Author: JP

Just one. The best

I love chess for a variety of reasons. The sheer breathtaking beauty of the game, as evinced here, in “Fatal Attraction”, Edward Lasker v Sir George Thomas nearly a century ago.  The characters it throws up, as in Jose Raul Capablanca and Efim Bogoljubov. And the way chess teaches us about cause and effect in a complex adaptive environment.

By the way, I’ve written about it before, but if you have any interest in chess at all, do play out Fatal Attraction. It’s a mesmerising game.

One of the reasons I like Bogoljubov is the outrageousness of his statements. In that outrage is truth. Examples: Bogoljubov had just won a remarkable game with the black pieces, and was asked how he’d done it. And he said “When I play white I win because I play white. When I play black I win because I am Bogoljubov.” Another time he was asked how many moves ahead he thinks. His answer? “Just one. The best”.

My interest in chess, largely kindled by an old schoolmate, Devangshu Datta, stayed steady through the years largely as a result of my interest in complex adaptive systems. When it came to analogies for root cause analysis and prevention of recurrence, I found chess hard to beat. I could sit down after a game and work out precisely when I started down the wrong path, what real options I had, how I could make sure I didn’t do it again. Chess was also good as a way of learning damage limitation, what to do when you have made a mistake.

I was reminded of this recently with all the brouhaha about healthcare in the US. Somewhere along the line, the focus of discussion appeared to deal primarily with the effciency of the curing process rather than the preventing process. Too often the same happens in the enterprise world. People are so busy getting better at fixing problems that they forget the real point, which is to stop doing what causes the problem in the first place.

Improving the speed and quality at which you fix things is a worthwhile objective: that is, if (and only if) things break down less often as a result. So when you look at repair processes, it is more important to look at why things break down, and to prevent them from breaking down,  than to focus on getting better at fixing things.

For some time now, we’ve been focused on the customer experience at BT. We looked at the way we dealt with customer requests, how often we delivered what the customer wanted, when the customer wanted it and how the customer wanted it. And we would take a close look at how often we got that right. A very close look. Because it affected what we took home.

That extreme focus has now begun to pay off: that’s why CEO Ian Livingston could tell the world last December that our complaint calls had halved since we embarked on the RFT initiative. Halved. In fact, that’s partly how we’ve been able to cut costs sharply.

The complaint calls coming in were a useful proxy for the number of problems we were causing. But we have to be careful. In large organisations, it is normal, understandable, even tempting to create an environment where the focus shifts from preventing problems to curing them. So before you know it, all the energy is deployed in fixing things, and not preventing the occurrence of the problem in the first place. That’s why you have to be careful what you measure, and how you use the measure. Finding out that you’re solving problems faster and faster is a good thing ….. provided the absolute number of problems is going down, and the problems aren’t repeating. Don’t get seduced by the message that you’re fixing things faster, cheaper better. They shouldn’t be going wrong in the first place.

So look ahead, be a Bogoljubov, and play that best right move. Concentrate on making sure you don’t make the mistake in the first place; the introduction of automation is a commonsense way of achieving this. As long as the environment is in steady state, this should be tractable. When you introduce change, then mistakes can be introduced, found, dealt with. As Esther Dyson says so often, “always make new mistakes”.

Of lazy tandoori and “epicuration”

I love tandoori food. And for many years I stayed away from cooking tandoori food for a variety of trivial reasons. Reasons like not having a tandoor, a tandoori oven. Not having a good tandoori recipe. Not being able to understand the recipe. Not looking forward to eating food cooked by someone who didn’t have the right tools, ingredients, recipes or skill. Not wanting to clear up and wash up after cooking such a meal.

As I said, trivial reasons.

And then one day, like learning to ride a bicycle, all those trivial reasons disappeared. In a matter of hours I was cooking tandoori without a tandoor, not worrying about recipes, actually liking what I cooked and looking forward to eating it. And being able t0 wash up quickly and efficiently.

Why was this? How did it happen?

First, it was because of epicurious. The more I used epicurious, the more I knew about how to get to the right recipes. There’s gold dust in there. Like this recipe for tandoori-style grilled meat or shrimp. 6 servings. Active time 20 minutes. Total time 4.5 hours. Eight ingredients for the marinade, nothing complex, very little work to be done with them. A simple recipe that pretty much consisted of : make marinade. leave meat to marinate. cook. So thank you epicurious.

Second, we discovered cooking liners. No more heavy-duty pan scrubbing needed. Easy to clean and wash, totally reusable. Even dishwasher-friendly.

So here’s the story:

Put the first 8 ingredients into a blender. It should look something like this:


The blended marinade should look something like this:


Marinating “protein” should look like this:


At the start of grilling, it should look a bit like this:

Halfway through it should look like this:

And then at the end it should look like this:

Seriously, it works. 20 minutes of activity, and everything happens just as Victoria Granof, the “author” of the recipe, says it should. Thank you Victoria.

For me, it’s not just about the food, which I love. It’s about how preparing such food is becoming more accessible to many of us. How a site like epicurious works, how people share their “content” freely, how the recipes get reviewed and annotated and voted up and down, how the community participates in all this. How someone like me, from Calcutta, can sit in Windsor, Berkshire and use a recipe submitted by a Cordon Bleu trained pastry chef and relating to cuisine closer to my birthplace than hers by an order of magnitude.

The community element is important, but so is the understanding that for subjects like this, community votes by themselves are of no value. These votes need to be tuned to my personal taste and trust levels. Some intelligence, some wisdom, some experience, some “curation” has to be applied.

It’s like book reviews. Sometimes I run out of things to read while at an airport, usually because I didn’t allow for the scale of delay. So I go to the bookstore or equivalent and take a look. There’s no point my looking for any of my favourite authors, I tend to know about their new books and would usually have bought and read them already. Which means I’m truly in the realm of “airport reads”. And I scan the paperbacks quickly, looking for authors I haven’t heard of. When I find one, I tend to check the inside front cover area for soundbite reviews.

But there’s a short cut. If one of those reviews is by Kirkus then I buy the book, no further questions asked. If the review is a “starred review” then I buy everything else by that author available in that shop.

You see, over the years, I trust Kirkus. [If you want to understand about trust and recommendation and their role in building relationships, in buying and selling, in business in general, then go read Chris Brogan’s Trust Agents. Now.]

That’s what it comes down to, trust. Curation is the process by which aggregate data is imbued with personalised trust.

That’s what Victoria Granof did for me. She appears to spend time going around the world collecting recipes and trying them out, sampling cuisines I am interested in, using cooking styles that appeal to me. Slow and relaxed, simple without being mechanical or bland, relying on natural ingredients.

Community input is valuable. Community voting and recommendation mechanisms help control firehoses, and are far better than product advertising. But you need something more. You need the recommenders to be people you trust, because their tastes are similar to yours. Discovering taste similarity is not easy; it can be automated, but you know something? There’s a lot of joy to be had in the discovery process. Because it makes you do something.

Doing is good.

Tomorrow’s Gonna Be a Brighter Day

This is a vote of thanks. An unashamed vote of thanks to someone who made my day brighter, my life brighter, and continues to do so. Jim Croce.

Jim Croce, born January 10, 1943, died September 20, 1973. A wonderful musician, and by all accounts a warm and loving husband, father and family man.

I remember the day when I first heard Jim Croce. I was in a record shop on Lindsay St in Calcutta, doing my usual trawl through new arrivals and trying to sweet-talk the man behind the counter into giving me some of his used publicity posters. [I was fifteen years old then, and music was an integral part of my life. Particularly folk-rocky poetic-singer-songwritery guitary music]. It was a Saturday, the 29th of September 1973. And the man in the shop had a new selection of albums that had come in, and he was sorting through them. I think there were only two companies making records in India in those days, The Gramophone Company of India and Polydor Records. Most of the people I used to listen to were released through Gramophone Company; a few “upstarts” , notably Jimi Hendrix, the Woodstock albums, the Bee Gees and Eric Clapton, were being released on Polydor, so I tended to go through both sets of releases.

It was a Saturday, the 29th of September 1973. And the man behind the counter, who was used to my hanging around there for eons, started unpacking the stuff that had come in. It didn’t matter that the albums were factory-fresh. He still went through the routine of taking each disc out of its polythene inner sleeve, checking for scratches and warp, and then gently replacing the disc. And he’d taken this disc out and was cleaning it lovingly when something about it caught my eye.

That’s all it appeared to have in the centre of the disc. A black and white vertiginous shape that shimmied and shivered. So I went to take a look at the album. It was by this guy I’d never heard of. But he’d written all the songs, played guitar for them, sung on them. Seemed interesting, it was the kind of guy I tended to like listening to. And I really really wanted to see how the label would look spinning around on the shop’s Garrard turntable. So I asked my friend the shopkeeper whether I could listen to the album. In those days, there were no headphones, no listening points or booths. If you wanted to listen to something, you needed to smooth-talk the shopkeeper. Who happened to be a friendly guy. So he put the record on.

September 29, 1973. And I heard the strains of You Don’t Mess Around With Jim for the first time. Predictably enough, he had me on “You don’t tug on Superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind, you don’t pull the mask off the ol’ Lone Ranger and you don’t mess around with Jim”. So I stayed on, listened to the rest of the album, also called You Don’t Mess Around With Jim, loved it, bought it and went home with it.

I couldn’t stop listening to it. All starting with the foot-stomping raucous tough-guy act of the title song. The gentle optimism of Tomorrow’s Gonna Be a Brighter Day, segueing into the story-song of New York’s Not My Home. Then back to foot-stomping with Hard Time Losing Man, only to be suckered into the incredible soft beauty of Photographs and Memories. And led by hand from there to Walking Back to Georgia to end the side. Then you caught your breath and switched over reverently. The second side started with another gentle story-song, Operator. And then the haunting melodies of Time In A Bottle, written for his son AJ. Then, just in case you were getting too laid back, the rapid-fire Rapid Roy. And you were into the long straight home with Box No 10, another haunting story-song and A Long Time Ago, a beautiful ballad. And finally gentle optimism again with Hey Tomorrow.

September 29, 1973. I was so happy. Those were times when it was easy not to have a care in the world. And then I read that week’s Time or Newsweek. And found out that Jim Croce had died in a plane crash nine days earlier. Yup, there were tears in my eyes. [I was that kind of kid; when I read Love Story, there was a football in my throat; when I went to see the film, the football came back.]

If you haven’t heard Jim Croce, don’t waste any more time. Stop reading here, and go to Amazon or emusic or itunes and just buy this album. You won’t regret it.

Everything I’ve found out about Jim Croce says he was my kind of guy,  the kind of guy I would have gotten along with. I’ve only been to San Diego twice in my life, and both times I haven’t been able to make it to Croce’s Restaurant and Jazz Bar. One day I will. And maybe I’ll have the chance to tell Ingrid Croce just how grateful I am to her husband for enriching my life with his music. Maybe I’ll have the chance to tell AJ Croce just how grateful I am to his father for making this world a better place with his music.

Jim Croce, I salute you. Thank you for the wonderful memories you gave me with your music.

A coda. You can follow Ingrid Croce and Croce’s Restaurant on twitter.

Parallel lives

For the next few days, while I am at the World Economic Forum at Davos, I’m going to be spending my time guesting on the Telegraph blog. My first post went up this morning, and can be found here. Let me know what you think.

Walls and bridges: even more on Facebookisation

Whatever gets you through the night it’s alright, it’s alright
It’s your money or your life it’s alright, it’s alright
Don’t need a sword to cut thru flowers oh no, oh no
Whatever gets you thru your life it’s alright, it’s alright
Do it wrong or do it right it’s alright, it’s alright
Don’t need a watch to waste your time oh no, oh no

John Lennon, Whatever Gets You Thru The Night, Walls And Bridges, 1974

Note: The song was Lennon’s first and only US solo number 1 during his lifetime. (Just Like) Starting Over, the only other Lennon single to make it, didn’t actually make number 1 until after his untimely death.

Do you remember the “high street” banks of the UK in the Sixties or Seventies or Eighties? What wonderfully decrepit institutions. A place where 85% of the space was devoted to “admin”; where customers didn’t exist, only account numbers; where the plysical manifestations of these account numbers, the human beings, were sardine-smashed into the remaining 15%; where staff took lunch breaks to make sure queues were at their highest at the only times customers could come in; where bank managers ruled, and considered it an insult if you actually came in to withdraw some money.

Do you remember?

The key thing that struck me during that time was the enormous amount of space given over to the internal workings of the firm, and the tiny area allowed for the customer.  A tiny area that was usually not air-conditioned, smelled of damp and dank, looked like a check-in queue for prison.

You know something? We still have them now. In most firms. They’re called e-mail systems. [Stowe Boyd, come in, I can hear you calling. Time to tell everyone about your Publicy, Privacy, Secrecy. And your love for e-mail :-) ]

Think of e-mail within a firm as a physical space consisting of 100 square units of “stuff”. Then divide that stuff into two parts. Stuff that stays within the firm. Stuff that goes out of the firm, or comes in to the firm: stuff that crosses the firm’s boundaries. And think of these two kinds of stuff as represented in a ratio.

In many firms, “internal” stuff far outweighs “boundary wall crossing” stuff. Check for yourself. In my experience the ratio is close to 9:1. Ninety per cent of e-mail is generated by the firm and never leaves the firm.

Note: I did not count external spam in this measure. Spam is not mail.

Think about it. The majority of collaborative conversations taking place in an enterprise mail world do not involve the customer. Words fail me. Well actually some words come to me. Words like “unbelievable” and “circle” and “jerk”, but then I’m too polite to string those words into a coherent sentence.

Why do I spend an entire post on this point? Because it is really important. Facebook is facebook because it is multitenant. Multientity. Not to do with a single person or home or firm.

Whatever we do in the enterprise, we need to ensure that the walls of the enterprise do not keep customers out. Think Cluetrain.

Collaborative systems are still evolving, people with collaborative instincts are still evolving. Whatever we do, we must ensure that the model of collaboration we build is a holistic one, one that encompasses staff, customers and supply chain.

Building a walled garden in your own enterprise is the equivalent of taking your computer and burying it in six feet of concrete. [On the other hand, since that is precisely what so many firms are wont to do, perhaps I should not be surprised].