Evidence Base

I don’t want him here. But he is always here. He is always demanding paperwork, and data, and more proof. Proof of what, I’m not sure. Just give him the stuff that he wants and he will go, I keep thinking. But he doesn’t go. I want to walk on the beach, like I used to.  See the sea and the sky as I used to.  I want to feel the day on me as I used to, but I can’t because he’s always there asking for more proof, more statistics, more evidence of how things were done, why they were done. It’s not enough that they were done well, that we succeeded.  No, that is never enough. There has to be some firm basis on which to build, some policy that can be shared, something more than just an isolated moment that uncannily encapsulating everything.  There has to be some generalisation, so that whatever happens can be put before committees and agreed upon. Otherwise people might think that we didn’t know what we were doing. Here he is now, as I’m sitting at piano, he wants to know what chord I’m going to play next, what harmony I expect and what result will it achieve.  I tell him I don’t know, and will never know. He tells me I am no good to anybody. He tells me to forget life. Only he knows life, and there are clear criteria.

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