Imagine, just for a moment, you are Brian Cullinan, chairman of PwC’s US Board and Managing Partner of PwC’s Southern California, Arizona and Nevada Market. You’ve played a part in a really successful evening; a slight blip when the production team included a picture of a still-living producer in its ‘in-memoriam’ segment but, aside from this, everything has flowed and gone to plan, just as in rehearsals. You are beginning to relax. Fourth year in, you recognise the climactic moments of the show are beginning to unfold. Its 21.03 PT and Warren Beatty strolls to the podium, opens the envelope you’ve just given him, looks confused, shows his consort and gives a half laugh. Faye Dunaway’s response is to blurt out a complete fabrication, information which is not written on the card that Beatty is holding. 
Credit: Phil McCarten/AMPAS
Beatty looks dumbfounded. Neither of them have asked for clarification, they are both in full acting mode This is not what the card says. He knows it, you know it, Faye Dunaway knows it and your colleague, Martha Ruiz knows it. For 30 seconds you are the only people in a live, world-wide, televised show who know the information just shared is wrong. Time stands still. Your blood pressure is rising, your heart rate has increased, the palms of your hands are suddenly sweaty, you’re feeling sick, your mouth is dry, your back and shoulder muscles are tense, you’re beginning to tremble, you want to run to the bathroom. Your fight, flight or freeze responses have all gone into hyper-drive. This is stress. This is anxiety. The wrong people are showing up on stage, yes you did hear it right. Years of studying, training, hard graft, years of audit, M&A and leadership experience are thrown up in the air. 
You look at the envelope in your hand and the envelope in Beatty’s hand and slowly your pre-frontal cortex starts to kick in; you’ve passed on the wrong information. You’ve given Beatty the wrong envelope. And the western world is watching the resulting chaos in real-time.
10 hours later, you haven’t really slept. You’ve helped craft the company statement, taken full responsibility, talked it over and over and over again. In fact, you’ve re-lived and continue to re-live the process. You are keenly aware that protocols were not followed fast enough, corrections not made quickly enough. Beatty is talking to the press a-plenty; Dunaway has run-away and does not seem to be taking any responsibility. Your personal credibility and the company reputation is on the line. Pictures of you tweeting back stage are all over the web. You know, more than anyone, just how serious this is from a brand and reputation perspective. 
The company is still standing by you and then, the client, the AMPAS president, Cheryl Boone Issacs, tells the Associated Press that you and Ruiz have been fired and will not participate in future shows. You are shattered.
Just how does this statement and action affect the perception of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences? I look up the Glass door reviews for AMPAS for some insight and based on the employee ratings and comments, this action is consistent with the current leadership culture. Reading these unedited employee comments, it comes as no surprise that the President is now reviewing the entire relationship with PwC. A much more powerful leadership stance could have been created by a statement along the lines of:
We accept PwCs apology for the grave error that was made during Sunday’s show and are working with them to learn from this and ensure this will not be repeated. We respect our 83-year long relationship and look forward to working together to continuously improve the processes and procedures which make the OSCARS the annual best award celebration in our industry.
Just imagine what potential employees would think if they saw such a statement; how great talent would be attracted to a career in AMPAS, people who could see they could contribute and enhance the organisation. Imagine how existing employees would feel to read this, how many more ideas and innovations and contributions would be put forward. Instead, the opportunity is missed, the opinions of the existing employees are reinforced and the current culture is laid bare for the world to see. Because, when you boil it down, no one died or was hurt in the process, perhaps with the exception of pride and ego. And perhaps the person who is most diminished by this situation is AMPAS President, Cheryl Boone-Isaacs.
By shooting those who make the mistakes, the learnings are lost and the opportunity to build loyalty and respect are gone. Trust is built in such moments. Moments like these are where magic happens, where people move forward and perform at their best because they know they have support and encouragement to learn and grow.
Satya Nadella, Microsoft CEO, knows about building these moments, of leading and engaging teams who are trying their very best.
A year ago Microsoft developed an AI Twitter bot by the name of Tay (officially, Tay.ai). to communicate and learn from the millennial generation. Very quickly this turned into a disastrous attempt to advance how artificial intelligence communicates with humans in real-time. Hackers and others were able to transform Tay into a racist, profane-spewing cyber-bot and the results took Twitter by storm. This had great potential to damage the Microsoft brand reputation. But they acted quickly and in less than a day the programme was removed and an official apology was issued by – This was a great apology. Perhaps a little over long but it clearly explained this was cutting edge, innovative work and they were going to take their experiences and build on their lessons learned.
So now imagine you are one of the Tay team, you’ve worked years on this, giving up evenings and weekends with loved ones because this is a genuinely exciting, cutting edge project. You really believed in the opportunity, you know that a similar programme in China, the XiaoIce chatbot is being enjoyed by some 40 million people so you are devastated when Tay is hacked and her potential is destroyed. And you’re really upset that she has not worked the way you hoped and may have caused some people great distress. Then you get an email from your CEO and it says ,
“Keep pushing, and know that I am with you … (The) key is to keep learning and improving.”
Wow! How amazing! So what are you going to do next? How can you take what you’ve learned from working on Tay, and what subsequently happened to her and create something better, even more exciting and more life changing?
Perhaps if we purposefully choose to not operate in a culture of fear, blame and litigation, and chose instead to work with companies where we acknowledge and learn from mistakes, or potential mistakes, without fear, blame or recrimination; organisations where it’s regarded as the norm to co-create concepts and ideas with others without being undermined or threatened; places where we really listen to and give learning feedback to others so we all develop and grow, perhaps then we create lasting extraordinary opportunities and a better place for all.
Occasionally the weather quietens, allowing us to stop and enjoy the magnificent views of sky and cloud and the old course. It’s Christmas Eve and Roscoe is in full- flow, charm-chat mode with his Aunties, who enjoy his exuberance, allowing Craig and I to walk and talk without having to entertain. On the 9th we cross a style, clamber over the sand dunes and start walking back towards St Andrews town with the East Sands beach to ourselves. It is a perfect start to our Christmas break.
When the Scots last ruled themselves, there were clan wars and bloodshed and alliances were made, and broken as the wind blew. Our natural tendencies are towards socialism which is why so many of the national trade union leaders are from Scotland. It’s a matter of belief that we should have free car parking at hospitals, free public transport for OAPs and free higher education for Scots based children but all of this costs money. I’m struggling to see how we can balance the books if independence from Great Britain was ever on offer again. And without the Auld enemy to unite us, would we not end up turning on each other once more?
Nana had lots of friends through the Brethren church and they visited each other often. Never would she go anywhere without a packet of biscuits or some homemade cake or jam in her hand. It was considered impolite to not have something to offer to supplement the hosts hospitality.
Just as not all Germans are highly individualistic with a preference for direct, honest communication and not everyone in France agrees that their superiors or elders know more, can bend rules or are better than they are.
The car is filthy. The grime from the rear windscreen wiper builds up either side of the blade creating my rear window on a murky world.
On the plus side, it’s very prettily decked in Christmas lights, all twinkling in the dark, cool, night air and it has some of the very best public conveniences of any retail park I’ve ever visited. And I’ve been to a few retail parks in my time!
Quality Cuts, the Belgian butcher serving fresh meat and cheese, European style. Food quality is good in Kampala but in my early days there, choice was limited. And food from the UK was rare. I once called Craig in the office to excitedly tell him I had bought a Frey Bentos pie for tea. This ‘delicacy’ being a rare find. Needless to say, this was a one time purchase.
But I left empty-handed, as I got to the cereal aisle and became so bewildered by the amount of choice, that I stood silently stupefied in front of the garishly coloured, neatly stacked boxes. The entire aisle was cereal – both sides – stacked high. It was just too much contrast from where I had come from.
Up to this point, I have been fairly quiet about my cancer. I haven’t been deliberately hiding it, I know I need to take the time to get physically better, learn from and work through the changes that it brings and to embrace my new sense of self and identity. I also know that I need to find a new job in the New Year and that finding a new role is likely to be more problematic with a recent cancer diagnosis and recovery story tagging along behind me.
In one morning, I blow the control and management of my personal experiences right out the water. I run starkers, out of the closet with a primal Tah Dah!!
But as I have also agreed to do a l
Surely after the mouth cancer and the removal of half my thyroid, I am done for the year. Surely it is my turn to be well after all the healthy living, breathing techniques, positive mind work, the alternative therapies, vitamins and new knowledge. I convince myself it is nothing, they are being extra careful with me because of my recent cancer adventure.
This is not a cancer to be taken lightly. Its effects are more visible and potentially more debilitating than many others. Removing oral cancer, if it’s caught in time, can leave long-lasting affects on the speech and swallow function, on the function of the jaw and voice box, on neck and shoulder movement and additionally – in my case at least – a significant psychological impact created by extensive scarring to the mouth, neck, arm and stomach and having to learn to speak differently. 
In many cases, mouth cancer survivors have to cope with developing a new self-identity.
We need to take responsibility for our own mouths. Pay attention to ulcers which have not healed within three weeks, red and white patches in the mouth or any unusual lumps or swellings in the mouth, head and neck area. Anything unusual in your mouth, anything that changes and stays changed for more than 3 weeks – go and see your dentist. Specifically tell them you want to discount mouth cancer. Put that thought in their head before they examine you so it’s in their conscious brain.
It doesn’t look serious does it? But it was already a stage 2/3 cancer (I didn’t know this at the time) as it had spread into a lymph node.
“Well, I’ve just burned my arm on the oven door”. His response? “Again? That’s just careless”. During my suppressed, and combined, snorts of hurt and irritation, it strikes me that once more I am faking it. That what I’d really like to do is run, banshee-style, round the kitchen while waving my reddening arm and screaming rude words, at decibels so loud the neighbours can hear.
Or the occasions where Craig is laughing so uninhibitedly free, I can hear it through the image. Sometimes I post photographs of friends and cocktails or shots, or friends with cocktails and shots. The point is if you were trying to figure out who I am and what I’m like by looking at my Facebook posts, you would think I was always travelling, exploring, having fun. And yes, I do experience all of this but real life is not as colourful or varied or exciting as my Facebook posts would have you believe.
I have a girlfriend who occasionally sends photos of her intensely cute newborn son. Her response to the comment of “he’s always such a smiley baby” is to remind us that she’s hardly likely to be posting photos of him screaming and looking like a demented demon child. And boy is this the truth. Although, I must confess to laughing inside when everybody would look at a newborn Roscoe and say “ooh, he’s so beautiful” – particularly as both parties knew he was a shockingly ugly baby. Fakery in these wacky hormonal situations, is probably the safest option. Thankfully by 3 months, he was a stunning, if noisy, cherub, so much so that we were once tailed in New York by a bloke who believed that Roscoe was the real-life Gerber baby.
It’s become farcical to worry about something so trivial. And besides I now know how to fake looking well. Nothing that a scarf , a spot of war paint and some flicky hair can’t sort.
As during the past twelve months, with the exception of the inevitable work commitments, he has been at my side. And at the same time, he has changed his job to a much higher profile role, lost his Mother and has been caught in the middle of a protracted and messy long-term sibling disagreement. It’s no exaggeration to state his tenacity and commitment has been something of an inspiration for my recovery.
He has always told me daily that he loves me but now he says it with an intensity that I have no doubt of my responsibility for doing all I can to get better. He regularly reassures me that he still finds me attractive, particularly during those days when I find my scars to be hideous or my skin-heavy tongue to be troublesome. He encourages my forays into alternative and holistic healing, in-spite of any personal doubts. He listens hard to my misshapen sounds and tunes out to my now atrocious singing, game fully joining in when the screeching gets too loud. He laughs with me, and at me, when I’m being ridiculous. He plans surprises big and small to keep me looking forward, supports my need to write this blog, sometimes correcting my grammar but often just letting it go to free my voice. He has gone from sleeping the sleep of the dead to waking at every sound and now seems incapable of sleeping any longer than 6 hours a night. He juggles his work commitments to accompany me to every hospital appointment and consultant review and apart from my banning him from coming to the intensive care ward, has been by my side every hospital day while pasting on his brave face for Roscoe every evening. I don’t know how he managed to get through the day of my 12 hour surgery and emerge still sane. I do know from the increasing amount of grey hairs on his head and, worry lines on his face, that my diagnosis and on-going recovery has been incredibly tough on him.
I would restrict the alcohol levels and insist on far less meat and far more vegetables, not just as a side dish but as a main meal. I would encourage him to have more “me” time, re-join the golf club for example, and to spend more time with his mates, away from home stresses. I would shout louder for him, for help, support and care. I would have him go to facials and back massages so he would relax and enjoy more pampering. In short, unless he feels cared for, how can he give so much of himself without he himself becoming depleted and sick?
This blast of heat and smell and dust blew in front of me; the noise, aroma and sensation, an enticing beckoning into a love affair that has never left.
at the sight of elephants so close you could smell their breath, at lions lying feet away replete from a kill, at rhinos locking horns in violent play-fight, at hungry hyena and wild dog scrapping, at giraffes fixing him with their beautiful hooded eyes before sauntering away.
I saw him listen to every word of Stu the safari guide and George our spotter. He playfully gave himself into the music and culture delighting the staff at 
In revolt we purchase a 
But to see it through my child’s eyes – we could be anywhere in Europe, America, Canada, Australia – this is not Africa, this homogeneity choking a culture so colourful and vibrant.
The siege of Aleppo means these Mothers don’t know from day to day, hours to hour, if their children will survive. Will they die from a shell strike from somewhere and someone unknown, or from a sniper’s bullet from a fighter hiding out in this atrocity of a city? Perhaps they will go more slowly, in a hospital which has no drugs or supplies to stop their piercing pain, their blood from flowing, their screams of agony. Or maybe death will come from malnutrition as no food has been allowed to get into the city for months and months. These Mothers, like all Mothers the world over, fret about the basics. “Is my child safe and secure?” “Does my child have food and water to survive?” “Can I provide for my child?” As any psychologist will tell you, without these basics, what we know, or think we know, counts for nothing. We are reduced to our elemental selves. Humanity and human are two different concepts when our backs are so far to the wall we are leaving our shadows imprinted in the brickwork.
a rapid turnaround to visit 
of sharing sunsets and gin, of yelling at the moon
Mary Queen of Scots as the dog lies whimpering at our feet. As the new Head of History, Auntie Jan’s classroom comes with its own balcony and turret and is complete with spectacular views over the sands of St Andrews. I imagine Roscoe learning there, history wound in history as the chalk marks and scratches on the turret walls attest. 
It’s not the place for a child of faint heart but a warrior child will progress beyond the stone grey walls and into the world to make their mark. It’s a place of boy-men and female heroines. A place which has all the potential to shape my child into the man he will become. A place over 450 miles away…
exquisite Rubens of Marchesa Maria Serra Pallavincino. I can almost touch the silk of her dress brought to life by the skill of his brush. So much to see and hear, so much to take in and understand, by the time we reached the Egyptian room I am done in and need the respite of the garden 
to allow my mind to slowly absorb the visual feast of art.
On Sunday we reunite with the boy and to celebrate drive from Southampton to Portsmouth to have lunch by the water and watch the boats. But all this driving allows the mind to roam free and the stress bubbles underneath, catching us all by surprise as we yell about where to park. We are thinking about tomorrow while trying to stay in the day.