Northern Ambiguity

Notes from the unglamorous side of getting stuff done.

I can’t remember exactly when it clicked.

It was one of those slightly tongue-in-cheek realisations you have halfway through a conversation.

I kept finding myself drawn to the same type of people.

Different jobs.
Different industries.
Different personalities.

But the same trait.

They’re the ones who make things happen.

Not the loudest.
Not always the most strategic.
Not the ones writing the longest plans.

Just the ones you can trust to follow through.

The dependable ones.

The “leave it with me” people.

The ones who — for want of a better phrase:

Get.
Shit.
Done.

GSD.

We have a bit of fun with it.

We even had some little business cards printed — “If you know, you know” — and every now and then we hand one out when we spot a fellow member of the club.

Half joke.
Half quiet nod of recognition.

So far, only a handful have gone out.

Which feels about right.

You start to notice the pattern after a while.

They’re not necessarily busy.

In fact, they often look quite calm.

They’re rarely the ones talking the most in meetings.

They don’t create drama.

They just… sort things.

They send the email that needs sending.
Make the call that needs making.
Chase the thing everyone assumes someone else will deal with.

They don’t complain about bureaucracy.

They quietly move through it.

Some people look busy.

Some people make things happen.

It’s not the same thing.

—

There’s a woman in local government who always stands out to me.

She’s one of those people.

No fuss.
No big speeches.
No “transformation programme”.

Just steady competence.

She has a way with the system.

Not by fighting it.
Not by bending rules.

Just by understanding it properly — and applying a bit of common sense.

Over the last year or so, she’s quietly stripped out what felt like thousands of pages of paperwork around using public spaces.

Not through some grand reform.

Just conversations.

Clarifying ownership.
Simplifying processes.
Asking “why do we actually need this?”
And removing the bits nobody could justify.

Nothing flashy.

But suddenly things that used to take weeks… just happen.

Which, in place-based work, is everything.

That’s GSD to me.

Not heroics.

Just removing friction so everyone else can get on with things.

—

There’s a local police officer who stands out too.

Same pattern.

No theatrics.
No big “community engagement” push.

He just shows up.

He’ll join in the sports sessions with young people.
Pop into schools and give talks.
Hang around long enough to know people’s names.

Human first. Police officer second.

He doesn’t disappear when he’s needed.

He’s embedded.

Consistent.

Present.

Which sounds simple — but it’s rare.

You can feel the difference.

Young people talk to him differently.
Parents trust him.
Teachers call him directly.

Not because of rank.

Because of familiarity.

Because he follows through.

Again — nothing flashy.

Just someone quietly being good at their job.

That’s GSD too.

Not force.

Not noise.

Just steady presence.

—

We joke sometimes about getting all these people in a room together.

A little unofficial “GSD conference”.

Not to unlock secrets.

There probably aren’t any.

Because when you look closely, it’s rarely clever.

It’s usually small things.

Replying quickly.
Turning up when you said you would.
Tidying loose ends.
Following through after meetings.
Reporting the fly-tipping instead of walking past it.
Connecting two people who should know each other.
Fixing the small thing today rather than writing a strategy about it next month.

The boring stuff.

Done properly.

Done consistently.

—

And it’s important to say what this isn’t.

It’s not hustle culture.

It’s not long hours or burnout or glorifying being busy.

If anything, it’s the opposite.

It’s calm.

Low drama.

Sorting things before they become problems.

Less urgency theatre.

More quiet reliability.

—

The longer I work in place-based systems, the more I think this is where most progress actually comes from.

Not big launches.
Not glossy strategies.
Not the stuff that makes headlines.

Just small things.

Done well.

Over and over again.

Until one day you look back and realise the place feels different.

Not because of one big intervention.

But because lots of little frictions quietly disappeared.

—

It’s not glamorous.

It doesn’t photograph well.

No one gets a medal for it.

But if you know, you know.