The Soundtrack to my Summer Commute

I have been Without Bike this week, as my main bike is still in the LBS after last week's Mechanical (and my MTB is currently awaiting a new chain) so instead of riding, I've been thinking about riding, and considering my cycling plans for the autumn and winter. Last week I checked over my autumn and winter wardrobe; this week I've been reviewing my commute playlist; the music that's been getting me to and from work through the summer.

It's surprisingly tricky to pick music for cycling; some tracks that play really well at home or in the office just don't translate to the commute. Perhaps it's the quality of my on-bike entertainment system, or the noisy environment. I was also quietly surprised to discover that the Morning Commute requires different music to the Evening Commute (although I suppose it's obvious that the morning will require something with a bit more lift). Either way, the playlist below - the summer soundtrack for my Morning Commute -  has taken a bit of trial and error.

My commute is about 40 minutes on a good day, and if I listen to the following tracks in the order given, I usually get to the punchy stuff as I hit the hills, and arrive in time to listen to the plinky-plinky intro to Florence's Dog Days as I coast into the office. I absolutely adore this track; I still remember the first time I ever heard it, back in January 2008, and how blown away I was by it. I still am, and it plays really well towards the end of a ride. Lovely.

There's a couple of "optional" tracks in there, that I might skip over depending on my mood, energy levels or the weather conditions. But they're all great morning tracks; lifting my mood and getting the reluctant blood pumping.

Nerina Pallot, Fires

• Idaho (a great getting-going track)
  
• Learning to Breathe
  

Amy Macdonald, A Curious Thing

• Don't Tell Me That It's Over
  
• Spark
  
• An Ordinary Life
  
• Next Big Thing
  

Arcade Fire, Funeral

• Neighborhood #2 (Laïka)
  
• Rebellion (Lies)

I'm not sure that Arcade Fire's rich instrumentation is suited to the noisy environment of a bike ride, but Rebellion is a fantastic first track of the day:

Sleeping is giving in, no matter what the time isSleeping is giving in, so lift those heavy eyelids

DMX, Grand Champ

• X Gon' Give It To Ya (woof! woof!)

Because, you know, sometimes you just need some rap in your life.

Emmy The Great, First Love

• First Love
  
• Dylan
  

Florence and the Machine, Lungs

• Dog Days Are Over
  

This music has been just about bang-on for the lighter, warmer summer months, but I'm planning a change; something to lift my mood on the greyer days of autumn. I've thinking about adding some Ani DiFrancoin there, which always makes me smile (which makes me pedal harder). Maybe something by The Killers...

What gets you going on your morning ride? Which tracks help you to get home in the evening? Share your favourites in the comments.

What Pragmatic Environmentalism Means to Me Part 1 - My Definition

When I describe myself as a pragmatic environmentalist, I pretty much immediately get asked what I mean by that.

For starters, it's a ten-syllable phrase that's in urgent need of a snappy abbreviation.

(Side note: When I first tried to define these concepts back in 2003, the best I could do was "smart consumption" (just four syllables!); meaning that consumers (you and me) were smart (enlightened) about what they did and how they did it; what they bought (and when) & what they did with it. 

I grant that this phrase doesn't quite cut it either, so for now we'll go with pragmatic environmentalism, PE for short. If you've any suggestions for something less cumbersome, leave a comment below.)

Pragmatic Environmentalism: A Personal Definition

One of the best definitions I've seen comes from the strapline of the (now sadly defunct - at least, no updates since May 2009) pragmatic environmentalist blog:

"Pragmatic Environmentalism is characterized by clear and well-structured argumentation. A pragmatic environmentalist does not concentrate on never-ending ideological debate but on specific problems and feasible solutions."

I like this definition; it's succinct and reasonably understandable. I particularly like the first part, about well-structured argumentation. To my mind, this phrase indicates the process of reasoned decision-making, the active choices that are involved. PE isn't about blindly following trends; it requires figuring out what's the right thing for our individual morals and ethos, our particular situation. But - as the second sentence indicates - PE always seeks to do something, rather than getting hung up on finding the perfect Right Thing To Do. The pragmatic environmentalist delights in getting stuck in, rather than getting stuck in the circular debates that lead to nowhere but choice paralysis.

Pragmatic Environmentalism Celebrates Rather Than Castigates

I think one of the other important things that pragmatic environmentalism brings is the notion of celebrating the very fact of doing something, of taking a stand, rather than the much more common approach - the easier, lazier option - of doing nothing at all.

Pragmatic environmentalism is not a binary proposition, not an all-or-nothing lifestyle.  It's not about living a certain way all the time, and beating ourselves up when we (obviously) don't achieve it for some reason. But it is about enlightened best efforts; about knowing why we choose to take some action, as well as acknowledging the limits of that choice, that there will be times when we're not able to do something we normally would.  Pragmatic environmentalism is about celebrating our successes rather than berating ourselves when we slip.

Perhaps you've heard the phrase: "a lapse is not a relapse", meaning that a single instance of a behaviour does not (and need not) lead to multiple occurrences of that behaviour. The pragmatic environmentalist knows that, every now and then, not everything that could be recycled will get recycled. They don't use these lapses as an excuse not to recycle at all, though; they don't berate and curse themselves for their "failure" on the odd occasion they don't recycle one thing. Instead, they roll with it, and get on with the next time.

A pragmatic environmentalist knows that every positive action they take is one less negative action: every journey without the car reduces their use of fossil fuels, their carbon emissions; every nappy reused is one less in landfill. They know that the balance of their actions is going to be positive.

So you might choose to define PE by acknowledging that

It's better to do something than spend forever worrying about the Right Thing to do (and consequently doing nothing).

and accept the fact that

It's okay not to do something if you understand the consequences of your decision, and you've actively participated in the decision making.

Or, I suppose, you could also say that pragmatic environmentalism is:

Being true to your own (environmental) principles.

In order to achieve this, you need to define your environmental principles; you need to understand what you want to do, why certain things are important to you, why others simply do not fit in your life. Weigh your decisions carefully. Be selective. Prioritise. You might research the various options - pragmatically! Try them out for a period of time, and decide - I mean, actively decide - why you're doing some things rather than others.

Everyone gets to choose what pragmatic environmentalism means to them, to their particular ideals and lifestyle. We all get our own personal definition; a moral choice, a code of conduct. Understanding those choices; accepting that they're often a balance between several conflicting options, the balance that works for us. And then living them, making a real and concrete difference in the ways that we value, that matter to us.

That's worth ten syllables, I think.

Next in part 2: Practical Examples of pragmatic environmentalism in practice.

User Experience Starts Long Before the Front Page

...or the front door, even.

Last weekend, there was an advert in the Sunday Times Travel section - a full page, colour advert - for a company that will fly you 'round less-accessible destinations in Australia in a private plane.  Prices start at over £10,000.  It's a glossy advert, with some nice photography.

It also contains the non-word "passangers" (the eighth word in the second paragraph).

Attention to detail?  Perhaps.  But if I'm going to be flying over a country/continent as large as Australia, in a small aircraft, I want to know that I'm doing so with a company that addresses all the small details.  Especially for a five-figure sum.  Per person.

Some years ago, I requested a brochure from a luxury hotel.  I gave my name and address details, and when the envelope arrived, it was addressed to "Dr Andy Fryer", as I'd put on the contact sheet. Good start.

Unfortunately, the letter inside was addressed to "Mr Andy Fryer".  Worse, because the envelope had a window - the address was printed on the letter within - I was holding a letter addressed to "Dr Andy Fryer" that, a few lines below, began "Dear Mr Andy Fryer".

Attention to detail again?  Indeed.  And I've not stayed at that hotel.  Because for the kind of prices that they charge, I expect the attention to detail to be greater than that.

The point of these (true!) stories is that my user experience with those businesses stopped right there; at the first encounter; in this case, the marketing material.

A user's experience starts before your front door, before your home page.  And ends long after too; impressed customers will talk about their experience with you years after the fact.

Mechanical Problems and Autumnal Clothes

The last mile or so of my Evening Commute is uphill. In the mornings this makes for a gentle introduction to the day; legs spinning, wind rushing past as I accelerate into the day. In the evening, the gradient is a final push, after which home is a deserved and welcome reward.

Last Friday, on the start of the gentle uphill, I had what is affectionately known as a Mechanical.

Coming out of the saddle rather than changing down a gear straight away, I started to exert some power, when I felt and heard the chain slip on the rear sprocket.

Very shortly thereafter the bike ground to a halt and I dismounted with some haste.

A quick inspection of the rear wheel revealed that the rear derailleur sticking through wheel itself; the chain had stuck, broken at the split link, and the mech had sheared off at the natural weak point of the derailleur  hanger. The jockey wheel cage was also warped, and the mudguard had folded where the derailleur had caught against the supports.

In short, and for those less bike-technical, the bike was very definitely not rideable.

So I slung it over my right shoulder and began the hike home, cleats clicking and clacking on the pavement, grateful that I was so close.

This incident is the first of its kind, in over 700 miles this year, and in two decades of cycling. Happily, it was a pleasant evening, and a mile walk with my bike on my shoulder was not unpleasant.

Autumnal Clothes

With the advent of September, the weather has changed for the cooler; a reminder that it's time to check the autumnal wardrobe is still clean and serviceable after a summer of disuse, replacing anything that needs it before the winter gets going.

For me, this means dragging out the waterproof jacket and leggings, and making sure the bib shorts still fit. I may swap to my long finger gloves, or keep the mitts on for a little longer.

It also means checking that my lights are still in working order, and fully charged. With the foggy start last Friday, it's sensible to fit the lights early, and have them on the bike Just In Case. And mudguards need a bit of attention too; there's likely to be more water around, and mudguards will protect both frame and rider from the worst of the filth.

The good news is that all looks well with the autumnal wardrobe so I'm all set for making the most of my riding through the darkening months before winter.

Assuming I get the bike repaired in good time.

Why Countryfile Missed the Point

This week, I was going to write about my definition of pragmatic environmentalism, and what it means to be a pragmatic environmentalist. That'll feature next week, now, as on Sunday 29th August 2010, the BBC's episode of Countryfile featured a segment about seasonal food that got me thinking (and spluttering).

The blurb from the particular segment of the programme is:

Back in the Spring, John Craven investigated what it really means to eat seasonally and looked at the environmental cost of eating un-seasonally. He asked the question "is it better to eat British food grown in heated greenhouses or to eat food flown in from abroad?" One of the UK's leading experts on ‘carbon cost’ gave John some of the answers.

This question is one that has troubled me in the past, and I was interested to see how the programme dealt with it. Especially as they mentioned some research from Bangor University, and had Prof Gareth Edwards-Jones lending credence to the programme with some "answers".

In fact, the segment touched depressingly lightly on a complex topic, was wafer-thin on facts, and drew no conclusions. Indeed, at first glance, the message seemed to be that it's better to buy tomatoes shipped in from Spain than those grown in Britain, and that it's okay to eat beans flown in from Kenya (but only if you've driven to the shops to buy them).

The segment did, I think, successfully make the point that carbon emissions are only one, rather simplistic measure of the environmental cost of food miles. Although Professor Edwards-Jones made a point about the usage (and lack) of water in Spain, it was not taken anywhere.

There then followed a short sequence of John Craven meandering through a few minutes of "climate change as opportunity for home-grown exotic fruit and veg" which was utterly ridiculous.

(I was a bit surprised by the comment on walnuts that "didn't grow in the south of France or Turkey or China". I mean, there's a walnut tree just outside my GP's surgery, here in rural North Wiltshire. Hardly the heart of the Mediterranean climate).

The piece finished with the following words of wisdom:

"But for now, it's a choice between sticking to genuinely seasonal British food, or paying the environmental price for the alternatives."

Which seems like a pretty straightforward choice.

Genuinely seasonal British food will always get my vote, every damn time.

For me, it's a trivially simple decision to buy food from the farm around the corner in preference to food of British-but-unknown-provenance. Or to buy from my local butcher, who can tell me which farm the meat is from, rather than to buy from the supermarket counter.

And I will never, but never, buy beans from Kenya - or produce from abroad that I can buy from Britain (like Canadian cherries, perhaps).

Related articles:

• My definition of pragmatic environmentalism
  
• What it means to be a pragmatic environmentalist
  

Thursday Bonus: Summer's Not Over, and The Apostrophe

I publish articles every Monday (cycling), Wednesday (user experience) and Friday (pragmatic environmentalism). Other days I might write if I've something particularly burning-important to say.
Today, two nibble-size topics in your bonus mouthful.

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I'm Not Giving up on Summer

It's been cooler every morning this week; the temperatures dropping from the low-to-mid twenties during the day time to single-figures overnight. Earlier in the week, there was condensation on the cars and windows when I left the house.

Today, it was again cool; so much so that as I got the bike ready for the Morning Commute, I considered moving to my autumn wardrobe, putting my jacket on.

In the event, I stayed with the arm warmers and I'm glad that I did. Although my fingers were a little cold at the start of the ride, they soon warmed through enough and I enjoyed the ride.

UX and the Apostrophe

Just the other day I received an email entitled "How to Kill Your Brand in One Easy Step", stufffed full of spelling mistakes.

It took me a moment to realise that it wasn't intended as a cautionary example.

The way my brain is wired, spelling mistakes tend to leap out at me. I'm not overly precious about spelling mistakes; I do think, however, that in our digital age it's incredibly easy to run automated spelling checks that will find words that are plain non-existent. I also think it's bordering on inexcusable when someone is making a particular point about their brand, and they stumble over such a small detail.

Another word I see misused a lot is "it's". When used in the possessive, this word does not have an apostrophe - see Wikipedia, for a thorough overview of the topic.

Today, I was disappointed to see this particular mistake over at the excellent UX Booth, reading about how the UX Booth "celebrates it's guest authors" (my emphasis). But not, apparently, its grammar. This made me sad.









User experience is about layers of experience; and such an obvious typo - even such a common one - really stands out.

When Your Client Is Wrong

Contrary to the old adage, your client is not always right. No matter how "client-focussed" you think your business is, the fact is that you are the expert (that's why they're employing you, after all) and sooner or later, part of your expertise is going to be needed to save your client from themselves. You're going to have to say "No" to your client in a professional manner, without making them feel stupid.

Your No needs to be reasoned, one that comes with a suggestion for something better - or at the very least, time to have another look at the design to see if there's anything better that can be done.

For businesses where the client can't do the work themselves, or can't see the workings of the system, this situation is less common; it's rare (but not unheard of) for clients to look at code and take it upon themselves to tell developers how to implement a solution, line by agonising line.

When it comes to user experience, however, everyone and their mother are users; so everyone has an opinion about the user experience. This too often means that clients can take it upon themselves to identify problems, design solutions, and expect you - as resident UX expert - to rubber-stamp your approval of them.

Sometimes - not always, but sometimes - your client gets it wrong. And it's your job to tell them so, as nicely as possible.

Some example scenarios (and how you might say "No" in similar situations) below.

How it starts

You get a call from your client, telling you there's a couple of "usability issues" they want to talk through with you. They've had some feedback from users (good) and they've designed some solutions (uh-oh!) that they want you to check and implement (bad).

The thing is, you realise when you take the meeting (or, more often, when you're called into a meeting halfway through), that the proposed solutions don't work, for one reason or another.

Example Scenario 1

Maybe the proposed change moves a navigation button out of the recognisable, familiar navigation area, and into the area used for breadcrumbs and navigation context.
("Yes, I see that action button doesn't seem to fit anywhere else, but your users aren't used to looking for completion routes in that area of the screen. Where you're proposing to put it is inconsistent and confusing. Let's have another look at the intent of that screen.")

Example Scenario 2

Maybe some text has been added to the screen, instructions to help the first time or occasional user; and that has resulted in a muddled screen that's going to confuse first timers and infuriate regular, expert users. In fact, it turns out that the screen was already quite complex, and adding additional elements to it only makes it more so. Time to go back to the design and consider a different approach.
("You're right; it looks a multi-screen process. Perhaps it would be clearer to use a wizard-style step-by-step approach, which expert users can bypass to get to...(a simplified version of) the screen we originally designed.")

Example Scenario 3

Or perhaps the solution breaks one of the guiding principles of the design.
("Yes, I understand that you want the instructions to stand out, but by covention we've only used red for errors. Using that bold red font introduces a jarring inconsistency. Let's have another look at the colour pallet and see if there's another colour we can use.")

These examples all identify real problems experienced by real users; they're the result of user testing (very good!) and do need to be resolved. The point here is that the proposed solution is often too reactive; focussed on solving a specific issue at a micro level, for the particular set of test users that identified the problem. And in doing so the fix damages the user experience for the larger set of users. Or the suggested fix breaks established interaction principles, but "it's okay because it's just this one screen, and that's already a bit special anyway".

In short, whilst they might not realise it, the client is breaking the user experience principles they've signed up to, under the banner of fixing "usability issues". They're effectively picking and choosing; creating exceptions to the design where they see fit. Before you know it, the clear, consistent user experience you've designed and tested is a muddled mess that confuses the whole user community.

In these situations, it's your job to take the step back and consider the holistic view, and tell your client, honestly, what they need to hear: No. You need to put them back on track, save them from themselves, pull them up from the detail.

And yes, you might also need to re-consider the user experience design following the user feedback; as Steve Krug says, there really is no substitute for user testing.

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How often do you come up against situations like this? And how do you manage your clients and preserve your professionalism?