It’s the drugs

On my recent release post-surgery, I was given a sheet of instructions covering the goody-bag of drugs I’d been handed:

I suggested to the nurse that the information – really very important, and quite complicated – seemed to be a jumble of what, why, when & whether, with no real order or structure. Why present such varied messaging as an undifferentiated list of bullets?

Subsequently, and with a head full of opiates, I nevertheless came up with:

Doubtless this could be further refined, but compared with the original….

I do find it strange that communicating with the patient is palpably given such low priority in the overall scheme of things, when you would have thought it one of the key success factors.

Take back our slogan

Amid the insanity, a comment of Trump’s last week set little bells ringing…

‘…to take back our country’. Now what does that bring to mind?

While it’s doubtless overstating the case to describe a snappy slogan as ‘the’ reason for Brexit, the essential message is clear – and worth a ponder for anyone wanting to get messages across, thereby (and this is after all the point of the exercise) getting people to behave in ways they otherwise wouldn’t: KISS. Keep It Simple, Stupid.

Let’s face it, no previous president has ever had such command of the simple.

Make America Sane Again

On the cusp, I was struck by a photo of Trump wearing one of those MAGA baseball caps. Idly wondering whether this was a first – for a candidate to use the exact same slogan in consecutive elections – it suddenly occurred to me that I couldn’t recall the slogan from the opposition camp. Judging by these supposed candidates reported by Wiki, it’s hardly surprising:

The enduring appeal of MAGA does make you wonder whether such slogans ever really make a difference. I suspect the answer’s yes. Amidst chaos and contradiction, their simplicity and clarity helps coalesce half-grasped convictions into a powerful, unified “Yes! That’s right!” that fires people up and drives them to the polls. (See also ‘Get Brexit Done’.)

Plusa Shoreditch

Largely to compensate for my abysmal thumbsmanship, I frequently dictate messages into my phone, letting Google take care of turning them into actual text. Mostly it does an excellent job, including learning my quirks, so that after I’ve corrected its interpretations a couple of times, it gets it right the third and subsequent times.

One thing that really does throw it, though, is foreign expressions. Even what you might think of as common and pretty obvious ones. I was tickled the other day by its groping attempts to get a grip on my (increasingly carefully pronounced) plus ça change, which I was trying to get, complete with cidilla, ready for copy ‘n pasting.

First attempt: Cruise fashion. Second: Flu sachets. Then Blue sessions. After Plusa Shoreditch, I decided it might be time to try a different route.