Along with questioning the pernicious concept of engagement and tearing out our corporate hair at the over-engineering of so simple an idea as an evp, WMW has long held the view that Work/Life Balance was a thoroughly unhelpful and misleading phrase.

Work/Life sets up what faux-clever people would be tempted to call a false dichotomy – you have work and you have life, the one excluding the other. Really? For many people their work is an important, meaningful part of their lives. The tension doesn’t lie in work/life balance. It lies in the amount of time people are at home rather than work. The challenge people have been facing is work/home balance.

The reason businesses haven’t been able to crack the work/home balance nut is because they’ve been hammering the wrong nut. Which is nuts.

I studied Plato. I am not ashamed to admit it. Plato was both brilliant and bonkers. To his mind, there was a perfect form, or idea, of everything. The table I am sitting at to write this is but one expression of the form of a table which existed before time and will exist forever. This was brought to mind this morning when I was travelling back from Client X with MCU 15. MCU 15 (mobile cost unit aka staff member; mcu is easier) asked me, ‘But how will we know when we’ve got the right message?’ And the answer is, we won’t. We can’t. Because what we do, as communicators par excellence (I say that in case a client ever happens to read this) is not like making a table. When you make a table, be it ever so humble a task, you at least know when you have finished it. What’s more, if you have been taught by a master craftsman, you also know to what standard you’ve made the table. When however, you construct the ‘architecture’ of a message you are not really constructing its architecture because the finished product isn’t a thing. It’s an idea. And ideas live not in the real world but in our minds and all kinds of funny things happen once an idea gets into our minds. The morale of this story is this: if you want certainty and satisfaction in your job, make something you can touch under the watchful eye of an expert who has done it many hundreds of times. This is what the actor Daniel Day Lewis did – he couldn’t live with uncertainty of his art so he left to live in Italy as an apprentice to a cobbler. If you want to live in a permanent world of uncertainty, take up with acting or internal communications. As with acting so with internal communications, incidentally: anyone who tries to measure it simply doesn’t understand it.

The ‘Get with the times’ issue

Dear Reader

I have just written a book on Leadership and it is very good. Don’t just take my word for it. Ok, do just take my word for it. Anyway, there is a section in there called, “Never start a meeting on time.” In it, I made the erroneous assertion that all meetings start on the o’clock because that’s all Outlook allows you to do. Well, Her Royal Jennyness pulled me to one side in that subtle and charming way she has – ie, right in the middle of the office – and told me I was talking nonsense. Of course Outlook has more than o’clock on it.

So I investigated. Blow me, but it does. What’s more, if you go into your email and look on the left hand side near the bottom, you’ll see a tab marked calendar. If you click on that it tells you the meetings you have and if you have an international phone call to make – which I have to do a lot because I am so important – it gives you all the details. It’s brilliant. I won’t use it again, but as I say, it is brilliant.

As indeed is WMW Social. Now we can genuinely talk to our clients about social media without sounding like we don’t even know what Outlook calendars do.

I do like the mini Grant idea. I feel that my contribution to it is both touching, sincere and in good taste.

Richard’s recommended reading: The sexual life of an Islamist in Paris by Leila Maroune. I was in that wonderful bookshop on Exmouth Market and I had to buy it because of a) the title and b) the fact that I intend to write a blockbuster novel soon which revolves around the clash between Christianity and Islam. Anyway, it’s a good book, although when I read it on the train I had to hide it between the covers of another book to hide its title in case anyone thought I was a pervert. The book I hid it in was the kama sutra.

Fine words butter no parsnips. A stitch in time saves nine. Needs must when the devil drives.

Good ol’ proverbs. So aged. So wise. Such staying power. It’s just… what the baggins do they actually mean? We get the gist, sure. But when did true wisdom ever deal in gists? That’ll do, Mohandas, we catch your drift. Pipe down, Albert, we get the picture.

I’ve been thinking, see. In three months as a copywriter here I’ve been helping people say stuff better. It’s a good gig. And, crucially, it’s not just saying stuff better for them. It’s showing them how they can do it too. So that means writing guidelines.

Central to these, most often, is the surprising little observation that it’s okay – nay, desirable – to write ‘naturally’. Or ‘conversationally’. Or, as any copywriting book purportedly worth its pepper would have it,write how you speak. Great advice, right?

Naturally. Shorthand for something like: say what you mean; stop shoving scary corporate blabber in your own mouth; win your audience over. Because we do all that when we natter – naturally.

So, write how you speak. Almost proverbial, isn’t it? Sounds good, got the gist, received at least some of the wisdom.

Except… do we really mean it? Wouldn’t it unleash merry hell? I, for one, am an oral ditherer. I change direction halfway through sentences, I qualify things before I’ve even said them, and I’m not sure I can pronounce the word ‘ditherer’. Lucky for WMW, I emphatically avoid writing how I speak.

Of course, some people really should write how they speak. Because it’s so darn good:

It seems my granddaughter, Annie, had given an interview in one of the teen magazines. And somewhere between movie stars and make-up tips, she talked about her feelings on a woman’s right to choose.

You’ll denounce these people, Al. You’ll do it publicly. And until you do, you can all get your fat asses out of my White House.

Electrifying, right? But who actually speaks like that? Well, presidents. (The West Wing’s Jed Bartlet, in this case.) Real ones with their speechwriters; fictional ones with their scriptwriters. People who’ve got people to write how they really should speak. And emphatically not how they naturally speak.

So, death to Auto Proverb mode. No more write how you speak from me, because I don’t mean it and it’d be rubbish if I did. Yes sirree, from now on you’re getting write how you dream of speaking – and would speak, if only you had a crack team of writers crafting your every word.

Catchy, that.

I’ve hinted before that I’m something of a Dawkins when it comes to the continuing trend towards creative communications as an unaccredited branch of sociology.

I’m kind of the opinion that science should be conducted by, you know, scientists. Those people who have, you know, actually read all the books and done all the degrees and stuff. As opposed to, you know, those people who think a litany of Venn diagrams and made-up methodologies constitute robust techniques and lead to meaningful conclusions.

So you can imagine just how bored my colleagues became after one of my rants was recently sparked by yet another example of cod science used to impress clients in place of insightful thinking.

I call it the bullsh*t trademark. Or BS^TM. (Full disclosure – I have not trademarked this).

In this case, it was the Brand Cubic Zirconia^TM. Or something similar but hopefully not quite similar enough to facilitate legal action.

Let’s not debate whether it was any good. You can probably guess. And it’s not even really the point.

What I found so galling was the ludicrous affectation of the superscript badge of BS^TM credibility.

Just how stupid does that suggest they think people are? It’s about as convincing as the artist-formerly-known-as-Dr Gillian McKeith’s qualification from the Clayton College of Natural Health. Where? Exactly.

Both are paid for. And neither requires any qualitative evidence to earn.

Putting aside just how transparently disingenuous it is, the very notion of trademarking a methodology that ultimately deals with the human condition is inherently flawed.

It suggests it is complete; cracked; a fait accompli. It leaves no room for evolution or refinement based on subsequent experience. It’s crystallising something that must logically remain as fluid as people’s aspirations and attitudes.

Of course, we have our own methodologies at WMW. We even, I’m ashamed to admit, have names for some of them. But they’re just handy tools and shortcuts. Disposable ones at that. Because the key to success is never a whizzy process and always smart people.

If anyone tells you different, it’s patent nonsense. Patent. Oh. You’d already got it.

What would you expect Africa’s biggest bank to look like? Pretty much like any other office you’ve ever seen? Branded in the corporate colours? Gilded with the spoils of the mines below (no joke – Standard Bank literally is built on a gold mine)?

Well, you would be wrong.

Standard Bank in Johannesburg has the biggest art collection I’ve ever seen in an office. In fact, it has the only art collection I’ve ever seen in an office. The paintings, sketches and sculptures are mostly African, reliably good and occasionally famous (they must be – I recognised one). I didn’t take down the names of the art or artists, so I’ve added my own lowbrow commentary and exceedingly amateur photography below.

Behold:

They don’t have heads, but it works.

Tribal art. I saw something similar at the Apartheid Museum (if you’re ever in Johannesburg, go – it’s brilliant) which mock the European colonial soldiers by showing them being crap at hunting and getting,er, frisky with their horses. Native humour.

Wire woman with baby on board (look closely).

Powerful. Political. Poignant. Discuss.

That’s just a snapshot. If the vibrancy, creativity and colour of the art on walls finds its way into Standard Bank’s internal communications, I’ll be happy.

Disclaimer

I don’t think photos are allowed. If anyone asks, Jenny took them.

I’ve just moved house.

One of the side effects is that I’ve essentially been moonlighting as a secret shopper – liaising with the various companies involved in the laborious process of relocating. From banks and credit card companies to retail websites and media suppliers.

Given my day job is ultimately about helping (in some small part) organisations’ people deliver a great brand experience to customers, it’s been a fascinating experience.

Bright side: there is plenty of work yet to be done.

Here’s an observation that will surprise no one: there seems to be a fairly strong negative correlation between the size of the company and the quality of the service they deliver. The bigger the worser, as my old English teacher used to say prior to his first and final OFSTED.

Small handmade furniture shop in the Yorkshire Dales? Lovely, friendly, efficient and speedy.

Vast utility supplier with contact centres worldwide? <Gritted teeth> Not so much.

At first blush, you could put this down to logistics. Increasing size means increasing complexity and therefore increases to a certainty the likelihood of making the occasional customer weep with frustration.

I’m sure this is a factor. But another is surely, and pardon my Gallic, the ‘give a toss’ factor. It seems the more layers between the people delivering the service and the bosses whom benefit most directly from the successful delivery of said service, the less likely those people are to GAT.

But it’s not just the level of reward that motivates performance. Going back to my small handmade furniture shop – figuratively, though I surely would if I could afford it – I suppose it all comes down to a sense of pride.

It’s not that people are far removed from the shiniest of doubloons generated by good performance; that’s unfortunate but accepted. It’s that they feel far removed from the organisation they’re part of.

Before brand became Brand, it was a useful but unintended result of a company’s purpose – and the shared beliefs of the people who worked to fulfil it. Now it’s a business function; constructed rather than organic, premeditated rather than emergent.

This is commercial Darwinism in action – the harnessing of a potential edge – and there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with that.

It’s just that, somewhere along the way, those people who used to engender the brand were left behind by it. It’s become the office equivalent of ‘the Scottish play’. Utter the B word and you’ll be flipped a cruciform sign before being directed to the mysterious brand guardians (who everyone’s a bit scared of).

Maybe, just maybe, there’s something to be said for taking a little bit of the brand back for the people who make all its promises reality.

That nice furniture shop in Yorkshire? I bet they don’t have brand guidelines. But they sure as heck have a brand. And the nice lady I spoke to sure as heck felt part of it.

More on this later. Yes, even more.

From time to time I like to pimp my colleague Neil’s (known affectionately as the business poet) most excellent creative writing workshops.

This time, I thought I’d leave the pimping to some feedback forms from an overseas client of ours who just completed one of his sessions. A few choice comments then:

“Thank you! Would like to see more of these workshops. Can’t wait to communicate. Great job!”

“Lots of fun. Well presented.”

“Thank you. This was valuable.”

“Great workshop.”

“There are some amazing ideas in this workshop. I really hope they can and will be used. Let’s make this a reality!”

(Sickening, isn’t it? And it continues…)

“Gr8!”

“Wonderful! What a treat!”

“Well structured, great presenter.”

(And finally)

Anything you’d like us to do differently?
“Come over more often.”

Any last words on the workshop before you go?
“Where can I send my CV to?”

(Blimey)

Overall workshop score? 4.7 out of 5. I’d buy from him on Amazon.

If you’d like to be hypnotised (I can only assume) by Neil in a one hour/one day/one week course, email tellmemore@wmwuk.net

You know that poster you just composed? Lose the last line.

You know that presentation you just created? Take out every second bullet point.

You know that email you just wrote? Cut the word count in half. Strike that. Quarter it.

You know that ad you just crafted? Delete that clever intro you’re so proud of.

You know that comms plan you just finished? Remove all but the first two objectives.

You know those brand values you just signed-off? Etc, etc, etc.

In the material world of the consumer, more has become synonymous with better.

But the VFM equation for communication is the diametric opposite. Here, ‘quality over quantity’ is a truism because it’s true.

Maintaining this discipline in the face of inevitable demands to add more, more, more – well, that’s the real art.

Today’s post was going to be a philosophical exploration of the shift from ‘work as means to enrich life’ to ‘work as means to survive’ that the burgeoning global population will inevitably herald. Exploring a future where we become our own beasts of burden; where subsistence is existence; where the only thing separating us from animals is the curse of intelligence that damns us with an understanding of what we’ve lost.

But then, I thought, it’s Friday. So random whimsy it is.

A little while ago we won a PR Week award despite not really being anything to do with PR. Didn’t stop us invading the stage, of course.

Never one to miss an opportunity for commercial diversification, Our Dear Leader asked me to brainstorm some ideas for reputation management we could sell to potential clients.

Three months on, I come to him with my first pitch.

“It’s a bit niche,” I explain, “but how’s this for the agricultural market?”

I clear my throat and put on my most sincere press conference smile.

“I too condemn the abhorrent practice of battery farming,” I declare. “But surely no right-minded animal lover could object to my humble centre for agoraphobic chickens?”

Expectant pause.

“MALE CHICKEN!” Richard exclaims. Or a word to that effect.