CONFERENCE DIARY 2
WEASEL BLOUSE
For the benefit of those who did not read my last blog or for those who did but suffer short term memory loss I will recap. My boss has asked me to deliver a speech at a conference being held in Belgrade. My preparation has been far from ideal culminating in a late night drinking session with some of my fellow delegates. Read on.
Thursday morning in central Belgrade: The hangover from last night’s outing rattles through my head like a Siberian draught blowing in an empty room. Today I will represent the company and speak authoritatively on “Implementing a system of internal controls.” Word of my assured performance will filter back to the office and I will be marked out as a candidate for advancement. At least that was the plan but as I take my seat at the front of the hall the fear joins forces with the after effects of too much alcohol so that I am coated in a fine film of perspiration.
I look out at my audience who are equipped with headphones to allow for simultaneous translation from Serbo-Croat to English and vice-versa. They look like Cybermen. Through the double doors at the side of the hall I spy Eva and Carlos with whom I was drinking last night. They are giggling over cups of the thick black coffee that is being served to delegates. Towards the front of the audience I spot Xavier. He waves to me and I am relieved that he appears not to have taken to heart the jokes I made at his expense in the early hours of this morning.
All too quickly the audience are asked to take their seats and we begin. Our Serbian host gives a short introduction before handing over to the first speaker who is a Japanese Professor of Economics. He talks in English on the subject of “Reducing Regulatory Risk,” a subject that is quite as riveting as it sounds and enlivened only by the speaker’s inability to pronounce the letter “r” which emerges from his lips as “l”. As he draws to a conclusion I feel a rising sense of dread that is only partly eased by the audience’s polite applause. And then I am on.
I give my presentation aware of a nervous tremor in my voice and an unsteadiness in my hand as I turn the pages of my speaking notes. The bored thousand yard stares of the audience only add to my discomfort but suddenly I find myself on the last page and a wave of relief sweeps over me as I finish speaking. There is a slight delay as the translation catches up and then there is a round of applause. I take a sip of water and sit back triumphant. The host turns to me and asks whether I will take questions. I can hardly refuse and so I nod as if it is a matter of no consequence to me one way or the other. The invitation to ask questions meets general indifference until Xavier raises his arm and is invited to put his question.
“Can you tell us please, what is your policy for weasel blouse?” asks Xavier.
The audience look at me expectantly as I flounder. “Sorry can you repeat the question?” I ask.
“Yes. How do you deal with weasel blouse?” asks Xavier deadpan and then I get it. This is some sly Iberian revenge for the sleights suffered last night. Xavier wants to humiliate me in front of this audience. Well I have news for you my cunning Spanish amigo, I do not buckle under pressure. I smile to let Xavier know I am onto his little joke and then I say, “We are very relaxed about blouses for weasels and we also permit waistcoats for ferrets”. I am feeling pleased with the rapier like speed of my riposte when I note the look of horror on the faces of certain members of the audience and the total bewilderment on the faces of others and as I register all of this it suddenly occurs to me with an awful clarity what in fact Xavier was asking. Xavier wanted to know how we treat whistleblowers.
The host intervenes and voices some perfunctory thanks for my presentation and we break for coffee. As I leave the stage nobody wants to catch my eye and with almost indecent haste a taxi is found to take me to the airport. The car is small and of Eastern European origins so that the engine noise is deafening as we travel along the main road to the airport. I feel like I am fleeing the scene of some terrible crime and I welcome the distance I am putting between myself and the spot where doubtless people are shaking their heads in disbelief at my crass stupidity. I pray that Newman does not get to hear of what has happened and I mentally shelve my plans for a leather executive chair.
Tuesday, 20 December 2011
Wednesday, 7 December 2011
ROAD MAP OF A MID-LIFE CRISIS (7)
ROAD MAP OF A MID-LIFE CRISIS (7)
CONFERENCE DIARY Part I
"Hope in reality is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man." So wrote Frederich Nietszche a man who knew a thing or two about life’s disappointments.
I am at my desk when I get a summons to the top floor. As I travel up in the lift I rack my brain trying to think of what I might have done wrong but I needn’t have worried. As I enter his office, Newman cracks what for him counts as a smile. It seems that I have been selected to represent the office at a compliance conference to be held overseas. My mind struggles to compute what impact this will have on my prospects for promotion whilst simultaneously imagining a host of potential far flung, exotic venues. I am to give a presentation on the snappily titled subject, “Implementing a system of internal controls”. Newman spends a lot of time impressing upon me the significant opportunity he is presenting me with. I nod dumbly. By the time he is drawing to a close I am mentally packing the sun tan lotion and choosing the décor for my new executive office, so it takes a little while for it to sink in when Newman announces that my destination is Belgrade.
I land in Belgrade at midday and take a taxi to the hotel. Goran, my driver, is a valuable source of local information despite his limited English. From him I learn that Serbs love Chelsea football club, that it is difficult doing business in Serbia because of interference from corrupt politicians and that as I have no wedding ring I will have no trouble attracting one of Belgrade's many lovely women. I thank Goran and decline his offer of help on this last matter. He charges me 3000 dinar (roughly £25).
After checking in at the hotel I have four hours to kill. I decide to explore my surroundings and heading out with no particular plan I find myself at Belgrade's fortress which houses the military museum. Having paid roughly 80 pence I learn that Serbia has experienced many rulers and invasions by foreign powers. The Romans were followed by the Celts, the Slavs and the Turks. All of these peoples brought with them large pointy bits of metal to kill the locals. I also get a crash course in Serbia's 20th century history and conclude that the military museum is much better value than Goran.
On the way back to the hotel I am on the lookout for replica football kits to take home for Emile and Oscar. Tucked away on a back street I find a stall that has counterfeit Red Star and Partizan tops. The stall holder who has a lit cigarette surgically fixed to his lips tells me that he visited London for 2 weeks in 1976 and that he loves Chelsea. I buy 2 Red Star tops and he throws in 2 pairs of shorts for good measure.
Back at the hotel I smarten up for the evening reception. I consider adding the finishing touches to my speech but think better of it. I meet with the other delegates in the hotel lobby and we are taken in a convoy of coaches to the Royal Palaces on the outskirts of Belgrade where we receive a guided tour. The palaces were built in the 1920's by King Alexander and following the Royal Families exile in 1941 were used by Yugoslavia's communist leaders. We see the damage caused by NATO bombing in 1999 (an obvious sore point) and I am surprised to learn that the Serb Republic still has a Royal Family. Even more surprisingly His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and his wife are present to meet us. I line up for the group photo with HRH. I am really impressed at the trouble our Serb hosts are taking to make us welcome. There is only one problem. It is now 9 o'clock and there is no sign of food other than the trays of rather uninspiring cocktail snacks circulating around the room.
At 10 o'clock coaches arrive to pick us up and drop us back in the centre of Belgrade. I consider an early night so that I am fresh for my big speech in the morning but I’m persuaded, rather too easily, to join a group who are having a drink in a bar. My companions are a cosmopolitan bunch. Pieter is Dutch, Eva is German and flirts outrageously with Carlos who epitomizes the stereotype of hirsute, Argentine machismo. The final member of the group is Xavier, a Catalan whose English is heavily accented. As the drinks follow one after the other into empty stomachs inhibitions recede and soon we are laughing and joking like old friends.
I would like to be able to say that from our time together we each learn something valuable about the others’ culture and background. Unfortunately, and I’m not proud of this, I find myself, in imitation of Xavier, doing impressions of Manuel from Fawlty Towers. Xavier appears to take this in good part and the others present seem amused but it may well be they are simply embarrassed on Xavier’s behalf. Whatever, we finish up at about 3 am and make our way back to the hotel parting as friends. The finishing touches to the speech will have to wait until the morning. (To be continued..)
CONFERENCE DIARY Part I
"Hope in reality is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man." So wrote Frederich Nietszche a man who knew a thing or two about life’s disappointments.
I am at my desk when I get a summons to the top floor. As I travel up in the lift I rack my brain trying to think of what I might have done wrong but I needn’t have worried. As I enter his office, Newman cracks what for him counts as a smile. It seems that I have been selected to represent the office at a compliance conference to be held overseas. My mind struggles to compute what impact this will have on my prospects for promotion whilst simultaneously imagining a host of potential far flung, exotic venues. I am to give a presentation on the snappily titled subject, “Implementing a system of internal controls”. Newman spends a lot of time impressing upon me the significant opportunity he is presenting me with. I nod dumbly. By the time he is drawing to a close I am mentally packing the sun tan lotion and choosing the décor for my new executive office, so it takes a little while for it to sink in when Newman announces that my destination is Belgrade.
I land in Belgrade at midday and take a taxi to the hotel. Goran, my driver, is a valuable source of local information despite his limited English. From him I learn that Serbs love Chelsea football club, that it is difficult doing business in Serbia because of interference from corrupt politicians and that as I have no wedding ring I will have no trouble attracting one of Belgrade's many lovely women. I thank Goran and decline his offer of help on this last matter. He charges me 3000 dinar (roughly £25).
After checking in at the hotel I have four hours to kill. I decide to explore my surroundings and heading out with no particular plan I find myself at Belgrade's fortress which houses the military museum. Having paid roughly 80 pence I learn that Serbia has experienced many rulers and invasions by foreign powers. The Romans were followed by the Celts, the Slavs and the Turks. All of these peoples brought with them large pointy bits of metal to kill the locals. I also get a crash course in Serbia's 20th century history and conclude that the military museum is much better value than Goran.
On the way back to the hotel I am on the lookout for replica football kits to take home for Emile and Oscar. Tucked away on a back street I find a stall that has counterfeit Red Star and Partizan tops. The stall holder who has a lit cigarette surgically fixed to his lips tells me that he visited London for 2 weeks in 1976 and that he loves Chelsea. I buy 2 Red Star tops and he throws in 2 pairs of shorts for good measure.
Back at the hotel I smarten up for the evening reception. I consider adding the finishing touches to my speech but think better of it. I meet with the other delegates in the hotel lobby and we are taken in a convoy of coaches to the Royal Palaces on the outskirts of Belgrade where we receive a guided tour. The palaces were built in the 1920's by King Alexander and following the Royal Families exile in 1941 were used by Yugoslavia's communist leaders. We see the damage caused by NATO bombing in 1999 (an obvious sore point) and I am surprised to learn that the Serb Republic still has a Royal Family. Even more surprisingly His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and his wife are present to meet us. I line up for the group photo with HRH. I am really impressed at the trouble our Serb hosts are taking to make us welcome. There is only one problem. It is now 9 o'clock and there is no sign of food other than the trays of rather uninspiring cocktail snacks circulating around the room.
At 10 o'clock coaches arrive to pick us up and drop us back in the centre of Belgrade. I consider an early night so that I am fresh for my big speech in the morning but I’m persuaded, rather too easily, to join a group who are having a drink in a bar. My companions are a cosmopolitan bunch. Pieter is Dutch, Eva is German and flirts outrageously with Carlos who epitomizes the stereotype of hirsute, Argentine machismo. The final member of the group is Xavier, a Catalan whose English is heavily accented. As the drinks follow one after the other into empty stomachs inhibitions recede and soon we are laughing and joking like old friends.
I would like to be able to say that from our time together we each learn something valuable about the others’ culture and background. Unfortunately, and I’m not proud of this, I find myself, in imitation of Xavier, doing impressions of Manuel from Fawlty Towers. Xavier appears to take this in good part and the others present seem amused but it may well be they are simply embarrassed on Xavier’s behalf. Whatever, we finish up at about 3 am and make our way back to the hotel parting as friends. The finishing touches to the speech will have to wait until the morning. (To be continued..)
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