A few thoughts about followership – as opposed to leadership – have been kicking around in my mind for the last couple of days.
This post is nothing more than a holding post, with two videos that I’ve found particularly interesting on this topic.
The first: “Leadership lessons from the dancing guy”
The second is Simon Sinek on “It’s not what you do; it’s why you do it”:
Having read Daniel Dennett’s seven tools for thinking I suggested that users of Twitter could particularly think about points two and six on the list.
Point two:
Respect your opponent – “[E]asy targets are typically irrelevant to the real issues at stake and simply waste everybody’s time and patience, even if they give amusement to your supporters. The best antidote I know for this tendency to caricature one’s opponent is a list of rules promulgated many years ago by social psychologist and game theorist Anatol Rapoport [on h]ow to compose a successful critical commentary.”
Point six:
Don’t waste your time on rubbish – “Sturgeon’s law is usually expressed thus: 90% of everything is crap… A good moral to draw from this observation is that when you want to criticise a field, a genre, a discipline, an art form …don’t waste your time and ours hooting at the crap! Go after the good stuff or leave it alone…
Let’s stipulate at the outset that there is a great deal of deplorable, second-rate stuff out there, of all sorts. Now, in order not to waste your time and try our patience, make sure you concentrate on the best stuff you can find, the flagship examples extolled by the leaders of the field, the prize-winning entries, not the dregs.”
At various times thoughts like this have come across my mind, in much less articulate and much more verbose ways. Each time, I have thought they are particularly relevant to Twitter, since it’s the place where the vast majority of interaction and debate I come across now takes place.
(The only other place I regularly personally encounter debate is at conferences or seminars, usually after the two words that strike fear into any rational being: “Any questions?”)
As Dennett himself notes, points two and six are related: people who use poor methods of argument probably constitute those who primarily engage with or generate 90% of rubbish.
It reminds me of the hierarchy of disagreements: level zero is name-calling and level 2 is ad hominem attacks, whilst level 5 is refutation and level 6 is refutation of the central argument. (I’d hazard that Question Time on Thursdays and Any Questions? on Fridays rarely venture above level 3 (contradiction) and the occasional level 4 (counterargument).)
This runs the risk of being labelled elitist, and to some extent it probably is. But I’d contend that many folks don’t have the time to engage with the chaff / noise / rubbish etc. when there’s so much wheat / signal / good stuff out there, and so there has to be a way of filtering things as you want.
What this personally means for me on Twitter is this (broadly speaking a 1-in-4 rule):
I haven’t gone so far as to create lists of who is in the “1” and who is in the other “3”, though. That would just be rude.
I found myself on the Underground earlier this week looking at a poster for a service that streams films. This one is owned by Tesco, though goes under the name Blinkbox.
This is hardly a new service. By my very quick count there are at least 3 other major services that offer something similar: Lovefilm, Netflix and NowTV (and many more besides, no doubt).
It begs the question: why the need for another streaming service?
Well, Tesco has clearly done its homework and determined that:
The same holds for, well, anything: think price comparison sites, toilet paper, cars, money lending companies etc.
What does this tell us about the multitude of comparison services for choosing social care?
Well, it tells us that a situation in which there are 44 sites [1] (at the last count) for comparing the quality of social care provision is a natural situation. It says that, in a world where there is a significant market for providers of social care (be it domiciliary care or residential care), it is perfectly natural for there to be a significant market for information to support people to navigate the huge range of social care providers. (The comparison with comparison websites – Moneysupermarket.com, ComparetheMarket.com etc. – is obvious.)
Of course, Adam Smith would tell you that none of this is new. Nor would Tony Blair. This issue is essentially one about the role of markets in public services and how people navigate those markets.
The interesting point, though, is where the invisible hand of government should be in all of this.
My natural inclination for an issue like information about the quality of social care is that the invisible hand should be visible: such a service, for an important issue that affects the quality of so many people’s lives, should be a centrally-led service. This was once the case when CQC had its star ratings, and a watered-down version of the same has been created by the Department of Health more recently. There are also quasi-centralised versions of social care comparison sites with things like SCIE’s Find Me Good Care (which I happen to think is excellent).
But there are other, more market-driven, invisible ways of doing this. Probably the most wholesome example of this would be Patient Opinion (an approach that is being extended by its social care equivalent, Care Opinion): a bottom-up, user-driven site in which people share their views and opinions on health for both health providers and other users to see. And there are other, less wholesome approaches where the business imperative is more explicit – the business just happens to be providing information about social care. Thus, the 44 sites highlighted.
These market-driven responses are typically pushed by people identifying a gap in the market and seeking to exploit it. I don’t think anyone could reasonably say that providing information about social care is an issue that is sorted, so the gaps in the market obviously exist.
Thus, the challenge to myself is this: is it appropriate to think that social care information / comparison sites should be centrally-led, guided more by a visible hand from government rather than by an invisible hand? Or is it ok for information about social care to be provided through the continued emergence of a demand-driven market, reflecting what we see in the film streaming and price comparison businesses around us?
[1] There’s a full list of the 44 sites here.
For the past 10 years or so, my work has been in the area of disability rights, especially from a user perspective.
One of the great privileges of that work is observing the reactions of people – disabled and non-disabled people alike – when they are introduced to the Social Model of Disability, and how it affects their attitudes and everyday life in the subsequent weeks, months and years.
To recap: there are various models of disability. The two most common are the “medical” model and the “social” model.
The medical model focuses on the medical condition of a person – their impairment; their condition; their disease. And it looks for ways for these to be diagnosed, categorised and ultimately cured. What flows from the medical model of disability is typically a focus on someone’s physical or mental condition rather than the person themselves.
The social model of disability puts the person at the centre. It says that a person is disabled by society around them – not just physical barriers such as steps or revolving doors, but also by attitudes towards disabled people (such as pity, charity or fear). Though a disabled person still has an impairment (i.e. in the broadest sense their condition), what makes them disabled is not their condition, it’s society.
Many important things flow from this shift in thinking, and it’s how people approach this shift in thinking that’s such a great privilege to observe.
(For anyone who is interested in more about different models of disability and their implications this guide is an excellent introduction, and I’ve written at further length about this here.)
Why am I blogging on this now? It’s because there’s a fascinating debate at the moment about how the social model of disability (or other models) apply, or not, or some version of it, specifically to the area of mental health.
The latest manifestation of this debate is prompted by the division of clinical psychology (DCP), part of the British Psychological Society, who will be publishing a statement that calls for a “paradigm shift” in how mental health is understood.
(Update: here’s the statement (pdf)).
It’s great that this professional body is engaging in the debate in this way. It draws on a significant literature that mental health users/survivors and others have been writing for a considerable time – see, for example, this paper from the Joseph Rowntree Foundation from 2010 or pretty much anything on the social model from the Centre for Disability Studies at Leeds. This is also a significant theme that runs through the literature on recovery and mental health (such as these papers from the Implementing Recovery through Organisational Change project).
It will be interesting to see how the debate progresses, and good on DCP for going with it.
In their usual subtle contribution to the issue at hand, the Guardian’s sub-editors have called this a “battle” between the British Psychological Society and the Royal College of Psychiatrists. To ensure maximum helpfulness, the Guardian also poses the question “Do we need to change the way we are thinking about mental illness?” and asks people from both “sides” to argue either “yes” (clinical psychologist) or “no” (clinical psychiatrist).
In understanding this to be a debate that perhaps can’t be characterised in such black and white terms, below are 3 principles I modestly suggest it will be useful to keep in mind:
An idle thought about a game with what I predict would be limited but passionate devotees: Local Government Top Trumps.
(Talk about the Long Tail.)
It would be for upper-tier local authorities, and my first stab at the categories would be as follows:
What do you think? And what categories would you suggest? Leave a comment or tweet me (@rich_w) and we’ll see if we can come up with a definitive set of categories.
(If people are genuinely interested in this as an idea, and for a bit of fun, I’d be happy to bring together some sort of crowdsourcing campaign and get maybe 2-300 sets produced and circulate to people. It would be a revenue-neutral affair, but we’d all have something fun and lovely we can play with.)
The same answer has cropped up in response to 3 different questions within the last week.
The questions were, respectively:
The answer in each of these 3 cases was, basically, to save money.
A generous reading of each of these cases is that saving money is perhaps the most notable thing people will be interested in, and so is the component of the work the respondent to each question chose to highlight first.
Taken at face value, though, the common answer to the 3 questions is one I wouldn’t give. At least, I wouldn’t give it as the primary reason for doing things. In fact, it would get the Family Fortunes “our survey says…”
treatment.
Saving money in public service reform is important, and I’m not advocating for profligate spending of public money. But I think we run 4 very great and related risks if we put this motivation ahead of good quality service provision:
Perhaps I’m being sensitive here, and we’re talking about shades of emphasis between better quality services, saving money and other measures of public service reform. But it’s something that’s been gnawing at me for the last week, so here it is in blogpost form.
(As an almost unrelated aside, and talking of things that have been gnawing away, I’ve hesitated including the GOV.UK example in this post.
I made a series of posts in the relatively private space of Facebook which said I’ve felt uncomfortable making public comments about GOV.UK. This is because of a combination of not wanting to be an arse (too late?), recognising they’re doing some great work and not wanting to be too publically critical of it as a result, but reflecting that I do have some worries about the whole enterprise (shared, it would seem, by other government-y types who aren’t directly involved with GOV.UK but have a professional and personal interest in its work).
The response to my Facebook posts, from a group of people that I know to include those very interested or directly involved in the GOV.UK enterprise, was virtually zilch. Similarly, the only tweet I ventured on the subject (via @ replies to specific people) garnered no responses at all.
I suspect this can be attributed to typical (defensive?) human behaviours amongst those leading or part of significant change processes, but nevertheless find it surprising that constructive criticism from a friendly, informed source can fall on such stony ground.
Partly to allay my paranoia that I am actually being an arse and so should rightfully be worried by appearing to be one, any engagement – ironically enough – from GOV.UK folks on the substantive point I’m making about the lack of engagement would be appreciated.)
Just because I’m occasionally a miserable so-and-so, I thought I’d look to see what sorts of signature numbers e-Petitions attract. I should note straight up that I think e-Petitions are a superficial, trite and virtually pointless means by which people engage in the political process.
Overall, there are 14,382 completed e-petitions so far – all of which are listed here. This doesn’t include currently open e-petitions (of which there are 5,949) or rejected petitions (of which there are 17,525).
Of those 14,382 e-petitions which have been completed:
We should get rid of quiet carriages.
They build an expectation that too often cannot be met for the traveler who wants quiet.
The reasons for this are various: ignorance (deliberate or intentional), lack of enforcement (or, at least, a lack of willingness to enforce), malevolence, or a sense of personal importance (on which much more later).
There is also a very practical, though rarely asked question: “quiet” means the absence of what kind of noise?
I don’t know when quiet carriages were first introduced. A best guess is they were introduced as a means of combatting the significant increase in mobile phone usage. People on mobile phones is bad enough at the best of times, but them being on mobile phones while in enclosed spaces where the chance of removing yourself from the situation – such as on a train or bus – makes it entirely objectionable.
Mobile phone conversations are a particularly emotive source of noise because only half a conversation can be heard. The individual is essentially in the private space of their own conversation whilst the practical effect – what they’re saying – is in a public space. This would seem to explain why people reveal what can be very personal things while they’re talking on their mobile phone: their brain reassures them they are actually in a private place. Thus, people disclose issues relating to their private lives, secure information like credit card details or revealing opinions about work colleagues or business partners that would best be left in private correspondence.
As an aside, our relationship with the phone is a peculiar one anyway. There are still people who abbreviate ‘phone. This demonstrates both that phones (I’ll adopt the modern nomenclature) are a relatively recent invention and that it takes humans considerable time to adapt to new technologies. With the phone, our behavior remains very odd. In a work setting, it is just about acceptable that someone may stop what they were doing – even if it was planned – in order to pick up their phone – an act which is, by definition, at the instigation and convenience of the caller. This even happens when you are speaking with someone in your physical presence already. (My reasoning on this in a work context is 3-fold: (1) you don’t want to be doing what you are currently doing; (2) the person calling is more important than the person you are already speaking to; or (3) you want to appear important.) But I find it much harder to accept in a social setting. Let’s put to one side all of the circumstances in which it is either implicitly or explicitly acknowledged that a phone call can and probably should interrupt whatever you are doing. In a social circumstance in which time has been set aside to do something specific with someone in particular, I simply don’t understand why someone would break off from that something and someone to answer an unplanned phone call. Recognising that it is something we appear more inclined to do than not, I further don’t understand that – having answered the phone and realised it’s not a matter of life or death – people tend to continue the conversation!
Our behavior and relationships with respect to phones is one it appears we’re biologically and sociologically not yet capable of controlling.
Mobile phones, then, are a form of noise in quiet carriages to which people most often react. But they are not the only form of noise.
Here is a list of noises I have encountered in quiet carriages in trains: Conversation; music (with headphones); music (without headphones); mobile phone button noises; mobile phone haptic vibrations; mobile phone notifications; computer start-ups; computer shut-downs; typing; knitting; nail filing; eating; tourists; laughing; giggling; humming; singing; whistling; snoring; farting; kissing; extensive newspaper rustling; noises arising from jiggling; children; an acoustic guitar; dogs.
As far as I can tell there are two things that unite this list: (1) each thing creates noise; and (2) they are all avoidable. You’ll notice, for example, the list doesn’t include squeaks made by the train carriage; nor indeed does the list contain the regular announcements made by the train manager (see also: Revenue Protection Manager) or the person in the buffet in carriage F. (By the way, there are very rarely members of the British Transport Police or standard police on a train. I presume it’s the illusion of safety which means they are mentioned by the train manager at every station.)
What we’re talking about, then, is avoidable noise.
And the way we can avoid avoidable noise is by humans not making it in the first place; quiet is, after all, the absence of noise.
But there are two significant problems we encounter having reached this point.
The first is that not everyone would recognise the “quiet” of the “quiet carriage” as being the absence of all of the noises highlighted above. At best they recognise the issue of mobile phones and music being played too loudly. Signs in quiet carriages tend to explicitly recognise these sorts of noise, as do train managers when making their announcements. Beyond this, though, noise is something of a free for all: people do not have a common standard or recognition of what constitutes noise.
Of course, this lack of a common standard when it comes to what is or isn’t noise – and so the lack of which would create a comprehensive “quiet” – is easily solvable. If they wanted to, train operating companies could be far more instructive about what constitutes noise. Short of providing a list of common sources of noise on the back of each seat (which, of course, would just encourage some wag to find a noise source not mentioned on this list and exploit it fully, such as a 35-piece orchestra) they could brief – or indeed expect and instruct – their train manager to highlight in their announcements that quiet carriages are for the absence of all noises, and not just some particular kinds of noise. I don’t envisage them doing this, but it would be a start.
A further measure train operating companies could take is to begin to enforce quiet in the quiet carriage. Where a train manager is aware of someone making noise in the quiet carriage they could politely ask them to stop. In the main, train managers have the authority and standing within the environment of a train to do this, and so I think they should. At the moment, they don’t.
An alternative, which of course you see from time to time, is for passengers to ask the quiet transgressors to stop making noise. I think this approach has some merit, particularly as it draws on the peer-led, shaming approach that is generally successful in reducing unwanted (antisocial) behavior elsewhere. I’m uncomfortable, though, for the maintenance of quiet in the quiet carriage to be the sole preserve of fellow passengers. This is especially the case when train opearting companies and train managers themselves seem so reluctant to challenge noise despite having the authority and moral position to do so.
There is a point here as well about becoming the arbiter of noise in the quiet carriage. If you do happen to ask someone to be quiet – and you need to do it early – you sometimes create the problem of what to do if there is noise further away from you in the carriage. You shouldn’t be expected to wander up and down the carriage asking people to be quiet, but since this has already happened to person you’ve asked to be quiet, they could be legitimately aggrieved you haven’t consistently applied your noise admonishments. It’s another reason other passengers shouldn’t be expected or encouraged to instill quiet in the quiet carriage.
A further practical solution suggested by some is if you are bothered by the noise in the quiet carriage then you yourself can move. To this solution there are two objections: (1) I am not the one causing the issue, and so shouldn’t be expected to move; and (2) if I didn’t want the carriage I’m sitting in to be quiet, I wouldn’t have sat in the quiet carriage. There was a lot of other train I could have considered for where to sit, as there was for the person who wanted to make noise, but I chose – presumably for a reason – the quiet carriage.
The first, more practical problem of noise in the quiet carriage has, then, been fairly well deal with. The second is more fundamental: I don’t think humans are easily capable of maintaining quiet; nor are they sufficiently (self-)aware to want to do so.
I don’t mean this physiologically; I mean this socially. Without exception, it seems those making noise in the quiet carriage believe it is their right to make noise wherever they want. This especially becomes so if there are external circumstances, such as a phone call, that requires them to make noise. Even those who, when asked to be quiet say they “didn’t realise it was the quiet carriage” are, to an extent, willfully not recognising the carriage they’re in because of their own requirements.
The conclusion I draw from this is as follows: the behavior of some in the quiet carriage fundamentally reveals them, and perhaps humans more generally, to be selfish creatures.
I reach this conclusion on these bases: (1) noise in the quiet carriage is the norm, not the exception; (2) as highlighted, there are a considerable number of practical ways we could aim to prevent noise in the quiet carriage if we wish but which we don’t use; and (3) people don’t police themselves sufficiently with regard to noise to convince anyone there should be a dedicated quiet carriage. Finally, of course, the desire to make noise at the (apparent) expense of other people’s desire for quiet is itself selfish.
The public-private tensions highlighted in the discussion about mobile phones are writ large when it comes to the quiet carriage.
The crux of the lack of quiet in the quiet carriage feels to me to be the result of a libertarian streak in individuals who mistakenly assume their (to them) private behavior – making noise – doesn’t affect the collective public good – the desire for quiet – of everyone else in the quiet carriage. Even when challenged – when explicitly told their (to them) private behavior is affecting the public good – they typically maintain their behavior. What’s more, they have the option to fulfill their private need (to make noise) in parts of the train other than the quiet carriage, and yet choose not to do so. This compounds the injustice for those who have located themselves in the carriage that accommodates their preference.
(It is always dangerous to make comparisons, but – in the days they existed – what would happen to people who chose to smoke in no-smoking areas?)
As I suggested, noise in the quiet carriage reveals something more fundamental about the human condition than just a bunch of uptight people seemingly get upset by trifling, noisy disruptions.
Does it matter? Does noise of any type in the quiet carriage really require this amount of thought when there are so many other issues to be considered and dealt with? Well, yes, it does matter. The quiet carriage and the way some people treat it is indicative of wider trends in society – ones that elevate the individual above the collective and the common good. Others have described how this individualism and the consumerist form it often (though not exclusively) takes can affect the underlying fabric of society. To me, being noisy in the quiet carriage is a variant of the “broken window” thesis: if you remain unchallenged for what seems a relatively trivial case of private gain trumping public good, then other larger forms of the same become more likely.
It’s on this basis I have committed so much time and thought to the issue of noise in the quiet carriage.
Ultimately I have concluded I would rather not have the expectation which the quiet carriage represents. I would prefer it if train operating companies didn’t try to appeal to the collective side of human nature and instead recognise, accept even, that private, selfish motivations will always create noise where its absence is instead requested.
I fully recognise this to be a cop out, and one I wouldn’t and don’t accept in other, more serious facets of life. But at least this way there wouldn’t be the disappointment of recognising in such an everyday setting of trains the natural, individual instincts or private gain of so many of us above the collective instincts and public good of the rest.
Seeing your family – which I did around Queen Square and on the way to the finishing line – is a brilliant feeling. Here’s Lyra waving at me. Jessie (my wife) has been a star throughout all of this – I couldn’t have done it without her. (Michael Holman took this pic – thanks!)
Yesterday saw me complete the Bath Half marathon. It was actually my first ever half marathon, and I had such a good time I thought a quick blogpost was in order.
The idea for the run itself came about for two reasons: the first was an email that popped into my inbox suggesting Oscar (my 3-year-old) could do the fun run part of the day on behalf of I CAN, the children’s communications charity. I figured that if Oscar could do the fun run, I might as well do the full run.
The second reason is that I’m a 32-year-old man who had let himself go a bit over the last few years. I realised there was still time to recover some form of health without having done too much damage, and thought a half marathon would be as good an achievement to focus on as any.
From an inauspicious start (think “wheezy two miles with more than the occasional walk / stop”) training had gone well. It included over 30 miles whilst on holiday in Spain a couple of weeks ago (memorable moment: my father-in-law offered me some water after I’d run uphill for the first 4 miles of a 10.5-mile training run behind him on a bike, to which I ungraciously suggested: “I don’t need some water, I need a f*cking flat road”. It was hot, in my defence.) and both my legs and lungs were going to be fine for the Bath Half itself.
I was hopeful of a sub-2 hour time. The slight competition of some friends also running – Phil C, Kev CW and Kev H – also meant I was keen to do as well as possible.
Unfortunately, I felt a tickle in my throat last Wednesday which developed into a stinking cold by race day. Though I took 4 cold tablets in the hour or so before the race, which I don’t think count as performance enhancing drugs, the cold took its toll. After 2 miles I noticed my breathing, which didn’t normally happen until around 7 miles, and at 8 miles (on the second lap of the Bath course) there was an incline that hurt much more than it should. At that point, I knew it was just going to be about getting round rather than the time.
And get round I did. 2.14:53 is well down on what I was hoping for, but I’ll take it given the circumstances. (I’ve said this to a few people since the race, but I don’t really believe it: I’m a competitive soul and I’m actually a bit annoyed with the time. Still, there will be the sub-2 hour mark to aim for next time.) Each of the folks above ran amazing times: Phil C clocked a brilliant 1.59, Kev H did a 2.04 and Kev CW ran a stupendous 1.53 – what a run!
By far the hardest miles of the day for me were the last 2. It was at this point that the wind decided to play its part, and the last bit of the course is slightly uphill anyway.
Cheesy as it sounds, it’s at this point that some motivation came from seeing all of the people around who were running because of various personal or family experiences. There was also the motivation from all the support and sponsorship that people had given over the last few weeks. And there was also the motivation about the charity I was running for, I CAN, and the work it does. I don’t think this translated into me shouting “THINK OF THE CHILDREN” to myself over those last 2 miles, though if it did I apologise to any nearby spectators.
On which, by the way, what an amazing crowd! The people out supporting runners were amazing: every banner, clap and cheer of encouragement was appreciated. The race was also incredibly well organised, and huge thanks must go to the organisers and volunteers for doing such a great job.
Overall, the race was a great experience, which made me feel even happier to now be living in Bath. I’m looking forward to the Bristol Half in September (assuming I stop hobbling in the next few weeks, that is) and will definitely be breaking the two-hour barrier there.
This is the 11th monthly update about the Strengthening DPULOs Programme, which aims to ensure DPULOs can provide a strong voice for disabled people by being more sustainable. You can find all 10 of the previous updates here:
Since this is the first monthly update of 2013 this is something of a bumper edition of news, useful links and resources, which we hope you find useful.
“DPULOs Making A Difference: Disability Hate Crime”
As part of the Strengthening DPULOs Programme, we are developing the ‘DPULOs Making A Difference’ series. The series will comprise of collections of practical case studies which demonstrate how DPULOs have and are making a difference in their local communities.
We’re delighted the first in this series of case studies has been published: “DPULOs Making A Difference: disability hate crime”. The case studies are written by a DPULO – Access Dorset – and demonstrate how nine DPULOs have made a difference in addressing disability hate crime.
These have also been shared with all Police & Crime Commissioners and police forces. We’d also encourage you to share them with any relevant contacts you have, too.
You can download the case studies here: DPULOs Making A Difference: disability hate crime
If you are on Facebook, photos of the launch event are here.
A full overview of DPULOs
We have published a post that links together as much of the key information about DPULOs that we know about. This includes (a) What is a DPULO? (b) What DPULOs exist? (c) What value do DPULOs add? (d) What does the government think of DPULOs? (e) What evidence is there concerning DPULOs?
You can find the post and all the information it includes here.
DPULOs news
Below are some great news stories from DPULOs across Great Britain. If you have any news you’d like to share, let us know!
Useful resources
One key part of the Strengthening DPULOs Programme is to share learning and useful resources. Our bumper edition of useful links and resources is below:
If you have any learning or resources you’d like to share or have any resources you’d particularly like, please let us know (contact details are at the bottom of this update).
Find out more about the Programme
To find out more about the Strengthening DPULOs Programme, you can visit our website.
We have 250 “likes” on our Facebook page. If you are on Facebook perhaps you’d like to like us, too? We regularly update the page with lots of information you will hopefully find useful, plus news from other DPULOs: www.facebook.com/dpulos
If you are on Twitter, you can share information and find out more about DPULOs using the hashtag #dpulo.
As always, we’d be grateful if you can spread the word and publicise this news throughout your networks / newsletters / websites etc. We’d also be grateful for any feedback you have on this regular email.
Contact us
For information, biographies, contact details and details of the areas covered by each of the DPULO Ambassadors covers, please visit the Ambassadors page.
If you have any questions about the Facilitation Fund or any part Strengthening DPULOs Programme, please contact odi.businessperformance@dwp.gsi.gov.uk
Please feel free to forward this information on to any DPULOs, networks or stakeholders you think might find it interesting. If you didn’t receive the original email, please share your contact details with us so you can receive our monthly emails.
Personal note
I’ll be leaving my secondment role with the Strengthening DPULOs Programme in the next week to take up a new role at the National Development Team for Inclusion (NDTi – www.ndti.org.uk), leading their mental health programme. One of the existing Ambassadors will take on the National Lead responsibilities (including the monthly bulletin!) and we’ll share further information on this as soon as we have it.
My personal thanks to everyone I’ve worked with and met in this role. It’s been a privilege working with so many great people and DPULOs, and I have every confidence you’ll carry on being a vital part of your local communities.
For info, you can still find me on Twitter @rich_w and on this blog!
