An administrative oversight

After I'd been in the computer industry a few years I was charged with the task of finding out what my customers needed to support their production processes so I began to ask them.

On one occasion I was in a production control office talking to the admin guy who printed and distributed the works order sets (everything was on paper). Each set consisted of half a dozen or so different coloured foolscap pages: white, yellow, green, blue - each colour went to a different function - and two pink copies. "Why two pink?" I asked. "One is for stock control and I keep one for audit" came the reply, and was shown a cupboard the size of a large wardrobe full of pink sheets. "What happens to them?", I asked. Answer came there none.

I smelled a rat and began to ask around. It emerged that, 15 years before, the company had carried out a contract for, let us say, the New Zealand navy, who had picked up the sheets every few weeks. The contract had finished after a few months but nobody bothered to tell the admin guy, so he'd carried on printing them.

At the time, too many computer systems unquestioningly automated the existing manual systems enabling people, as it was said, "... to make the same mistakes but much more efficiently."

A trip to Milan: part 2

Some years ago I was working on an assignment where I had meetings with the European country CEOs of an American multi-national. On this occasion I was meeting the CEO of the Italian operating company. I arrived in Milan and got to the office a few hundred metres from the cathedral. I was confronted by a huge wooden door which opened as soon as I rang the bell. I entered a balconied courtyard with fountains and flowers - just stunning. I presented myself at reception. "Oh, the chairman is out today so we've put you in his office".

I was ushered into a large room full of antique furniture, at the far end of which was an ornate desk the size of a table tennis table. Happily there was a L-shaped arrangement of modern leather seating in the far corner so I seated myself there. No sooner had I done so than the coffee arrived and the PA told me that the CEO would be with me shortly.

He entered the room and walked towards the desk, realised I wasn't there, and turned to see me. He took me by the elbow, led me to the desk and seated me behind it. "Your place is here", he said, "we have to observe the formalities".

This was not a corporate viewpoint, so I can only imagine it was something to do with Italian culture. I don't have enough experience to know but it was an interesting episode.

A trip to Milan: part 1

I caught my flight as planned and we took off on time. Some way into the flight, the plane began to lose height rapidly, the oxygen masks dropped from the overhead lockers and we were clearly undergoing some kind of emergency. A bunch of American women behind me began praying aloud and a lot of people were evidently frightened. The cabin staff kept an impressive cool.

After what seemed like an age the plane levelled out and the captain came over the intercom, cool as a cucumber. "As you will have gathered, we had a cabin depressurisation. We are now flying safely at 10,000 feet and everything is under control. However, the Alps where we need to cross them are 13,000 feet high and this aircraft isn't going any higher than 10,000 feet, so we shall be landing at Geneva. The cabin staff will discuss with you your options for onward travel." There were two options: catch the train from Geneva to Milan which would arrive at 4pm or wait for the next flight from Geneva to Milan which would also arrive at 4pm. Since my meeting was scheduled for 2pm I decided to cut my losses and return to London.

When we landed in Geneva, I went to the transfer desk and explained my predicament. "There's a seat on a Swissair flight leaving shortly; if you run you'll be able to get on it. I'll get them to hold until you arrive." I trotted through the airport and was ushered onto the plane. The door closed behind me. "We've had to put you in first class; I hope that's OK", said the stewardess.

I turned left towards my seat; it was at the front on the right hand side of the gangway, facing the bulkhead. On the left hand side I saw the instantly recognisable head of a TV actress who, at the time, was an object of desire for many British heterosexual males. I sat across the gangway from her but was unable to muster the courage to speak. Duh!

My influences: Edward de Bono

It must have been around 1970 that Management by Objectives (MbO) became a fashionable management strategy. The idea was that the manager of a team would be set objectives for his team and then he would agree with his staff individual objectives which, if achieved, would lead to the team over-performing. The clever bit was that, in agreeing objectives with an individual the manager would ensure that the staff member's ambitions were reflected as much as those of the business. My employer took it seriously and it worked well.

The process of setting and reviewing objectives took place during an annual objective setting round with quarterly reviews. At the time it was a common theme that I was seen as being not particularly creative. My boss asked me to look for an appropriate course and make a proposal for funding; I was aware of Edward de Bono's Lateral Thinking ideas, so I found a course he was running in London, made the necessary funding application and, to my surprise, it was agreed.

I turned up at the venue to discover there were about 24 of us attending a three-day (I think) event. It's a long time ago and I don't remember much of the detail except for the concept of "random juxtaposition"; if you were stuck with a problem you closed your eyes, opened a dictionary randomly, pointed a pencil onto the page and were then honour bound to make a connection between the problem and the word you'd selected. I don't remember the problem I'd been given to solve but I'll never forget the word; it was "custard". There were some other methods too but I don't remember them.

At lunchtimes; we sat on tables of 8, I think, and Edward sat on a different table on each day. The man was an ideas freak - everything that anyone said stimulated an idea and a forty-minute conversation generated a bewildering number of ideas.

I carried on using the random juxtaposition technique for a while, and then it stopped being necessary. After a while it was my creativity, not the lack of it, that was the problem, and it still is. Keeping focus on what I'm doing is a constant challenge but I have a much more interesting life than I would have otherwise.

I owe Edward de Bono a lot, and it was a real privilege to have had the opportunity of spending time with him.

https://www.debono.com/

Swedish wedding reception

Soon after I became a self-employed management consultant I purchased the UK licence to a consulting methodology developed in Sweden, and it provided the dominant source of my income for 23 years until I stopped in 2015. There were licensees in 8 European countries, the USA and Australia – about 20 consultants in total – and for several years we got together every year to share experiences and discuss new developments and applications.

The practice was to meet in a different country every year and the first meeting I attended was in south west Sweden not far from Gothenburg. The hotel was on the coast near Fiskebäckskil and had its own moorings with a short landing stage projecting around 20 yards into the sea.

We talked business during the day and then, in early evening, we would socialise. On our final evening we were having pre-prandial drinks on the quay when a small boat pulled into view. As it got closer we realised that, standing on the deck, were a bride and groom, clearly on their way to the hotel for their reception.

We joined their guests in congratulating them and then went into the restaurant for our conference dinner; at more or less the same time the wedding party went into the adjoining room, separated from us by a white painted timber and glass partition. After a little while, they began to make speeches. There had already been several so we enquired of our Swedish colleagues what was going on. They explained that, at a Swedish wedding, all the male guests had the right to make a speech, and most of them exercised that right. They were evidently consuming a lot of alcohol, too, because proceedings were increasingly uproarious.

They were still at it when we went to bed at 11:30

My Influences: Dr Douglas Gawn

I'm not sure whether I was a sickly child but I used to suffer from frequent bouts of bronchitis. In retrospect, this wasn't surprising; I grew up in Knowle Park, in Bristol, and we were only a couple of miles from the engine sheds at St Philip's Marsh. One of my early recollections is walking to school in the fog, which smelt acrid and often had a pronounced yellow tinge.

Our GP was Dr Douglas Gawn; his white hair and lined face led me to believe that he was old but my mother later told me he was only in his 30s. He had spent time in Japanese prisoner of war camps so perhaps this was the reason.

On one occasion, when I was suffering from a particularly severe bout of bronchitis and was feeling pretty miserable, I remember Dr Gawn standing at the foot of my bed and saying, "Young man - if you smoke, it will kill you."

One can argue about the timing but the message was received and understood. I've never smoked, ever. Not even once. I owe you, Dr Gawn.

https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/853a/5930e44c411c23b3fc2fe6889a1f5af0ea53.pdf

My influences: Michael Booker

As reported elsewhere in this blog, from 1955 until 1962 I attended Bristol Grammar School. I had never been a sporty child - my interest lay in books and I read voraciously - so attending a school where team sports formed an important part of school life came as something of a shock.

I never achieved distinction. I managed to get a place in the relevant house rugby team as I progressed through the School but never achieved selection into a house cricket team. Which was a shame as I rapidly developed an affection for the game which endures to this day - We beat Australia!!!!!

Early in my summer term in the Removes (yes, we still used the archaic terminology in those days) my housemaster Michael Booker approached me as I was reading the House notice board for confirmation that, again, I would not be representing the House at cricket. "Austin", he said, "have you looked at the First XI notice board?" I said I had not. "You should", he said, "there is a notice that will interest you".

I proceeded to the First XI notice board, which was just inside the main door, and scoured it for items of relevance and interest. I couldn't see anything that could possibly concern me. I scoured it again. Towards the bottom I saw a small typed notice saying that the First XI was in need of a scorer and applications were invited from interested parties. "That must be it", I thought and tentatively approached Michael Booker for confirmation. "Yes", he said, "it's a job that would really suit you." I applied and, to my astonishment, a few days later my form master passed me a note saying that I had been appointed.

Thus began my long, though somewhat intermittent, career as a cricket scorer. The idea would not have occurred to me had Michael Booker not suggested it.

It was not until my forties that I realised how influential this man had been in my life. He kept track of old members of his house for years, and I would occasionally get a personal, handwritten letter asking me to contribute to some School appeal of one sort or another and to enquire after my health and prosperity. But what I had not understood was his deep commitment to making the School's quality education available to children whose economic circumstances, like mine, did not make them obvious candidates. I was lucky enough to obtain what, in those days, was known as a (Bristol) City Scholarship. But the cancellation of the Direct Grant scheme put schools like Bristol Grammar School beyond the reach of "ordinary" people. When Michael Booker died, some years ago, the Fund set up to grant scholarships to people who might otherwise have no hope of attending the School was named after him. The respect in which he is still held guarantees a continual income from Old Bristolians who have moved on to higher things; some of the sums donated are eywateringly large.

Anyhow, Michael Booker played an influential role in my life and I would not be the person I am today, at work or at play, if it had not been for his intervention.

Thank you Michael, wherever you are.

POSTSCRIPT

BGS was granted its Charter in 1532 and major anniversaries are celebrated. I attended the 475th celebrations in 2007 and am looking forward to the Big One, the 500th anniversary in 2032. As I say above, the School puts a lot of effort into raising money for bursaries and it had been decided to make a big push leading up to the 500th anniversary. To my considerable surprise I was asked if I would consent to an excerpt from this blog entry to be pubished in the fundraising brochure; the fundraising manager had Googled Michael Booker and found it, An unexpected consequence of expressing gratitude!

My influences: Fred Wedlock

As reported elsewhere in my blog, I attended Bristol Grammar School from 1955 to 1962, and was placed in Booker's House (the black house), whose guide and mentor was Michael Booker, also referred to elsewhere in my blog.

The majority of boys (we were all boys then - the School went co-educational a few years later) had school lunches. We ate in the Great Hall in two shifts - the first and second years in the first sitting and everyone else in the second sitting. We sat in houses - each house had seven or eight tables of eight people each and each table was presided over by a table prefect. Fred Wedlock was one of these, and I was usually successful in the competition to sit on his table. Fred, later to achieve fame and fortune with "The Oldest Swinger in Town" and a number of other singles and LPs was, up to that point, the funniest person I had ever met. Indeed, he remains one of the funniest people I have ever met. I can't remember any of the conversations we had, but I do recall often returning to my form room for the afternoon's classes weak with laughter, in a way that only teenagers can manage.

However, one anecdote springs to mind. Michael Booker, our house master, usually sat on one of the tables for lunch and, on this occasion, we were joined by the then Headmaster, John Mackay. I don't know if John Mackay had a sense of humour - I never had the opportunity to discover - but he showed no evidence of it on this occasion. The main course passed off uneventfully - then came the sweet. The School was in the habit of serving a kind of hard shortbread, affectionally known as "concrete", as a sweet. The only way of attacking this (we weren't allowed to pick it up) was to grab one's spoon firmly and jab the concrete with the point. After several jabs a fault line would appear and, using this technique, one could break the slab of concrete into pieces small enough to eat. However, boys had suffered a number of shrapnel injuries from the concrete when it shattered explosively; in order to reduce the rate of injury, it was muffled with a sort of pink custard, which kept the pieces glued to the plate.

This lunchtime, Michael Booker was sitting next to me, Fred opposite me and the Headmaster next to Fred. Using the approved technique, Michael grapped his spoon and jabbed the concrete. The first time, nothing happened. The second time, the concrete shattered. However, the pink custard wasn't up to the task and one half of the concrete, with its coating of pink custard, struck the Headmaster in the middle of his waistcoat and the other half hit Michael Booker in the identical spot. I looked at Fred. Not a wrinkle! I held my breath, or bit my tongue, or did something else to retain my composure. Michael and the Headmaster left the table to repair the damage. To my regret I can't remember what Fred then said but I laughed for a week!

I occasionally came across him around Bristol or at social events and it was always a joy. He appeared to have enjoyed those lunchtime encounters as much as I did.

Fred died last year, much mourned by Old Bristolians in particular and all Bristolians in general. What a lovely man. I feel really privileged to have known him well for a couple of years.

My influences: Paul J Meyer

In July 2003 I had an acrimonious parting of the ways with my then business partner and decided, once again, to work on my own. However, it wasn't at all clear what I should be doing and I was struggling with this. Fortuitously, in April 2003 I had joined a BNI Chapter near Didcot in Oxfordshire; one of the other members was John Harris, who owned the Success Motivation International (SMI) franchise in the UK. SMI is the vehicle by which the personal development programmes developed by Paul J Meyer were sold and delivered in the field, and John had been trying to persuade me that this was just what I needed.

At the time it appeared to me that this was some kind of flaky American scam, and I was deeply sceptical. However, partly to get John off my back I agreed to go to an event at which some of his existing and previous clients were to talk about the impact SMI had had on their lives. The event was not what I expected. The speakers were solid, feet on the ground business people and, in some cases, had signed up because their careers were at a crossroads. To a man and/or woman, they all explained that they had decided to do a programme to improve their businesses but had experienced major improvements in their personal lives too.

I was persuaded. I signed up for a programme called The Dynamics of Personal Goal Setting (DPGS). I cannot say that I found it easy. Some of the suggested activities seemed trivial (they are not); the printed material is also provided as a recording and I found it very difficult to listen to this as it was read by an actor with a strong American accent. I fought the programme all the way but, having paid a significant sum of money for it, I stuck with it, and did it again. And again. And again.

I still read and listen to it now. More significantly, I still routinely carry out the exercises recommended in the programme, and have raised my goal setting and completion to an art form, at considerable benefit to my lifestyle.

Three years later, I signed up for another programme, The Dynamics of Personal Time Control (DPTC). The way I explain the difference between the two programmes is that DPGS is about effectiveness (doing the right things) and DPTC is about efficiency (doing things right).

I am definitely a product of the product, and am a very different person from the person I was in 2003.

Thank you Paul J Meyer. And thank you John Harris.

My influences: Dick Howe

I first met David WG Howe ("Dick") in ICL; he was the Area Manager of a sales area based in Harrow, Middlesex, in about 1975. As ICL was then organised, there were separate reporting structures for sales and support staff which converged at divisional level; the thinking behind this was that it insulated professional support staff from pressures from the sales force to cut corners and deliver systems that were short of what the customer thought he was getting. So I worked with the salesmen, and with Dick, rather than for him. Despite this, over the ensuing couple of years we got to work well together and when, in 1976, Dick was head hunted by a technical documentation company to set up and run a software house for them, he recruited me as a member of his team, based in Wokingham. In fact, this was not a good decision, either for Dick or for me, but we worked together for a couple of years and got to know each other well.

I had always felt that Dick was gullible and was inclined to chase after the next intellectual fashion, whatever it was. At the time, he had been reading books by Erich von Däniken, who had a bee in his bonnet about extra-terrestrial intervention in the affairs of the earth. He had accumulated lots of alleged evidence, including the Old Testament book of Ezekiel and some unexplained geological lines in, I think, South America. He had a big hit with Chariots of the Gods and a number of other books on a similar theme.

Dick and I were having a pub lunch in the garden of the Duke's Head in Wokingham and Dick was expounding one of von Daniken's more far fetched theories. I delivered what I thought was a devastating critique of his alleged evidence and was feeling rather pleased with myself, when Dick said, "In being so narrow minded, you are cutting yourself from all sorts of ideas and concepts; some of them will indeed be rubbish but some undoubtedly will not. You need to give some thought to your attitude to challenging ideas".

This had been said to me before by others. But whether it was Dick, the moment, the weather, the beer or something else, at that moment the criticism went home. It changed me instantaneously and, looking back at my subsequent life, I am sure that I have benefitted from a number of ideas which, before Dick's comments, I would have discounted.

I owe you a lot, Dick. Thank you.

My influences: Mr Halls ("Henry")

In my third year at Bristol Grammar School I was in form 5B, and the distinction between fee paying and scholarship pupils had completely disappeared; we were confident, at ease, having enormous fun.

Our English teacher was Mr Halls - nicknamed "Henry" with no great creativity after "Henry Hall's Guest Night" which was a variety show still running on the Home Service on Saturday evenings. English was not my favourite subject - I was 28th out of 30 and dreaded English lessons when they came. Every week, I think, we had a essay to write on some subject or other; my mother, who had been a primary school teacher before I was born, took a close interest in this and insisted that I should write essays that satisfied her criteria.

About four weeks into the year Mr Halls called me up to talk to him at the end of the lesson. "Austin", he said "is it your mother or your father who helps you with your essays?" Acutely embarrassed, I admitted it was my mother. "Please tell her", he said, "that in future I would like to see your work rather than hers." When I got home the balloon went up and I gave to understand that, under no circumstances, would I accept any interference in future.

I finished the year 2nd out of 30 in English. In my adult life I have written a book, a number of articles and countless essays, papers and think pieces, and writing is one of my two most important creative outlets.

Thank you, Mr Halls.

My influences: Mr East ("Ichabod")

At the end of my primary school career I took the scholarship exam. To the astonishment of everyone except myself I won a scholarship to Bristol Grammar School, a direct grant school and Bristol's premier boys' school. I wasn't astonished as I didn't understand the achievement.

However, off I went to BGS. It was an amazing experience - a huge school (well, I thought so at the time - 1200 boys) with amazing facilities and all these posh boys with posh accents. However, as a result of a combination of laziness and indifferent health, at the beginning of the second year I found myself in 4β (beta), which was a kind of sink form, the lowest of five forms in the second year. The form master was Mr East, nicknamed Ichabod after Ichabod Crane, a character in Washington Irving's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow". Why the nickname was chosen I never discovered. In our first form period, Mr East set out his manifesto.

I paraphrase but what he said, broadly, was, "There are two kinds of boys in this form. Some of you find school work really difficult, and I am going to do my very best to help you get to grips with it. Some of you are idle, and I am going to give you a very difficult time until you pull your fingers out and start working. In a couple of weeks I shall tell you which I think you are, and then the fun will start."

The couple of weeks passed and then he called us up individually to tell us his diagnosis. "You, boy", he said to me, "are idle. Not for long".

He was as good as his word. He was our maths teacher; if I got less than 80% on a maths test I had to stay in after school (not a detention - these were awarded rarely and were seen as a disgrace) and if I got less than 90% I had to do extra homework. This was all done with good humour - on one occasion, when I got a homework question wrong he wrote, in red ink, "Ha, ha! Got you that time!"

Being of a systematic turn of mind, I learned how to flick pellets with a 12" ruler and became very skilled at it. On one occasion, just as Mr East came through the door, I let go of a pellet at someone on the far side of the room, and the pellet hit the door frame more or less level with his nose. He was about to take a Divinity lesson (RE as it sometimes called) and gave me 100 lines to be delivered on the following morning. I have never forgotten the sentence I had to write. It was, "The study of ballistics, whilst interesting, does not form part of the divinity curriculum." I had to look up "ballistics" and "curriculum" before I could start.

I imagine that his educational policy was transmitted to our other teachers too - I did a lot of extra work. But at the end of the year I went up to the second class of the five.

What did I learn? If you put in the work, you achieve the success.

My influences: Mr Wheaton

In my final year at Knowle Park Junior Mixed School, my primary school, I was taught by Mr Wheaton. This was regarded as a privilege; he was one of the few male teachers in the school.

The only other apart from Mr Proudlove, the Headmaster, was Mr Warburton, who was the art & handicraft teacher. I had a very poor opinion of both of them; Mr Proudlove talked about "Americker" and "Africker" whereas, as a good Bristolian, I knew the correct pronunciations were "Americle" and "Africle". And Mr Warburton used to bang on about "cutting knives"; I was unaware of any knife that wasn't used for cutting so I regarded him as stupidly verbose.

Anyhow, Mr Wheaton was well thought of by the children, one of these teachers who never had a problem with discipline although he never appeared to do anything about it. However, despite his best efforts and my immaculate behaviour, we had a run-in. I was unjustly accused of talking in the line whilst we were waiting to go into assembly. I wasn't talking, so I denied it. When we got back to the classroom, I was again accused of talking and again denied it. Mr Wheaton stood me in the corner of the classroom whilst he got on the with the class and every ten minutes or so, he gave me the option to change my mind. I declined. When we got to break he said, "Alright, you clearly aren't going to admit you were talking" and I said, "That's because I wasn't", so it was declared a draw. Or, in my mind, a clear win for me.

What did I learn from that? Well, when I'm certain of the rights of my case I am very determined or, as even my friends would say, stubborn.

My influences: Miss Headington

I grew up on a housing estate in south Bristol and went to Knowle Park Junior Mixed School, the local primary school.

In my second and third years - I can never work out how this relates to the current year number convention - I was taught, in a class of 50 children, by Miss Headington who must have been around 50 years old at the time. She had a reputation, probably undeserved, of being a harridan and, although I was a quiet and obedient child, I had a couple of run-ins with her.

The first had to do with punctuation. We wrote with fountain pens and I made full stops with the point of the pen - in consequence, they were small. Unfortunately they were too small for Miss Headington, who assumed that they were absent. After a couple of differences of opinion about this, Miss Headington made me sit in class - my recollection says a whole morning but I suspect it was probably half an hour - with a large full stop on a piece of paper hung around my neck. The point was made; for the rest of my time in her class I made sure there was no mistake - my full stops were the size of peas. I know this to be true - I still have one of my exercise books from the period. When I moved up to Mr Wheaton's class (see the next post), I reverted to making them with the point of the pen; Mr Wheaton's eyesight must have been better, as I had no further problems.

The second had to do with male rights! Hymn books for assembly were distributed by hymn book monitors before we walked across to the hall for assembly. The hymn book monitors were all girls, so the girls got the decent hymn books and the boys got the hymn books with missing covers and torn pages. One morning I was shouted at for failing to sing in assembly; the reason, as I explained, was that the relevant page was missing from my hymn book. This was not accepted as a valid excuse. I was incandescent at the unfairness of this and, when we returned to the classroom, I went up to Miss Headington's desk and complained about the appointment of hymn book monitors. To my surprise, Miss Headington accepted the unfairness of this and appointed some boys as monitors. It will come as no surprise to anyone to learn that I was not popular among the girls.

So what did I learn from these experiences? Well, for the whole of my life since, I have been moved and angered by unfairness, and it still informs and influences my political opinions. And also, I realised in retrospect, despite my quiet and reserved demeanour, I am quite prepared to take on authority to get things changed if I think they need to be changed. But, despite my lack of popularity with the girls at the time, I have remained firmly heterosexual!