Category: Uncategorized

Software is not a painting.

Two exhibitions on Saturday: Calder at the Tate and Big Bang Data at Somerset House.

There was something I didn’t like about both. Calder’s curators are apparently convinced that none of the motorised works can be allowed to run in case something terrible happens. Weirdly, they don’t draw the matching conclusion and weld the mobiles solid to stop them moving. But that’s a proper artwork and the other is a mere engineering artefact.

If it was, though, preservation by operation is exactly what would be advised. The National Museum of Computing folk will be more than delighted to fire up a 1940s computer and demonstrate it. People preserve whole, flying De Havilland Mosquitos by operation. Surely we could look after a hobbyist electric motor and some simple belt drives. But instead, a lot of them are hung against a wall as if they were paintings, so you can’t even reason about how they would move if they were allowed to.

Over at Big Bang Data, there’s a related problem. A lot of the projects on view are pretty crap if you can’t interact with them. A lot of the ones you can interact with are broken, or just agonisingly slow. The issue here is that the kind of data visualisation projects they want to treat as artworks just aren’t. They are tools, or games, or journalistic projects. As tools or indeed as games, they are closer to dance than painting; what happens, happens afresh at every performance. In this case, it is the user who interprets the original work. How are you meant to exhibit a tool for deliberative budgeting developed by Podemos’ geek wing without demonstrating it?

This means, however, that it damn well better work. Instead, a lot of them were very clearly taken to the point of a demo and some screenshots, and no further. They ended up, therefore, nailed to a gallery wall, and neither optimised to the point of being acceptable as tools or games, or taken up and used to pursue a story as journalism.

I wonder if there is a question of grant-making here. If the funder pays out when something like a painting is delivered, that’s what they will get, and the artist will already be working on the next pitch a while before the demo is finished or rather “finished”.

Finally, in a show full of teenagers gagging for Snowden, what was the app that drew the most attention and engagement? FixMyStreet, operational for nine years so far, attributed to the late style works of the Master of Cambridge, Chris Lightfoot, and his students Anna Powell Smith and Matthew Somerville. People clustered around it with real enthusiasm.

#ischanging: the KEEP CALM of the future 2010s revival

Has anyone else noticed all the signs of change? Of course, it’s terrible. None of us is getting any younger.

That isn’t quite what I mean, though. I mean signs, signage, graphic design in the public realm. There are a hell of a lot around that say something like X – it could be benefits, refuse collection, Tate Modern – “is changing”. Bam. Full stop, an end stop heavy enough to bury any possible conversation. #ischanging pisses me off. I have the impression they appeared around 2011-2012, and I don’t think this is a coincidence. I think they will be a visual icon of the Cameron years, rather like KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON is for the Second World War.

So, these are signs. What is signified? Nothing much; after all they never say how it is changing, or what about it is changing, or why it is changing, or why I should care, or what I should do?

You could compare the platonic ideal of a public information campaign, the British government’s AIDS ads. That told you that you should be scared, why you should care, that some people were especially endangered but everyone was affected, and what you should do about it. It was complete in itself, fully utilising both the reach and the richness of television.

On the other hand, #ischanging doesn’t tell you why you should care, what is changing, or what you should do about it. It’s just visual noise, getting in the way. In that sense, it’s very close to the terrorist alert levels of the Bush years, or indeed the UK one that’s always on Black Special. You are asked to be vaguely anxious, but you aren’t informed of anything, and there are no actions-on the alert that need doing.


KEEP CALM, of course, was meant to do the opposite; inspire confidence in a context where everyone knew damn well what they should be doing and wouldn’t need telling they needed to care. Interestingly, it was also explicitly a message from the Government, issued nationally in the same format. #ischanging drips out from a thousand councils and quangos, vastly diverse in design, united in the refusal of responsibility.

Why do they do this? Well, there’s such a thing as a performative speech act. The public authorities that put up #ischanging signs usually have a legal duty to inform the public, and sometimes also to consult us. Once they go up, the duty to inform is discharged although no information has actually been communicated. The sign is a placeholder for actual content. This is handy when the changes are so complicated they defy summary, so controversial any actual discussion would get out of hand, or just so damn depressing because if something #ischanging you bet #ischanging for the worse.

And once you’ve had your chance to realise it means you and you’ve got to burrow into some awful pile of PDFs, well, it’s your fault isn’t it? You were informed and it’s your responsibility. Tough.

Paxman is Ziggy Stardust.

This BBC interview between Jeremy Paxman and David Bowie has gone viral, and with good reason. Partly this is because Bowie’s remarks about the Internet were prophetic and funny. But it is also fascinating for what it shows us about Paxman.

It is only too obvious that Paxman knew nothing, literally nothing, of what he was saying. Everything he says is comically wrong, and in the same silly-clever soft reactionary way that betrays he hadn’t thought about it much. At best, he had memorised some talking points – Bowie: reinvention, the Internet: just another delivery mechanism, or tiresome kids spraffing off – at worst he just responded to keywords. In fact, there is a moment in the video where he seems to falter and glances downwards, as if he was referring to a crib sheet. He has nothing constructive to offer, and nothing destructive that wasn’t glib cliché even in 2000.

Of course, this doesn’t mean for a moment that he is going to drop the Manningham-Buller Bullying-Manner act. What this shows us is that the Paxman persona has about as much to do with reality as Ziggy Stardust. His confidence isn’t drawn from mastery of his brief, but rather, from out of his backside. It is a style trope, a performance of scepticism, rationality, and authority rather than the real things. We are seeing a confrontation, or better, a collaboration between two great performers, rather in the way that rodeo judges give points to both the bull and the rider.

But the authentic fake here is Paxman. Bowie’s remarks during the interview about the way the Internet would transform the nature of celebrity and the relationship between the audience and the artist were of course right, but his manner is even more so. He is very obviously fascinated by the project, irrationally certain it was going to work, and willing to burn money by the sack. Paxman is a television personality, Bowie has become a geek, over-enthusiastic, obsessive, hyper-informed.

And of course this is the future we’re swimming in. Nothing gets across better than hyper-engagement and obsessive enthusiasm, for good or ill. Cool detachment is out, has been for a decade. Of course you can always fake this, but then authenticity is always a style trope. Who better to make the point?

Really, Leeds?

If this Yorkshire Evening Post piece is at all accurate, Leeds RLFC is in the stone age and deeply irresponsible.

The former Gold Coast Titans rake was knocked out twice in Rhinos’ Boxing Day defeat by Wakefield Trinity Wildcats and did not feature after the 35th minute.

But the hooker insisted there is no long-lasting damage and said he is delighted to have got a first taste of English rugby under his belt.

Falloon had to go off after two minutes and again late in the first half, but was given the all-clear following checks by Rhinos’ medical staff.

“I am all right,” he said. “My head was a little bit funny after the game, but I’ll be okay – it’s only concussion!”

“Only” concussion? No long-lasting damage? We know very well these days that it’s not “only”, it very much does do “long-lasting damage”, and the absolute worst is getting more knocks without recovering fully. Shontayne Hape‘s experience is required reading here.

Other People’s Yachts: Churchill and his Money, or Lack of It

So, over Christmas I’ve been reading David Lough’s No More Champagne: Churchill and his Money. I can’t really recommend this book enough. Financial biography or rather biography by finance is a genre, I think, with quite a bit of potential. Money talks, but it rarely lies.

Lough points out that Churchill’s switchback from the Tories, to the Liberals, and back to the Tories can be situated in terms of his personal finances. Having started out in the party of the landed interest, he switched to the party of the entrepreneur and the professional when he started to earn serious money with his writing. Having finally acquired land, he switched back to the Tories.

I would add that the Tories of 1925 weren’t the same party they were in 1905. British politics was reorganising itself around the central drama of labour and capital, and the Tories were emerging as a general-purpose business lobby. However, they didn’t quite shake off the dukes, and hence you get Churchill’s 1925 budget with its curious combination of a tax policy designed to favour entrepreneurs and hit rentiers, and a return to the gold standard designed to do the opposite. WSC was either a squire trying to be a self-made man, or the other way around, and it’s no surprise his policy ended up being incoherent.

From an even more olympian perspective, No More Champagne is what the breakdown of Piketty’s r>g looks like at the micro-level. Patrimonal capitalism requires both that r>g, so that the standard of living of the rich keeps ahead of the rest, and that r is high enough in real terms that the rich as a group can save enough of their income to replace capital drawn down for unexpected expenses (woodworm in the east wing) and to constitute the capital of any increase in the rich population.

If these constraints are not satisfied, we might expect to see various solutions. One would be to import more capital, classically by marrying an American heiress. Another would be to restrain g by adopting a deflationary macroeconomic policy, for example, by going back on gold. Yet another would be to reach for yield, taking more risks in a bid to increase r, for example by plunging on risky start-up investments. And a final option would be to reduce spending and lead a less extravagant lifestyle, for instance, by opening the big house to the public.

The Churchills, famously, are a case of option a) going badly wrong, as the heiress turned out not to be that well-off. Churchill’s 1925 budget could be read as option b) in action, although he was usually so skint that this was a bit of a remote concept. He resisted d) like he resisted the Germans – this was a guy who decided to drink champagne only five times a week in order to save money. What about c), then?

John Wasik’s Keynes as an Investor points out that JMK was a modern investment manager before his time, using value investing, the equity premium, and concentrated portfolios before these strategies were officially invented. A hypothetical “Churchill as an Investor” paper would basically be excellent advice on how not to manage money.

Churchill’s basic financial problem was that he couldn’t buy. He was actually very sharp on the sell-side of the table, ruthlessly negotiating with publishers, editors, and film-makers to squeeze the last penny out of his copyrights. He rarely sold a piece once, but rather recycled it into a book and the book into a serial and then sold the film rights. He only once turned down an advance, and learned the lesson. He always started prices high. He offered one of his numerous literary agents – he kept several and made them compete – a 15% commission but only on the sum over and above what he was already getting.

On the buy side, though, he bought too much stuff, and paid too much for it.

If it was a share, he would run after tips on high-risk small cap companies – Canadian oil & gas was a favourite, still a notoriously wild market even today. He traded far too often. He made hamfisted attempts to time the market. He levered up and borrowed hugely on margin. He sometimes day-traded the NYSE. He tended to chase his losses, and to bail out of his winners too early. He was a terrible markets groupie who liked to hang out with brokers and convinced himself he knew what he was doing. Having lost a fortune in the crash of 1929, he repeatedly went bargain hunting in US retail and utilities chains, the big speculative stocks of the day, and lost even more until the senior partner of his brokers, Vickers, Da Costa, personally asked him to stop trading. Even that only stopped him for three months.

Having (like Keynes) called the US recovery, he bungled the execution (unlike Keynes), binning the turkey before it really got started and then jumping back in, just in time for the Fed to take the punch away. This got his Vickers, Da Costa account suspended a second time.

In short, he did every damn thing you are advised against, and lost hilarious amounts of money. After he got rich, he had another crack at those Canadian resources small caps in the 1950s and whadda ya know? He lost another boatload of cash. He didn’t even manage to use his political connections to rip people off by insider-trading – when he was minister of munitions in 1917, you’d think he’d have had better things to do than load up on three smokeless coal startups, all of which went down the plughole quick smart.

In fact, he tried all the ways rich men find to lose money, except yachting and mistresses. He fell in love with houses, and fell out with architects. He got a private pilot’s licence, one of the very first. He spent far too much on clothes, sports, cigars, and booze. He went in for rich guy farming, which gave him another classic, a losing business to feed. It was probably fortunate for us all that he tended to get himself invited aboard other people’s yachts rather than buying one himself, as tht would certainly have led to bankruptcy and disgrace.

And then there was the casino gambling. He regularly lost six-figure sums, and was obsessed enough that on one holiday in the south of France, he stopped the taxi on the way to the station going home to dive into the casino for a final roll of the dice. No shortage of cash ever stopped him, and neither did his wife’s horror at the habit.

Ironically, the only Churchillian investments that ever washed their faces were racehorses. When I saw this coming up the page I felt a surge of horror-fascination. How much would he lose, and in what baroque and terrible way? But actually he managed to make a substantial profit. Perhaps, as a polo-playing and fox-hunting cavalry officer, he actually knew something about horses, which he certainly didn’t about Canadian oil exploration.

Other than horses, the only other time he bought something without losing his shirt was in March, 1941, when he bought back his copyrights from his bankrupt publisher, who in the meantime had sold them to another publisher without actually owning them. That paid off enormously in the long run, and in fact continues to pay off for his heirs out to 2037. But he only went through with it because Brendan Bracken, whose role as unofficial business manager expanded as Churchill’s income did, insisted.

Money also illuminates his inner life. The Black Dog struck in 1937-8, when he was savaged by margin calls in the hundreds of thousands of pounds on his appallingly ill-thought-out share portfolio, pursued by the Inland Revenue, enormously overdrawn at his bank, writing 2000 words a day or more for fear that his publisher would reclaim the long-spent advance on Marlborough: His Life and Times. Of course he was depressed.

That he made it to 1940 without going bankrupt reflects great credit on his financial advisers, notably William Bernau, his bank manager and insurance broker at Cox’s and then Lloyds for two decades until the stress finally caught up with him, Cecil Vickers and WSC’s brother Jack Churchill at Vickers & Da Costa, his Lloyds tax adviser Geoff Mason, and his lawyer Anthony Moir.

Providing Churchill with financial services must have been exhausting, risky, but eventually rewarding – he must have paid enormous amounts of interest over the years, seeing as he was sometimes continuously overdrawn for a decade at a time.

Similarly, Vickers & Da Costa can only have racked up a ton of commissions from all those trades, as well as interest on brokers’ loans, and the Churchill order-flow was so lucrative for their counterparties that surely someone made it worth their while. His long trip to North America in 1928-9 can be read as a long con – at every step of the way, he stayed with stockbrokers or investment bankers, and at every step of the way, he made terrible investments. Bernard Baruch, especially, comes out of this badly, and his stock tips worst of all.

On the other side of the account goes the lost sleep over the question of whether he would ever pay up. His trade creditors had it even tougher, as he tended to treat bills as an alternative source of liquidity. Some went unpaid for five years on the trot. He owed six-figure sums to his tailor, saddler, and wine merchant, although he did make regular payments on account so there was some cash coming in. The longest delinquent account was actually to Grunebaum & Co, cigar importers.

Lloyds eventually cracked on the 18th of June, 1940, as Charles de Gaulle made his momentous broadcast on the BBC, called in the overdraft, and gave Churchill twelve days to find the cash. It’s fair to say their fiduciary commitment to shareholder value was above and beyond. What’s more astonishing is that he found it, almost a million in today’s money. Partly he borrowed from a mate, the co-owner of the Economist Sir Henry Strakosch. He also badgered his publisher to hurry up with a large royalty cheque. As a result, on the 21st, he not only made nice with the bank manager, but also paid dozens of old bills.

One way to look at his finances is as an exercise in cash-flow management of the kind summed up in Adam Kotsko’s classic financial advice for graduate students, the art of being broke. Churchill as a Grad Student isn’t actually that far wrong – we’re talking about someone with no cash and lifestyle expectations way above his income, but who has substantial long-term earnings potential. Like Kotsko, he got by through ruthlessly prioritising those payments that had to be made now, in full, and in cash, and letting the others ride, as well as always maximising the committed but undrawn credit available.

He behaved similarly with the Inland Revenue and frequently used his political status to work out on them, although the Revenue countered by threatening embarrassing public hearings. In 1942, within weeks of the vote of no confidence, he was willing to make three hours’ time to meet his tax adviser. He claimed that the money he got from a series of articles wasn’t royalties, but actually a capital sale of the copyright that just happened to be divided up in tranches, not just once but twice. He retired as an author for tax purposes on three separate occasions, and claimed to have written his best or at least most enjoyable book, My Early Life, purely in order to pay a tax bill.

In the end, one important lesson from this book is that perhaps standards of public integrity and financial probity have actually improved.

In 1923, Churchill accepted a £250,000 fee to lobby on behalf of Shell Oil. He used this money to underwrite part of a major bond issue by Daily Mail & General Trust, a newspaper that also published him and an obvious source of political influence, in exchange for a 2% commission. Vickers, Da Costa called in a favour with DM&GT’s merchant bank to hold a chunk of the business back for him, after Churchill had Shell send the cheque to his brother Jack’s home address for secrecy’s sake. Jack, of course, had just made partner at Vickers, Da Costa, no doubt in part because he brought Winston’s account with him from Grenfell’s and it wasn’t yet obvious what a mess he was going to be. Churchill collected on the transaction, went to stay with the Duke of Westminster in Mimizan, and proceeded to lose the lot at the casino in Biarritz.

I doubt you’d get away with that now.

Why the floods mean you should support my politics

I imagine we’re going to be in for quite a few of these, so let’s get in quick. As Daniel Davies allegedly wrote:

Many people will use this terrible tragedy as an excuse to put through a political agenda other than my own. This tawdry abuse of human suffering for political gain sickens me to the core of my being. Those people who have different political views from me ought to be ashamed of themselves for thinking of cheap partisan point-scoring at a time like this. In any case, what this tragedy really shows us is that, so far from putting into practice political views other than my own, it is precisely my political agenda which ought to be advanced.

Indeed. With that beautiful thought in our minds, let’s proceed. As well as property, I hope the River Aire will have swept away some illusions. The first illusion is of course that we can just go on treating floods and water as a minor news event to be managed through the technology of public relations, this being one of the great unspoken cross-party dogmas.


It’s like that enormous coal-fired power station was trying to tell us something!
As long as I can remember, there has been endless official concern, reports beyond number, constant chin-stroking, but bugger all action. until it rains a bit. Then politicians appear in high-visibility jackets, as do token numbers of soldiers. Eventually the water ebbs away and so does the media interest. Now, surely, we’ve had a teachable moment: Leeds and Manchester flooded on the same day.

I wouldn’t sign any cheques on that, though.

The second illusion is that the devolution offer to West Yorkshire is at all useful. Very simply, it wouldn’t give Yorkshire the budget or the authority to reinstate the planned Leeds flood defence scheme. If you can’t have different policies to those selected by Whitehall, you don’t have devolution in any meaningful way. The only reason to want it is to set different priorities, and you can’t do this without a substantial capital budget. This has so far been a vague and theoretical issue. It is now as concrete as…concrete. Ask what we might have done differently, and there’s your answer.

As I pointed out here, the current proposals offer the devolution of responsibility without the devolution of power. Don’t kid yourself that we wouldn’t now be seeing the prime minister touring the North with George Osborne, blaming the disaster on one-party Labour councils and their crazy overspending. This leads me to the third illusion.

The third illusion is that the devolution offer is right in terms of geography and of politics. The water didn’t come from Leeds and is not going to end up in Leeds, nor did it come from a Leeds City Region.

Water does not care about trying to cut this or that party’s voters in or out. Instead, it defines the landscape that later defines us, in its own way. Yorkshire’s historical boundaries to the North and South are rivers. To the west, the boundary is roughly the watershed, and to the east it is of course the sea. Within this space, water flows from the moors down through the steep, narrow southern Dales, creating the heads of water that powered early industry and that filled the canals of later industry, through the cities, and down the Ouse across its floodplain, the Vale of York, to the sea. Yorkshire is roughly the River Ouse catchment area, give or take the upper Ribble.

It follows that you can’t solve a Yorkshire-wide problem in Leeds, and indeed that’s why we had a Yorkshire water authority and now have a privatised Yorkshire water company. This really ought to be obvious from that alone.

But, aren’t the Yorkshire-wide proposals rather weak? Perhaps. We have some relevant experience here, though. This was a criticism of the Welsh and Scottish assemblies and of the Greater London Authority when they were created. It was also a criticism of the Northern Irish assembly when it was created. All the devolved authorities have gained in power and authority with time. The mayor of London started out without even having any authority over the Tube, but has progressively taken over more and more power, and has even gained a veto over the commissioner of the Met. None of them has ever handed powers back to the central government.

This is, I think, because they are comprehensible, they cover the essential geography, they are elected, and they started with significant powers.

The mayor of London is mayor, of London, and his area of responsibility matches very well what is commonly called London. You can always niggle about boundaries, which are inevitably imperfect, but there is nothing grossly silly about the GLA’s. Similarly, the Scottish, Welsh, and Northern Irish authorities do what it says on the tin. No city regions there.

These authorities also draw legitimacy from the fact they are elected. In a sense, each election is not just a choice of parties or individuals, it is also a referendum on the institution’s existence. Therefore, with each electoral cycle, the devolved authorities have become stronger, more legitimate, and better established. To get the ball rolling, though, they needed to have a minimum of substance, enough to make a palpable difference. For London, it was enough to give Ken Livingstone the buses and the congestion charge.

We can compare the various regional entities – partnerships, assemblies, government offices – which have never lasted. Without comprehensible identity, democratic legitimacy, or significant powers, they have just been afterthoughts.

You might say that a city region solution could progressively take over more territory, in the same way that a Yorkshire-wide one could take on more powers. But there is no precedent for this, and it could as well lose it as gain it. The central government frequently chops up local government boundaries. But as I say, all the other devolved governments have only ever gained more powers, while local governments have as often lost territory as gained it.

And remember:

Please, I ask you as fellow human beings, vote for the political party which I support, and ask your legislators to support policies endorsed by me, as a matter of urgency.

It would be a fitting memorial.

Best Of FOIA

They’ve been whining about the Freedom of Information Act again. Which gave me an idea, as I read this fascinating thread.

Someone has managed to get the Ministry of Defence lessons-learned report on the 2007 incident when the Iranians took a boat’s crew from HMS Cornwall prisoner. That was the one with the iPods, if you weren’t paying attention. I think this may be the most highly classified document released under FOIA yet, as it was marked not just SECRET but UK EYES ONLY, i.e. not to be shown even to the Americans. And now, well, any fool can read it.

It’s been redacted, of course, but even so, it’s full of embarrassing admissions of incompetence and stupidity, and basically says that while the whole chain-of-command in Iraq was trying to put pressure on the Iranians, nobody bothered to tell the Navy, which also didn’t bother to look up what was going on in databases they had access to, partly because intelligence seems to have been a career Siberia, staffed by anyone who happened to be at a loose end. Also, the admiral used the helicopter as his personal taxi until it broke down and therefore wasn’t available to support the boarding party, which suggests seriously odd priorities.

Anyway. Wouldn’t it be awesome to publish a collection of the best FOIA releases, a Freedom of Information Act: The Greatest Hits box set? A bit like those old “2005: Blogged” things, but with less shameless abuse of other people’s copyrights or indeed copylefts. I’d read that, but more to the point, it would be a great campaign device and might even raise some money. Obviously there’s the stash at WhatDoTheyKnow as a source, but crowdsourcing seems the only practical way to do it.

Those aren’t dinosaurs.

While I’m clearing up things I drafted but didn’t have time to post, I took this photo at the Musée des Confluences in Lyon earlier this year.


As you can see, the museum seems to think it is appropriate to hang Australian Aboriginal artworks with the dead dinosaur, despite them being contemporary, made by humans who may well be still living, and nothing to do with dinosaurs. I don’t know enough to date them stylistically – I can identify the late 60s-and-after Papunya style but that’s it – and all the label would tell me was that they had been acquired after 1968, which might put them in the context of the artistic revival of that period or just be a coincidence.

The weird hang probably isn’t, alas, a coincidence. In another section of the museum, I found a collection of industrial artefacts (a Renault Trucks V12 diesel, a power loom, a Minitel, that sort of thing) classified under “Creation” although a (rather impressive) collection of Native American ones wasn’t. To be honest the display didn’t say anything about the people who built the V12, at a RVI plant only a few miles away across town, so at least they didn’t just erase the creative contribution of the Native Americans, they did it to the French working class as well.

The Australian collection, which is actually quite impressive, is contextualised as being part of the struggle for native title. Well, when it isn’t put with the dinosaurs, that is. On the other hand, all the Native American stuff originates, according to the labels, from the Pontifical Missionary headquarters’ collection, and there is not one word of how missionaries might have come to own all this stuff. If anything is problematic, it is clearly somebody else’s problem, and not our fault, guv.

The institution’s deeper story explains a bit of this. The huge, techno-flashy building was put there, after years of wrangling and cost overruns of pharaonic proportions, because they wanted to press the button marked Arts and have the money roll into an ex-industrial area that (apparently) needed redeveloping. Did I say flashy?


Flashy. At some point, they had a Dome moment; the building was going to look great, but what was going to be in the building? The answer was to pass the hat around every local institution that had a museum, and regroup all their stuff in the new one. This risked just having a lot of assorted objects without any organising theme or project, and in fact that’s what they got. The answer to that was to make a virtue of it. It would be – ah – like a princely cabinet of curiosities in the Enlightenment, a post-modern celebration of historicity and diversity, a universal museum like the British Museum, a place where different streams came together, as the site itself implied.

That filled up the press release and the grant applications, but it didn’t give it the sort of definite steer that would keep it from just drifting towards the assumptions of the institutions that originally collected all the stuff. Of course, you can make a career precisely out of talking about why missionaries put all this stuff belonging to other people in our museum, and the British Museum has developed a speciality in just that. You can mock it, but at least they don’t hang the Aboriginal art with the bloody dinosaurs.

Don’t buy politics the way you wouldn’t buy electricity

Part of the point of this post was that this is, in the end, an awful way to make a decision.

Yesterday I was arguing about devolution to Yorkshire, again, and my opponent, Jonn Elledge, kept coming out with the same point. Manchester has signed! Don’t be left behind! This is something, not nothing! Hurry up! It doesn’t seem to have struck him that you’re not allowed to sell electricity or washing machines that way. It’s against the law to insist the customer signs, now, no you can’t read the terms and conditions, yes, this price is only available today, just sign it now. If you sign up with a new electricity provider, you have a statutory right to cancel within a week (I think). There are reasons for that. Why should it be any more acceptable to sell politics that way?

And when you make decisions for bad reasons, you tend to make bad decisions.

An example

I do wonder what Tom Barry would have made about this photo. All that money we spent on converting the Olympic Stadium to be football-ready for West Ham, and the new seating is literally a bunch of scaffolding.