Measured to the coin, aimed at nothing

A young man in Damietta keeps a notebook of every pound he spends. Bread, transport, phone credit, the odd sandwich, all written down to the last coin. At the end of each month he can tell you exactly where his money went.

He is saving for a car. He has never asked himself whether a car is what he actually wants, or whether what he wants is to leave the furniture workshop where he works and open his own. The tracking is flawless. The target was never examined.

That is the gap between precision and accuracy, and it is easy to miss because the two words sound alike.

Precision is about how fine the measurement is. How many decimal places, how detailed the breakdown, how small a change you can spot. Accuracy is about whether you are hitting what you meant to hit. A precise number pointed at the wrong goal is a very detailed way of being lost.

Businesses fall into the same trap. They can tell you sales by the hour and the cost of every delivery to the piastre. Far fewer can say clearly what they are trying to become, or for whom. The fine measurement feels like progress because it is hard work and it produces something to show.

Being accurate is often quicker. It needs one honest look at where you are going, and a willingness to hear that the answer might change the route.

Get that right first. Then measure as finely as you like.