Author: JP

I’ve just got to Shanghai for the first time, and despite working through what passed for night in China and in the UK, I found myself bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and full of beans. Having been ensconced in design strategy papers for a good few days, I think I’m looking at everything through “design” eyes, and trying to make sure I’m not jaundiced in any way.

The first thing that made me feel good was the socket (or what I used to call a “plug-point” in India). At the hotel here, they have sockets that look like this:

Wikipedia (which is where I got that illustration, by the way) tells me that this is a Type G (British 3 Pin) plug and socket, conforming to BS 1363. Which means I didn’t need an adaptor for once, a nice feeling. Strange, that I have to come all the way to China to get that feeling. Incidentally, just take a look at this map, available from Wikimedia Commons:

What the map does is set out the plug type in use in a given region, and it’s interesting to see some sort of colonial history laid out in the process. We’d probably get something similar if we looked at rail gauges, I guess, and I can’t help worrying that there’s an internet variant just waiting for us, a 21st century map of standards and protocols that reflect colonies of lock-in.

Enough worrying. There are so many things in this hotel room that make me feel good, that make me realise that someone’s applied thought to the design of the room, that someone’s actually considered what the customer may want.

There’s the ethernet point just where you would look for one, built subtly into the desk and covered with a little removable leather pad; there’s the cups and saucers and tea bags loudly signalling the existence of a kettle somewhere, and the kettle turns out to be where you would look for it, and the socket turns out to be where you would look for it. And the tea bags included a selection of green tea and jasmine. Something I guess you would expect in China, like the torch thoughtfully placed in the wardrobe almost at eye level.

Lots of little things that show that someone thought about what people want. My favourite is the wardrobe itself. It’s in the usual place, to my right as I enter the room, along the passageway to the area where the bed and desk are. What makes it special is what they’ve done to the back of the wardrobe. Sliding doors, accessible from the bathroom. Now that is useful. And simple.

Putting things where people would intuitively look for things. Looking at, and catering for,  all possible uses when designing something. Using open standards wherever possible. Building things with the customer in mind, actually thinking about how the customer would use something. Precisely how. Thinking about where a customer’s eye would fall, what his reach would be.

When we design systems, there is much we can learn from people who take customer service seriously. Like the hotel in Shanghai I happen to be staying in.

Ever since Joel Spolsky and Jeff Atwood announced StackOverflow, almost counterintuitively, I’ve spent more time reading their individual blogs.

I really enjoyed Jeff’s latest, Crash Responsibly. [Even though it is not the headline I want to see just before boarding a transatlantic flight.]

I love the four “rules” Jeff puts forward, particularly the first one: “It is not the user’s job to tell you about errors in your software”. Even in perennial beta environments, what we have to provide is software that works, even if the functionality is very limited. Providing additional functionality incrementally is fine and dandy, everyone understands that. But the software has to work in the first place.

As I grow older, I find that what I need is less “something for the weekend” and more “something to help me with the week ahead”. So I’m always looking for things that will make me smile, laugh, guffaw:

LOLManuscripts. Definitely in the guffaw class. Here are a couple of examples:

What a wonderful idea. Now the pedants amongst us will argue that these are not manuscripts, but I have no problem accepting the author’s “excuse”:

(P.S. I know they aren’t manuscripts…but LOL Early Modern Printed Materials didn’t have the same ring to it. LOLNomenclature! Let it go.)

I also loved the Shakespearian quote: [And yes, it’s accurate]

The large Achilles, on his press’d bed lolling, / From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause; / Cries ‘Excellent!'”

To me it’s a brilliant, if trivial, example of the sheer possibilities of modern digital culture, mashing LOLCats with old books. Something that remains possible despite the stupidities of modern intellectual property regimes. [I guess we’re not going to see LOLH***yP***er soon. Maybe someone should do it. We could all fall asleep reading the court records…..]

Update: I couldn’t resist adding these three illustrations, if they don’t tempt you into going there nothing else will:

Thank you Sarah Redmond. Fantastic stuff!

We want people who are interested in books. They’ll find us.

So say Lloyd and Lenore Dickman, booksellers extraordinaire, Wisconsin, standing like Ruth amid the alien corn. Except for a couple of small details. Lloyd Dickman wouldn’t consider the corn to be alien, it is his love and his livelihood. And Lenore Dickman wouldn’t have a sad heart, she’s surrounded by things she loves. You see, they run an amazing bookshop. They don’t advertise. They don’t sell coffee. The books aren’t catalogued traditionally. And they’re housed in somewhat unusual surroundings, ranging from garden sheds to manure silos. Absolutely amazing story. Take a look at this video:

[Incidentally, I was reading Bibliophile Bullpen today, saw the link to the story, decided I would check it out later. Sometime soon after that I saw Euan Semple’s tweet (which referred to Tom Peters, or, more correctly, Cathy Mosca posting on the Tom Peters blog). Now I couldn’t resist, and I found myself at the same link, and this time stayed on and watched all the way through. Bibliophile Bullpen. Euan Semple. Tom Peters. Three blogs I read regularly. One way or the other I was destined to see this video today.]

I love books, read them voraciously, collect them obsessively. For quite a while I harboured ideas of running  a bookshop when I retire, a very simple bookshop. All books grouped into three classes: Over My Dead Body, books that you could see, even touch, but not take away; Make Me An Offer, books that you could actually buy, haggle with me about; and Take It Away Jose, books that you could just carry off in the cloth bags provided. No prices to be seen anywhere. A simple shop, but with a small condition. You had to prove you loved books before you came in. By answering one of five questions written on a blackboard outside. A passion rather than just a profession.

Then Google and mobile phones arrived, and that idea went out of the window. Now I still plan to have a library, at home and at the school I plan to build. The school that I shall retire to.

So. Given all that, you should not be surprised that I was entranced by what the Dickmans have done. There is so much that is remarkable about their story. How a husband and wife have managed to find a way to support each other’s passions. How they’ve built a model to integrate those passions into their daily lives. How they’ve done it while retaining their enthusiasm and their integrity.

Every time I hear stories about people like the Dickmans, it makes up for all the other stories that compete for my attention, stories designed to depress, to sadden, to shock and to corrupt.

So thank you Bill Geist, thank you CBS, thank you Bibliophile Bullpen, thank you Cathy Mosca, thank you Euan Semple.

And, most importantly, thank you Lloyd and Lenore. I shall make my pilgrimage one day. I don’t drink coffee anyway!

Two other things. There is something really important in the “they’ll find us” statement. The anti-advertising recommendation-driven very authenticity of what the Dickmans are doing, all implied in that statement. Something for all of us to think about in this strange world, a world where we’ve somehow managed to migrate the truly appalling business model of direct mail on to online search, a world where we think that’s a good thing….

The other thing is hidden away at the end of the Cathy Mosca post on Tom Peters’ blog:

Tom says if you’re not in love with this video please let us know, and we’ll take you off all our mailing lists

Again, something for us to mull over. How we’re moving to a world where traditional buyer-seller relationships are being replaced by cluetrain conversations between people who share important values.

Publius Valerius Publicola, otherwise known as Poplicola, Roman counsel, ‘friend of the people’, had his name pseudonymously used to author the Federalist Papers,  a collection of essays written over two hundred years ago (primarily by Hamilton, Madison and Jay) to strengthen and ratify the US constitution.

Those must have been heady and challenging days, as a new country was born, as new citizens tried to figure out who they were and what they stood for.

For many of us, the internet is a modern parallel, as we strive to understand what it is, what it stands for, how it is inhabited, how it is governed. It is fitting therefore that the Berkman Center, as part of its 10th anniversary celebrations, has launched the Publius Project.

The project is described as “essays and conversations about constitutional moments on the Net collected by the Berkman Center.“, as people try and recapture the spirit of the Federalist papers.

I’m delighted and honoured to be part of that process, part of the project; the first few essays have now been published; do take a look, and let’s get the conversations going. Comments welcome.