November: Tis the season for muddy Hampstead Heath walks

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More things I’ve failed to blog about:

  • Open mike comedy night at one of our many locals, way back in early October. The fact it was free matters a great deal, because the unwavering air of apology for not being funny enough is much more charming that way.
  • Alternative night for alternative people somewhere alternative in Coventry, which was alternative. Fight the power.
  • King Lear, with a certain talented actress in, which was wonderful. I’ve never seen or read King Lear before, so it felt like going to something new Shakespeare had just turned out, and Katie and I only had to Wikipedia one plot detail during the interval.
  • Dressing up as Boris for Halloween, because Boris is scary.
Boris and chums

Boris and chums

Embarrassingly, that was all October stuff. But it’s November now. Late November, even. And this month, I saw Twin Atlantic for the second time in a rather bigger venue than last time, for Abbi’s birthday, and tried to feign at least some degree of disapproval when Joshua walked off with one of the giant purple balloons which (a) is still alive and well, and (b) occupies our living room…

Oh yes, and there was election night Can it really be four years since the last time I stayed up to make 100% sure the thing we knew was going to happen actually happened?

To: pdimoldenberg @ quatro-consults.co.uk
Cc: andy.hull @ islington.gov.uk; theresa.debono @ islington.gov.uk; richard.greening @ islington.gov.uk

To whom it may concern,

I recently received a leaflet informing local residents of a planning application on behalf of Arsenal stadium to increase the number of ‘rap, hip-hop and rock concerts’ taking place each year from three to nine. It would be fair to describe the leaflet as strongly negative in tone, going so far as to suggest that ‘tens of thousands of Islington residents will have their Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings ruined on three weekends in July or August’.

In the interests of full disclosure, I have no personal or financial relationship with Arsenal. I have never attended a stadium-sized rap, hip-hop or rock concert, nor do I have any plans to do so. Meanwhile, I reside about as close to Arsenal’s stadium as is possible without living in a railway station (something which I do not recommend) and my working hours are 9am-6pm, Mon-Fri. (I mention this fact solely to highlight that I presumably fall into the category of residents for whom ‘hours of loud music’ may ‘make it impossible to relax and prepare for work’ according to the leaflet – although I suppose that this only really applies in relation to Sunday concerts.)

However, in the interests of civic duty I shall now attempt to put aside these personal factors to perform a disinterested analysis of the question at hand: should planning permission for such an extension be granted?

We must begin with some philosophical assumptions. Although Bentham’s utilitarian desire of the “greatest happiness of the greatest number” cannot give a full picture of our moral responsibilities as human beings, it should nonetheless provide a rough and ready guide to the costs and benefits of local planning disputes. Furthermore, I shall ally this axiom with an assumption of equal human worth: I will assume, in a democratic spirit, that each person’s happiness is of equal value. Given that the objections raised in this leaflet almost entirely concern noise levels, I also intend to ignore economic concerns and concentrate simply on weighing ‘sound causing happiness’ against ‘sound causing unhappiness’.

Firstly, the benefits. Arsenal stadium has a capacity of roughly 60,000. It is reasonable to assume that (almost) all those attending a rap, hip-hop or rock concert enjoy the sound of these events, so the application to increase by six evenings equates to 360,000 collective evenings of enhanced happiness if we assume full stadium capacity. (Is it reasonable to make this assumption? I have checked this with someone familiar with such events, and he believes that it is – any further information would be greatly appreciated.) Now we need to make some measure of ‘how much’ extra happiness is generated. This is necessarily difficult to quantify, but I will assume that an evening at a concert which one has chosen to attend would bring a 50% uplift in happiness as measured against a baseline evening. In the round, I hope this does enough to balance sentiments of ‘I thought Coldplay were disappointing this time’ against ‘watching Coldplay, I approached true ecstasy’.

Now to the costs side of the equation. The population of Islington is about 200,000, with an area of roughly 15 square kilometres. I am no expert in sound levels (again, external contributions to the analysis would be warmly received) so will assume what I believe to be a fairly generous 1km radius of affected area around Arsenal stadium, or an area of 3.14 square kilometres and about 42,000 residents. (Yes, I have assumed an equal distribution of residents across the borough. There are only so many hours in the day.) Of course, not all residents would be in their homes during the evenings specified – particularly given the days involved – but then again, others might have guests over. (In fact, the problem of guests is specifically raised by those issuing the leaflet as concerts may make it “difficult for friends / delivery vans to visit”. As a side note, delivery vans on Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings strike me as a niche problem.)

Estimating the loss of happiness to these 42,000 people is challenging, as – unlike the concert attendees – they are not self-selecting with regard to the concerts. The leaflet I have received talks of “ruined” evenings, but this is a subtly unhelpful term as it implies a near 100% reduction in happiness measured against what you might have hoped for over an evening, rather than what (on average) you actually get. (Indeed, I would conjecture that an individual whose enjoyment was actually, in a strictly technical sense, ‘ruined’ by the sound of a music concert – that is, their temporal happiness was so eroded as to induce genuine misery – would also be susceptible to many other threats to their happy evenings.)

However, we may be spared the necessity of in-depth calculations as our numbers have already revealed an impressive 360,000 collective evenings of enhanced happiness against 252,000 collective evenings of reduced happiness. Sticking with an assumption of a 50% ‘happiness uplift’ for the concert attendees, we would need a more than 70% reduction of happiness in the average resident to equal this, on each and every one of the six evenings in question.

I respectfully submit that this is unlikely. For one thing, it assumes that an evening of increased background noise brings significantly more upset than a concert, which you have specifically chosen to attend, brings more joy. For another, it assumes that all evenings are independent of each other. This is a reasonable assumption for the concert-goers: it is unlikely that very many of them will be the same people from night to night. But the residents are largely the same people from night to night and, even for those upset by the noise, they are unlikely to face the same level of fresh misery each night, by something they are used to, and have already factored into their daily lives, as something that is relatively rare. By analogy: an Islington council tax bill, while unpleasant, is expected. A random demand for the same amount, made without any warning, would be much worse.

Therefore, on the basis of the available evidence, I respectfully petition for the proposed extension to be granted.

So that others may critique the calculations involved, I also intend to place a copy of this analysis on my blog.

Yours sincerely,

Dominic Self

Abbi’s Curry Night
We haven’t had a proper dinner party in so long, but thanks to Abbi’s hosting this was a pleasing return to form! Nothing got set on fire, so we’re obviously a little rusty, but made up for this with curries and drinks and joy. Plus the now obligatory cheese board, an innovation which should be credited entirely to Paul.

Welcome, guests!

Welcome, guests!

Probably laughing at some witty anecdote of mine

Probably laughing at some witty anecdote of mine

Josh and Jen

Josh and Jen

Bill and Katie’s Wedding
Cambridge is such a perfect city for a wedding Many congrats to @billt and @ktsays, whose wedding included a private showing at the Arts Picturehouse, a delicious Thai dinner and the most amazing performance of a poem in tribute to Bill. (Basically, I want someone to write and perform a poem in tribute to my life, and if getting married is what it takes then sign me up.)

Bride, groom, excited tourists

Bride, groom, excited tourists

London Transport Museum
…and perhaps more importantly, the London Transport Museum’s shop, for as a result my wall is now bedecked with this awesome poster. I now think Underground to Anywhere: Quickest Way, Cheapest Fare whenever I get the Tube.

Flat Day Out

Us, as interpreted by a sand-dwelling robot

Us, as interpreted by a sand-dwelling robot

Or, in other words, how Cat and I took a day of annual leave in order to follow a carefully-planned itinerary of Greasy Spoon -> Science Museum -> Gordon’s Wine Bar -> Hot Chocolate -> Pub -> Spaced. Perfect. A personal highlight: convincing two young boys at the Science Museum to vote in favour of weaponised weather technology “because a tornado gun would be so cool”.

Merrily ignoring the state of the construction around us

Merrily ignoring the state of the construction around us

Cabaret
And finally… courtesy of Groupon, on Wednesday night I was at the West End premiere of Cabaret (starring Will Young and Michelle Ryan, as it’s obligatory to say). Amazing show, and a great night all round!

Feeling nicely relaxed and chilled after a week in Tuscany with Grace, Oliver and Abi, so before Real Life intrudes again on Monday I thought I’d do an old-fashioned “here look I went on holiday look at me!” photo post:

Florence

Florence

Witches’ Brew, (Mint Based) Poker Chips and Cards

Witches’ Brew, (Mint Based) Poker Chips and Cards

We’ll always have gelato

We’ll always have gelato

So this was weird…

So this was weird…

Hot tub

Hot tub

The final ingredient to any holiday, not pictured above, is obviously reading. I’ve been back in a good reading groove of late, and this holiday managed Zadie Smith’s new novel NW, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and Life Of Pi. A word about this last one. I vaguely remember when everyone was reading it, roughly a decade ago, so was slightly disappointed all these years later to discover that the world had not in fact been gripped by a mathematical treatise. Disappointment hardened into disdain for the first section, set in India, which is a tedious ode to religion interspersed by the kind of ‘wonderings’ worthy of Elizabeth Gilbert. Thankfully, the bulk of the novel is a great yarn, including plenty of tense moments, a genuinely creepy episode on an island and a deft ending, so after a while I was actually a happy and captivated reader again.

But, Yann Martel, please: you don’t understand agnosticism. Really, really, not at all. And if people were so blown away by the philosophy of Life Of Pi, then it strikes me that they don’t either. Which is a shame, is all.

This month, our flat became complete!

Me, Cat and Josh

Me, Cat and Josh

And now that we’re not actually moving upstairs anymore, our flat-leaving party returned to the comfortably familiar flat-warming genre: lots of beer, plus a fair helping of mosquito bites from the hours beforehand barbecuing out on Highbury Fields. It was lovely to see everyone who came, so thanks for helping us celebrate the beginning of what has already been described as a quirky 90s sitcom. (It’s not the first time someone has observed “how different Josh and Dominic are!” before joyfully enumerating Josh’s many good qualities. It’s unnerving.)

I was also lucky to go back to the Olympic Park with Oliver and Abi, this time to watch GB get thrashed in the handball. The Olympics was such a glorious success in so many ways, and I think most people are now feeling withdrawal symptoms, but I was happy to feel a part of it while it lasted:

Handball

Handball

Last week I also (finally!) got to meet Abbi’s dad during his visit to the UK, and had another of my infrequent but great drinking nights with Henry up in Harrow. Aside from this, my main preoccupation at the moment is gazing lovingly onto my Kindle in my quest to catch up my reading target before the year is out. (I enjoyed Frankenstein more than I expected to, but on learning that Mary Shelley started writing it when she was only 18 I’m filled with awe.)