Words

This week I was coaching some business leaders, a pastime I thoroughly recommend if you want to see rampant egos, point scoring and combative stand offs. No one likes to be criticised, but those who see themselves as captains of commerce are unlike Joan Rivers. They hate to lose face.

This week’s lot were lovely, willing to take criticism in the hope they could learn, and the chief executive reminded me that the last time we’d met I had asked her to be a bit more concise and focused when she spoke. I had recommended she look at a six word story that Ernest Hemingway had written and had often said was the best thing he’d created. The six words were “For Sale, baby shoes, never worn”.

Despite its brevity it is a complete story and the sense of loss and sadness in those few words speak chapters of hurt and longing as well as unfulfilled potential, and they also prove that windbags who speak for hours are just self absorbed.

Last week was the 150th anniversary of the start of the American Civil War and it reminded me that the famous Gettysburg Address was a speech given by Abraham Lincoln in just two minutes, using only two hundred and sixty words, and it became one of the most famous, and long lasting legacy speeches, ever.

If you were to distill your life down to just a few words, what would they be? Would you be proud of them? Embarrassed? Feel a lack of promise fulfilled? When I once asked listeners to my radio show to sum up their life in half a dozen words I received a text saying “Started with promise, ending with disappointment”. Another wrote “Loved A Lot, Loathed Even More”. How sad is that?

As an experiment, I sat down this week to write down six words that I really dread to hear and found that they’ve changed at various stages over the years. I ignored any really serious ideas that we would all obviously hate to hear as I thought it should be personal and give a sense of “me”. So out went any mentions of health, money worries, relatives passing away, etc that we all find fills us with dread. What I had to tie down was “me”.

When I was younger things was quite innocent and simple. I shuddered when I heard the six words “Go Up And Tidy Your Bedroom” or “Your Turn For The Washing Up” as well as “It’s Friday, we’re having boiled fish”. But then I became a student and it was a bit more serious with “It’s The End Of Year Exams” or “You’ve Slept In For Your Lecture” causing me upset, but again reasonably innocent. It’s when you start to really grow up the six words you hate to hear start to get a little bit less charitable.

Late Teen and early Twenties relationships mean the half dozen words I dreaded most changed to “Tell Me That You Love Me” or “Tell Me Where This Is Going”, words that sent me screaming with fear alongside “Shall We Go On Holiday Together” or “You Want To Meet My Parents?”. See, there’s a story right there, in just six words, that can be read by some as a romantic tale full of promise, or by me as a scary signpost to a break up.

Compiling a Top Five list of six word sentences that will haunt me forever and give me the screaming heebies I had to include things like “Our Dinner Party Hosts Are Vegetarians”, “I’m Canvassing For The Green Party” and “He’s Off For A Gap Year”, followed in annoyance by “I Need Time To Find Myself”, “Your Turn To Empty The Dishwasher”, “I’m Fond Of Pan Pipe Music”, and “Sorry Mate, We Don’t Sell Chocolate”. I also have to cite the dreaded “Your Call Is Important, Please Hold”, “Let’s Throw A Royal Wedding Party”, and the very scary “And Now The Alan Titchmarsh Show”.

Then there’s the ones inflicted by my wife, things like “Incidentally, Friday Night We’re Going Out”, or the words I just know mean that I’m about to hear that hundreds of pounds worth of car damage has been done, “Just Remember That I Am OK” .

So that’s me, whatever it says about me, but what about you? Try it this week. I recommend it. Write down in six words everything that annoys you and then see what it says about the real you. It’s just half a dozen words, but I guarantee they’ll include volumes of insight.

Old Before I Die

I have a lot of learning to do, but then don’t we all? I believe that when you stop learning you cease being useful to yourself or anyone around you, so I love new things – new experiences, new inspiration, new ways of working.

In an age when “new money” or a “new face” seem to be the only target for some people, new learning has to be shouted about a bit more. I gratefully appreciate recommendations to try new things. A particular book, Sophie’s World, was suggested by a friend recently and has helped me learn a lot and question things I take for granted. Mind you new things take effort and Sophie’s World was about as easy to read as an upside down wardrobe assembly leaflet written in Russian by someone with a tremor and cataracts, but perseverance gave me loads of rewards.

We all need to keep on learning and I was delighted to be invited this week to a debate about how we make sure older folk continue to learn. The comments from the audience were very instructive and turned the stereotype of lazy youngsters and hard working oldies on its head. Most of the older people there seemed to believe that if anyone wanted them to use computers they had to make it worth their while. A bit of a reversal of clichés there. The tone seemed to be that they want special treatment and don’t want to get off their backsides and seek out learning. It has to come to them.

One lady even said she didn’t want to be taught computer skills in a “class full of nineteen year olds” and, although I sympathise that she may feel overwhelmed, it struck me as being a bit precious, sad and dare I say it sniffy.

So has the older generation become selfish or are they just terrified that they’ve missed the boat?

One problem that wasn’t discussed at the debate was that the threat for anyone older who doesn’t become a silver surfer is that they will fail to understand how to communicate with anyone younger. In fact it’s already happening. I’m not talking about the slang of the street like my teenage daughter saying something is “sick” when she means good, I mean that younger people actually have differently wired brains now thanks to the digital revolution. It means they have little patience and want the message you’re giving them to be passed on quicker and in a more pointed way, but it also means they retain less information. In other words, ironically, informing youngsters is a bit like talking to really old people where you have to repeat your message over and over again for it to sink in. This is not their fault but is due to the quick, sharp, overloaded digital age they’ve grown up in.

Another emphatic reason to sit up and realise things are changing occurred this week when only three songs in the Top 40 charts sold any CDs whatsoever. Sounds trivial? All the other 37 sold not one single tangible disc that you can hold in your hand or put on your shelf. It’s all downloads. In years to come these digital songs will have been wiped from iPods everywhere to make room for new stuff, meaning kids won’t have CDs or singles to look at, to hold, cherish and bring back memories.

These downloads, and the demise of discs with their beautiful album covers, are also the reason HMV is going to the wall, graphic artists are unemployed, sales assistants are being made redundant, record companies are scaling back or going bust, and so it goes on. No point the older generation doing an impression of King Canute because you cannot hold this back. Adapt or be run over. If the silver surfers don’t waken up soon they will be sleeping all the way to obsolescence – a bit like vinyl and CDs.

Perhaps, though, there is hope. In making an appointment with two of the much older speakers on the platform, I reached for my diary. One of them put the appointment in his iPhone, the other used his iPad.

The revolution started a long time ago Oldies. For God’s sake get on board.

Food Glorious Food

I caught a reality TV show called Three In A Bed the other night in which odd looking couples who run boarding houses compete to see who makes the best breakfast. This joins other current shows like Come Dine With Me in which odd looking people compete to see who makes the best dinner, and Sky News where odd looking anchors compete to see who makes the most cock ups.

But this new boarding house competition has given me an idea for a show. In a tense climax to my new format that will have the nation glued to its seats, odd looking owners of burger vans will have a play off on the M25 motorway to decide who makes the best fry up. It’s going to be called Burger Off.

If someone had told us even five years ago that TV would be as bad as it is today we would have laughed, but it seems there will always be an audience for food programmes, good or bad. I remember making a Delia Smith recipe from one of her shows years ago to impress a girlfriend and it was a disaster. Queen Delia was adding a “handful” of this and a “fistful” of that but, being a woman, her fists were smaller than mine so my dish exploded in the oven, and then in the mouth, like those starburst crystals kids eat.

The secret of a good dinner party for me is easy, and it’s not necessarily about good cooking. It’s simply having enough food to offer extra portions. I can just about play the game of listening to boring conversation and insipid background music, but if you don’t offer me more after I’ve cleaned my plate, then the night’s a write off. I am the Oliver of dinner parties.

One recent dinner at a friend’s house went really well and there were plenty of leftovers, but as soon as I was ready for more the hostess picked up the serving dishes saying she was off to feed the kids with them. Well pardon me, but if you’re having Coia round for dinner then feed your kids before he arrives or ask him to bring pizza. I don’t want to steal food from kids’ mouths, but it’s a two way thing and I don’t expect them to steal from mine.

Of course, one other secret to a great dinner party, apart from loads of food, is relaxing company. This week, chances are you’ll be having dinner at home with friends or family. If you’re lucky you’ll be wearing comfortable clothes, if you’re unlucky you might be wearing the leftovers thrown at you because you’re home late, but conversation won’t be strained and you can pick your teeth or lick your plate if you fancy.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that on Thursday.

I’m joining a select party of about twelve for dinner in a restaurant where plate licking will be frowned upon and teeth picking may lead to me being thrown out. But the real behaviour limiter will be the company. I’m having bread sticks and profiteroles with three members of the House of Lords, one former MP and London Mayor candidate, the head of the Arts Council and various senior television heads.

And I know you’re asking the same question as I am – why on earth is he being invited to a dinner like that? Do they want a bit of rough? Someone who can fill in if the waiter gets sick?

I’ll have to learn the etiquette of posh eating very quickly. I know not to speak with my mouth fulI, and I realise it’s not good form to say to the waiter “I’ll just use the same plate for all the courses – save on the washing up”. But what I desperately need to know is this. Is it ok to turn to a peer and say “if you’re not eating the rest of your steak Baroness, can I have it please?”

Now you see what a problematic life I have. But at least with the TV heads being there I can pitch the show Burger Off to them over the canapes. I’ll let you know how it goes.