Lunching with a friend the other day we got onto the thorny issue of class and, not least, its connection with personal progress. Just how big a barrier is it? Are the English stymied by class from the word go – a very relevant question with an Eton boy now in 10 Downing Street and a Westminster boy as his deputy?
We decided the answer is “no”, as long as you can adapt and adopt the ways of the upper middle classes, the key group of people “running” the UK. As with my earlier post on “adopting group norms” in order to fit in, giving those you want to impress the required (or acquired) certainty that you are of the “right stock” may be to your ultimate advantage.
Both my friend and I decided we were “upper lower-middle class”, which we came to define as people from a lower-middle class background who had managed to fool the upper-middle classes that we belonged in their camp. Yet we then got into listing the give-away signs that reveal you as from the right side of the tracks. That you are truly of the Upper-Middle Classes (rather than - like my friend and I - as arrivistes trying to bluff our way in).
Here were our thoughts:
1) Cars: The U-MCs drive a battered Volvo, or similar such car. Not for them the “flash mowtaa” of the wide boy, oh no. Cars are for ferrying kids and animals and large implements over potentially tough terrain – so something old, muddy and big is a must.
2) Media: Depending on their prejudices they may read various broadsheets but, at home, they all listen to Radio 4. In fact, the U-MCs may have R4 broadcasting away in several rooms simultaneously – some that have been unoccupied for weeks. The only acceptable alternative to R4 is Radio 3, perhaps playing quietly in a recess with a snoozing dog. And while our U-MCs shun the TV soaps (in fact shun anything on ITV), keeping up with the plot of The Archers is de rigueur.
3) Jobs: Mum doesn’t have one. This may seem old fashioned but, while the kids are school age, most mums are stay-at-home (yet still employ cleaners and nannies and the odd au pair). In this respect, qualifications – or past career highlights – are largely irrelevant (although she usually keeps her contact base up to date and the school PTA is staggeringly over-managed).
4) Animals: U-MC families tend to like them. Dogs and cats seem to co-habit in this world (perhaps both realising when they are well off and suspending their usual hostilities). Dogs tend to be Labradors or something else child friendly, and don’t be surprised if the odd horse, pig – or even flock of rare sheep – is loitering around somewhere in the background. Yet the opposite is true of plants – at least the indoor variety. Pot plants, I discovered to my embarrassment, are a distinctly lower-middle class taste.
5) Cooking: U-MC houses all smell of the most divine home cooking, usually prepared by the stay-at-home mum. Certainly, I’ve had to develop a tolerance for garlic (in both the primary and secondary sense). And while both men and women are accomplished foodies, they do occasionally follow a recipe, although the distinctly upper-crust intonation of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall is preferred to the estuarial fruitiness of Jamie Oliver. Gordon Ramsay, meanwhile, is Scottish, working class and far too foul-tempered to be acceptable.
6) Kitchen: Perhaps oddly, the kitchen is the hub of the U-MC house (something French visitors find curious). In fact family life is often focused on a large kitchen table. And, like a branch of Starbucks, this table is capable of hosting several potentially-conflicting meetings or activities simultaneously.
7) TV: Not in the main living room (which U-MCs call the sitting room – never the “lounge”). While the latest model, TVs are usually small and tucked away in a “snug” – often a wood-panelled room with lots of yellowing books, soft furnishings and a real fire (again, often roaring away to itself).
8) Children: There are usually more than two. Peculiarly, the demographic curve for childbirth is very much U-shaped. So while the lower- and middle-middle classes produce one, two or – increasingly – no children, the U-MCs are breeding for England. It’s their badge of honour, especially if the aim is to privately educate the lot of them. Children to the U-MCs are like sports cars to a lottery winner: to be collected and displayed.
9) Arty kids: U-MC offspring all have a creative bent that many now pursue as a career – though rarely profitably. In fact, the entire concept of money is a weird one to the U-MCs. I’ve written about this before but the U-MCs have a strange attitude to their wealth: despite their obvious cash the acquisition of it is viewed as an evil. Indeed, most U-MC families only really know they’ve made it once the kids start spouting opinions somewhere to the left of Fidel Castro (please refer to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs for an explanation).
10) Talents. U-MCs can all play musical instruments. In fact they can all play sports to a high standard – especially tennis, skiing and rugby and anything to do with horses (golf being a bit M-MC) – speak several languages (and certainly French), understand the basics of carpentry, gardening and animal husbandry and play bridge, chess and something called fives. Skills all acquired while the rest of us were watching Scooby-doo and playing knock-down ginger.
Good luck with the integration!
Showing posts with label Radio 4. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Radio 4. Show all posts
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Thursday, December 9, 2010
It’s the faux morality of the media that irritates
As a journalist turned PR (via banking) I’m often asked whether I miss journalism. Sometimes is the answer, although I do plenty of writing, which was the bit I loved most. In fact I love the media and still enjoy my role in it. What I don’t miss, however, is the faux morality of journalism, which I was reminded of again this week following James Naughtie’s slip of the tongue on Radio 4’s Today programme. For those who missed it, Naughtie made the classic near-Spoonerist mistake of mixing up the letters of Culture Secretary Jeremy Hunt’s name to produce the one Anglo-Saxon word that taste still precludes from everyday usage. Inexplicably, Andrew Marr then repeated the mistake on Start the Week.
This is pretty harmless stuff, although their apologies – through suppressed guffawing – was the bit that reminded me of the media’s faux morality. These were clearly not heartfelt apologies, which is fine for the media-savvy cognoscente – no offence was really meant by the gaffs. But my guess is that it was the apologies – not the inadvertent swearing – that would have compounded, rather than relieved, any offence caused to more sensitive ears.
I realise this sounds petty, especially from an Essex lad who would have used the gerund of the “f” word to introduce every noun as a schoolboy, but I’ve had some insight into the other side from knowing, and respecting, my mother-in-law. She is a woman of the 1950s. A Royalist, a churchgoer, an old school Tory who always had great faith in the BBC as the mouthpiece of the nation, until recently. And she wouldn’t have taken offence at Naughtie’s slip. In fact, I doubt she’d have even picked up on it so untuned is her ear to coarse language. Yet the unmeant “apologies” delivered through stifled mirth would have, indeed, offended her. That’s what I mean by the faux morality of the media.
In fact, my only compliant to the BBC was on behalf of my mother-in-law. The 10pm news was immediately preceded by a trailer that was nothing more than a stream of shouted swear words from an actor – beginning and ending with “f**king”. She was obviously shocked and, seeing it from her point of view, I sent an email complaint – pointing out that many people tune in specifically to the 10pm News and your 9.59 and 50 seconds timing for the shouted expletives was pretty inconsiderate if not deliberately provocative. I received one of those “sorry you were offended” non-apologies followed by some nonsense reeking of faux morality. “We take our obligations very seriously with respect to warning viewers of potentially offensive material,” it bleated (or something like it) before excusing themselves with such smug arrogance they may as well have sent a picture of the respondent giving me the finger. It would have certainly been more fitting.
As an ex-journalist, I carry my own guilt in this respect – in fact mine is worse because I caused someone to lose their job. When editor of a business magazine I carried a story regarding the behaviour of a bank that had recently changed direction thanks to the appointment of a new director, brought in from the US. I had no idea regarding the figures, or whether this was a good idea in the long-term. I was going on industry gossip, from rivals. Nonetheless, the tone of the article can be easily surmised by the fact we shamefully accompanied the article with a full-page cover cartoon of the bank – clearly represented in human form – shooting itself in the foot. The director, at the time one of few women directors of a European bank, did not survive the poor publicity.
In fact her departure – which may have been for a host of reasons, not just the article – shocked me into re-evaluating my role as a financial journalist. I admired the sector I reported on and began to feel that I’d betrayed it – with the feeling growing with every congratulatory note or phone call I received from other journos (this was pre-email). Yet when confronted by the bank’s PR, I defended the article on the grounds of “public interest” of course. “Stakeholders in the bank have a right to know” blah – but both he and I knew it was tosh. I’d repeated, exaggerated and luridly expressed industry gossip, and no amount of faux morality was going to cover that up.
What has all this got to do with What’s Stopping You? my book on overcoming fear of failure? Quite a lot, actually, because it’s the media’s treatment of vulnerable people that is most at play when it comes to its faux morality. We may immediately think of Susan Boyle – a woman with very apparent vulnerability who shot to fame because of her extraordinary singing voice – yet she’s fine: her fame should compensate her adequately for her Faustian pact with the media.
My main concern, however, are the 1,000s of failed Susan Boyles who are sucked into the media machine – usually via reality TV – and then destroyed by it. Thinking fame their destiny, they are thrust into the limelight and encouraged to behave outrageously, before being thrown off after some humiliating vote or judgement from a panel of celebs (Big Brother, X-Factor, The Apprentice, Dragon’s Den – are all versions of this).
Of course, as we giggle at the humiliation we are comforted by the notion that they volunteer for this modern-day version of gladiatorial combat. Yet in many cases their dreams of celebrity were the classic avoidance tactics of High-FFs (as I call those with a high fear of failure in my book, and as explained in previous posts). Riddled with insecurities, they assume celebrity will cure them, which makes them willing fodder for a media machine that has found reality TV a cheap and popular genre in an age of proliferating channels and tightening budgets. And, of course, the odd casualty can be dealt with by serious statements of concern, funeral attendance (if it gets that far) and other tactics from the Media Book of Faux Morality.
But not all the victims are “volunteers”, or so easily dealt with. Probably the most shocking example I can remember happened on a local radio station. The expansion of local radio in the UK in the 1980s led to some pretty desperate programming to acquire an audience, one of which was the agony aunt phone-in. Seared into my memory is the call from a recently-widowed woman pouring her heart out over the loss of her husband. “I miss him,” she kept saying, “I just miss him so much, I can’t live without him.” This went on for no more than two minutes (maybe less) before it became clear that, having enjoyed her on-air blubbing at first, she was unlikely to add anything more juicy to the programme.
In fact, her refusal to cheer up was becoming a bit boring, so they cut her off and went to another caller. Concerned this appeared brutal, they later spoke of their deep concern for the woman, and that she’d been passed on to a non-existent back-up team of professional counsellors able to deal with her very specific grief-based agonies. Meanwhile, John in Basildon’s got an erectile disfunction problem he wants to share with the entire county. Faux morality indeed.
This is pretty harmless stuff, although their apologies – through suppressed guffawing – was the bit that reminded me of the media’s faux morality. These were clearly not heartfelt apologies, which is fine for the media-savvy cognoscente – no offence was really meant by the gaffs. But my guess is that it was the apologies – not the inadvertent swearing – that would have compounded, rather than relieved, any offence caused to more sensitive ears.
I realise this sounds petty, especially from an Essex lad who would have used the gerund of the “f” word to introduce every noun as a schoolboy, but I’ve had some insight into the other side from knowing, and respecting, my mother-in-law. She is a woman of the 1950s. A Royalist, a churchgoer, an old school Tory who always had great faith in the BBC as the mouthpiece of the nation, until recently. And she wouldn’t have taken offence at Naughtie’s slip. In fact, I doubt she’d have even picked up on it so untuned is her ear to coarse language. Yet the unmeant “apologies” delivered through stifled mirth would have, indeed, offended her. That’s what I mean by the faux morality of the media.
In fact, my only compliant to the BBC was on behalf of my mother-in-law. The 10pm news was immediately preceded by a trailer that was nothing more than a stream of shouted swear words from an actor – beginning and ending with “f**king”. She was obviously shocked and, seeing it from her point of view, I sent an email complaint – pointing out that many people tune in specifically to the 10pm News and your 9.59 and 50 seconds timing for the shouted expletives was pretty inconsiderate if not deliberately provocative. I received one of those “sorry you were offended” non-apologies followed by some nonsense reeking of faux morality. “We take our obligations very seriously with respect to warning viewers of potentially offensive material,” it bleated (or something like it) before excusing themselves with such smug arrogance they may as well have sent a picture of the respondent giving me the finger. It would have certainly been more fitting.
As an ex-journalist, I carry my own guilt in this respect – in fact mine is worse because I caused someone to lose their job. When editor of a business magazine I carried a story regarding the behaviour of a bank that had recently changed direction thanks to the appointment of a new director, brought in from the US. I had no idea regarding the figures, or whether this was a good idea in the long-term. I was going on industry gossip, from rivals. Nonetheless, the tone of the article can be easily surmised by the fact we shamefully accompanied the article with a full-page cover cartoon of the bank – clearly represented in human form – shooting itself in the foot. The director, at the time one of few women directors of a European bank, did not survive the poor publicity.
In fact her departure – which may have been for a host of reasons, not just the article – shocked me into re-evaluating my role as a financial journalist. I admired the sector I reported on and began to feel that I’d betrayed it – with the feeling growing with every congratulatory note or phone call I received from other journos (this was pre-email). Yet when confronted by the bank’s PR, I defended the article on the grounds of “public interest” of course. “Stakeholders in the bank have a right to know” blah – but both he and I knew it was tosh. I’d repeated, exaggerated and luridly expressed industry gossip, and no amount of faux morality was going to cover that up.
What has all this got to do with What’s Stopping You? my book on overcoming fear of failure? Quite a lot, actually, because it’s the media’s treatment of vulnerable people that is most at play when it comes to its faux morality. We may immediately think of Susan Boyle – a woman with very apparent vulnerability who shot to fame because of her extraordinary singing voice – yet she’s fine: her fame should compensate her adequately for her Faustian pact with the media.
My main concern, however, are the 1,000s of failed Susan Boyles who are sucked into the media machine – usually via reality TV – and then destroyed by it. Thinking fame their destiny, they are thrust into the limelight and encouraged to behave outrageously, before being thrown off after some humiliating vote or judgement from a panel of celebs (Big Brother, X-Factor, The Apprentice, Dragon’s Den – are all versions of this).
Of course, as we giggle at the humiliation we are comforted by the notion that they volunteer for this modern-day version of gladiatorial combat. Yet in many cases their dreams of celebrity were the classic avoidance tactics of High-FFs (as I call those with a high fear of failure in my book, and as explained in previous posts). Riddled with insecurities, they assume celebrity will cure them, which makes them willing fodder for a media machine that has found reality TV a cheap and popular genre in an age of proliferating channels and tightening budgets. And, of course, the odd casualty can be dealt with by serious statements of concern, funeral attendance (if it gets that far) and other tactics from the Media Book of Faux Morality.
But not all the victims are “volunteers”, or so easily dealt with. Probably the most shocking example I can remember happened on a local radio station. The expansion of local radio in the UK in the 1980s led to some pretty desperate programming to acquire an audience, one of which was the agony aunt phone-in. Seared into my memory is the call from a recently-widowed woman pouring her heart out over the loss of her husband. “I miss him,” she kept saying, “I just miss him so much, I can’t live without him.” This went on for no more than two minutes (maybe less) before it became clear that, having enjoyed her on-air blubbing at first, she was unlikely to add anything more juicy to the programme.
In fact, her refusal to cheer up was becoming a bit boring, so they cut her off and went to another caller. Concerned this appeared brutal, they later spoke of their deep concern for the woman, and that she’d been passed on to a non-existent back-up team of professional counsellors able to deal with her very specific grief-based agonies. Meanwhile, John in Basildon’s got an erectile disfunction problem he wants to share with the entire county. Faux morality indeed.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Luke just gave Billy a neural hijacking, or you can call me Shirley
The Today programme on BBC Radio 4 hosted an interesting debate on banker’s bonuses the other morning, although its fascination for me turned out to be different from my expectations.
The debate was between singer, songwriter, campaigner and all round “good bloke” Billy Bragg, and private equity investor, FT columnist and nasty “unrepentant capitalist” Luke Johnson, which means I immediately have to declare my interests. Luke is a friend and business associate, as well as the foreword writer for What’s Stopping You? Meanwhile, the Sage of Barking (or more recently Burton Bradstock) is a songsmith that made a deep impression on me as an angry young man in the 1980s – with many of his lyrics still captured in the dustier recesses of my mind. And I can’t even claim neutrality in the subject of the debate, having spent my entire post-university career sniffing around the City in one guise or another (journo/banker/PR) although my encounters with those legendary bonuses have been all-too brief.
All this gave me an acute interest in the debate. Yet it became of even deeper interest towards the end. Billy Bragg lost the debate, not because he was wrong – he pretty much has the entire population on his side when it comes to lambasting City-excesses including those “obscene” bonuses paid to bailed-out bankers. He lost because he lost his cool. Angered by one of Luke’s comments he unthinkingly and instinctively jumped in with a riposte that was patently nonsense, opening him up for the demolition that was duly delivered.
Billy had become emotional, and it rendered him – and therefore his argument – weak. In fact, he later accepted this as he opened a live debate on the same subject that evening at the British Library (the promotion of which explains the earlier radio interviews). He blamed the early hour of the radio programme and too much caffeine. Certainly, the Today programme suits City workers more than rockstars, and this may have been what did for Billy. Yet my interest was tweaked because it is not everyday you get to listen to someone having a “neural hijacking” on live national radio.
As I state in What’s Stopping You? such neural hijackings are a central cause-and-effect of poor results for those with high fear of failure (High-FFs as I call them). Arriving in the form of a neural surge through the body and triggering a flood of hormones they are the very moments that instantly throw High-FFs and others that may have confidence issues off course. Our primeval instincts of fight-or-flight have been triggered and our base reactions have taken over, with usually negative consequences. We may react with anger or fear but we do not react rationally. We react emotionally. Our uber-rational opponent, meanwhile, spots his or her chance and goes in for the kill. It is the neural equivalent of a boxer hitting the canvas – a game-changing moment where ascendency or otherwise is established. And the bloody-annoying thing for the hijacked is that these moments are entirely self-induced. We deliver our knock-out blow to ourselves, simply because we could not keep our emotions in check.
An important book explaining the causes, and impact, of neural hijackings is Emotional Intelligence by Daniel Goleman. Here’s him describing the hijacking process:
“It is in moments such as these – when impulsive feeling overrides the rational – that the newly discovered role for the amygdale [a part of the brain dealing with emotions] is pivotal. Incoming signals from the senses let the amygdale scan every experience for trouble. This puts the amygdale in a powerful post in mental life, something like the psychological sentinel, challenging every situation, every perception, with but one kind of question in mind, the most punitive: ‘Is this something I hate? That hurts me? Something I fear’. If so – if the moment at hand somehow draws a ‘yes’ – the amygdale reacts instantaneously, like neural tripwire, telegraphing a message of crisis to all parts of the brain.”
Goleman also describes the instant impact these hijackings have on the body. For instance, if our hijacking induces an anger response blood rushes to the hands ready for action. Meanwhile, the heart rate increases and there is a surge of adrenalin and other hormones (such as cortisol). With fear, blood rushes to the skeletal muscles such as the legs, the face blanches and the body momentarily freezes as it decides whether hiding may be a better option than running or fighting. The body is put on general alert, making the hijacked person edgy and unfocused on anything other than the threat or object of anger. Basically, the hijacked person’s rationality and reasoning is, at that moment, shot.
An important aspect here – that Billy will need to be aware of as much as most High-FFs – is that these hijackings are inevitable. Those that react emotionally when triggered are likely to do so for the rest of their lives. There is no instant cure or quick fix that can remove the neural hijacking as a feature for people more emotionally sensitised than others, meaning that we will always have to be on guard for Goleman’s tripwire – catching us when we least expect it and sending us careering down an intensely frustrating alleyway with respect to our dealings with others. What we have to develop – and what What’s Stopping You? devotes considerable effort in attempting to achieve – is a better second response that can, in time and with effort, suppress the external expression of the neural hijacking. And this can, hopefully, reduce in number the occasions we are defeated by our own overly-emotional responses to a hijack-inducing situation.
A final point here concerns the fact I have used someone else – in this case Billy Bragg – to demonstrate a neural hijacking. Given my earlier blog apologising for preaching (Forgive me sinner for I have preached) this may seem like another example where I have strayed into assumption regarding someone else’s thoughts and potential insecurities. I have, but my inspiration here is the fact Billy Bragg admitted to “becoming a little emotional” on the radio when I heard him speak at the British Library later that day. He was clearly embarrassed and seemingly determined not to repeat the error during the live debate with Luke sitting next to him. He didn’t, but I thought I could detect intense concentration in order to avoid being triggered (just my guess – I have no proof of this and I apologise now to Billy Bragg if any of this is wide of the mark).
Certainly, I am not suggesting Billy has high fear of failure, although – as I have written on many occasions – it is rather typical of a High-FF to desire a life of pop-stardom. What I am saying is that, by his own admission, he became emotional during an important debate on something he feels passionately about. And I am almost certain he regrets doing so not least because it destroyed his reasoning. But he had no choice, he was triggered. And if what followed was not the consequence of a neural hijacking, you can call me Shirley.
The debate was between singer, songwriter, campaigner and all round “good bloke” Billy Bragg, and private equity investor, FT columnist and nasty “unrepentant capitalist” Luke Johnson, which means I immediately have to declare my interests. Luke is a friend and business associate, as well as the foreword writer for What’s Stopping You? Meanwhile, the Sage of Barking (or more recently Burton Bradstock) is a songsmith that made a deep impression on me as an angry young man in the 1980s – with many of his lyrics still captured in the dustier recesses of my mind. And I can’t even claim neutrality in the subject of the debate, having spent my entire post-university career sniffing around the City in one guise or another (journo/banker/PR) although my encounters with those legendary bonuses have been all-too brief.
All this gave me an acute interest in the debate. Yet it became of even deeper interest towards the end. Billy Bragg lost the debate, not because he was wrong – he pretty much has the entire population on his side when it comes to lambasting City-excesses including those “obscene” bonuses paid to bailed-out bankers. He lost because he lost his cool. Angered by one of Luke’s comments he unthinkingly and instinctively jumped in with a riposte that was patently nonsense, opening him up for the demolition that was duly delivered.
Billy had become emotional, and it rendered him – and therefore his argument – weak. In fact, he later accepted this as he opened a live debate on the same subject that evening at the British Library (the promotion of which explains the earlier radio interviews). He blamed the early hour of the radio programme and too much caffeine. Certainly, the Today programme suits City workers more than rockstars, and this may have been what did for Billy. Yet my interest was tweaked because it is not everyday you get to listen to someone having a “neural hijacking” on live national radio.
As I state in What’s Stopping You? such neural hijackings are a central cause-and-effect of poor results for those with high fear of failure (High-FFs as I call them). Arriving in the form of a neural surge through the body and triggering a flood of hormones they are the very moments that instantly throw High-FFs and others that may have confidence issues off course. Our primeval instincts of fight-or-flight have been triggered and our base reactions have taken over, with usually negative consequences. We may react with anger or fear but we do not react rationally. We react emotionally. Our uber-rational opponent, meanwhile, spots his or her chance and goes in for the kill. It is the neural equivalent of a boxer hitting the canvas – a game-changing moment where ascendency or otherwise is established. And the bloody-annoying thing for the hijacked is that these moments are entirely self-induced. We deliver our knock-out blow to ourselves, simply because we could not keep our emotions in check.
An important book explaining the causes, and impact, of neural hijackings is Emotional Intelligence by Daniel Goleman. Here’s him describing the hijacking process:
“It is in moments such as these – when impulsive feeling overrides the rational – that the newly discovered role for the amygdale [a part of the brain dealing with emotions] is pivotal. Incoming signals from the senses let the amygdale scan every experience for trouble. This puts the amygdale in a powerful post in mental life, something like the psychological sentinel, challenging every situation, every perception, with but one kind of question in mind, the most punitive: ‘Is this something I hate? That hurts me? Something I fear’. If so – if the moment at hand somehow draws a ‘yes’ – the amygdale reacts instantaneously, like neural tripwire, telegraphing a message of crisis to all parts of the brain.”
Goleman also describes the instant impact these hijackings have on the body. For instance, if our hijacking induces an anger response blood rushes to the hands ready for action. Meanwhile, the heart rate increases and there is a surge of adrenalin and other hormones (such as cortisol). With fear, blood rushes to the skeletal muscles such as the legs, the face blanches and the body momentarily freezes as it decides whether hiding may be a better option than running or fighting. The body is put on general alert, making the hijacked person edgy and unfocused on anything other than the threat or object of anger. Basically, the hijacked person’s rationality and reasoning is, at that moment, shot.
An important aspect here – that Billy will need to be aware of as much as most High-FFs – is that these hijackings are inevitable. Those that react emotionally when triggered are likely to do so for the rest of their lives. There is no instant cure or quick fix that can remove the neural hijacking as a feature for people more emotionally sensitised than others, meaning that we will always have to be on guard for Goleman’s tripwire – catching us when we least expect it and sending us careering down an intensely frustrating alleyway with respect to our dealings with others. What we have to develop – and what What’s Stopping You? devotes considerable effort in attempting to achieve – is a better second response that can, in time and with effort, suppress the external expression of the neural hijacking. And this can, hopefully, reduce in number the occasions we are defeated by our own overly-emotional responses to a hijack-inducing situation.
A final point here concerns the fact I have used someone else – in this case Billy Bragg – to demonstrate a neural hijacking. Given my earlier blog apologising for preaching (Forgive me sinner for I have preached) this may seem like another example where I have strayed into assumption regarding someone else’s thoughts and potential insecurities. I have, but my inspiration here is the fact Billy Bragg admitted to “becoming a little emotional” on the radio when I heard him speak at the British Library later that day. He was clearly embarrassed and seemingly determined not to repeat the error during the live debate with Luke sitting next to him. He didn’t, but I thought I could detect intense concentration in order to avoid being triggered (just my guess – I have no proof of this and I apologise now to Billy Bragg if any of this is wide of the mark).
Certainly, I am not suggesting Billy has high fear of failure, although – as I have written on many occasions – it is rather typical of a High-FF to desire a life of pop-stardom. What I am saying is that, by his own admission, he became emotional during an important debate on something he feels passionately about. And I am almost certain he regrets doing so not least because it destroyed his reasoning. But he had no choice, he was triggered. And if what followed was not the consequence of a neural hijacking, you can call me Shirley.
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