Against our values as a company

I’m going to pick on Patreon, not because they’re special, but because they’re typical. Here is a quote from a blog post in which they Back-pedalled a change to their pricing structure:

We overstepped our bounds and injected ourselves into that relationship, against our core belief as a business.

What I think they want us to hear is “this was a surprising event that normally wouldn’t happen because it’s important to us that other things happen instead”. What I actually hear is that management at companies like this is at best asleep at the wheel, at worst Github/Uber levels of arrogant and ignorant. Either way, new management is needed.

It’s fine to mistakes. It’s fine for someone acting in what they believe to be the best way aligned with their company’s goals and mission to do something out of step, that gets detected and corrected. That’s good management: trust, but verify. On the other hand, this is not an intern sending out an off-tone tweet. For a whole organisation to pivot its business model, create the marketing message, release the marketing message, and schedule the implementation of the new model…either management were involved and didn’t notice or care how broken it all was, or management are not involved and the whole company works around them.

When you want to sweep bad actions under rug of misalignment with your core belief as a business, think about what it means that your business isn’t taking your core belief as a business on board.

Culture Smell

A phrase I used in a discussion today. Developers are familiar with “code smells”, aspects of a codebase that aren’t necessarily wrong but do make you take a deeper look. By analogy, a culture smell surprising, but not necessarily wrong, behaviour on a team that should make you wonder what motivations lead to that behaviour, and what to change to remove or redirect those motivations.

It’s easy to get the wrong idea about culture though. Familiar with the developer concept of pure functions, some organisations seem to operate on the belief that by defining some principles and printing motivational posters, they can ensure conformant behaviour. Or that “the culture” is a concrete device that employees buy into.

Culture is the more slowly-varying norms established by the interactions between group members. You can guide, and lead, and of course admonish or eject, but you can’t control. As a result, more culture signals are “smells” than problems: what you see may not look right, but you have to explore more.

In defence of large teams

Seen on the twitters:

1) Bad reasons why tech startups have incredibly large mobile teams even though from an engineering perspective they don’t need it.
This is the No True Scotsman fallacy, as no true software department needs more than, say, 20 people.

I’m not going to get into the details of what you do with hundreds of mobile engineers. Suffice it to say that the larger-team apps I’ve worked on have been very feature rich, for better or worse. And that’s not just in terms of things you can do, but in terms of how well you can do them. When you in-source the small details that are important to your experience, they become as much work to solve as the overall picture.

Make a list of the companies that you think have “too big” a mobile software development team. Now review that list: all of those companies are pretty big and successful, aren’t they? Maybe big enough to hire a few hundred developers to work on how their customers access their products or services? No true software department needs to be that successful.

And that’s what I think of as the underlying problem with the “your team’s too big, you’re doing it wrong” fallacy: it’s part of the ongoing narrative to devalue all software. It says that your application can’t possibly be worth enough to spend all that developer time on. After all, mine isn’t, and I’m a true software developer.


My current record of FOSDEM attendance sees me there once per decade: my first visit was in 2007 and I’m having breakfast in my hotel at the end of my second trip. I should probably get here more often.

Unlike a lot of the corporate conferences I’ve been to in other fields, FOSDEM is completely free and completely organised by its community. An interesting effect of this is that whole there’s no explicit corporate presence, you’ll see companies represented if they actually support free and open source software as much as they claim. Red Hat doesn’t have a stand, but pick up business cards from the folks at CentOS, Fedora, GNOME, ManageIQ…

When it comes to free software, I’m a jack of many trades and a master of none. I have drive-by commits in a few different projects including FreeBSD and clang, and recently launched the GNUstep developer guide to add some necessary documentation, but am an expert nowhere.

That makes FOSDEM an exciting selection box of new things to learn, many of which I know nothing or little about. That’s a great situation to be in; it’s also unsurprising that I know so little as I’ve only been working with free software (indeed, any software) for a little over a decade.

Something old, something new

Sometimes, what you want out of a software system is something
unexciting. Something proven to work, that’s well-understood, and has
had all of the kinks smoothed out over years (or even decades) of

Of course, what you get when that’s what you want is something like
Unix. Where the thing it was designed for…well, let’s not pretend
Unix was ever designed. The
thing it was used for – hosting the runoff typesetting system that is
only applied these days to formatting its own manual – is so far from
its current application as a
bootloader sitting between your other bootloader and the thing you’re using your computer for
that you can’t understand why someone would think the same thing would
be used for both purposes.

And you find that the kinks have not been ironed out so much as, well,
baked in. The limitation that processes communicate via an untyped
character stream with unspecified eight-bit encoding is not a
limitation, it’s
a design philosophy.

So what you really want to do is to throw away all of that cruft,
all of the mistakes of the past, and go somewhere new. Somewhere
exciting. Somewhere…like node.js? Well no,
JavaScript is of course far from new and exciting, even
the jokes about it are
years old now.

OK, so bad example, but maybe you have your own counter-example. The
one true environment that will be used for all future software. Well,
at least for the next nine months, before its killer comes along.

Of course, what you get when that’s what you want is another rewrite
of all of the things that were working anyway. Your new environment
probably comes with a package manager written from scratch in the new
language, when there was really nothing much wrong with CPAN.

Keeping on the programming theme, because that’s what we tend to make
computering out of, most languages that have any traction these days
almost certainly have C language bindings. So it’s no surprise that
the most popular open source projects are all written in C…

…OK, now that you’ve stopped laughing and got your breath back, you
can appreciate that actually the lingua franca of modern (ahem)
operating systems is not used to cut through the babel of other
programming languages, but just to write their runtimes. Because
that’s what C is good at: secure, bounds-checked execution

And you can also appreciate that all of the novelty of the new shiny
is used to rewrite the things that already existed and already worked,
replacing them with new implementations that work in surprising ways
(and don’t work in surprising ways, too).

There’s good in the old. There’s bad in the new. There’s bad in the
old, and good in the new, too. There are plenty of social, political,
economic, and – maybe – technical factors in whether the old survives,
or the new thrives. Arguments for the old or the new for their own
sake are facile and misguided.

Apple’s Best Programming Language

My talk at App Builders 2016 was on Apple’s best programming language. Spoiler alert: it’s Dylan. Or is it?

I chose a few properties one might wish to find in programming languages, then demonstrated how these were all present in the Dylan language. I also took a dig at certain other languages, which do things in ways that could be seen as less good than Dylan’s. For example, did you know that there’s a programming language out there which distinguishes constant from variable values with the words let and var, rather than using the arguably more readable constant keyword?

Now here’s a thing: of course there are many things iOS app programmers could have been using if we didn’t want to use Objective-C, without the addition of Swift. Indeed, a few months before Swift was introduced I enumerated some of these alternatives on this very blog. However, many of us chose to use Objective-C rather than any of the alternatives, and then chose Swift when that alternative was presented.

Similarly, Apple could have pursued any of those alternatives, and indeed did pursue quite a few of them. What would the world look like if Apple had invested in MacRuby? It would have Swift in it, we know that because they did and it does.

At the end of my talk, I invited the conference to discuss what it was particularly about Swift that led to its brisk success, when it can be considered equivalent to many existing alternatives in numerous ways. Here are some of the suggestions (none of them from me, all from the audience):

  • marketing
  • evangelism
  • LLVM
  • Apple now isn’t the same as Apple in Dylan’s time
  • “Halo effect” from iOS
  • people only want to use first-party tools
  • Objective-C pain provided the opportunity
  • big enough community to reach critical mass

That leads me to wonder how closely related the conditions for “better” and the conditions for “accepted” are, whether there are “better” things out there for programmers that haven’t been adopted, whether those things truly are better, and how aware we all are of the distinction between being better and being popular when we make engineering choices.

Week six

This is a post about marmalade.

A “life hack”, if you will, that I learnt from Simon Stewart is to find things that I don’t do because I don’t like them, or think I don’t like them, and to do them. Do them again. Find out whether there’s anything to like about them, whether I missed something important, or whether my tastes have simply changed.

That is why breakfast this weekend featured the phrase “could you pass the marmalade, please, I don’t like it”.

This is not a post about marmalade.

Programming is not a craft

I agree with this, programming is not a craft by Dan North.

So here’s my concern with the idea of Software Craftsmanship. It’s at risk of letting programmers’ egos run riot. And when that happens… well, the last time they went really nuts we got Web Services, before that J2EE.


The best software should be understated and unobtrusive (as, maybe, should be the best programmers).


It’s been almost a year since my first day at Facebook, sitting in an overcrowded meeting room with my bootcamp class because 42 Earlham Street was full and it’d be another week before we moved to 10 Brock Street, with its gargantuan empty spaces (which are no longer empty: nearly half the company has joined since I started).

How has that year been, you ask? Hard. It’s been hard. Fun, worthwhile, educational, exciting, but hard. Facebook is very different from any company I’ve worked at before: it’s bigger, it’s faster, it’s more ambitious. Everything I had learned about making software outside the company was…well no, not wrong, certainly not wrong. But it was perhaps inapplicable. Facebook does things differently, I can’t immediately have impact by doing what I did at my other employers, how can I cope with this?

When you’re used to the life of minor engineering celebrity, where people go to conferences because you’re on the bill, and your pithy statements on programming get retweeted up the wazoo, it’s easy to get hubristic. I did: I know what I’m doing, the engineers here don’t yet know that, and there will be a glorious revelation when I bring the two tablets (an iPad and a Galaxy Note 10, I don’t know) down from the mountain, sell everyone in the company a copy of my book and we all start doing things The Right Way™.

That wasn’t going to work. Not because what I wanted to do couldn’t work, but because I was starting from the wrong place. How many billion-dollar companies had I written software for when I started at Facebook? None. So who was I to say that my way of writing software was “right”? All I could say was that it definitely felt right.

What I had to learn to move past this was that Facebook works on data. If I can show that there’s time being lost, or bugs being introduced, or run times being lengthened, and that what I want to do would save time, or catch bugs, or speed things up, then Facebook will listen.

The opposite of “my way is not incontrovertibly correct” is not “my way is incontrovertibly incorrect”, but it was easy to come to that conclusion too, and to rage-quit the idea of having any effect here. I think I avoided this, but I also think I came pretty close to it. I could easily have decided that while I don’t like Facebook’s way, I need to suck it up and work that way. That’s wrong for the same reason that trying to boil Facebook’s oceans was wrong: just as what I’m used to doing isn’t necessarily correct, what Facebook is doing isn’t necessarily correct. There’s room for change.

Indeed, Facebook engineering is far from change-averse. Everything is set up to let you make changes, from the extreme collective code ownership (“bored changing the code you normally work on? Change the rest of it!”) to incident review (“OK, that change wasn’t the best, let’s see what we can learn from it”).

So, it took me a long time, perhaps longer than it should: I used my first year to realise that I can change Facebook and Facebook can change me, and the way we’ll make this happen is by showing each other how the changes will make us better. Now, as David Bowie said, it’s time to turn and face the strange.

Inspired by Swift

Gulliver meets the Oopers

Lemuel Gulliver’s world was black. No light, no sound, infinite darkness and solitude. Am I dead?, he asked himself. No, surely not. He opened his eyes.

Still, everything remained black. My God, I am dead! Lemuel Gulliver began to panic. Then, slowly, he realised that panicking itself meant life: My heart is pounding, he thought, therefore it must be beating. Life! Sweet, God-given, beautiful life! But what sort of life is it, to live as a man dead?

Memory failed him but in bursts, though those bursts helped him understand his predicament. Yes, a shipwreck. But he had got into a lifeboat, which had carried him precariously through the swell of the storm.

Of course, the lifeboat! Gulliver raised his hand, and laughed loudly to himself as it hit the planks. He was on land, and it was the upturned lifeboat had given the impression of his premature trip to Hades. He pushed with all of his strength, and shifted the boat over to lie beside him on the beach.

For minutes he lay still. His eyes needed to adjust, his arms to recover, and his mind to regain some composure. Once the blackness of the lifeboat and the whiteness of the sudden return to light had begun to balance, he appraised his condition. It was indeed a beach upon which he lay, marked with dunes and occasional tufts of a tall grassy plant. The water, which apparently had once been turbulent enough to deposit his unconscious self along with its inverted boat some way up the beach, now was smooth and still.

To his right, behind one of the dunes, he could make out rooves denoting that a settlement was not far away. One in particular, a great grey spire, stood out like a flagstaff. Realising that he needed water, food and assistance, Gulliver uneasily got up and started walking toward the town.

As he crested the dune he became aware of another walker, making her way along a path that would bring her closer and heading like him in the direction of the town. He got to the path and waited for her to approach.

“Hello, madam, I don’t mean to burden you but find myself in innumerable difficulties. I’m a traveller who has got himself shipwrecked in this country, and who finds himself in need of water, provisions and other assistance. Can you help me?”

The woman stopped, smiled at him, then executed a perfect curtsey before she replied. “Good day to you, sir, and is not the weather fine? My name is Kaye Allen, delighted to meet you. I’m sorry to hear about your problems and certainly want to help, please come with me to our home, where my husband and I will feed you and lodge you while you make your arrangements.”

Gulliver introduced himself and thanked her heartily for her generosity. Together they walked towards the town, the flagstaff spire always ahead of them. Kaye Allen was engrossed during much of the walk in the task of writing postcards: many of them addressed to different people each containing short messages. Gulliver asked about the spire, and she answered but not before finishing the current postcard, and packing away it and her pen.

“It is best that you not inquire about such things, sir. That building is associated with immorality and debasement, and it would not be becoming for an Ooper to associate with the sort found there.”

“An Ooper, madam? Pardon me but I have never encountered that word before. What is an Ooper?”

“Why, Mr. Gulliver, I am an Ooper, my husband is an Ooper, and indeed our whole community is comprised of Oopers. It is our religion, our philosophy, and our way of life. But let us not talk of that now. There will be time enough later. Let us now make our way onward, the afternoon draws on.”

The rest of their walk to the Allens’ house was mostly without event, though once a man approached them to ask the time. Gulliver thought there was something odd about Mrs. Allen’s reply, though he could not determine what it was as it seemed polite enough. She stopped, smiled at the man, then executed a perfect curtsey before she replied. “Good day to you, sir, and is not the weather fine? My name is Kaye Allen, delighted to meet you. I believe the time to be something after five of the clock, see the sun already begins to set.”

As the twilight drew in they arrived at last at the house. Kaye’s husband was already in, and he greeted Gulliver warmly. He smiled, then executed a perfect bow before saying “Good day to you, sir, and is not the weather fine? My name is Turmo Allen, delighted to meet you. Please, find the wash room upstairs and feel welcome to borrow some clothes, while we prepare dinner.”

Gulliver felt better for a wash and a change of clothes, but not so much improved as he did when they sat down to eat. While the food was simple, it was plentiful and he had no conception of how long it was since he had last eaten. The Allens were very precise about setting the table. Before each dish was served, the fork would be placed on the left of the setting just so. Then the knife to the right, just so. Then the water glass, just so, and filled with water from the pitcher, just so. Finally the dish was brought, placed just so in the centre of the setting, and they would sit, pick up first the fork then the knife, and begin eating.

Gulliver asked about this Oopers religion that Kaye had mentioned, and found Turmo to be most effusive on the topic.

“We Oopers live our lives according to the books of the lady Adele of the golden mountain. The legends say that many centuries ago, before the Oopers, the people of this region were simple backwards folk who believed strongly in superstition. They spent their time in constructing procedures for each other to follow, such procedures becoming more baroque and complicated with time. Even in emergencies and when under attack, if they had begun one of their procedures then needs must it be finished.

“One day, so we are told, a hot air balloon of many colours landed in the market place of this very town. The occupants declared themselves to be emissaries of a wonderful place, a tall tower of ivory on an island far away. They said that they too had previously been enslaved by their procedures, but that they had freed themselves through enlightenment and that they could teach this freedom to our forebears.

“One of their number was the lady Adele of the golden mountain, and it is she who wrote their teachings in the books that have come down through the generations, yea even to us, and taught us the lessons of these people of the balloon. You have seen my wife, Kaye, writing many postcards for her correspondents both near and far?”

“Why, Mr. Gulliver, I have even written one for you.”

“The people of the balloon taught us that complex procedures can be avoided, and our community can function together better, if we instead send each other messages. Our whole philosophy and way of life is based on this message-sending. It has delivered us from the oppression of our procedures, enlightened our society, and advanced us immeasurably.”

Gulliver interrupted at this point. “Thank you, sir, for your most edifying explanation, and thank you madam for your message. May I read it?”

Mrs. Allen laughed. “That would not do at all, Mr. Gulliver! Due process must be observed. See, I have gathered all of the cards that I have written so far today. Tomorrow morning I will take them to the post office, and there they will be despatched to their recipients. Including you! Once you have formally received your card, then you may read your message. Not before!”

“But is that not an example of the sort of procedure you say belonged to the simple times of your forebears? Is that not unnecessarily convoluted and slow, as you could simply tell me the message now or give me the card?”

“No, sir, it is not. We Oopers have done away with the procedure, and replaced it with this simple act of message sending.”

“Then why not give me your message now?”

“That would not do at all, Mr. Gulliver! Due process must be observed.”

Gulliver could sense his own frustration mounting, and thought it prudent to change the subject. Unfortunately in his haste he forgot Mrs. Allen’s reaction to his previous enquiries regarding the spire, and that is the topic to which he next turned.

“It is best for you if you avoid that place, sir,” Mr. Allen quickly responded. “It is a Church, a building associated with the debased Phuncers and their heretical acts. No true Ooper would go there, and it would not do for you to be tainted by their evil ways. Now let us talk no more of them.”

Gulliver recognised that he was not being the most gracious or entertaining of guests, so did not suggest any further metiere for their conversation. In the absence of his conversational selections there was nothing for the Allens to respond to, so the rest of the dinner proceeded in silence until they all departed to bed.

Escaping to the Phuncers

Morning breakfast passed much as evening dinner had. While the Allens were polite enough, Gulliver found it infuriating to deal not only with their strange, repetitive rituals but also with their insistence that they had left such procedure behind. He quizzed them upon this topic.

“You say that the Oopers have freed themselves from the shackles of procedure, yet I observe you both greet me using exactly the same set of rules. Do you not see that this itself is procedure?”

“No, sir, you miss the subtlety that was taught by Adele of the golden mountain. See, while we each say an identical greeting to you, my husband bows before doing it while my action is to curtsey. All people say the greeting, but specifically those people who are men perform a bow while those people who are women perform a curtsey. This ability to make more specific amendments is what liberated the Oopers.”

“But still, all you are doing is executing this procedure!”

“I wish, sir, that I had more time to discuss this with you. But now I must attend to my messages.”

With that, Kaye Allen returned to her postcards and Lemuel Gulliver, with more civility and politeness than he felt, thanked her for the hospitality he had received which in fact had been generous and left their abode hastily. His aim was to discover his location and how he might return home.

Once he was outside, his eyes were once again drawn to that strange spire, the Church by which his hosts had been so repulsed. Perhaps here he would find some useful information, or at least a different insight into this unique land. Resolved to learn more, he set out in the direction of the Church.

As he walked the mile or so to the tall building, he saw plenty of Oopers, recognised by their strange rituals and their stacks of message cards. The closer he came to his goal, however, the thinner their numbers, and when he finally arrived at the huge quadrangle outside the Church there was not one Ooper to be seen.

That is not to say that the square was empty, but clearly the people here were of a different background. They were gathered into groups, usually comprising four to six people, who criss-crossed the square purposefully in files. Perhaps these were the Phuncers he had been told about. Gulliver proceeded toward the Church to learn more.

Outwardly, the Church reminded him in passing of some of the religious institutions he remembered from his home. Indeed where his own house of prayer signed its identity with the Greek letters alpha and omega, this Church even had a similar symbol: the letter lambda. Confident that he was on somewhat familiar territory, he entered.

Gulliver started when, just inside the doorway before his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, he almost bumped into a file of a half dozen people who were on their way out. He mumbled an apology, then introduced himself.

“My name is Lemuel Gulliver, what is your name please?” If the lead person in the file heard him, she did not make it evident. She consulted a clipboard she was holding, made a note on it, then whispered something to the second person in the file. He did the same, and so on down the line. Finally the person at the back checked his clipboard, made a note, and replied “How do you do? My name is Alonso.”

Gulliver was not certain what had just happened. Perhaps the woman to whom he had addressed himself had not heard him clearly. He cleared his throat, and repeated: “My name is Lemuel Gulliver, what is your name please?” Again, she looked at her clipboard. This time, though, she apparently saw something that satisfied her (Gulliver could not be certain, but he thought she was looking at the note she had just made moments earlier) and showed that to the man behind her. He, in his turn, found the corresponding note on his board and showed it to the third. As before, it was the last of them who replied “How do you do? My name is Alonso.”

While this was happening, Gulliver had been able to take a look at the lead woman’s board. It was full of fragments of conversations, the left column apparently representing sentences that had been uttered to her (see! There is the very greeting I introduced myself with, written at the end of the page!) and so he guessed that the second column was the list of responses she had passed on to her colleague. Gulliver surmised that this tally represented an efficiency of sorts: by remembering all of her previous discussions, she could show her friends the answers she had previously given without having to construct them anew.

Conversation was, understandably, engaged at a slow pace. All the while Gulliver addressed himself to the woman at the front of the file; all the while she passed the discussion back through the chain of six; all the while Alonso (he assumed that this name referred to the ultimate member of the group) issued the responses.

“Tell me, is this the place of the Phuncers?”

“Why yes, this Church is our holy building, and you are welcome within it.”

“I hope to learn something of your people. Why is it that you carry on in these files?”

“One of the oldest tenets of the Phuncer creed is that a person has more capability as a member of a group than as an individual. By composing our different abilities we become more efficient.”

“I see, that is an interesting philosophy. When did it arise?”

Here, an interesting modification to the usual process occurred. As before, the question was passed back through the file and the notes were made, but the fourth person made a record, then put their board down, picked it up anew and read back that note. Making another, they repeated the process. And again. (Gulliver could just about see the board, and it seemed that they had written the symbols “1 +” over and over.) Finally satisfied, they passed the whisper on again until Alonso could give a response.

“It was six decades ago that our movement came into being.”

“What was the purpose behind its creation?”

“Back before we were liberated, the people of this part were oppressed by a government that forced people into performing all manner of complicated and perverse rituals and procedures. Our forebears sought to free us from these procedures, from the imperatives coming from the State.”

“And is your number many?” (Again, the repeated setting and resetting of the clipboard.)

“When first we started we were few. We formed a commune that sought to minimise State interference within its boundaries, and to achieve self-sufficience. Recently our number has become bolstered, and even those among the heathen Oopers have joined us and learned from our teachings.”

“And has this surge in membership changed your position?”

“We are now so numerous that our whole conception has changed. Rather than seeking to reduce interaction with the State, we intend to overthrow it completely. Yea, anarchy! But not the chaos that you may associate with it. Compositions of individuals each performing their prescribed function can yield a higher order.”

This last response had taken longer than usual for the group to formulate. Whereas before they had communicated with each other, one after the other, in building their response, they had needed outside help here. One of their file broke rank, and went out from the Church into the square. There, Gulliver saw that he approached a besuited woman, greeted her politely, then a complicated exchange of handshakes, papers and stamps ensued. When this procedure was complete he discussed something (Gulliver assumed the current conversation between himself and Alonso’s group) with her a while. On concluding this business he raised his hat, returned to the file and continued the whisper game.

“Who was that person with whom your colleague discoursed then?”

“She is a civil servant. We occasionally need to engage their help in carrying on our business.”

“You mean she represents the State?”

“Yes, quite so. They can be very helpful in our achievement of our aims.”

“But didn’t you say that you were planning to replace the State?”

“Planning? Yea, it is our very destiny! All trappings of State will be dissolved and a functional order, a higher order, will take its place.”

At this, Gulliver realised that he was not getting much further than in his discussions with the Oopers previously. He bade his interlocutors farewell, and returned to the square.

All around, he saw the Phuncers, and all around, they reminded him very much of the procedures that they, as the Oopers, claimed to have left behind. The way they followed each other around in files. The recording previous discussions in their clipboards. The convoluted discussions with civil servants.

They shared other traits with the Oopers: their claim that they had moved beyond the things that they still actually practiced every day, and the complete refusal to accept nor even see that this was the case. This gave Gulliver a start: maybe there was something both groups had in common, some shared memory that accounted for their commonalities? He had to find out more.

Gulliver unravels

As Gulliver pondered this strange town and its inhabitants, he found himself back in Ooper territory. This was unsurprising as there were many more Oopers than Phuncers that he had seen since his shipwreck. He also realised that he was at the University, with the buildings somewhat coarsely modeled on the ivory tower that the Allens had described to him. This presented perhaps the best opportunity he had to understand this place. He looked for signs and campus maps, and eventually located the library.

Realising that there were political implications to his research, he asked the librarian for the writings of Adele of the golden mountain and associated criticisms and commentaries. She happily met his greeting (a curtsey, then “Good day to you, sir, and is not the weather fine?”), went away and brought back a whole stack of books which he took to his desk. There were the books by Adele herself, and contemporary discussions such as “Oopism: An Evolutionary Approach” (some wag of a student had subtitled this “On the Origin of Classes by Means of Artificial Selection”) and Bertrand de la Tour’s “Oopist Construction”, which seemed to have been written by a contract lawyer. There were also more modern interpretations of the earlier texts, such as Cecil R. Martin’s “Clean Living” and “Clean Liver”.

But this was not enough to satiate Gulliver’s curiosity. Once the librarian had returned to her postcards, he paged through the catalogue to try and find anything on the Phuncers and their foundation. There was nothing explicit, but “Religion: Heresies” and “Politics: Anarchy” seemed appropriate places to look. He soon discovered a couple of likely tomes: “The Structure and Interpretation of Careful Phuncism” and “Concepts in Political Languages”.

And so Gulliver read. There was to much to read in one sitting, but he also didn’t want to risk the Ooper librarian seeing all of his material. He hid books behind shelves, rushed out to the University’s refectory to get a brief meal and slept in a corner of the campus. For three days he read, living like a hybrid of a hermit and a monk.

The more he read, the more he was shocked: he was reading the same thing in two different places! Each collection of material described the problems that had beset the town when the focus had been on procedures, and lay out a manifesto for moving beyond this situation. Each manifesto was broadly the same: break the procedures into focussed skills; find individuals who are good at those skills and give them the single responsibility of working in that skilled area; compose teams that can more efficiently complete large tasks by combining their skill areas.

At some point, then, the two had declared a holy war. Each knew that their own approach was correct and the other was heretical. But what was the source of their disagreement? Gulliver thought back to a previous encounter, in which two peoples considered each other mortal enemies due to their choice of which end of a boiled egg to eat first. At least, he thought to himself, those people disagreed on something.