INCONGRUITY

Perhaps not by chance, I used the word 'incongruous' three times yesterday. It's not an everyday kind of word, that. I first met it in Year 9 when the maths book I was using was teaching me about shapes. Congruence is a mathematical property which tells you something about the way things fit together. Identical shapes are said to be congruent because they fit.

It's strange because at lunchtime yesterday, I was thinking about exactly the same thing but in a different context, and with different words. Subconsciously, the idea of congruence must have been at work in my brain as I crossed the road in the sunshine, talking to myself.

I was actually thinking about the concept of appropriateness. From an early age, we're taught about 'appropriate' behaviour. In no uncertain terms, we're told what to do, what not to do: eat your vegetables, close the bathroom door, start with the cutlery on the outside, don't swear, clean your teeth, wait for a space, don't run off, don't moan, do your homework, pay your taxes, stand up when you see the Headmaster... it's almost like an endless list of rules that shape our ideas about appropriateness. They're not wrong, those diktats that narrate our experience of authority, not wrong at all. I've followed many of them to the nth degree of politeness... and they come from a place of wanting to make a better world, most of them.

The sun beamed down over the lake. The little amphitheatre was crowded with suits and skirts, shirts rolled up, bare arms and legs on show in the middle of the business park, lounging on green deckchairs scattered across the grassy beach.

I think the idea of appropriateness is not just about behaviour and actions. I think it's almost entirely about context. It's less about what you do, and much much more about where and how you do it.

For example, if I told you that last week I ran up to someone and punched them in the face, a suitable reaction would be what? A recoil of horror? That action, that kind of behaviour is extremely inappropriate for a civilised human being isn't it? Certainly. But if I change the context and tell you that the person I punched had just broken into my house and was about to do something horrific, the appropriateness is changed by the context. You might even describe that action as heroic.

That didn't happen, by the way. I've never punched anyone. Similarly though, if that person had been an opponent in a boxing ring and I was into that kind of thing - the story changes again. It's all about an action in a particular set of circumstances - it's all about the congruity of action and context.

This is rather liberating, when you think about it. It means that the key to understanding appropriateness is not so much the DOs and DO NOTs of life; it's about those fuzzy areas of context where some things are made OK by the surroundings and some things are not. I rather like this, because it's a positive way of looking at behaviour, rather than having to learn or imbibe a rulebook. If you can determine the context, if you can analyse and process the way your actions might fit that context, life might be a little easier.

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I just went into the kitchen and accidentally upset a glass of juice. Gravity and the second law of thermodynamics did their thing and covered me and the floor in neat Ribena. I grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser and started mopping up the dark red splurges from the cupboards, the counter and the tiles. The receptionist came in and saw me on my haunches, clearing the crime-scene.

"It looks like someone's been murdered," she said. I chuckled out of politeness, still reprimanding myself for being so clumsy. "Still," she went on, "At least you're clearing it up!" Receptionists have their own ideas about who should keep the kitchen tidy and who's responsible when it's not - it's one of those laws of the workplace.

"That's what you do when you make a mess," I said, cheerily, without really thinking about it. It was more profound than I intended, but it seemed to fit.