If words were tangible objects, ‘innovation’ would be an object of indefinite shape, made of ordinary plastic. Something that is everywhere: in the wind, stuck to the ground, floating around on endless islands in the middle of the ocean. Swirling in the Earth’s orbit; embedded in our lungs, flowing in tiny particles in our blood. A shapeless, colourless thing that, through a quantum leap of some uncertain alchemy, can take on any configuration, any colour.