D'you know what I mean?

In a slight departure from the usual fare, here's Noel Gallagher in GQ sharing his thoughts on all those titles of creative works that have nothing to do with their subject matter (a point I've put less persuasively). It made me laugh.

 

But... what f***ing winds me up about books... 

This is already the best sentence I've ever heard. 

...is, like... my missus will come in with a book and it will be titled - and there's a lot of these, you can substitute any word, it's like a Rubik's Cube of shit titles - it'll be entitled The Incontinence Of Elephants. And I'll say "What's that book about?" And she'll say, "Oh it's about a girl and this load of f***ing nutters..." Right... so it's not about elephants, then? Why the f*** is it called The Incontinence Of Elephants? Another one: The Tales Of The Clumsy Beekeeper. What's that about? "Oh it's about the French Revolution." Right, f*** off. If you're writing a book about a child who's locked in a f***ing cupboard during the f***ing Second World War... he's never seen an elephant. Never mind a f***ing giraffe.

Quite.

Standing on the shoulders of seagulls

I'm pleased to present the first guest post on this blog. Here, my friend and colleague (and Natural Sciences student) John Tweedie shares his thoughts on the challenges of communicating science: both within the scientific community and to wider audiences. John also blogs on science, Scottish football, birdwatching, and anything else that takes his fancy.

Knowledge is next to useless if it’s not shared. Knowledge is created by sharing and standing on the shoulders of the proverbial giants who came before. From town criers proclaiming a monarch’s decisions and clans and tribes sharing knowledge through song and poems to the advent of the printing press and the development of the world wide web, people have a thirst for knowledge and an urge to share it with others, be they friends or opponents, colleagues or competitors.

Emerging from the shadows of alchemy through the works of Aristotle and Archimedes and onwards through the Enlightenment to the modern day, science has developed an extensive body of knowledge and various means to communicate, both within science and to the general public.

The scientific method is the accepted way in which science is conducted — a question is posed or an observation is made and a scientist will then develop a hypothesis to find general patterns that underlie the question. Through experiment and further observation, they will refine their hypotheses and so become more confident in their outcomes.

A major part of this process — indeed the main way in which to further develop the hypotheses and build towards the more robust ‘theory’ — is communicating the findings.

There are several ways this can be done. One is to take part in conferences where peers can ask questions about methods used when conducting an investigation and their outcomes. Often these presentations can be used to test early parts of work — is the work well received, or are people picking lots of holes in it? The feedback can send a scientist off in different directions — perhaps their methods have been flawed or their statistics do not support their work. Further revisions and presentations can lead to the work being readied for publication for the wider scientific community to study.

The general process of getting a paper published is regulated by the major journals and through peer review. A paper will be sent out to reviewers who will scrutinise the paper and decide whether it’s fit for publication.

Whether another scientist can or cannot replicate the findings will lend weight to the hypothesis or result in refinements of the hypothesis. Later studies replicating the original investigation may include errors in replicating the experiments, in which case these findings must be published too. In science, negative results are every bit as important as positive results. A good example of this was the recent search for the Higgs boson — a negative result would have meant scientists having to revise their hypotheses and models, which in itself is a continuation of the process of building knowledge.

The most important part of a paper is not the conclusions, but the methods. This is where a scientist demonstrates how they went about answering their question. It’s this part of the paper that allows other scientists to attempt to replicate the experiments and observations conducted. It’s important to note that most scientists work in teams and collaborate within their institutions and with colleagues across the globe, and that published papers often represent the work of many people.

There’s a tension between new discoveries and building on previous knowledge. Scientists must be familiar with the current thinking and all that has gone before in their field.

John James Audubon is well-known for his work in the early 19th century as a field ornithologist and artist. To test whether the turkey vulture had a good sense of smell he put out hidden carcasses, and concluded when the birds didn’t find the meat that they did not have a well-developed sense of smell. Unfortunately for him, his experiment was flawed, because if he had known more about these birds he would know that they prefer fresh carcasses rather than putrefying flesh, and it turned out that the birds he was observing were in fact another species which have a poorer sense of smell than the turkey vulture.  He was also under the mistaken belief that animals can only have one well-developed sense; in other words, if a bird has a good sense of sight they cannot have a good sense of smell.

Much science is highly specialised and only of interest to other scientists, but enough is of potential interest to the general public or considered ground-breaking or to have real-world applications that could solve urgent problems facing humanity and the world today. These papers are picked up and summarised first by popular science magazines which will present as much of the science as possible but for a non-specialist but highly interested and educated audience.

Next up are newspapers and the media — they’ll often simplify the findings, bringing out the practical applications of the science or demonstrating in what way the findings may or may not have revolutionised our knowledge about a particular topic. They’ll often put the science in context with what came before and what the science could lead to in the future.

This is where science communication to the public becomes really important. Science thrives on using precise and specialised language, often underpinned by difficult mathematics or conceptual ideas. The News at Ten is not going to devote time to talking about the intricacies of quantum mechanics: to properly understand such a topic a person really does need an education covering the basics — in this case physics — what an atom is, what it is composed of and how they interact with each other and the transfers of energy.

I have such a lot of respect for many of the science correspondents who can convey complex ideas in the few minutes they get, usually at the tail-end of news programmes. What they do is explain what the science means through using analogies or how the findings are going to find practical uses in the future. Are the results of the findings going to result in faster computers and better communications technologies, are they going to enable effective medical treatments to be created? Most people’s lives have been enriched by the work of scientists: indeed many people are still living due to research, so this is often where the excitement of ‘big science’ is really conveyed.

As much as the general media help to shape public interest in science they also have a responsibility to present it accurately. It’s all too easy to oversimplify the science to make it seem as if a study is something that has a ‘common sense’ answer, something the social sciences are particularly vulnerable to. They could misrepresent the science, leading to confusion and misunderstanding, perhaps undermining public confidence in scientists.

The media can also suggest that ideas are contentious and that there are dissenting voices out there when really there is none within science itself. This is common with climate science where the media, in a mistaken sense of balance and fair play, will allow sceptics or deniers lots of airtime, potentially giving the impression that the scientific consensus is undecided. The BBC has come under particular criticism for this, highlighted in a report by Steve Jones. Many of the sceptics or deniers are not scientists, but are opposed to the idea of what the science represents, either through ideological, political or economic beliefs, and they are particularly concerned with how countries will respond politically or economically to putting in mechanisms to slow down human-caused global warming.

Andrew Wakefield’s now discredited work on the link between the MMR vaccine and autism is a prime example of how irresponsible communication can lead to health scares, and ultimately to deaths. Parents honestly think they're behaving in their children’s' best interests, and often talk about making informed choices for their children, but when the findings of science is misrepresented it can have dire consequences. Many people do not have the scientific education to make truly informed decisions on matters like these and so the media has a responsibility to present findings accurately. This is an example where the peer review process had failed: it should have never have been published in the first case.

As such, I’d like to see scientific communication be a part of all science undergraduate training. Many scientists like to distance themselves from the media and the general public, enclosing themselves in their labs and ivory towers and working in the pursuit of pure science. However, with much science being publicly funded and ultimately having practical applications, scientists should be able to communicate to the press and media. Not everyone can be a Richard Feynman or Carl Sagan, but the ability to communicate clearly to a wide audience is something that should be nurtured. Science has many ideas and words that are used in a specialised way — theory and uncertainty are two examples which the general public do not understand — but scientists should be able to clearly explain what they mean in the context of their work. Often critics say things like ‘it's only a theory’ to shed doubt on evolution, or the public take uncertainty to mean that scientists aren’t sure about their results. These ideas and indeed all science must be clearly communicated.

There are many other mechanisms of science communication. These include popular science books, sometimes written by journalists or historians of science who bring together whole fields and present the science in context, but often by working scientists themselves. Textbooks find their place in university libraries and are only really read by students and other scientists.

Radio is where the voice of scientists is often heard by the general public, rather than their work being interpreted by correspondents as on TV. It’s this medium where they get more time to explain their ideas to the general public, and it’s here that the really good communicators excel.

Some excellent communicators and working scientists, such as Brian Cox and Alice Roberts, are able to work across all media and they really engage the public, often enthusing about science and encouraging the next generation of scientists. They present big ideas that are exciting — normally little knowledge is expected of the audience, although sometimes, like Jim Al-Khalili, they’ll present more difficult concepts, expecting the audience to keep up.

All of these examples show just how wide and varied science communication is. Science is incredibly important to our societies — its developments enable our way of life to be possible — we live longer, we can access information on any topic at any time in just a few seconds, we can travel hundreds of kilometres in a few hours, we can talk to our friends and families instantly living on the opposite side of the planet, and in the developed world we have more leisure time due to developments in technology, often derived from pure science.

We’ve put men on the Moon and to the bottom of the oceans, we’ve sent probes to other planets, one has just left the Solar System, and a rover is sending back information from another planet. We know how old our Solar System is and how long it’s expected to last.

All of this science has had an amazing impact and it will continue for as long as we keep asking questions and enquiring about how the world and the Universe works, with communication being at the heart of the process.

I suppose I ought to try and offer some sort of partial defence of the media's coverage of climate change. It's very hard for those of us on the other side of CP Snow's two cultures to accept that contentious issues can be genuinely settled one way or another, and we're right not to accept it in other areas: we journalists have a healthy scepticism towards authority which helps keep politicians and bureaucrats in check the rest of the time (or, at least, it does until they decide it won't any more).

There clearly is still a genuine debate about what to do about climate change, even if there's no longer a debate about the science itself (or, at least, the science so far rather than its extrapolations in the decades to come). I hope this secondary debate — essentially, should we risk short-term economic growth by trying to stem carbon emissions, or should we accept a warming world and instead spend our wealth on better adapting to it? — will now become the focus of the mainstream media's coverage. This Economist leader, for instance, seems to get the balance right.

Though this be madness, yet there is method innit

Radio 4 had a useful addition last night to the points made by David Foster Wallace on the necessity of teaching formalised standard English to children who otherwise won't be exposed to it.

Noting that brevity is the soul of wit, self-made south Londoner Lindsay Johns' 15-minute lecture bemoans our tolerance of ghetto language; its speakers must be taught how to communicate the way mainstream society does, so that they can fully participate in it. The argument goes: language is power, there is an existing power structure, it has an existing linguistic structure, so outsiders need to learn it to have any access to power. Have a listen and see what you think.

 

His view — far harder for those of us who aren't black or working-class to express — is that the 'soft bigotry of low expectations' is at best counterproductive and at worst actually more racist than demanding a more clear and consistent command of vocabulary, sentence structure, etc. I've no idea how much linguistic relativism there is in today's urban comprehensives: I would have thought its deficiencies were obvious enough by now, but perhaps the fact he still feels the need to give this talk suggests the mindset lingers.

 

One might also take arms against his insistence that a hip-hop version of Hamlet is 'evil': if it acts as a bridge between no Shakespeare and pure Shakespeare then isn't that better than nothing? I don't think it's culturally relativist to say that Hamlet, unadulterated, could on first reading be intimidating for a young person with low levels of literacy and no previous exposure to classical literature, whatever their ethnicity. So there's an argument for easing them into it. A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear and all that.

 

For the white middle-class liberals he criticises, the whole thing is of course an amusing parlour game. Whenever the possibility of teaching rules of language or grammar is raised, an army of clever clogs is on hand to point out that these rules are no such thing, that the idea of 'proper' English is a Victorian myth, and so on. At their own level of ability, they're right: but as Johns articulates, inner city kids need to be taught some rules before they can successfully break any of them. As the Prince of Denmark himself puts it: "Why, then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison."

Sword's mighty pen

"Writing is a central activity in higher education across disciplines", writes Helen Sword in an example of a boring opening sentence.

 

Her treatise on stylish academic writing is a few years old now, but it's very well judged: a sort of updated version of Orwell's modern translation of Ecclesiastes, also bringing to mind Alan Sokal's great skewering of meaningless postmodern jargon.

 

It doesn't surprise me that she was inspired to write her manifesto on style — which appeared in Studies in Higher Education and which she expanded into a book — by her experiences in education, which tends to be one of the most jargon-heavy, outsider-excluding disciplines. A lot of people in education — and not just higher education — would do well to study her wise witticisms like "The crucial question for academic writers is not how to avoid jargon altogether but how to keep language at once precise and rich", "The old myth that impersonal = objective = scientifically superior still holds firm in many social scientists' minds" and "Stylish prose favours the reader, whereas stodgy prose favours the writer".

 

Much of the text I now work with could best be described as defensive: everything is hedged with an 'and/or' or an 'if appropriate' or a 'while ensuring specified guidelines are followed at all times'. Writers of passive, bureaucratic stuff like this think they're covering their backs, but really they're just patronising and annoying their readers (not that we couldn't all do with losing a bit of flab).

 

Academic writing, like political communications, is fundamentally different from corporate or organisational material in that its main purpose is usually to persuade the reader of the value of an idea, rather than just to convey information. As such, it needs to be stylish as well as clear. Higher education is more competitive than ever: a huge amount of research is now published, and most of it is excruciatingly boring and narrow enough to interest only a very few readers, if any. To stand out, academics need to be able to produce original work that draws from all sorts of areas, and to sell it in an engaging way.

 

One of her complaints is how rarely academics with interesting personal stories to tell actually let their own views and experiences come through in their writing (not a problem many journalists have). This fine piece of Swordsmanship shows why it's worth putting the effort in to bring your own voice out, even if she gets a bit carried away sometimes (funky cowboy boots and purple hair, eh?).

 

Finally, note how often the names of superstar academics cropped up in the survey of stylish peers: Pinker, Schama, Dawkins. Do they, having won fame, feel less constrained by the rules (or myths) holding back other academics: or did their stylish, ranging writing win them a big audience in the first place?

Hearts and minds

Victoria Macdonald at Channel 4 News had a good blog post on jargon in healthcare communications yesterday. She suggests that the political challenge of reorganising the NHS might be a lot simpler for managers and civil servants, if only they communicated with a suspicious public in something nearer plain English:

"Those speaking for change did not argue their case particularly well and at times seemed either exasperated or even patronising. I know they did not mean to come across that way but years of reporting the NHS has shown me that often those working in the health service do not know how to speak plain English and regularly fall back on jargon as well as making assumptions that people and patients know as much as they do about complicated statistical models of health care."

As well as helping to win arguments like these, taking clear communication more seriously could save lives. The approach of a senior manager at one of my employers — "if you can't convince them, confuse them" — seems, sadly, just as common in the healthcare sector as everywhere else.

Act in haste, repent in waste

I picked up this slightly al dente leaflet at my work the other day. They were going to get them pulped, but they hate waste more than they hate proofing errors...

Health prevention of literature

A co-conspirator sent this image in from his place of work:

'It seems like no matter what nationality you are, the slide into stale painting-by-numbers corporate lingo is exactly the same,' he added. Very well put, which is more than we can say for whoever produced the unfortunate poster.

Still, as health advice goes, it's not as disturbing as this sign I saw in Singapore a couple of years ago:

I think that rivals the KEEP OUT: DANGER OF DEATH sign I saw on an electricity substation in Plockton for the least appropriate use of Comic Sans yet.

Absolute ranking disaster

Happy new year, and let's hope Plymouth can keep winning awards like this in 2013.

Careless communication costs lives

When I first started this blog, I mentioned that I sometimes notice examples of poor communication that aren't just annoying but actively dangerous. Here's an interesting example: a relative of mine was recently given a course of radiotherapy, and was given the timetable I've inserted below.

The last appointment, for some reason, is in black text on a dark purple background that could be quite hard to read and perhaps mistaken for a border and so missed altogether. My relative pointed this out to the nurse, who mentioned that several other people had indeed missed their final radiotherapy sessions (and so, presumably, received an incomplete or delayed dose) as a result of it.

I think we can forgive the initial mistake, but not the failure to fix it once its consequences became clear. The fact that the nurse did nothing to make it more readable makes this report all the more believable. It seems the NHS has some serious problems with communication; unlike with HMRC and other public bodies, the risks are not just to people's time and patience but to their health and lives.

'Poor communication' is very often a political euphemism for a controversial policy poorly implemented, as the NHS recently found with the Liverpool Care Pathway. Here, the ideal scenario would be a sensitive two-way consultation on a complex set of difficult decisions. If this consultation was an intrinsic part of the policy, then the policy failed, even if everything else about the policy was designed and implemented correctly.

Reading those stories, I was reminded of Charles Clarke's claim after the last general election that Labour lost because they'd failed to communicate their message well enough. It apparently hadn't occurred to him that — with the millions spent on press officers, special advisers and widespread advertising — the message had been communicated perfectly well, and that perhaps the real problem was a set of unappealing policies dreamt up by unappealing politicians. (Before I'm accused of any bias, it's worth pointing out that all other parties also lost the last general election, and no doubt for similar reasons but while deploying similar excuses.)

In the case of the LCP, relatives felt the NHS Trusts had failed to consult them properly; in my relative's case, the NHS was similarly inconsiderate in its communications with patients. In each case we can see the potential for slapdash communication — nothing more than the classic failure to fully consider the needs of the person at the receiving end — to cause serious suffering at crucial moments.

I once joked to a paediatrician friend that "if you make a mistake at work children die, but if I make a mistake at work the comma's in the wrong place". I must admit that I hadn't really considered the possibility of children dying because of doctors' inability to put the comma in the right place.

We are all liberals now

With the unsurprising re-election of President Obama, and with voters across the United States endorsing gay marriage and cannabis, we've heard a lot in the last week about the triumph of liberalism. What better time, then, to rid ourselves of an increasingly useless part of the political lexicon?

To a British politics 'n' history graduate like me, the word 'liberal' will always evoke John Stuart Mill's belief that "the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others". It also brings to mind the classical liberalism of political economy that began with Adam Smith and continued through Hayek and Friedman: the mantle that today would be claimed by libertarians.

At first, then, the L-word¹ meant 'being left alone by the government', as economic liberalism still does in Britain, or as neoliberalism now does around the world. Annoyingly, in many other cases it's often unclear whether it still means that or its opposite. We all like to consider ourselves liberal towards oppressive governments, but have very differing opinions on whether a particular government policy helps freedom (by freeing people from poverty, as the liberal left see it) or hinders it (by interfering in people's business, as the liberal right see it).

The waters got muddier after 1906, as Lloyd George's Liberal government introduced pensions and ramped up taxes on the wealth creators/parasites rich. Ever since then, it's been tricky to work out whether British Liberals and their successor parties are really on the left or the right — whether they want fairness or laissez-faireness — a fudge that recently helped get them back into government, but immediately became a problem again once they got there.

In the United States, 'liberal' is today almost entirely synonymous with 'left-wing'; when someone like Norman Mailer describes himself as a 'left conservative', we might take that to mean a Blue Labour-esque position that is conservative on social issues but left-leaning on the economy. I see no contradiction in that, but it strikes us as unusual because 'liberal' is now so often used to mean both left-wing (economically) and tolerant, permissive, etc (socially).

This also leaves us with the problem of why 'conservative' has become synonymous with right-leaning on the economy, particularly when conserving things is often the last thing on radical rightwing minds. I suppose this politico-linguistic problem really took off when the non-left, in Western countries, abandoned the Keynesian economic consensus in the 1970s.

In Australia, meanwhile, the Liberal Party is the equivalent of the US's Republicans (though they generally oppose a republic) or Britain's Conservatives (who are these days pretty liberal). They might be truest to the low church, small state origins of the idea, but we're left with a word that can mean its complete opposite, depending on the country, the context and no doubt the company.

Should we instead use 'progressive' to describe left-liberals, as many of them do? I would suggest not: any political idea to which no-one could reasonably object (in this case, 'progress') is not an idea at all. Similarly, the left in America seem to take offence at being accused (or take offence on Obama's behalf when he is accused) of 'socialism', a term many in Britain and Europe are still happy to use to describe their own set of beliefs. Might 'social democrat' (now a bit out of fashion in Britain) be less offensive, or does that suggest something more Mailer-ish; too much about responsibilities and not enough about rights? Would 'liberaltarian' be the most honest candidate, or is it just too much of a mouthful?

I suggest we seek guidance from the model offered by the excellent Political Compass, refining right and left economically into whether they are socially liberal or conservative (though even they use the rather loaded term 'authoritarian'; illiberalism and authoritarianism aren't quite the same thing, and there are plenty of constitutional conservatives who would pass as civil libertarians). The top left and bottom right of the compass have always seemed to me the most logical positions — either you accept government interference or social norms to constrain your behaviour or you don't — but that's for another post.

The point is that we have to use these terms with care, and should be quick to ditch them once they become interchangeable. Clarity in our political language might then become our best weapon against the lack of clarity in our political thinking.

^{1. [I've capped the L because so many sans serif fonts show a lower case l as indistinguishable from an upper case I: another serious failure of communications if you ask me.]↩}

Four dishes for the price of six

I noticed this menu at a nearby pub a while ago. Pity the poor haddock and cheesecake, listed a mere once each.

Customs to excise

In recent weeks I've had a couple of dealings with British officialdom. The comparison between the two forms of communication I encountered is quite interesting.

First, I was sent the following letter by HMRC:

Whuhuhuh?

I had quite a bit of difficulty working out from this whether they owed me or I owed them money. I don't mind the inclusion of all this detail — indeed, it might be reassuring to see their working rather than just take their word for it — but I can't be alone in lamenting the lack of a sentence at the bottom of the page along the lines of "your cheque's in the post" or "pay up, pal".

In fact, the information I needed was really spread across three pieces of paper. The covering letter, which I accurately reproduce without paragraph spacing, read:

"I have reviewed your income tax for the year shown above to see whether you have underpaid or overpaid tax for that year.
My calculation is given on the enclosed sheet. The calculation result is given near the foot of that page.
The 'See Notes' column refers to the numbered notes in the guidance leaflet 'Understanding your Tax Calculation' which I also enclose.
A payable order for this amount has been issued to you separately."

Perhaps if I'd known whether a payable order was a cheque to me or a demand for payment from me, I'd have found it all a little more straightforward. It took me a nervous few minutes to work out that they owed me money.

Last week, by contrast, I got a letter telling me it was time to renew my driving licence and that I could either do so in person at the Post Office, or online using the passport photo they already had stored for me. (As an aside, I find not having to go to the Post Office a bigger draw in winning me round to the big brother state than any threats about terrorism or identity theft ever achieved.)

So, I logged on to DirectGov's website, and was certainly more impressed than I ever have been by HMRC. Each page was clear, short, and written in an accessible style, with any important links well signposted. All that was really missing was a section on how to find the paper bit of your driving licence (the 'counterpart', as the DVLA penpushers call it).

It can't be a coincidence that bureaucrats forced to do their business online would end up communicating in much more public-friendly ways than they might be used to (and you can expect to be put on hold for at least quarter of an hour if you're ever unlucky enough to have to phone HMRC). Anyone who goes on a web writing course will be told the same things:

• Stick to short sentences and paragraphs.
• Use keywords readers will recognise.
• Keep it all in plain English and avoid jargon.
• Use short and sensible headlines in large bold text.
• Make sure images are relevant.
• Make sure everything's big and clear enough to read.
• Break paragraphs up with bullet points.

The DirectGov site already does this quite well, but it looks like its replacement will be even more user-friendly.

But here's the thing: all of this works equally well in offline communications. There's no reason why HMRC couldn't instead have sent me a covering letter that got these basics of plain English right, made it very obvious what the financial bottom line was for me, and directed me to the details if I wanted to make sure they'd got their sums right.

I don't deny that tax rebates are more complicated matters than driving licence renewals, but anyone working for any sort of organisation dealing with the public needs to be aware of the importance of clarity and simplicity in communications: especially when money's involved. Here's how I might have worded the letter:

"I have reviewed the income tax you paid for the 2007–08 tax year. I'm pleased to tell you that you paid too much tax that year, and that we owe you £886.83.

Please see the details of this calculation in the attached sheet. If necessary, you can also refer to the guidance leaflet Understanding your Tax Calculation which I have also attached.

We have sent you a cheque for £886.83, which should arrive in [however many] working days. If you have any questions, please see our website at www.hmrc.gov.uk, or call us on [whatever our unanswered phone number is]."

The day the police lost control

If ever a manager of a public organisation finds him- or herself wondering whether it's worth hiring a proofreader or copy editor, the following rather important press release should be proof enough...

"On 18th April 1989, 96 of the Liverpool fans went to Hillsborough to watch the FA Cup Semi Final and died as a result of the disaster. On that day South Yorkshire Police failed the victims and families. The police lost control. In the immediate aftermath senior officers sought to change the record of events. Disgraceful lies were told which blamed the Liverpool fans for the disaster.

Statements were altered which sought to minimise police blame. These actions have caused untold pain and distress for over 23 years. I am profoundly sorry for the way the force failed on 15th April 1989 and I am doubly sorry for the injustice that followed and I apologise to the families of the 96 and Liverpool fans. South Yorkshire Police is a very different place in 2012 from what it was 23 years ago and we will be fully open and transparent in helping to find answers to the questions posed by the Panel today."

Ooops.

Busman's holiday

I was trying to get to Glasgow Airport from Partick bus station the other day. The information I found at the bus stop didn't help me much. Can you deduce from this whether or when the airport bus gets to the airport?

Arch language

The Olympics haven't officially started, but already we have a report of broken communications. The BBC has the story:

'Outside Lords this morning there are dozens of members of the public trying to get in to watch the archery. They are not being allowed in. This is the "ranking round" where archers attain a score which then leaves them in a certain seeding for the main event. Today's archery is taking place on the nursery ground, not in the main playing area.

But the London 2012 website advertised today's round as "unticketed". Many spectators interpreted that as open to the public and have arrived expecting to get in. One couple told me they had arrived having been told specifically by Locog they could bring their grandchild in.

There is a lot of ill will and bad feeling on the pavement.'

Why did the organisers describe the event as 'unticketed' rather than 'not open to the public'? It seems that even Locog staff, understandably, interpreted 'unticketed' as 'not requiring a ticket'.

This story illustrates perfectly how sloppy language can lead not only to widespread confusion, but also to bad public relations. Let's hope the people running the Games have now learned a lesson about the importance of plain English.

Band words

I enjoyed this recent tale of a communications breakdown (which also features the British jobsworth, a stock character in these situations). The confusion about '4am' is perhaps a forgivable result of the trend for misleading monikers in popular culture. The sturdy [definite article + plural noun] formula for band names — which gave us the Beatles, the Animals, and so on — has long gone out of fashion.

In my youth it was replaced by single short words: Blur, Oasis, Verve, Cast, Muse. As musical tastes have fragmented since then, so have the names performers give their acts, as a glance at any advert for a music festival shows.

One of the common themes now, though, is for bands to advertise themselves as some sort of unrelated organisation: Mull Historical Society, the Victorian English Gentlemens Club, Bombay Bicycle Club. I don't know whether it's a coincidence that these names all share a hint of wistful romance.

It's easy to laugh at the police and council for their reaction in this case, but one can see why 'music from 4am' could be a bit misleading. It also, I think, shows the importance to new acts of choosing a really cool name: would the Rolling Stones, or Motörhead, or Iron Maiden, have ended up playing in stadiums around the world if the most basic part of their brand was less impressive? Or would they still be playing to council officials in village pubs in Surrey?