A British Bomb Scare and a Jacket Potato

How ironic.

After spending a couple of days in Geneva at a conference with a bunch of peaceful UN folk, I arrived at Gatwick Airport to find the place in “lock down” (yeh, I’ve watch lots of US cop shows. I know about “lock down”, having “the DA’s office on my back”, calling in “wet boys” and stuff like that).

The first sign that something wasn’t quite right was when the plane pulled up to the terminal. Despite us being 10 minutes early the pilot announced that we would be held on the plane because of “technical problems with the stairs”. Technical problems with the stairs? Come on, pilot. We know how this works. We’ve all watched 24. Technical problems with stairs is code for Major National Emergency. We all know that!

So, when they let us into the terminal and we discovered we were in the midst of a bomb scare and the terminal was in “lock down” there was only one thing for it.

I hit Twitter. Hard.

Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

Good new, landed early at Gatwick North. Bad new, half airport shut. Security alert. My car in that carpark!

1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

More armed police at #Gatwick North than I've seen in a while

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At this stage we didn’t really know what was going on. And nor did anyone else. This was a very British bomb scare. We all milled around like naughty schoolboys. The airport officials put on brightly coloured  jackets and marched up and down with paperclips looking important. The armed police strolled around in couples, looking very relaxed, like content young lovers, who just happened to be holding automatic weapons.

1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

Royal Logistics Corps Bomb disposal guys with a very cool remote control robot at #gatwick north now

1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

Some armed bloke without a smile just waved me away from the window. No need to ask twice, mate. I'm gone!

Ok, now it got a little bit more serious. There were no announcements but we knew what was going on. The airport people started putting up tape and making us step back from the windows.

It was pretty clear what my next step should be. I had to take action. I made my move. Food.

1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

#gatwick north car park still in lockdown. In other news, I'm having jacket potato and beans and waiting...

1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

#gatwick north south shuttle closed. Barriers pushed us back further. Also potato, beans and tea cost £8.70!!

I wasn’t the only one that had realised things were getting serious. Other passengers could read the signs…

1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

#gatwick north OH couple of ladies saying indignantly "they've even closed marks and spencer!"

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Time dragged on. Pressure began to build…

1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

Three hours at #gatwick north now. No sign of let up. May have to have another jacket potato

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Suddenly a thought occurred to me. What would Bruce Willis do? Would he sit there, eating jacket potatoes? Hell, no. Yippe Ki Yay. I decided to explore. Unlike Bruce I decided not to crawl through the air condition vents. I took the stairs.

1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

Wandered upstairs to #gatwick north check-in. Bit of a ghost town up here

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It was around this time that I realised that my tweets were being “monitored” (or “read” as normal people who don’t watch back to back Homeland series would call it)

1. Anna Roberts ‏@journoannie1 May

@tomilube Hi Can I call you please. I am a reporter at The Argus. 01273 544 539.

 View conversation

2. BBC_HaveYourSay ‏@BBC_HaveYourSay1 May

@tomilube Hi, please could we speak to you about your delay at Gatwick? If so please follow back and DM your number.

Decision time. Do I engage with the media and become their “eyes on the ground” (as John Le Carre would call me, no doubt)? Again I reached into the Homeland playbook. Who was the baddy? [SPOILER ALERT. STOP READING IF YOU HAVEN’T REACHED THAT EPISODE]

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That reporter lady!!! I decided not to risk it and didn’t call them back. They gave up (but strangely they still follow me on twitter. I did tell them I wouldn’t be offended if they stopped). I continue on my search for information.

1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

#gatwick OH bloke with badge say "they reckon it will be another hour". But who are "they"?

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Finally some real news. But it raised more questions than it answered. Who are “THEY”? I watch the X-Files. Are THEY from this planet? Can THEY shape-shift? Could THEY be among us right now? I looked around nervously.

Fortunately I found a chatty policeman. At least I assume he was a policeman. But he looked very dishevelled and just stood around with his hands in his pockets chatting to people. I wonder if he was in fact in a fancy dress policeman outfit on his way back from a rugby tour. Anyway he told us some stuff.

1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

#gatwick ok some proper info from a policeman chatting. 4 controlled explosions to blow the doors off

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1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

#gatwick lady says "it must be serious then" police chap "yeh"

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1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

#gatwick policeman says normally a lot quicker than this. One bang and gone. Taking their time on this one

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2.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

#gatwick I like this policeman. Quite chatty. Says its been going on for hours so muct be over soon

2.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

#gatwick 1 ambulance and 2 fire engines waiting by north terminal. But everyone seems calm

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This is where the contrast struck me. If we were in America I think police, army, agents would be running around everywhere saying things like “That’s affirmative, Ma’am” and “Step back, Sir, STEP BACK, SIR” (you know when US authorities get polite and start calling you “Sir”, you are in trouble). In England, we all just wandered about looking a bit embarrassed, chatting to the police and saying “oh, well never mind, eh? Only four controlled explosions? That's nice, dear. Does anyone want a jacket potato?”

1.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

#gatwick progress. Sofitel and Premier Inn have been reopened. Lots of people moving. Car park still closed

2.    Tom Ilube ‏@tomilube1 May

#gatwick hurrah car parks open. All clear. I'm outta here people. Its been real

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FINALLY,  about five hours later we were given the all clear and left the airport. All’s well that ends well.

The only real damage was to my wallet. £8.70 for a jacket potato with cheese and beans and a cup of tea. £8.70 !!! Can you believe it?

Sadly, it is NOT my 21st Wedding Anniversary

Today was supposed to be my 21st Wedding Anniversary.

A great milestone, I think you would agree. But it is my sad duty to inform you today that, unfortunately, I have not made it to this milestone. I hoped to be celebrating it with you all today but it was not to be. Sometimes life takes an unexpected turn and the best laid plans do not lead where one expects. Life crushes your dreams, I am told.

No, it is not my 21st wedding anniversary today. It is only my 20th wedding anniversary!

A full year has been denied me, through no fault of my own. None, I tell you. I am blameless.

To get to the bottom of this cruel theft of a year of marital bliss, we need to go back the beginning. All the way back.

Many years ago, I was a charming and debonair man about town, as it were. I believe I was known for my good looks and witty repartee. At one point in my life I even used to smoke using a long cigarette holder, that's how debonair I was. I was what you might call "a catch". But strangely the foolish women of the world did not seem to notice this, something I have never really understood.

Fortunately a good friend of mine introduced me to a very wise young lady who, I later learnt, took pity on me and also claims to have "seen potential" despite the fact that this odd 24 year old Tom strode around the place wearing his grandfather's ancient Harris tweed jacket with patches on the elbows, carrying a pocket watch like Toad of Toad Hall and wearing a tie on hot summer days.

In those days, I was a focused fellow. If I wanted to get something done, I generally got it done. I was not the laugh-a-minute, happy-go-lucky chap you see before you today. So, when thoughts moved towards marriage, I devised a plan. It was a very good plan. Fool proof. It was a four step plan

1) Girlfriend and I fly to North Africa, under the pretext of a holiday
2) I propose to Girlfriend at romantic African Sahara sunset
3) Girlfriend swoons in a lady-like way and accepts with delight
4) We enjoy the rest of the holiday, riding matching camels at the edge of the Sahara Desert whilst smiling at each other

How could this plan possibly fail? I was very pleased with myself.

So, 22 years ago, we set off on holiday to Tunisia. I smiled to myself. Girlfriend had no idea that this was her LUCKY DAY. She had HIT THE JACKPOT.

Of course, I was a bit nervous. I wanted it to be perfect as I knew that this wonderful moment would be imprinted on our memories for ever. How right I was.

The moment came. I grandly popped the question. I can't remember the exact words I used but I think it may have sounded something like "I bring you good tidings. You are to become my wife!!!"

Imagine my surprise when the answer came back - "NO"

Actually, to be fair, she said "Yes" that evening. But seemed less delighted than I had expected. I took this to mean that she was overwhelmed with the wonderful news. However, the following morning she woke up and said "I've had a think about it overnight and I've decided the answer is NO after all. Anyway, what are we doing today? Swimming pool? Beach? Camels?"

I must admit, the rest of the holiday was not quite as fun-packed as I had in mind. And sadly we went our separate ways when we returned to the UK. But that only lasted a week or so because I discovered something quite interesting, which the scientists amongst you will find fascinating.

You know the phrase "love hurts"? Well it does. What I found was that during that short period of apart-ness I developed a real, physical pain in my side.  I couldn't eat properly and I couldn't focus. I analysed the situation and concluded that it was unwise of me to continue with my childish, righteous huff and despite this foolish woman not knowing a good man when she saw one, the blasted love thing meant that I was going to have to crawl back and try again.

So, I did.

A year later I took her to a grand hotel in Paris. Paris in spring time. Eiffel Tower. The Left Bank. Perfect. But then I paused. What if she says no again? Oh no! I would have wasted my money on another fruitless holiday. It was an odd weekend

Tom "Shall we..."

Girlfriend, expectantly "Yes...?"

Tom "....go and have lunch?"

I waited until we got back to London and eventually asked, with rather more nervousness and a lot less sure of myself, and fortunately Girlfriend said "YES". Phew!

So, a year after that, and 20 years ago today we got married and Girlfriend became Wife. We have been happily married ever since, have a lovely family, travelled the world together and had a wonderful life. And today we celebrate 20 years of married life.

I should be celebrating 21 years of married life but as Wife said when I brought it up for the thousandth time "Oh, for goodness sake, if it had been 21 years it might not have been 21 years. Get over it".

Gosh. Strong women who know their own minds. Don't you just love 'em, huh? I do.

 

Shut up, just SHUT UP !!!!!

Last week I facilitated a meeting of about 40 executives through the medium of mime.

Apparently this is an unusual way to facilitate large, important company meetings but nobody told me. Ah well, you live and learn.

To be honest, I only ran the first hour of the meeting in mime and it seemed to work okay. At least I enjoyed it ! Goodness knows what the rest of them thought though (actually, I have a pretty good idea judging by the reaction I get in the corridors now).

There are two reasons why I decided to have a go at running a meeting silently.

Firstly, because I hadn't done it before. I have run hundreds of meetings and I want to keep exploring new ways of working. I have run meetings in the traditional manner, in verse and song, wearing a woman's dress, but never in mime. So I got to do something new. And doing new things is a jolly good thing, even if you end up looking like a fool. In fact, trying something new, risking looking like a fool and seeing if it works or not is essential. It's called innovation and we don't do nearly enough of it. Us grown up business types hate looking like fools, in case people point and laugh. But I've grown up being pointed and laughed at my whole life (particularly my teen years, and NO, I DON'T HAVE BOW LEGS AND A LONG NECK), so I really don't care much now.

Secondly, I think you should shut up. You talk too much and too fast. So do I. But when you are running a meeting your job isn't really to talk at all. It is to get other people to talk and interact. It is to make sure everything runs on time. It is to keep the participants interested and engaged and make sure they listen to whoever is speaking (not you).

So, that made me wonder whether it was possible to run a meeting without speaking at all.

And that's exactly what I did.

Guess what. It works! Kind of. Give it a go. But don't blame me when you find yourself looking for another job.


 

Teenagers in Top Hats

I was standing behind my son the other day looking with slight annoyance at his Calvin Klein boxer shorts sticking out at the top of his trousers. The desire to lean forward, grab his trousers, yank them up and then wrestle him to the ground whilst I tuck his shirt in neatly, comb his hair and wash behind his ears was only tempered by the knowledge that the lad is now physically stronger than me and I would probably end up with my trouser halfway down and my own Marks and Spencer Y-Fronts on display!

It did get me wondering though. How is it that each generation of teenagers seems to find something that annoys their parents, even though their parents were convinced that they had seen it all?

I remember the look of disdain my father would give me as I prepared to go out partying in the Seventies. I had two main outfits. One was a whilte suit, purple silk shirt, white shoes, with a 5-inch afro and dark glasses. The other was a purple suit, white silk shirt, purple shoes, with a 5-inch afro and dark glasses. I looked awesome. The ladies couldn't keep their eyes off me (I believe). I looked cooooooool.

As a car full of boys, similarly dressed, pulled up and I strode out of my room, my father looked on with what I thought was admiration and envy, but with the benefit of hindsight I suspect may have been sadness and pity. I think to him it was rather like me emerging dressed as a clown, with huge comedy shoes and a big red nose. But, hey, what did he know!

Fast forward 30 years and my son emerges in jeans that are way too skinny, his underwear on full display, a Gola bag around his shoulder containing goodness knows what (all I know is that it clinks when he runs), juggling multiple phones. I look on and shake my head. Why can't he wear a decent, white three-piece suit with matching shoes? By the way, did I mention my white waistcoat? That made the outfit. Ladies would literally faint when they saw my waistcoat (I believe).

But this got me wondering what the next generation are going to do. What are my grandsons going to wear that will cause my pant-displaying son to shake his head with annoyance? Perhaps they will go out without trousers at all, simply wearing a t-shirt tucked into their underwear! But isn't that what the youth of today do at their summer festivals? I don't think that will shock them.

I think it will go the other way.

I expect that my grandsons will saunter out of the house to their parties in top hat and tails. Swishing canes and twiddling monocles. Boys from inner city estates will put on fake posh accents. I can see it now.

"Oi, Carl, where are you going at this time of night?" says tracksuit wearing Dad as he lies on the sofa, slurping special brew.

"Forsooth, Pater, I and my merry chums are off to the theatre. And please, would you be so kind as to call me Torquil? Anyway, must fly old chap, Tarquin and Samantha have just arrived in the carriage. Toodle-Pip"

Father shakes his head sadly. What is the world coming to? Can't he just put on a pair of skinny jeans, put his underwear on display and be done with it? Soooo annoying

My whole life laid out in letters

Places I have visited - A to Z. My whole life laid out in letters.

I can attached memories, people, events, good, bad, happy, sad, to each one. If our paths crossed along the way, you know the stories.

Afuze
Benin City,
Cambridge,
Dar es Salaam
Eindhoven,
Fulham,
Guangzhou,
Hong Kong
Ibadan,
Jinja,
Kampala,
Leeds
Mumbai,
Nairobi,
Ostend,
Palo Alto
Queens,
Richmond-upon-Thames,
Santa Fe,
Tema
Utrecht,
Varadero ,
Watamu,
Xi'an,
Yangshuo,
Zurich

Life is beautiful

In researching for a talk that I gave recently on powerful presentations, I stumbled across the following gem. It is a delight.

The last six months have been emotionally draining. I came into 2013 with a renewed sense of purpose and a way of taking control. But the universe, in her infinite wisdom just smiled at my efforts to dictate its direction and handed me another unwanted gift. I forgot that you can't make the universe do anything. You can't dictate. You relaxed and let it take you on your journey. Wu Wei.

Over the past week we have held my father's funeral in his home town of Afuze, Owan East Local Government Area, Edo State, Nigeria and we have held a memorial service to him in our home town of Richmond-upon-Thames, Surrey, England. Throughout, behind my broad grin I have worn an invisible veil of tears.

But perhaps I can begin to see through my veil of tears that life is beautiful. I will look and see what I can see.

As the lady in the video says "I know about the bad things, but I look..."

A Fathers journey: there and back again

Engr. Nathaniel Oyakhire Erainkhifun Ilube CEng MIET MNSE

Engr. Nathanial Oyakhire Erainkhifun Ilube was born near Afuze in Owan East Local Government Area, Edo State, Nigeria on 25^th July, 1941. At an early age he was selected to attend the prestigious NigerianMilitary School, Zaria (which was founded as the Boys Company of Nigeria in 1954). Engr. Ilube’s academic brilliance was quickly recognised and he was one of three young men sent to the UK in the mid-1950’s to attend advanced training there.

Engr. Ilube attended the Army Apprentices College,Harrogate, UK where he commenced his training as an electrical engineer, excelling throughout his time there and distilling in him his legendary discipline and the expertise of a British military trained engineer that was to prove such a strong foundation throughout his future career. Subsequently Engr. Ilube was recruited by the world famous British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), quickly becoming an international expert in media industry technology.

Such was his expertise that the BBC posted Engr. Ilube on secondment to Kampala, Uganda where from 1969 to 1972 he ran Uganda Television(UTV) engineering department. He was in this position when Idi Amin staged a coup and in fact was on duty at UTV when the Dictator’s soldiers arrived to take over the broadcasting facilities!

Returning to the UK, Engr. Ilube joined the research and development group of the General Post Office (which became BritishTelecommunications), working on world leading advanced video conferencing technologies. At this time he also attended advanced courses at Aston University as well as becoming a Member of the Institute of Electrical Engineering giving him the status of a Chartered Engineer (CEng MIET) in the UK, whilst later on registering as a Member of the Nigerian Society of Engineers (MNSE) upon his return home.

After nearly 20 years abroad, Engr. Ilube returned home to make his contribution to the development of Nigeria in general and his home state in particular. Having worked briefly for Shell in Port Harcourt, he accepted a role at NTA Benin and quickly rose through the ranks. When the opportunity came to be part of the leadership team that established Bendel Broadcasting Service, Engr. Ilube seized the chance and became Chief Engineer of BBS, before rising to the pinnacle of General Manager of BBS. When Bendel State divided into Edo and Delta, Engr. Ilube orchestrated the division of the service and the creation of Edo Broadcasting Service, where he continued to serve as General Manager until his retirement.

During his career Engr. Ilube travelled far and wide, from Cuba to San Francisco and Switzerland, attending and speaking at engineering conferences at the highest international levels. Despite his profile and international expertise he always maintained a modest demeanour, avoiding any displays of ostentatious behaviour and living amongst the community. He was a strict and professional gentleman, with a sense of humour, and he instilled his desire to succeed in his children.

Engr. Ilube is survived by his wife, Mrs Eileen Ilube, his two sons, seven daughters and eleven grandchildren, who knew him fondly as “Grandad Nat”. We will all miss him greatly.

After a long and fascinating journey, Engr. Ilube will rest at home in Afuze, Owan East, Local Government Area, Edo State, Nigeria. A father's journey. There and back again.

Songs of our fathers

Fathers don't have many songs dedicated to them. Our job is to be a presence in the background, being strong and confident, firm when needed, silly when required. Our job is be there.

Yesterday our father left us.

I had a call at 4.20pm from a hospital in Nigeria. "Daddy is gone".

I am a 50 year old boy (that's me looking suave with my brother, Roland, in his mid 40's in his nappy). I sat on the stairs while my own son put a kindly arm around me.

As I sit here with my tears before dawn, I am searching for a song about fathers. Where are the songs of our fathers? Where is our father's song?

Surprise and Delight in 2013

One evening in 2013, you may hear a knock at your door. You may open your door and I will be standing there with a box of chocolates, a rose in my teeth and a fireman's helmet on. You may be surprised and delighted.

Or possibly not.

But the principle is sound. Because my New Year's Resolutions, or rather my New Year's Theme is "Surprise and Delight".

I have been thinking about New Year's Resolutions and the usual approach is not working for me. Often people "give up" something they like. I know someone who is giving up chocolate. Someone else is giving up drinking. Giving up smoking. Or you pledge to lose something. Lose weight. Lose friends that you don't want to hang around. Lose habits.

But I don't find these negative statements very motivational. It's like Usain Bolt's coach issuing that well know rallying cry "Go out there, Usain, and don't run the slowest."

No. After the pain of 2012, I need a positive statement to help me find my way in 2013.

I don't need a stick to beat myself with either. I don't need a threat hanging over me, making me feel guilty. So, I am not going for a specific statement that I will achieve X by date Y that makes me feel worried if I haven't achieved X by Y. If threats and punishment are motivators for you, this should be more to your taste.

I've gone for a theme instead. My theme for 2013 is "Surprise and Delight". 2013 will be a year of surprising and delighting people. My New Year's Resolution is this...

In 2013, I will SURPRISE and DELIGHT [insert name(s) here] by doing [enter act here]

The great thing about this resolution is that I can play with it all year in all sorts of ways. I can insert my name, your name, a stranger's name or a hundred names. I can do big acts or small acts. I can surprise and delight someone by just turning up and saying hello, unexpectedly. Or perhaps by staying away! I can surprise and delight myself by treating myself to something I've always wanted (if I can give myself permission to treat myself, that is.).

Suddenly I'm feel excited about going in to 2013. Surprise and Delight. I've got an idea for every month in 2013, starting with an exciting outing for a group of people I love, in January. It's going to be a lot of fun...and listen out for that knock on the door :)

What tribe am I?

My daughter asked me an interesting question the other day and I was surprised when I realised that I didn't know the precise answer, so I was forced to respond with vague waffle. She asked what African tribe I belong to. Actually she asked a much broader set of questions about tribes, clans and the relationship dynamics associated with these for a social anthropological essay she is writing, but I still didn't know the answer to the fundamental question.

So I consulted the oracle. In other words, I phoned my dad.

Mr Ilube (Snr) does not do vague waffle. I now know the answer to my question. In fact I know the answer to more than I bargained for. I was given a short, sharp lesson on history, culture and traditions.

In Nigeria, there are about 200 tribes. The big ones that you may have heard of are Yoruba, Ibo and Hausa/Fulani. But there are many, many others. One of these is the Bini or Edo tribe and that is the one that we hail from. However, it is not as simple as that.

Years ago, the Binis established a huge kingdom in West Africa. I mean really big. It stretches back nearly a thousand years into ancient history and at its height the Oba (King) could marshall an army of 180,000 men. It was noted for its art and today you can still see the beautiful 16th century Benin Bronzes, although you may have to go to the British Museum to see them as they seem to have found there way there somehow, along with the Elgin Marbles and one or two other items from around the world!

Anyway, the Benin Kingdom had its capital  in the appropriately named Benin City and that's where the Oba and his family lived. From time to time princes would get fed up of hanging around court and head off to establish themselves in nearby lands. One such prince, Ozolua had been exiled to the north of Benin to an area known as Afenmai. He and his followers established several clans there in various parts of the Afenmai area. One of the areas within Afenmai is OWAN and within the Owan area a clan called EMAI was established. The main town in Owan is AFUZE. We hail from Emai clan based in Afuze.

So, it turns out that my tribe is BINI (or EDO), and I am from the EMAI clan, from the town of AFUZE in the OWAN area of AFENMAI land (Emai is pronounced EM-EYE just in case you find yourself in a competition situation where someone says "for £10,000 pronounce the word EMAI").

So, there you go. You've been told.

Colin, Nigel, Sam, Pete and Norman

I attend a lot of meetings. Meetings about meetings. Meetings preparing for the meeting about meetings. I attend business meetings, charity metings, government meetings, school meetings, public meetings, hush hush meetings (which I'd like to tell you about but...). All sorts of meetings.

In these meetings, I see the same Meeting Types over and over again. Here are five of my favourites (names changed to protect the innocent - but you know who you are :). You probably know a few more.

Cynical Colin: cynical Colin hangs back at the start of meetings. He doesn't make eye contact. Chair slightly pushed back, he makes the occasional note on his pad but otherwise projects indifference. In fact he project silence powerfully into the meeting. He doesn't say anything but you know he's there, waiting to pounce. You know he's listening, cynically, sighing inside at the banality of it all, the triviality that he has to put up with around here. Then at some point he makes his move. Leans forwards, seizes the space and delivers a deliberately contrary diatribe before sinking back into his reverie.

Naughty Nigel: naughty Nigel sat in the back of the class at school, sniggered with his mates and flicked paper at girls. 30 years later he's still doing much the same thing. On the surface he participates in the meting, making a few positive, non-controversial, vacuous comments but most of the time he tries to enrol other people in his "back of class" antics. He writes notes on his papers and surreptitiously shows them to the person sitting next to him ("old so and so off on one, eh?"). He makes eye contact across the room, arches his eyebrow and smirks knowingly at you as someone else is speaking. Everyone knows he's doing it but he is a master of the art. He restrains himself just enough to avoid The Boss saying "oh for goodness sake, will you grow up, Nigel, otherwise I'll send you to the Head".

Strident Sam: strident Sam must be heard. Sam is prepped and ready for a fight. Sam has data. Hard facts. Not namby pamby nonsense like the rest of you. Sam doesn't have time for this nonsense. It's all nonsense. Sam goes in angry. Starts angry, continues angry, finishes angry. Collars you on the way out, complaining about the meeting. Bloody waste of time if you ask Sam. Sam is the only person who "cuts through the crap". The only one who really knows what's going on around here. Everyone else is an idiot. Sam knows best and doesn't care who knows it.

Political Pete: Pete is a smooth operator. He navigates his way through meetings with consumate skill and panache. You can't lay a glove on Pete. He makes confident, calm, measured points that sound plausible until you think about them later and realise that they meant nothing at all. On the one hand this, on the other hand that. He is careful not to draw any conclusions before The Boss has indicated which way he is leaning, then Political Pete comes down gently but firmly, on balance, on the side of The Boss.

Name-drop Norman: I love name-drop Norman. He's late for the meeting because he's just been finishing a call with The Minister. He needs to leave early because he has to rush to a meeting with The Director. He would love to come out for a drink this evening but "unfortunately" he has to go to dinner with the Ambassador. He partially agrees with your view, but as The Guru he met at a conference said only last week, you're talking rubbish.

And which type am I? All five of course and probably a few more I haven't thought of yet!

Tears of a clown

Bruce Willis or Smokey Robinson? Yippie Ki Yay or Tears of a Clown?

Bruce Willis is a real man. Real men don't cry. So they say.

So, where does that leave me? I think I used to be a real man, but I've grown out of it now. It's just a phase I was going through. These days if something is really funny I laugh until my ribs ache. If something is really sad I cry. What's the last film you cried at? This was mine and I don't care who knows it.

I don't know why some people are afraid of tears. They do anything to keep jolly. Stiff upper lip. "Got to keep smiling, eh?"

Why exactly? Why have you got to keep smiling? Is sadness a lesser emotion that needs to be defeated at all costs and replaced with fake laughter? That is a dangerous path to go down.

A chap I knew lived his life like that. A real man. Calm, measured, smile playing on his lips in any situation. Perfect businessman. I admired him greatly and wondered how he managed to glid across the surface of life whilst the rest of us were tossed and turned by the churning seas.

A couple of years ago, I asked a friend "Where's old XXXX these days?"

"Ah, you haven't heard? Apparently he got up one day, left his house, when down to the train tracks and stood in front of an express train. No one expected it."

True and very sad story.

I won't do that. If I am happy you will hear me laugh. If I am sad you will feel my tears. If I am angry you will warm yourself on the flickering flames. Right now, I am wrestling with sadness. I cry every day, deep behind the eyes, but I am finding moments of laughter too and peaceful moments of calm, early in the morning when the world sleeps. I think its natural.

Keep your real men. I will give you the tears of a clown.