Some of the most creative stories I’ve ever hear come from the mouths of the accountants, financial controllers and investor relations experts that I’ve worked with. They know how to manipulate a spreadsheet to make the story change and the numbers shift like Houdini magic. It’s then “Game on” to see if the other financial whizz kids can spot what they have done and call them out on it.

Sitting in many conference rooms, interminable discussions occur where bright brained colleagues take financial data and shift emphasis to create a more positive performance interpretation.

This is not a gift I have been blessed with. Numbers are too absolute for me, too static. They line up and after the basics I get panicked or bored. I really, really wish I could interpret financial data creatively. As I learn by asking questions and doing, it’s going to require someone with bucketloads of patience and an infinite ability to make the complex simple to help me move beyond simple interpretation.

However, it’s not simple interpretation that I need today. The boxing instructor has a clever scales machine that I ask to use, given I’ve been studiously attending class 3 times a week for the past 6 weeks. I figure I can tip the scales in my favor especially when I had a minimal breakfast this morning.

She’s smiling. This is not me. 

Eagerly, I place my bare feet square on the mental pads and firmly grasp the attached T-bar contraption which holds the data screen. Almost immediately it starts to spew out a wealth of data about the state of my body which I neither recognise or agree with. Made worse by the boxing instructor repeating the information out out loud thereby broadcasting my shame. He repeats the one piece of good information – my visceral fat rate is only 7% which apparently means I’m not carrying a lot of fat around my internal organs. Bless him, he can see I’m trying to process these results as I head straight into the denial portion of the charge curve.

To my eternal shame, I start cajoling the larger lady of our boxing class to be brave enough to stand on the scales in a desperate bid to feel better about my sturdy square little body. Sensibly she refuses and keeps her trainers firmly laced.

Try as I might, I can’t get creative about the story that aligns with these numbers. I have beasted my body over these past weeks, I know if effort could melt fat, I’d be on my way to being a slip of a thing again. If only it were that simple and I was twenty years old again, this wouldn’t even be a topic of note. However, back in the real world where metabolism slows, the remaining bit of thyroid needs checking, the evening G&T’s need curbing and the desire for sweet things needs to be more carefully controlled, I am left with the stark reminder that no matter how I look at these numbers they can’t be massaged into shape.

The stark reminder is I need to consume less, exercise even more and get down to the serious recognition that true performance only comes with hard work, perseverance and determination. Given time and consistency real change will happen. I have the faith.

After all the real numbers don’t lie.

Back into Bridgetown again today to deliver a 3 hour workshop on 5 hours sleep. Adrenalin is a fabulous energiser, as is coffee.  And people only see what they choose to see so moving at pace with an enthusiastic voice covers up how I’m feeling inside.

I stand in the Sky Mall toy store staring at the myriad of stickers and paint and glitter and glue. I’ve no idea what I’m going to do with it all, but it’s so bright and colorful and it makes me want to imagine and create, so I spend a small fortune and leave with a bag full of goodies.  I take it home and empty the bag onto my desk, shuffling bits around searching for inspiration.

It’s not coming so I head outside and empty what’s left of my brain into the business of trimming dying plants and palm fronds. I go back indoors and stare at the desk pile again.  Nope. Nada.

i wander back upstairs and open the fridge door. There’s no inspiration in there but there is chocolate.  It helps on a different physiological level so I have a mental pass to indulge.  I chew mindlessly wondering when, if nothing strikes the mind,  I should phone a friend.  Thankfully it’s time to go to get ready for my boxing class, perhaps my boxing instructor and a punchbag will help.

Depleted in energy, smelly and sweat-soaked, I leave boxing and stop in another shop where I purchase more glittery card, squashy squeeze balls, sweeties, coloured pens, coloured post it notes, glittery pipe cleaner sticks and bendy yellow men.  I love shopping so that’s another 90 minutes of my day. Now it’s almost time to pick Roscoe and his mate off the school bus, feed them and jump in the car for barre class at the studio.  I don’t mean to be, but I’m gone for 3 hours as I do a restorative class too and then kill another hour talking to the instructor.  Coming home, at 8.30pm, I combine all glitter and goodies together before concentrating on a series of big picture mind mapping; starting with outcomes and the participants experience.   A few maps later, a couple of Ted talks and a browse through pin-interest before exploring my back catalogue of previous work and  finally the germ of an interactive course on employee engagement is beginning to emerge, like a moth fluttering in the darkness.  The moth feels good but it knows in its heart there is the light of joy somewhere,  it just needs to fly around a bit harder. But as it’s now nearly 2am, I’m totally unproductive and need to go to bed. There are 24 hours to go before delivery and 24 hours is an age.  There is plenty of time.

I forget that there is a plethora of workmen scheduled to visit the house in the morning.  Unbelievably,  and unusually, they all turn up, most of whom are only a couple of hours late.  They all need conversation and guidance.  As they monopolise  my time and my attention, the dog runs off again, twice,  what with the gate being opened and closed to let the various workmen vans pass through. I spend a lot of Thursday morning chasing the darned dogs tail.  Nothing else gets done.

By 2pm silence eventually descends and I can start to pull together my structure; timings, purpose of each activity, who’s delivering/talking, notes and speaking points and materials required.   The PowerPoint slides are created and eventually printed ( finding A4 paper in Barbados is impossible; this 8.5”by 11” is just a rubbish dimension and is  unrecognised by my printer) and the slides are then individually self-laminated.  This one activity requires lots of patience and attention to detail.  Not my greatest strengths.  However,  it’s worth it as we’re going old school- no hiding behind laptops. It’s all blue-tak aided flip-charts, laminated slides on walls, games, problem solving, dancing, facilitating from the front.  More fun but loads more prep-work.

Later that evening, I share the proposed structure with Craig and he rightly points out that one element which is an hour long, will be tricky in this environment.  I can see what he’s saying and it forces another re-write and a new opportunity emerges to have employees start to define their employee experience. Actually this turns out to be genius – recognition; employee value proposition and a 20 year historic timeline are the majority elements of the workshop. It’s a good flow both on paper and in reality and there is lots of laughter, discussion, movement, listening and learning as the time flies by.

By workshop end I’m not the only one with a smile as big as a Jaffa orange slice, who is covered in glitter and pen and bits of sticky foam card.  We all leave wanting more.  Who says work can’t be fun?

I started to write a blog post yesterday, got busy and then ran out of time.

When I’m coaching clients we discuss prioritisation, choice and time.   I  share the thinking behind urgent and important tasks;  big picture, bite -sized pieces of activity; systems; processes; habits;  the cultural approach to time finding out what their attitude to time is;  their personal values and choices.  We work through their challenge together and I help them to re-set.

It seems to go down very well.  Every coaching client says these conversations make a difference.  So I have no idea why I struggle to apply these techniques to myself.

Somehow my time management processes have disappeared into the golden sands of Barbados.  Here, time is both monochronic and polychronic.  Its both elastic AND contracted here, whatever it is, it’s not rhythmic, steady or linear.   It has little pattern or regular beat.  As I type I wonder if this is because I’m without a regular job with contracted hours.  Surely I cannot miss the rigidity of a classic 9-5 working day?  My heart says an emphatic “no” so I must try harder to form habits to force myself into a more regular pattern.

I don’t want to miss the deadlines for tasks I’ve imposed on myself.  The  inner critic who sits on my shoulder and casts aspersions into my ear, is very good at encouraging me to beat myself up.  It needs no further encouragement as I look out my flailing stick.

So with love and care I will resume my writing task and juggle it with all my other commitments this busy week ahead.

Happy weekending everyone.

I have spent the last hour trying to work out how to get an SSL certificate onto this WordPress site and its doing my head in.

I have managed successfully to purchase said certificate for the yet to be finished, Ilku-global.com site.  This appears to have been successful and buoyed up with a misplaced sense of confidence I approach www.still-talking.com, hosted by WordPress, to do similar.

However, after reading copious, supposedly helpful websites on how to do this, then downloading a whole pile of nonsense files which now lurk in my download folder having been unzipped but are not running/playing; googling madly and using the not very helpful, help site on WordPress;  I’m giving up, for now.

All I want is a simple link to a site that allows me to get an SSL certificate for this WordPress site so it stops saying “not secure”.  It doesn’t seem that this exists and I cannot wrap my grey matter around the myriad of acronyms and gobbledygook that is out there.  Written by people old enough to be my grandchildren,  they are obviously under the illusion that they are being very clear however, they obviously skipped English class as they were too busy coding.

So the “not Secure” message still comes up in Chrome but by the end of this weekend, it will be no longer.

But right now I need to go and dunk my ego and ineptitude in a vat of vodka, soda and freshly squeezed lime.

Tomorrow is another day .

I pop in to see Craig in the lofty environs of the British High Commission, Barbados.  I don’t normally go into the office but as I was downtown anyway, it is good to grab a coffee and have a quick 15 mins natter with the husband.

As I’m getting ready to leave, the Corporate Services Manager, Caroline, arrives for her scheduled meeting with Craig.  She’s a kindred spirit, a fellow cancer adventurer and a hardworking Mum, it’s lovely to see her.

She mentions that their Learning & Development week is coming up; last year I developed and ran a 3 hour workshop on sub-conscious bias and intercultural awareness called “Your Map of the World” where I used a variety of information and NLP techniques to explain individual perspectives and where these get formed and why we all have bias.

She asks if I can do a shorter session – a top up- as a reminder session for the Monday.  Of course I say yes, it’s always good to get practice with a true multi cultural audience and I feel as if I learn as much from these sessions as the participants do.  I plan to focus on language, expression and gestures alongside attitude to time and relationships.  As I did last years session gratis, the expectation is set that I will do similar this year.  As these are courses and materials I will create and hopefully sell elsewhere, its good to develop them and test them out with a lively audience happy to give feedback.

She then asks if I can do a 3 hour, more fun session on Friday and I start riffing about all the possible areas we could explore.  Bearing in mind Corporate BS forms part of my back catalogue, I’m fairly good at throwing out ideas to see if any stick.  My brain hasn’t yet caught up with my tongue and I’ve not thought about the consequences of any potential uptake to the flow of ideas that come into my head and straight out of my mouth.

Cut a long story short I’m now running an interactive session called Pride and belonging.  Next Friday,  16 November at 0900.     Currently I plan to cover  trust;  consistency;  credibility and managers versus peer groups;  storytelling and influence.  On Sunday when the errant husband was out being irresponsible, I drafted the following blurb for the potential participants:

This fun, interactive session is your opportunity to share the stories and events which keep you involved in your work at the British High Commission (BHC). Participants will find out more about their colleagues and friends, we’ll create a timeline of those situations which have shaped the BHC and those moments which keep you wanting to work here. We’ll build a mood board by reflecting on those elements which change our attitudes towards work and we’ll explore the factors which influence whether we have a good day or a bad day at work. Glitter and glue maybe involved for those who wish to get creative. Others may be content with coloured pens and sticky notes.  The aim is for you to leave this session having some stories to share about the work of the BHC across the region and to know why you want to work here. 

As I sit here I am drawing a blank of where to start.    I need fun exercises, materials and content.  Has anyone run anything similar before or been to an event which may have covered off these topics?

Generally I’m good when my back is to the wall but it’s always better to ask for ideas and input from others to help make the experience  as good as possible, and I’m certain someone out there has some fabulous stuff to share.

If you do, can you please drop me a line at Laura @ ilku-global.com and I promise to share the course write-up and materials with you afterwards.

Thanks in advance lovely people….

(PS)  Please feel free to share this post with your network!

My home is full of males.

They are an odd species, highly competitive, exercise/sport mad, messy, smelly, charming, loving and demanding of my time.

From the dog to the boy to the husband they all love strokes; back strokes, head strokes, arm strokes. If they see me sitting still the expectation is it’s their turn for strokes. I never make it through a family movie night with my hands quiet and to myself. Each gets jealous when they see the other enjoying the strokes they believe are theirs by right. Craig frequently tells Roscoe to find his own woman. Roscoe will physically sit on me to prevent me stroking his Dad, (cue “cross Dad”) and the dog, who wins out the most, uses his muzzle to move my hand, or if he sees me stroking Roscoe, uses his 86lbs to jump up on the boy, breaking the connection. I’m only now  realising the dog and the boy use the same physical action to get me to focus on them instead.

Most of the time I don’t mind the stroke demands. I find it amusing that the jealous, competitive streak in each of them manifests itself when they see others are getting strokes.

Naturally I would love to receive similar. Craig delivers them grudgingly if we are wearing clothes and Roscoe looks at me as if I’ve grown another head when I ask for a foot or head rub. The dog, well he focuses on looking helplessly beautiful with his deep, chocolate, puppy eyes.

It’s obvious that if I want strokes, I need to pay a professional. But trying to explain I don’t want a massage, I just want strokes makes me seem like a needy child.

Which is, of course, what I’m living with at home.