. Two could have held supplementary lights. Which leaves two to give a nice head massage to combat the stress of the experience.
I don't think any of you can now fail to understand why I chose the title as I did...
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