This is a retropost. Written contemporaneously, but published long after the events. At the time, I was a Civil Servant in Cabinet Office. Now I am not. But as we're heading for another General Election, I thought I'd share this post. It's the evening of the 2019 General Election. I am plagued by two thoughts. […]
This is a retropost. Written contemporaneously, but published long after the events. At the time, I was a Civil Servant in Cabinet Office. Now I am not. But as we're heading for another General Election, I thought I'd share this post.
It's the evening of the 2019 General Election. I am plagued by two thoughts.
Briefly stated, the Gell-Mann Amnesia effect works as follows. You open the newspaper to an article on some subject you know well. You read the article and see the journalist has absolutely no understanding of either the facts or the issues. Often, the article is so wrong it actually presents the story backward-reversing cause and effect. You read with exasperation or amusement the multiple errors in a story-and then turn the page to national or international affairs, and read with renewed interest as if the rest of the newspaper was somehow more accurate about far-off Palestine than it was about the story you just read. You turn the page, and forget what you know.
And
The pre-election period (purdah) is the term used to describe the period between the time an election is announced and the date the election is held. Civil servants are given official guidance by the Cabinet Office on the rules they must follow in relation to Government business during this time.
People tweet wrong things all the time. But, during this election, I've seen people I admire and respect tweeting out things I know to be false.
I don't mean slightly wrong about an esoteric policy. I mean balls-to-the-wall, head-up-the-arse, foot-in-mouth, inexcusably wrong.
I get that part of politics is enraging people to gather them to your cause. But these were people who I eagerly followed so that I could understand what was going on in an increasingly complicated world.
In normal circumstances, I'd've argued with them online. Sure, it's neither healthy nor a good way to change people's minds - but it would be something.
Purdah - a somewhat politically-incorrect term - prevents Civil Servants from commenting on things during the election. It's a sensible policy - but a bit annoying when People Are Wrong On The Internet. In fairness, I probably shouldn't get involved in arguments - that's best left to the press team.
But I am conflicted. I have first-hand, expert knowledge about a subject. I can objectively prove my arguments. Why shouldn't I be able to correct people's mistakes?
Even worse - and the thing that mildly terrifies me - if my idols are wrong about that thing, what else are they wrong about?
This is a retropost. Written contemporaneously in 2020, but published four years after the events. It's May 2020 as I write this. I'm typing to capture the moment. Right now, I've no idea what the impact is. This is the exact moment, on Thursday May 7th, I hit the Big Red Button - three of […]
This is a retropost. Written contemporaneously in 2020, but published four years after the events.
It's May 2020 as I write this. I'm typing to capture the moment. Right now, I've no idea what the impact is.
This is the exact moment, on Thursday May 7th, I hit the Big Red Button - three of them! - to open source the UK's COVID-19 Beta test app.
It was thrilling and terrifying. We'd spent the last few weeks getting ready to open source the repos and then, at the last minute, it all went wrong. The plan was to launch on Tuesday - but fate conspired against us.
The problems fell into three main areas:
Threats and personal safety. This was probably the highest profile code release that we'd ever done. There were already people grumbling online that the people writing the code were "traitors". Did we want to expose our people to that sort of personal abuse? What if they were targets of phishing attempts?
Redacting history. Probably the most contentious issue. We all wanted to release everything from the very first commit. Would that reveal anything dangerous? Had someone slipped and accidentally committed an API key they shouldn't?
Communications. The other most contentious issue! The department were in "crisis comms" mode. Everything was delayed. No one had reviewed the blog I'd written, there was no pre-arranged plan in place for this sort of thing. Understandable really - this was a tiny piece of a much larger puzzle. But it was still frustrating to wait for people to be ready for us to publish.
We took the pragmatic approach. We took a snapshot of the code, thoroughly scrubbed it of all identifying information and secrets, and prepared to release it. Then we waited. And waited.
Every time we thought we had the go-ahead, there was another delay! There was a strict comms schedule. We couldn't launch now; it would interrupt that other announcement!
I was asked to help rewrite bits of the announcements. This led to some memorable questions from the comms squad. How can you explain to the average user...
what "Source Code" is?
why the Android code is different from the iPhone code?
who are "Git Hub"?
And, the kicker? All these questions came in while I was on a conference call with a bunch of government ministers! The joys of multiple monitors!
It was interminable. I sent texts which went unanswered. Emails. Phone calls. Just a few minutes more. Any moment now. We need to wait for...
And then!
"Can we launch ASAP?"
Yes! The email I was waiting for. But I am a paranoid and cautious Fraggle. Was that "Launch now!" or "Can we launch now?"?
So I sent a reply. "Just to confirm - do you want me to publish now?" And waited.
And waited.
I got an email from my boss "Launch now!"
And a second later, from comms: "Please hold off - no go. Will call you shortly."
How I longed to press that button. I could say that I only saw the first email... No. Maybe. No.
An eternity. During which time I casually glanced at Twitter and read all the angry messages from people demanding the release of the code.
The call came. "Publish it - but don't tell anyone." Weird flex, but OK.
I called my very-patient wife into my home office. I wanted the moment captured. She opened her camera. A few clicks, and it was done.
— Terence Eden is on Mastodon (@edent) May 7, 2020
I did a little dance. Let all of the tension out of my body. And waited for the hate to roll in.
It didn't. The response was... positive! Yes, there were grumbles, but so many people were fulsome in their praise that it was overwhelming. Congratulatory tweets and emails did the rounds, and I had a nice cold ale.
I took the bank holiday weekend off. Well, I obsessively read all the tweets, answered questions about my blog post, and kept half-an-eye on GitHub. I'm not good at relaxing.
Has it worked? Did we make the NHS more open and transparent? Did open source win the day? Did the beta test work? Were lives saved? Or was it a damp squib?
As I write this, we're still in the eye of the storm. Perhaps, when this post is published, we'll know the answers.
🆕 blog! “Drinking Champagne with the Secretary of State”
This is a retropost. Written contemporaneously in February 2019, but published much later. My life is weird. Again. Looking out over London from the top floor. The Eye is glittering and the Palace of Westminster is glowing. Someone pours me a glass of (very expensive1) champagne, as the Secretary …
This is a retropost. Written contemporaneously in February 2019, but published much later.
My life is weird. Again.
Looking out over London from the top floor. The Eye is glittering and the Palace of Westminster is glowing.
Someone pours me a glass of (very expensive1) champagne, as the Secretary of State laughs at my witty bon mot.
Is this my life now? People of distinction and influence listening to what I have to say? It isn't an oak-panelled room, with deep armchairs, where cigar-smoking men carve up the world. It's a modest and plain office where men (and women!) have gathered for a bit of mutual backslapping. But I am here. I'm in the room and being thanked.
And why not! We've all worked hard on launching NHSX and are rewarded with a little audience. The chit-chat is awkward - despite the geniality, we're all aware that the boss is here.
Naturally, I believe someone is going to tap me on the shoulder and ask me what the hell I think I'm doing in a room full of proper grown-ups. But, no, people keep asking me questions and telling me their well-practiced anecdotes.
It is simultaneously amazing and banal. I've been at this work-party several times in my career, with dozens of companies, with a parade of CEOs. This feels different. A tiny glimmer of "I've made it a difference!"
I eat my fill of crisps - I am driving later - and slip out. I want to savour the moment, but know too well the perils of outstaying my welcome. I float all the way home.
Proximity to power is a powerful glamour. I understand why some are drawn to it, and some are seemingly addicted.
But I'll be different, I'm sure, as I bask in the experience.
The fizz has come from someone's home. No taxpayers' cash was splashed on booze. ↩
This is a retropost. It was written contemporaneously in 2019 - but posted in 2024. I had just been seconded to the Department of Health and Social Care to help kick-start NHSX. I kept a diary of my time there - including working through COVID. As it has been 5 years, and I no longer […]
This is a retropost. It was written contemporaneously in 2019 - but posted in 2024. I had just been seconded to the Department of Health and Social Care to help kick-start NHSX. I kept a diary of my time there - including working through COVID. As it has been 5 years, and I no longer work in Government, I thought I would publish interesting extracts from it.
My 4th day in a new job and I'm sat in a meeting with the Secretary of State.
I've been in rooms with CEOs. With celebrities. With politicians. But this is the first time I've faced someone this senior, discussing sensitive issues. It's a moment.
I'm in the room. I disassociate briefly. All of a sudden, I'm interrupting someone and making a surprisingly intelligent point. The SofS agrees with me and, seemingly, is impressed - carrying my point forward and referencing it towards the end of the meeting.
The poor chap next to me is getting eviscerated. He either doesn't know his brief - or is being deliberately evasive. The atmosphere is congenial - but there's an undercurrent of menace. The guy is floundering, and the SofS is... not exactly merciless, but lets the guy know he isn't falling for the patter.
I'm simultaneously glad I'm not in the firing line - and worried that I'll one day find myself out of my depth.
The meeting ends and I'm formally introduced. He seems pleased to have me on board - I'm just glad I didn't make a complete fool of myself. And mildly impressed that he actually knew what he was talking about when it came to the details of technology.
That evening, my Great Aunt Sonia dies - aged 90. She had been gently cared for by the NHS. And the work I'm doing suddenly feels a lot more viscerally real.
🆕 blog! “Interview in Colors Magazine #75 - Cease Fear”
This blog post was written in 2023 about events in 2008. Such are the joys of time travel… In August 2008, I published a blog post about being stopped and searched by the British Transport Police as part of The War Against Terror. A journalist, Elena Favilli contacted me asking if I'd be interviewed about […]
This is a necropost. Written, I think, in preparations for mock A-Levels and recently found on an old backup disk. People in our 6th Form were always sticking up funny lists and weird humorous print-outs found on the nascent WWW. This was either my attempt to relieve the pressure of endless revision - or just a way to distract myself from the stress of exams. I heartedly endorse all of the following tips for a successful exam.
Fall asleep (or pretend to) until the last 15 minutes. Wake up, say "Oh dear, better get cracking." and do some gibberish work. Turn it in a few minutes early.
Get a copy of the exam, run out screaming "Andre, Andre, I've got the secret documents!!"
If it is a math/science exam, answer in essay form. If it is long answer/essay form, answer with numbers and symbols. Be creative. Use the integral symbol.
Make paper aeroplanes out of the exam. Aim them at the instructor's left nostril.
Talk the entire way through the exam. Read questions aloud, debate your answers with yourself out loud. If asked to stop start talking about what a prat the instructor is.
Bring cheerleaders.
Walk in, get the exam, sit down. About five minutes into it, loudly say to the instructor, "I don't understand ANY of this. I've been to every lesson all term long! Help.”
Bring a Game Boy. Play with the volume at max level.
On the answer sheet find a new, interesting way to refuse to answer every question. For example: “I refuse to answer this question on the grounds that it conflicts with my religious beliefs”. Be creative.
Bring pets.
Giggle. Loudly.
Fifteen minutes into the exam ask for more paper. Repeat this process every fifteen minutes.
Do the exam with crayons, paint, or fluorescent markers.
Come into the exam wearing slippers, a bathrobe, a towel on your head.
Be as vulgar as possible on the exam paper.
Do the entire exam in another language. If you don't know one, make one up! For math/science exams, try using Roman numerals.
Bring things to throw at the instructor when s/he's not looking. Blame it on the person nearest to you.
As soon as the instructor hands you the exam, eat it.
Walk into the exam with a Siamese twin.
Every five minutes, stand up, collect all your things, move to another seat, continue with the exam.
Turn in the exam approximately 30 minutes into it. As you walk out, start commenting on how easy it was.
Hold an unlit cigarette in your mouth. If you are told there is no smoking, politely point out that you are not smoking; just holding an unlit cigarette in your mouth.
Bring a black marker. Return the exam with all questions and answers completely blacked out.
Get the exam. Twenty minutes into it, throw your papers down violently, scream out "Screw this!" and walk out triumphantly.
Insist on going to the toilet. You will have to be accompanied.
Show up completely drunk. (you should start crying for mother).
COUGH!
Comment on how sexy the instructor is looking that day.
Come to the exam wearing a black cloak. After about 30 minutes, put on a white mask and start yelling "I'm here, the phantom of the opera" until they drag you away.
Insist the person next to you is cheating.
Upon receiving the exam, look it over, while laughing loudly, say “You don't really expect me to waste my time on this drivel? "Teletubbies" is on!!!”
Bring a water pistol with you. ‘Nuff said.
From the moment the exam begins, hum the theme to Countdown. When they finally get you to leave begin whistling the theme to the Bridge on the River Kwai.
Start a fight in the middle of the exam.
If the exam is math/science related, make up the longest proofs you could possibly think of. Get pi and imaginary numbers into most equations. If it is a written exam, relate everything to your own life story.
Bring a friend to give you a back massage the entire way through the exam. Insist this person is needed, because you have bad circulation.
Bring cheat sheets FOR ANOTHER CLASS and staple them to the exam, with the comment "Please use the attached notes for references as you see fit. "
When you walk in, complain about the heat. Strip.
After you get the exam, call the instructor over, point to any question, ask for the answer. Try to work it out of him/her.
Loud, Rumbling, Echoing, Deadly Farts.
Try to get people in the room to do a Mexican wave.
Play frisbee with a friend at the other side of the room.
Bring some large, ugly idol. Pray to it often. Consider a small sacrifice.
Get deliveries of flowers, pizzas, telegrams, etc. sent to you every few minutes throughout the exam.
Get lots of people to call your mobile phone. Make sure it has an annoying ring.
During the exam, take apart everything around you. Anything you can reach.
Complete the exam with everything you write being backwards at a 90 degree angle.
Bring a musical instrument with you, play various tunes. If you are asked to stop, say "it helps me think. " Bring a copy of the official exam rules, challenging the instructor to find the section on musical instruments. Don't forget to use the phrase "Told you so".
Answer the exam with the "Top Ten Reasons Why Examiners Suck"
These exam stress relieving jollities were brought to you by...........
Campaign to Relive Accumulated Pressures!