Monday, December 05, 2011
Excess management
Yesterday I mentioned people who object to views of high speed trains rushing past the bottom of their gardens. Or perhaps rushing along a couple of miles away, just about in eyesight and earshot. Probably the same people who take a dim view of the pylons and cooling towers which bring them their cosy glow in the winter being visible at all, despite the fact that as structures go they are usually not bad looking. Along with motorway bridges. A lot better looking than a lot of the stuff knocked out by our more arty architects, never mind artists proper.
But the odd thing is that there is another sort of people, superficially similar in appearance with thornproofs and green wellies, but who can't bear to leave nature alone at all. They have to manage it, have procedures, protocols and records. So our in our case, we can't just leave Epsom Common alone; a haven of non-management in our badly over managed lives. We have to fiddle about with it. Chop things down. Pretend to be charcoal burners or graziers. Worry about obscure bats. Worry about the rights of people who want to tear around the woods getting muddy on bicycles.
Is the difference related to the fact that the former are trying to be country people whereas the latter are common or garden suburban people, probably economically inactive?
Reminded of all this the other morning when strolling around Horton Country Park - the site of much worthy occupational therapy on the National Health before the unions of the 1970's deemed this to be exploitation. Nice bright morning, enjoying the stroll and the sunshine, when the peace is broken by the chain saws of the South Horton Conservation Volunteers (sponsored by Husqvarna, see http://www.husqvarna.com/), a group which seems to have got the idea that conservation means chopping things up, perhaps a confusion with the process for making conserves - aka jam - out of soft fruit. One wonders whether the volunteers also belong to the W.I..
It then occurred to me that there seems to be a similar confusion with another c-word of similar length, to wit, contract. So if I contract, I get smaller, but if I contract with you, I get to do something for you, for money. So where is the connection? OED devotes nearly 5 columns to the matter, from which I learn that the word in all its various meanings comes from just the one root. So I am left with the idea that a contract, in the sense of an agreement, circumscribes, contains or limits my freedom of action. My freedom of action is contracted, in the sense of made smaller, to that extent. A bit thin; maybe I will be able to do better in the morning.
PS: and while I think of it, we saw a whole new sort of lycra loony yesterday afternoon. An old lady, in old lady coat and hat, cycling very slowly down Temple Road while conducting a conversation with her hand held mobile phone, Temple Road being sufficiently encumbered by residential parking to make such behaviour a bit of a nuisance. We could not decide whether to applaud her aplomb or to honk her for holding up the traffic. In the end we did neither. We were just held up.
But the odd thing is that there is another sort of people, superficially similar in appearance with thornproofs and green wellies, but who can't bear to leave nature alone at all. They have to manage it, have procedures, protocols and records. So our in our case, we can't just leave Epsom Common alone; a haven of non-management in our badly over managed lives. We have to fiddle about with it. Chop things down. Pretend to be charcoal burners or graziers. Worry about obscure bats. Worry about the rights of people who want to tear around the woods getting muddy on bicycles.
Is the difference related to the fact that the former are trying to be country people whereas the latter are common or garden suburban people, probably economically inactive?
Reminded of all this the other morning when strolling around Horton Country Park - the site of much worthy occupational therapy on the National Health before the unions of the 1970's deemed this to be exploitation. Nice bright morning, enjoying the stroll and the sunshine, when the peace is broken by the chain saws of the South Horton Conservation Volunteers (sponsored by Husqvarna, see http://www.husqvarna.com/), a group which seems to have got the idea that conservation means chopping things up, perhaps a confusion with the process for making conserves - aka jam - out of soft fruit. One wonders whether the volunteers also belong to the W.I..
It then occurred to me that there seems to be a similar confusion with another c-word of similar length, to wit, contract. So if I contract, I get smaller, but if I contract with you, I get to do something for you, for money. So where is the connection? OED devotes nearly 5 columns to the matter, from which I learn that the word in all its various meanings comes from just the one root. So I am left with the idea that a contract, in the sense of an agreement, circumscribes, contains or limits my freedom of action. My freedom of action is contracted, in the sense of made smaller, to that extent. A bit thin; maybe I will be able to do better in the morning.
PS: and while I think of it, we saw a whole new sort of lycra loony yesterday afternoon. An old lady, in old lady coat and hat, cycling very slowly down Temple Road while conducting a conversation with her hand held mobile phone, Temple Road being sufficiently encumbered by residential parking to make such behaviour a bit of a nuisance. We could not decide whether to applaud her aplomb or to honk her for holding up the traffic. In the end we did neither. We were just held up.
# posted by Jim @ 8:28 AM 
