Holiday Reading: a clear win for The Rosie Project

Having managed to read five fiction novels over the course of a recent holiday – two 14 hour flights played their part in enabling this – I wondered which one had been the most worthwhile and enjoyable. The conclusion I reached was arguably a touch surprising in view of the competition.

First one completed was Michael Crichton’s “Sphere”, one from the distant back catalogue dating back to 1987, combining science fiction with psychology. Yes, I never lost the urge to keep finding out what happened next. But how frustrating to reach the end of a book of this kind and nurse the feeling that loose ends were not satisfactorily tied up, and that there was scope for something more dramatic. 3 or 4 stars, on balance, but not a patch on Airframe or State Of Fear.

A similar feeling left my overall enjoyment of “The Fear Index” by Robert Harris somewhat tainted. Granted, the amount of high tension that was packed into such a short timescale was masterful, as was the underlying theme of an artificial intelligence algorithm gaining the upper hand over mere humanity in the investment markets. But again not every question was answered by the time the book came to a close. So I’ll say 4 stars.

The only downside to “The Devil Will Come” by Glenn Cooper, whose Library trilogy is definitely a favourite recent discovery of mine, is that any suspense novel focusing on the Vatican and a Papal election is going to come up against Dan Brown’s “Angels & Demons” as a benchmark. The twists and the thematic regressions to ancient history in Cooper’s work were well up to expectation, and it’s only the less compelling plot in comparison with Brown’s that brings this one 4.5 stars rather than top marks.

I will withhold the title and author of the fourth book, a conspiracy theory/political thriller, out of courtesy. Regrettable as it may be to speak ill of an indie work published with the Kindle market very much in mind, especially one where the plot was good, it was littered – I mean, really littered from start to finish - with dreadful grammar, appalling punctuation and incorrect homophones, e.g. “tail” for “tale”, that gave away a cavalier attitude towards editing. Only the plot won it 1 star and saved it from being metaphorically hurled against the wall very early on (the folly of treating a Kindle in that manner is of course a residual argument for actual paperbacks).

So onto the winner. For “The Rosie Project” by Graeme Simsion, a clear 5 stars. Here we find the tale of an eccentric Australian genetics professor – some would say a lonely geek – who decides to solve his lack of a permanent and (here’s the key word) suitable female companion not by internet dating, but by devising a searching questionnaire for potential candidates to complete – The Wife Project. A couple of examples, accompanied by multiple choice points scoring options: “My ethical position and behaviour are based on” and “The strongest argument against evolution is”. So much for the more conventional means of detecting a potential lifelong partner via “describe your perfect evening” or “list your favourite music/pet hates/ideal holidays”.

But it’s not all analysis. There’s a life to lead too, via a rigidly scheduled but entirely logical routine, e.g. lobster every Tuesday. And if a restaurant insists on its male diners wearing a jacket, what is the problem with a state of the art cycling jacket, when it meets the dictionary definition of such a garment in every respect? Then cue Rosie’s entrance, chaos and bedlam in tow…

Perhaps it’s the true nonconformist spirit of Professor Tilman, not fitting into conventional societal norms but rendered oblivious to the fact by his superior intellect – as many hilarious examples illustrate throughout – that made “The Rosie Project” the clear winner on this occasion. The author’s blog is here.

Food Glorious Food - and the nanny state

Last week I found myself on the receiving end of a group sales presentation over lunch. The invitation had proclaimed the restaurant in question to be top class, and the restaurant’s blowing of its own online trumpet was extensive and generous. In marked contrast to its portion sizes. I was left with an abiding impression of “art food” and a sense of being somewhat less than full when leaving.

This happened to be the same day as the Chief Medical Officer for England, one Sally Davies, announced that there “may have to be” a sugar tax introduced “to tackle the nation’s obesity epidemic”.

As ever, these guardians of public health choose to gloss over the fact that it is entirely possible, let us say, to enjoy a single Mars bar without wanting to eat six more in rapid succession, and that it is in turn disproportionately unfair on the less well off to insist that they hand more money over to the government in return for being allowed to indulge in moderation. Just as is the case with any substance deemed sinful despite remaining legal. Perhaps it will not be long before the casual trade in contraband cigarettes is displaced by “Psst. Anyone for duty free Mars bars?”

But back to that restaurant. If the Chief Medical Officer has her way, what better marketing slogan than “Half the food – Twice the price”? Of course I jest. But it would be so easy to picture her glaring at a Mars bar and hoping that one day the slogan would describe exactly what she had achieved.

And so to a brief interlude on drink. At the lunch, I had wanted to recommend a specialist beer outlet in Cheltenham to a fellow participant, and could not remember its name no matter how hard I tried. Back at the office, a quick search brought up the name “Favourite Beers”. But for some inexplicable reason, its website was barricaded behind a “TalkTalk Homesafe” obstacle (how it got there is a mystery in its own right) which had classed it as “Drugs, Tobacco and Alcohol” and thereby evidently unfit for free online access. Really? So two legal substances are being grouped together with an illegal one, all in the cause of the latest nanny state inspired impediment to unfettered internet use?

Yes, political class, I know you like to be seen to be doing something. But perhaps one day it will dawn on you, in the face of gesture initiatives like these, why you are more despised than ever.

Smashwords: 2014 Read An Ebook Week - Count Me In

Those awfully nice people at Smashwords are promoting the joy of reading ebooks, for a week from Sunday 2 March. In their own words: -

"Read an Ebook Week is an international celebration of ebooks in which thousands of authors, publishers and retailers feature free and discounted ebooks to help promote the joys of e-reading to the world's readers.  Each year, Smashwords authors are the most active participants, and our store features the largest selection of participating titles.  It's a fun promotion, because the more the participating authors promote their involvement, the more readers then go on to discover new Smashwords authors.  It's writers-helping-writers at its finest."

It would have been a shame to let this pass by without participating. So for one week only, head on over to Smashwords and you'll be able to download both Hatred Ridicule & Contempt and Sackcloth Ashes & Penance for a pretty sizeable discount.

(Link to follow.)

More On Surveys (or: Moronic Surveys)

Hard on the heels of the National GP Survey (see post below from 13 January), where a recent reminder that I had not completed and returned the original questionnaire still failed to convince me of the merits of doing so, I found myself looking at another survey. This time the subject matter was diversity. The administrator was the regulatory arm of one of our once great professions, and there was an unspecified sanction for failure to return the collective questionnaire answers on time.

It is arguable that this one, despite its mandatory nature, was futile from the outset. Quite rightly, the answer gatherers were duty bound only to invite the return of completed individual questionnaires, not to compel it. And quite properly, the model questionnaire included a “prefer not to say” option to the many somewhat intrusive questions about sexuality, religion, education level and family care duties, even if some form of “mind your own business” might have more accurately reflected the reaction of the interrogated. And, of course, there was no guarantee of honest answers. Even if an army of national census takers had been put in charge, the results may have been equally meaningless and/or unfit for constructive subsequent use.

But the online process for the mandatory reporting of results recognised none of this. Having asked for an initial headcount of the interrogated, it gave no option to report that all or any of them had declined to return questionnaires at all. It simply launched straight into the answers, where the closest option to record the refuseniks’ stance was (inaccurately) “prefer not to say”. Remember, of course, that this is a compulsory procedure, and the online response template was unyielding.

So if and when anything is reported about the survey results, we may not be reading, hypothetically, that a substantial number of those asked to complete and return questionnaires declined to do so. We may instead be reading that there was an overwhelmingly good questionnaire response, even if a substantial number of the answers comprised “prefer not to say”. And this would no doubt be spun as a positive reaction to the survey, with the next one duly scheduled for 12 months’ time, and so on…

I am reminded of a Soviet era spoof report on a Cold War sporting contest, which ran “In yesterday’s athletics/chess/ice hockey match between America and Russia, our Soviet heroes finished second, and the filthy capitalist swine finished next to last.” It would of course be very unkind to suggest that there may be similar spin from a body of UK professional regulators when they have collated the results of their diversity survey. But for a less frivolous view, an extract from a 60s political speech says it all: -

“Sometimes it is a minor detail which casts a flood of light upon the malaise of a whole society. This incipient perversion of the census machinery derives from the very same general assumption which is pervading and strangling our life and our economy, namely, the conviction that the citizen is perfectly incapable of conducting his own affairs unless he is managed and controlled, planned and organised, with material distilled by experts from elaborate surveys which bureaucrats have conducted into his benighted behaviour…..they are all branches, some tiny, some large, of this same pervasive, poisonous upas tree of contempt for the independence, dignity and competence of the individual.”

- Enoch Powell, Wolverhampton, 19 April 1968, ironically the day before a certain other speech.

Hatred Ridicule & Contempt - on Awesomegang

Thanks to authors' and readers' site Awesomegang for today's publication of a full page ad for my debut novel Hatred Ridicule & Contempt, complete with all the links. Click here for a look. Quite a lot of other promising book ads and links on Awesomegang too.

Coming to Breweries' Websites Now: the Nanny State

Would the outlet at the Banks’ Brewery be open, I wondered, on Saturday mornings in the winter? The need to head in that direction for a small errand had made me think it would be worth finding out. And their website seemed the obvious place to start.

I found myself looking at an Enter Here page. It was illustrated by a promising slogan, “Fresh From the Country – the Black Country”, and a picture of a handpump with a rotating display of their flagship bitter and mild. But that was not all. There was a dropdown menu. And a question: “Are you of legal drinking age for the UK? Please tell us what year you were born in.” The menu asked visitors to select a year, making it implicitly clear that failure to tick one of the choices would preclude entry to the site.

Intrigued, I scrolled down to the bottom of the page, finding some consistent small print. “You must be of legal drinking age to enter and use this site.” Really? “To find out more about responsible consumption, visit Marstons PLC.” Beneath the small print was a link to the website for the charity drinkaware.co.uk.

What sinister invitations could be lurking the other side of the barrier, I wondered, deciding to click on my year of birth and take the plunge? Well, the outlet’s opening hours were there as I had hoped, thankfully including Saturday mornings. A description of each of their beers too. A walk through the process of brewing. The history of the brewery. And an explanation of their brewery tours with the catchline “enjoy 3 half pints on us”, although the tours were seasonal. But nothing more sinister than that. Not even the chance to order a supply of beer online, let alone an invitation to the next secret lock-in at one of their tied houses (joke).

So what’s with the demand for age confirmation? Such a pointless gesture anyway. An underage schoolboy interested in researching local industrial history, or how water, barley, hops, and yeast can be transformed into beer, is hardly going to think twice before clicking on an inaccurate age option. And that’s the kind of prohibited person who might be looking at the site, not someone in search of illicit online refreshment when it’s quicker and easier to go straight to the off licence or supermarket.

Not knowing if some draconian EU based legislation might have been sneaked through on the quiet, I thought of four other favourite ales and checked out their breweries’ sites. Neither Timothy Taylor, nor Theakstons, nor Hook Norton nor Purple Moose asked their website visitors to confirm their age. The latter two were heinously (!) offering beer for sale via online shops. Both Theakstons and Purple Moose had the drinkaware website link. A brief look at the JD Wetherspoon site also sailed through without an age confirmation enquiry.

One impression stood out. Whoever decided to make visitors to the Banks’ website go through that irritating final step could only have been following that equally irritating policy doctrine, namely the need to be seen to be doing something, empty and futile gesture as it was. Will it result in one single drop of beer not finding its way down an underage drinker’s throat? Hardly. Would they have put it up because of a legal threat? Equally hardly (but watch out for the nanny state’s mission creep, now that they have seen off tobacco displays). Might they have been responding to some busybody’s nagging? Maybe, even if common sense would have dictated a reply involving long walks and short planks.

At least the visit to the outlet was worthwhile. Eight top range bottled pints for £10, from a wide variety including the Wychwood and Ringwood ranges alongside Banks, Marstons and Jennings, was an offer that beat the supermarkets hands down. Well done, Banks’ Brewery. But please, take that silly age confirmation requirement off your website.

The GP Patient Survey 2014: a recipient's view

Early in the New Year a bulky envelope found its way through the letterbox. The accompanying letter gleefully told me that I was being asked for feedback “to help improve local healthcare and other services” by answering questions about my experiences of my local GP surgery and other local NHS services.

Wondering if the answers would be truly anonymous and confidential if any recipient chose to cross-check the 10 digit reference on both the letter and the form, I turned the page. I was advised that my name had been selected randomly then and invited to apply for any necessary assistance in 13 different languages, or to request a copy of the questionnaire in Braille via a special phone number. (Yes, I know…..)

I flicked through the questionnaire to assess the task ahead of me, and saw fifty box ticking questions. The first section was about “accessing GP services”, which was fancy talk for making appointments and speaking to staff and doctors. The old cliché about whether other patients can hear what you say to the receptionist was dusted down again, closely followed by a question that appeared to presume that some people make GP appointments by fax or would prefer to do so.

Over to the “making an appointment” section. “Last time you wanted to see or speak to a GP or nurse from your GP surgery, what did you want to do?” One of the six options was “I wasn’t sure what I wanted.” Oh, come on. To order a large cod and chips, perhaps? Or a pint? Or just seek a few kind words? (Maybe this was an option for the Alzheimers’ sufferers.)

Now for the GP and nurse appointment section, all about assessing time given, listening, explaining, involvement and caring, all on a sliding scale from very good to very poor. All options fairly covered, you might think, but how interesting it might be to see the GP completing a parallel patient focused questionnaire on such issues as lateness, paying attention, courtesy (e.g. not interrupting a consultation to answer the mobile) and respect for the opinion of a trained professional who might not be giving the advice the patient wanted to hear?

The focus then switched to the patient’s personal circumstances. Questions were asked about long term medical conditions before moving to mobility, ability to wash and dress, usual activities, pain, discomfort, anxiety and depression. Curiously, none of them carried a “mind your own business” (or should that be “prefer not to say”) option. The questionnaire went on to ask if the patient had a “written care plan” before ending up at question 50 via out of hours services and a brief set of enquiries about NHS dentistry.

Now, it’s perhaps not entirely unreasonable to conclude that out of the brave souls who began to complete the document, a fair few would have given up out of boredom, frustration or annoyance before the last of the 62 questions bore a ticked box. It may be equally accurate to conclude that those who were sufficiently motivated to fill the whole thing in and return it would comprise more than a fair share of the complaining classes, leaving the silent majority to nurse their adjective of choice. So how representative would the answers be, and how sensible or otherwise in turn would it be to allocate resources in order to address perceived shortcomings evidenced only by those answers? Debatable. But it’s hardly likely to bring the questionnaire mania to an end, even if its sole practical purpose is to demonstrate that “garbage in, garbage out” is as true a principle as ever.

Wait a minute. Did I just say 62 questions when I started off with 50? Indeed I did. Well, a government questionnaire would hardly be the same without the usual collection of diversity questions about personal characteristics. The normal range was spiced up on this occasion with a few more covering such topics as how long your work journey takes, your smoking habits, and your time spent giving support for the infirm. Interesting to note that while the “male or female” question did not provide a third option, thereby inexcusably discriminating against the hermaphrodite community, the orientation question included a curious “other” alongside straight, gay, bi and prefer not to say. It would perhaps be wiser not to comment further, save perhaps to note the potential deterrent value of this closing section upon the incentive to return completed questionnaires. Or to decide whether to laugh or cry at the thought of the poor souls in the survey brainstorming session struggling with the duty to report that 26% of the respondents who were both Buddhist and heavy smokers used their written care plans to help manage their health day to day and had trust and confidence in their GP surgery nurse despite not being happy that other patients could overhear what they said to the receptionist, having made their appointment booking by fax.