When I was growing up workshop meant the shed out the back where my Dad repaired wind instruments and fashioned our kitchen cupboards from scrap wood and old insulator crates from the railway. Where the tools were well-kept and tidy and there was a smell of swarfega.
Last January when we looked back over the Social Reporting posts that had struck us particularly, we'd been going just three months and there were 'only' 90 to choose from. This year there are around 300, so the four pieces I've chosen here represent under 1% of the total. But that's just the stats.
For many of us, at least in the modern UK, the very concept of livelihood is in transition. In this week’s posts on the subject so far, one recurrent theme emerges: as the one secure job/career/pension for life becomes less common, some people are developing ‘multiple pathways for meeting their needs’.
There is an oak I go to visit. Sometimes I just go there and sit under its huge spreading crown, and look over the fields and we keep each other company. Sometimes I visit when I feel fractious or discombobulated, or when a certain restlessness happens. I always greet the tree. Then I sit down and wait.
We live in a society and culture that is shot through with class and hierarchy. We are brought up living and breathing it whether we like it or not, with our monarchies and corporate pyramids, line managers, owners, renters, professionals, masters, servants, wage-slaves, the woman who has and the woman who does.
In today’s post I’m taking a look at communications in the Transition N(n)etwork. And whichever way you look at it, in CAPS or in lower case, it’s about people. Transition doesn’t exist without people doing stuff; neither do communications nor networks.