Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

‘Roll up, roll up. Come on ladies and gentlemen, try the hall of mirrors, mystery around every corner.  You there, yes you madam, come along you look like you could do with an adventure’. He twirls his fingers around his waxed moustache, then lifts off his top hat and waves it towards the crowd. People melt away, avoiding his penetrating stare. Some move on toward the  big wheel turning in the dark evening sky, lights blazing in the night air. Others drift away and head for the noise of  fifties dance music and the shrieking, as the dodgem cars bash and clash together.  Marina  though stops and in some way is attracted to what he is offering. She slowly slides her arm out from the comfort of the man she is walking with and without consulting him, steps towards the fair attraction.


‘Good choice, good choice’ the stall holder keeps his banter going as he rams his black hat onto his head and then disappears into the pay booth ready to receive the cash. ‘Enjoy, yes enjoy the maze of mirrors.’ That’s two, yes’? The money disappears under the counter. There is a pause, then reluctantly he passes back the change, grubbing about in his pockets until the finds the right coins.  Marina waits, knowing the exact amount that should come back.


‘Come on Seb let’s go’ and she pulls the nervous looking young man towards the entrance, her hand wrapped in his. The curtains look old and smell musty. There is a tear in one corner and above their heads a bulb buzzes, flashing off occasionally.  Marina confidently pushes through and they find themselves in a room, mirrors all around them, reflecting back to each other. Suddenly they find many versions of themselves creating infinite patterns. She pulls him towards her and the kiss is bounced around them. Then as they turn to both face the nearest mirror, their happy smiles travel away too. Their laughter as they enjoy the moment seems to echo around the room in parallel to the reflections.


They spend several minutes trying out different poses, giggling at each other, watching miniature versions of themselves disappear away into the distance.  Then Marina, becoming bored,  begins to look for the next curtain, but there isn’t one.  As she turns, she just sees mirrors all around them. Then after some searching together Seb finds the door behind a reflection of himself.  The way leads to another room, this time filled with distorted reflections. So, now they are sometimes tall, short, fat, thin. Seb admires Marina as she turns to ripples in front of him and she adds to the effect by practising her Rumba dance routine, throwing her arms into the air.


‘Come on let’s see what’s next’ and she pulls at the edges of the mirrors around them looking for a new door. When one suddenly opens, without thinking she steps through. Which is a mistake, as the entrance slopes away and she slides inelegantly downwards ending up in a heap in the new room. The door behind slams shut and disappears into the myriad of mirrors around her.  Glancing back she realises she has no idea where the exit is. Her voice comes out as a squeak as she calls for Seb. There is no reply just silence, except in the background the same fizz and pop of electricity and with it the occasional dimming of the lights around her.


Marina feels her normal self confidence beginning to slide away. Getting onto her feet and beginning to breath more rapidly she  takes in this new room. No distortions, no infinity, just mirrored glass all around her, a complete circle. ’Stay calm’ she says to herself  ‘It’s just a fairground illusion, a maze of some sort. There’s always a way out’.  Taking a deep lungful of air, she pushes and pulls each panel repeatedly, leaving a sweaty hand print on the shiny surface of each one. None move. Her face becomes paler as she looks back at herself.  Her forehead crinkles, worry lines seem to appear.  This isn’t her. She is an assured professional woman, not this person looking back at her. There is smudge on her make up and she tries to fix it. ‘No tears I don’t do tears’ she mutters. Sniffing she wipes a hand across her face and begins a second circuit of the room.  ‘Just think it through, just think it through’. Logic works, she knows it does. It always has and will this time.


Her rational brain is beginning to click in now as she assess the problem. People at work say she has a great way of dealing with a crisis, a difficult customer,  a worried member of the team and now she feels back in control.  Then with one last crackle, the lights go out.  All that is left is the glow of an old safety  lantern hanging by a loose wire up in the ceiling above her head.  ‘Calm, stay calm’ she mutters, deliberately remembering her yoga class, pulling air in through her nose and out of her mouth.  She sees the blurred outline of herself in the mirrors, all detail now gone.  Yet as she squints at the images, something changes. In one, a scene begins to appear, fuzzy at first then clearing. More details and colour seem to be added as she looks on. Spinning around she sees the same happening in each mirror.  Marina gulps, steadies herself and forces herself to look at the scenes one by one, looking carefully at each mirror. In one, she is with her two brothers and her mother and father, no more than three years old. Everyone is laughing, she is on a swing, kicking her legs out to go higher.  The next scene is at school.  Marina sits and works diligently at her studies with the discipline that will ensure her top marks throughout her education and into her professional training. Turning slowly around she follows her career and her relationships, across the years. The highs and lows, all the way through to being a CEO. Mostly ups, rather than downs. Generally things have gone well.


Then the last few mirrors change. She is caught by the image of the one showing her current business. The colours draw her but then fade as she looks at it.  A sadness comes over her  as she studies herself in the scene.  The last picture is of her in her office . She is sitting at the desk, writing, writing, writing, then dropping the letters out of the window and watching them drift away in the air.  This picture makes Marina even more depressed as she reflects on the toughness of work right now and the marketing they’ve done and redone to try get through the down turn. Not letters but endless emails, social media, you name it they’ve tried it. It feels like the business is failing.  As she watches, the woman in the mirror moves in closer to the window and studies the activity in the background of the scene. There are people out there, picking up the messages, waving the notes in the air, smiling and moving towards her, saying something she can’t hear.  It seems clear she knows what she has to do. Putting her pen down and without packing any of her things lying around the room, even leaving her lap top open with the latest budget flashing red, she moves to the door. It won’t open though, it’s stuck. This is for her safety after all. The security company says. you never know who might try and get in and steal something. Where is the key? Marina watches herself in the scene. Her other self tugs at the door handle again, then turning begins a frenetic search. Papers fly. The marvellous structured filing system for copies of the letters asking for business is pushed off the desk and crashes to the floor.  No key appears. She pauses, seems to stop and then makes a decision. Going over to the wall opposite the door and kicking more papers and revised budgets aside, she brings one foot up behind her against the wall and using the leverage leaps forward across the room. Her shoulder crashes against the door and with a bang it swings open. Warm sunlight bursts into the room and the trapped Marina races forward toward freedom and a new future. She hears cheering and shouting.


‘Hello, you all right in there? Need a bit of help to find the exit from the mystery mirror maze’? The voice booms into the room. The lights came on, the scenes disappear and as Marina comes back to herself looking around a mirror swings open. The night time fairground appears in front of her. Lights twinkle, the smells of candy floss wafts in, the sharpness of the evening air comes towards her, she hears the shouts of enjoyment from people having fun.  And there, waving at her is Seb,. The stall holder next to him is bowing, in his hand the black top hat thrown outwards.

’Voila,  there you are. Our beautiful lady reappears and as you see is different but not different. Wonderful. Who is next for the journey of a life time’?


Grahame Pitts – December 2022



I am intrigued by the idea of mirrors and how they reflect back to us, sometimes very plainly ‘this is what it is’ and other times maybe a touch ‘distorted’.  We may see things as they truly are, or there may be something else waiting to be spotted in the refection which can help us into the future.  So, a couple of questions going into the Christmas break…..

  1. When you look in the mirror what do you see? All good, or anything needing consideration at this time?
  2. If you let the lights dim a little and scrunch up your eyes, what do you see for the future?
  3. Anything practical action you might take to help you move forward? Who do you need to meet, spend more time with in 2023?

Twelve Days of Christmas

Twelve Days of Christmas

The knocker rattles on the door, the dog barks and I lose all track of the point I am making on my zoom call. ‘Hang own a minute, just need to answer the door and I leave my client looking at a messy office as ran into the hall, grabbing the dog by the collar to stop him running off. Any chances, any door open and he is off visiting next door’s chickens.

‘Morning parcel for you. Registered but don’t worry I’ll sign for you, covid times and all that. There you go, enjoy, have good day. If I don’t see you again have a good Christmas’. And with a hand in the air, George our postman is away, jogging up the lane, whistling to himself. As usual he’s wearing his bright red post office sweat top and has on his shorts and boots. He always has shorts on, no matter what the weather, rain, sun, gales, snow. And he’s already round the corner and out of sights calling out a hello to walkers passing by.

I don’t look at the parcel, just notice it’s small, not much bigger than my hand. I put it up on top of the bureau away from Buddy the dog who’s very interested and sniffing madly. He normally collects the post from the mat and brings it to me in the office. We sometimes lose a few though, as tearing some to pieces is good sport when he’s bored.

At lunchtime I remember the box and open it up as I eat my sandwich. The dog sits beside me, head to one side, inquisitive. Although maybe he’s more interested in the crisps on my plate than the parcel. I absently drop one, which he neatly catches in his mouth, still watching me as I unwrap first the brown paper and then release a beautiful red bow wrapped around a small, elegant box. The lid comes off with a satisfying hiss and a pop. I slide my fingers through the tissue paper inside, expecting a present of some kind, but all I come out with is very high quality piece of paper, folding with neat crease down the centre.

I open the beautiful cream heavy duty paper and there are only seven words, in wonderful calligraphy …..’Believe and trust in yourself. You are very capable. Believe in the best in others too’. I turn the paper over, nothing else. I empty the box, lifting the tissue paper out carefully, so as not to tear it. There is no address, no other note, just those words. I look at the dog, he looks back, tips his head one way then the other seeming to say ‘don’t ask me I’ve no idea’. I discover though, that if I bend the paper backwards it will sit neatly in the box upright so I can see the words like a tittle mini display. Although I am confused, I decide I like the phrase and every time I see them through the rest of the day they seem to just lift me a little somehow.

The next morning, I have to get my accounts organised before the year end so I’m up early and deep into receipts, invoices, expense sheets when the door bangs again. I don’t answer because if I lose my thread now I’m stuffed, an hour’s worth of adding up and organising will disappear. I ignore the knocking, which persists. Irritated I stalk to the door, throw it open and there’s George, dressed in his usual kit even though its freezing cold. Except this time, he has a Santa hat on, with a bell which tinkles every time he moves his head.

‘Parcel for you’. And instead of leaving it on the wall he puts it into my hand. ‘Looks like the same as yesterday, perhaps it’s a duplicate, did you accidentally order two? It is the same, he’s right. I turn the package over. Everything is the same, exactly the same. I thank him close the door and although I’m mildly intrigued, my paper work calls. So it’s lunch time again when I open the box. I’m feeling smug because all my books are ready for the accountant and I’m only three weeks late, which is a step up from last year. The box opens with that same satisfying hiss and pop again. There’s the same single page and this time it reads ‘Do it now, get it done. You know you’ll feel better afterwards’. I read it again and chuckle. Spot on, I do feel better and as I refold the paper and set it upright in the box I’m busy thinking about the treat I might allow myself this afternoon.

On the third day I’m ready, no zoom calls booked, no admin to do, but George doesn’t come. In fact no one up the lane has seen him all day. I feel bit disappointed but hey ho maybe that was that anyway. I’m checking my emails to see if anyone is owning up to sending them, but no word yet. Then at eight in the evening the knocker does go. There is George standing under the outdoor Christmas lights, as bright as ever, smiling as though it’s mid morning.

‘Sorry I’m late, a computer glitch messed the rounds up and we had to sort by hand, didn’t get going till the afternoon, but here’s your post’. And there nestled in amongst the cards is another box. Just seeing it warms me, which is strange as I think I should be concerned. Just who is sending these parcels? ‘Looks like you’ve got a fan somewhere’ George remarks before disappearing into the night, just the tinkle of his bell telling me he is next door delivering more post.

I know what I doing now and I soon have the next message propped up in its box. ‘Find your talent, develop it and use it to help others’. Support others to find their talent too’.
I like this one, it seems to speak to me. I believe in talent, that everyone has something they are excellent at. And everyone’s talent is different. The comment stays with all evening and that night I sleep like a log which is very unusual.

Over the next few days we get into a routine. Buddy lies on the front door mat, looking up occasionally at the letter box and then barks crazily when the knock comes. George smiles as he hands another identical parcel over. I’m spreading the notes out in a semi circle on

the kitchen table. Added to the first three I now have ‘Go out and meet interesting and diverse people. You’ll learn a lot and you’ll enjoy it. Search out any prejudice you may have’. ‘Create a secure base for yourself, an anchor which builds confidence for you personally and for others around you’. ‘Hold serious issues lightly if you can. If possible, smile and relax as you work through the big questions’.

The coffee machine gurgles and spits. I making two cups, imagining George would like a warm drink. I can hear him chatting to someone, he’ll be here in a moment and I know he will knock, the parcels keep coming. I think his talent is to make others feel happy and he certainly is secure. At least in the job he’s doing. I’m guessing he’ll take milk and I know he likes chocolate, so out come the biscuits.

‘Lovely coffee Mr G, thank you’ and I watch him dunk his second biscuit. He’s sat on the wall scratching the dog behind the ear. Buddy does his perfect dog pose and of course is rewarded with a tiny piece. ‘I’ve cracked it I think, these parcels you’re getting’. I look at him, suddenly wondering if he’s behind the whole parcel thing, but I know he isn’t. ‘So, you’ve had six parcels and now we’re at nineteenth of December. I reckon someone’s doing the twelve days of Christmas with a twist. If that’s true you’ve got six more coming, including that one there. George is just sitting on the cold bricks relaxed as can be, legs bare, chatting as though its a summers day, while I’m busy wrapping my coat around me to stay warm. The box sits tantalising between us, waiting to be opened.

I can’t stop myself and tell him about the six sheets of paper and as his eyes move to the box beside his coffee, I can tell he’s dying for me to open this one. My fingers are cold and won’t move easily, so he unwraps it and then hands me the box. This one says ‘Think big. Have a vision for the future and understand your current reality. Manage the broad strategy and the details to make this happen’.

‘This is just like chinese proverbs, handy hints for the busy, stressed person. I like it’. He smiles broadly. Then realises what he’s said. ‘Oh sorry, not that I think that’s you by the way, I meant it more as general comment. You know us’ and he waves his hands in the air. “I like that one about talent and the one you’ve just got about having a vision but dealing with the details too. Actually I like them all. Do you mind if I write them down’? He pulls out a small battered notebook from his pocket, dropping rubber bands on the floor around him. Takes a stubby pencil and begins to write. “Stuff like this is really helpful you know, maybe I could weave it into some poetry’. I nod and smile. I know he dropped out of university with some sort of breakdown, just before his final exams. I’ve heard the neighbours chatting.

The next five days are fun. We open the parcels together and interpret the messages over coffee, with ever increasing treats – croissants, doughnuts, cream cakes. The cold air seems to make us hungry, The neighbours are talking about us. One pokes her head over the fence and tries to join in, until Buddy does one of his running jumps and bangs against the panel. She goes away muttering. On Christmas eve I organise lunch. Somehow it feels right to have a meal together. It turns out to be more like dinner, as its late afternoon before George jogs down the lane, the last parcel and box of chocolates in hand. We sit out at the garden table. It’s cold and the temperature is dropping but we’re being Covid safe. Even George has an extra layer on top, but nothing will convince him to put trousers on. The dog is in heaven, as he gets regular treats of proper dog biscuits from George’s pocket as we eat.

“So, what have we got, let’s arrange them together’. George is excited, has his notebook out ready to take more notes. ‘Okay’ I reply positioning all twelve like a fleet of boats about to set sail. They read:-

1. Believe and trust in yourself. You are very capable. Believe in the best in others too.

2. Do it now, get it done. You know you’ll feel better afterwards.

3. Find your talent, develop it and use it to help others. Support others to find their talent too.

4. Thing big. Have a vision for the future and understand your current reality. Manage the broad strategy and the details to make this happen.

5. Go out and meet interesting and diverse people. You’ll learn a lot and you’ll enjoy it. Search out any prejudice you may have.

6. Create a secure base for yourself, an anchor which builds confidence for you personally and for others around you.

7. Hold serious issues lightly if you can. If possible, smile and relax as you work through the big questions.

8. Expect conflict if you are doing something new or different. Most people won’t understand what you are trying to do at the beginning.

9 . Enjoy nature, spend some time each day outside. Stand in the sun and reenergise. Walk when you can, particularly if you need to clear your head.

10. Develop yourself, you will have an interesting journey. Give and receive feedback, this will help you change.

11. Stand up for what you believe in, share your ideas. You can make a difference.

12. Enjoy special moments, share them with others. Celebrate. Affirm and thank others.

‘These are just in date order, but I reckon they all have equal ranking really’ I say. George nods, scribbling thoughts as we speak. Sometimes he goes silent and seems to float away. He’s shared some lines of his poetry, which I feel very privileged about and now I sense him shaping words in his head as we sit in contented silence.

We move our paper boats with beautiful words around, making connections. Trying different combinations. ’I like enjoying nature’ says George. ‘I like meet interesting and diverse people’ I respond. We bounce ideas around as the snow begins to fall gently down on us. The dog gets more biscuits as we chat, the temperature on the outside thermometer drops but we don’t notice.

We never found out who sent the boxes, but what great Christmas presents we both received that year.

Grahame Pitts December 2021

Stimulus and Response – The Love Affair

‘I love you, I really do’. He slides up beside her, his hands reaching out to take her face gently into the palm of his hands. His lips touch lightly onto hers and his eyes twinkle in delight.

‘I can’t live without you Stim, I really can’t’ His hands slide to the back of her head and gently move through the glossy blonde hair. Then strangely, he feels her hand on his chest as she gently pushes him away, before running her fingers through her hair to organise herself. She looks at him, her eyebrows dipping slightly.

‘You know I love you Res I really do, but I need to be honest with you…..’ He senses the rebuff and moves slightly away from her, but still holds her hand so she cannot move too far away. They are getting ready for a party, all old friends coming  together. It is a regular, relaxed, fun time with people they’ve known for years. She had been standing at the mirror, choosing ear rings when he came up and kissed her, his aftershave mixing with her perfume as they came close.

His face crumbles at her words. She has been a little bit off over the last few days, certainly not her usual loving, close, caring self. He tries to listen, but his heart rate has risen and he senses the  blood surging through his veins. Their love was beautiful, everyone said so – a whirlwind romance, wonderful to watch, a classic love at first sight, a match made in heaven. And now, living together after all these years, it had seemed perfect to him. Yet here in the bedroom, he feels a sense of fear and concern. He doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to speak, but he has to.

‘What’s the matter Stim’? The words come out slowly, quietly, tentatively. It seems wrong to even ask.

‘Look Res’ her voice is confident, sure, straight. She takes him over to the bed and pulls him down to sit on the edge, their legs touching. ‘I love you, just as I did when we first met. You are very special, we’re meant to be together for ever and ever I’m sure. I don’t want to be without you,  I really don’t, but …….’. The air seems to shift between them. Stim sighs deeply and squeezes Res’s hand. They’re both silent.

‘I just need a bit more space that’s all. Just a bit, not too much just a bit. I need to be my own person. I think you need to be too’. She can see he is trying to hear, but he seems close to tears as he looks at her.

‘I just want to do what is right for you, give you what you need, be there for you. I love you Stim I really do’. His voice is quiet, hesitant. He squeezes up tight to her, only to find her moving away again slightly, creating more space again between them. It feels wrong.  All of it is wrong and he wants to move to her. Yet no matter how he hates it, he stays where he is, because that’s what she wants, but he feels very uncomfortable.

‘Look’ Stim tries again. ‘We can continue on how how we are, but it will be the same and then, more of the same’. Res looks confused. ‘You know…. I do something, you respond in the way you always do. We know the routine and everyone around us does too. It feels like the same old, same old’.

‘But isn’t that good, you know predicable, comfortable….’? Res looks at her, his voice rising slightly as he replies. There is a fine line of sweat across his top lip and red patches are beginning to appear on his neck above his shirt collar. ‘Isn’t that how couples work, you know like in tandem’? He senses her irritation and stops, watching as she pushes herself up off the bed and moves away.

‘Okay, okay, what do you want’? He drops his head into his hands, so the words are muffled and indistinct. Inside he’s expecting disaster –  a break up, news of another man, divorce looming.

‘Just to try some things differently. So, there is space for something else to happen, rather than just the usual, what we always do. Something different’ Stim responds. Then she smiles. ’How about we practice tonight? You know, I do something and you respond differently, check yourself before doing what you might always do’. She winks at him, which is most disconcerting, because she has never in all their time together winked at him. It is  such a simple thing and he wants to react straightaway, or to say something to tell her that it’s just plain weird. He can’t stop the automatic reaction, his eyelid beginning to twitch. Instead though, he takes a deep breath and counts to ten. Which seems to take an age, but during that time he thinks. There is just the tick of the bedside clock filling the silence. He really wants to wink back, get them both in sync again, but he doesn’t. Instead, as ten clicks through his head, he pushes out his tongue and rolls his eyes. She bursts into laughter.

‘Okay let’s do this Ms Stimulus. Let’s go courting again, do some things differently at the party. See what happens to us and maybe to others tonight too’. He slips on his jacket and takes her respectfully by the hand. She is smiling now.

‘Thank you Mr Response, that would be lovely, very lovely. And we can count in the gap together. Ready to give it another go’? Her eyes sparkle at him. They both hold their breath, heads rocking to and fro as they go through the count. Then before Stimulus can stop him, Response is heading out of the door, taking the stairs two at a time, whooping and cheering.

Grahame Pitts – December 2020


This story comes out of a number of leadership conversations about habitual reactions. Sometimes simple everyday situations, sometimes tougher emotional loaded moments. Unless we check ourselves we can often respond in a certain way and in a way which we know is pretty predictable. This can be beneficial, we all know what to expect  from each other, but this habit can also limit us. So, a particular stimulus – perhaps a situation, a person, an emotion – can immediately invoke a particular response. Stimulus and response are powerful and almost symbiotically linked. Yet in all this, we may be missing larger, more interesting, opportunities.

How do we change our responses? By being aware of what is going on right in the moment. Then by creating a gap between the stimulus and the response. Actively working at stopping a habitual response – watching out for instance for those ‘yes buts’, ‘no that won’t work’ type of comments – by creating more space before responding. Perhaps, as in the story, using a count of  ten, taking a long deep breath. Maybe, just checking in with your heart and mind or sensing the reaction occurring in your body. Most importantly, doing something which stops you immediately reacting.

Enjoy pausing!

Some possible reflection questions:

  1. Where do you get into unhelpful stimulus response situations? At home, at work? Do you know what triggers them? Are these specific situations, or is there a reoccurring theme?
  2. Sometimes, can you give yourself a gap before responding? What method would work for you, giving you more time to respond with a different choice?
  3. Where can you experiment right now? What one place can you try this out in the next few days?
  4. And turning the model on its head – what new stimulus do you need in the coming months to create opportunities for new and different reactions?

Paths, Patterns & Choices

There is just enough space on the bench for one more. Well almost enough if they all shuffle along a little. Christine hauls her rucksack off, feeling lighter already as she dumps her bag on the floor. She stretches, her back cracks with relief as she rolls her shoulders, life coming back into the muscles.

‘Hi, mind if I take a seat’. Three faces look up at her, a mixture of welcome, curiosity and one with what seems like down right hostility. ‘I won’t stay long but could you shove up a bit, I think the seat is meant to take four’. Bottoms shuffle on the wooden bench and she squeezes in at the end. 

‘Phew I needed this’ and as the others settle and readjust, she pulls out her water bottle and takes a deep slurp before looking around. It’s been a long walk to this point, interesting though, lots to see, a real adventure and her fitness levels have improved over time. 

‘Well this seems a good spot to put this seat’ she says quietly looking around. The four of them are sat on a junction, a multi junction. The path she came up, the one they all came up she assumes is almost behind the bench, you can just see it out of the corner of your eye. Ahead the track splits and there are a number of choices. Immediately, directly ahead, is a wide reassuring asphalt path which arcs straight and disappears into the distance. To their right and left are a number of paths which split away in different directions. Some have clearly been walked by others, some are barely noticeable, maybe a single set of steps have gone that way.

‘Any idea which way to go from here?’ she asks enthusiastically looking around, her eyes sweeping over her three new companions. Right next to her is a man alternating between opening and shutting a book and lifting a pair of large black binoculars to his face. He takes one more sweep of the vista ahead, his head swivelling through one hundred and eighty degrees.

‘What would you do?’ he says turning towards her. ‘Oh sorry forgot my manners, I’m Bill’. He shuffles book and binoculars around so he can shake her hand. ‘It’s just that it’s says here ‘Look for the long term, build for future success, not just the immediate’. He seems to be reading from a particular page. ‘Here, take a look’. He passes her the glasses which she has to adjust to get into focus, then everything springs up large and bright in front of her. ‘Can you see all the good things just down the main path there and some more just a bit further on, then beyond that it all begins to peter out’? Christine is not sure what she is looking at, maybe they are trees, she’s not sure. The closest seem to have a lot of fruit on if that’s what they are. Further on they have less fruit and in the mid distance the trees look bent, broken and the soil underneath arid. 

‘Now look a bit to your left’ and he guides her hand, nudging the glasses across. For a short while it is all distorted then coming into focus is a very large patch of land with saplings growing, spreading right and left across the span of her vision. The soil looks fertile ‘The problem is I can’t see a path to get there, possibly a sheep or cattle track, but not much more’. He’s right, the tarmac path clearly  leads straight through the closest trees and on until it disappears into the arid landscape she first looked at. That route is clear. Swinging the binoculars back, he’s right, no path seems to go to where the rich soil seems to glow red in the distance.

“I think I have a decision to make, go for the short term, straight in front of me, or look for a way to a better long term future’. He pulls out a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and polishes the lenses, flicks through the book one last time, then snaps it shut. With a purposeful nod to them all he starts off down the tarmac road, stepping  out in a regular stride. Then after a hundred metres and with a wave back at Christine, he plunges off the path heading towards the fertile field.

‘Good  for him, I admire that determination’. A woman pushes herself along the bench filling the space left by Bill. ‘I hate decisions though don’t you. She looks directly at Christine unafraid of eye contact. ‘It means having to make a choice, it’s so hard isn’t it’? She’s waving a piece of paper in front of her. ‘A friend sent me this poem, said it might help me’. Her face crinkles. ‘Help me! Well it did get me started I suppose, it made me move, but now I’m in a right muddle. It says here’ she pauses to find the right sentence ‘Choose the most interesting path, the least travelled path. Which one though I say to myself, Jane which one, they didn’t say there would be loads of choices’. She sighs deeply. In frustration, she screws the sheet into a ball crushing her hands together, then quickly unwraps the crinkled sheet to study the words once again.

‘I love this poem, I love all this inspirational type stuff’. Her face opens up and she beams at Christine. ‘Here you keep this love’ and the worn creased paper changes hands between them and Jane stands up. She ponders all the paths arrayed out in front of her, looking around, seeming to do some sort of metal equation. Then she starts off down a well marked grass path before coming back, pointing at another, shrugging her shoulders and setting off down a less well marked but interesting track which bends  away through the fields and towards the woods ahead.  Occasionally she stops, looks back, stares at the other paths leading in other directions and then moves on until she disappears from view.

The last person on the bench ignores Christine completely. He’s crunched up in a dark raincoat, even though the day is quite warm, he’s staring at his shoes which are highly polished.  Christine considers moving along the bench but senses he needs space. 

‘Nice day hey’. Christine leans back looking at the wide spread of countryside ahead of them. Bill, a tiny spec in the distance, seems to be walking back and forth through the saplings. Occasionally the glass in his binoculars flashes in the sunlight. Jane has disappeared into the trees. High in the blue sky above, a Red Kite circles seeking a thermal in the warm air. 

‘Choices, choices, there is no choice whatsoever, they’re both talking nonsense’ the voice mumbles out of the folds of the coat. ‘Idiots the pair of them, believing you can take a different path’. He turns and glares at her, his eyes are red rimmed with dark shadows below. ‘See that’. A slender hand is pulled out of a pocket and points at the path behind and one in front of where he is sitting. It seems to run directly under the bench. ‘You’ve got your life patterns, you can move a bit but mostly you go along your tram lines following the stuff your parents or grandparents gave you. I know I’ve trained in this stuff. That woman should have tried a different poem, something more realistic, maybe that one by Philip Larkin ‘They fuc……’. He is cut short as Christine interrupts him.

‘Yes, I know that poem, a bit depressing actually, I prefer optimism and hope myself’. He looks at her, ponders on the comment, before a broad smile breaks out across his tired face. 

‘Maybe you’re right’. He takes a moment to reflect. ‘Perhaps a bit of both ideas makes more sense. So, accepting there are patterns, but choice and experience makes a difference. Our patterns are just patterns wherever they come from. Some are good, some are bad, but they help us manage our complex lives. We need them. I was just thinking about my old dad, he had good intentions I think. He worked hard, was never at home, that was probably a family pattern, but he made some good choices too.  I think I’m a bit better, I work hard too, but still probably too much, if my marriage is anything to go by’.

He pauses and looks up at the Red Kite, which is hovering closer, focused on something below ignoring them completely.  ‘And we’re adults aren’t we, we have to make choices and remake them regularly, that’s how our patterns shift in the long term. I have to choose the next step, the next path to go down’. He takes a deep breath. ‘I’m being a a bit stupid really, I know this stuff, I’ve been through it a few times. Maybe I’m just a bit tired right now and can’t see anything clearly. So, you go right ahead and make your choice, I think I’ll just sit here a while and enjoy the sunshine’.

Christine leans back on the bench and watches the bird swoop down, flash across the ground, then up and away. 

’You know I might sit here a while too if that’s okay? I can see two or three options ahead but I’m not sure yet. Would you like some lunch’? She unbuckles the top of her rucksack and begins searching inside. ‘Would you be willing to share some of your choices, the paths you’ve taken while you’ve been working hard’? She knows he will because he’s tapping the end of his nose as he thinks, a smile appearing on his face.

Grahame Pitts

December 2019

Postscript – One book, Two Poems 

The ideas in the first part of the story comes from a book I have just read (thanks Bryan for the recommendation) – The Infinite Game by Simon Sinek ( He talks about the need for organisations to move from our current model of short term results, to a broader longer term perspective, where we create sustainability for future  generations, rather than just our own. Although the book applies this to business it has the same resonance at a personal level.

The second part of the story pulls on the themes from two well known poems by:

Robert Frost – The Road Not Taken – (

Peter Larkin – This Be The Verse – (

Both poems are often quoted in personal and leadership development workshops and are used to stimulate, challenge and inspire.

Some possible reflection questions:

  1. Are you making good choices? How much are you driven by your patterns? Which of these patterns support you, which ones are potentially sabotaging you?
  2. Do you need to sit a while as you consider your next choice? Who would you like to chat to about your next step (someone with a different perspective, or at least different patterns). Or do you simply need your own quiet reflection time?
  3. Are you able to consider both your immediate short term choice and how this fits into the much longer term perspective? If you are in an organisation, are you able to see the long term picture (probably beyond your time there) and therefore what foundations you need to put in place now? 

Ghost Busters

The persistent chiming of the doorbell was driving Brian mad. The first day of his Christmas break and it was only eight thirty in the morning. He pulled the duvet up over his head and tried to ignore the Ghostbusters theme tune reverberating through the house.

‘Stupid, stupid choice’ he muttered to himself as the bell rattled out the tune yet again, filling the quiet rooms of the house. He didn’t remember ordering a package, though he couldn’t be sure. He sighed, slid out of bed slipped his Superman slippers on and yawning headed downstairs. The cat yowled at him on the stairs, expecting breakfast and rubbed against his legs almost causing Brian to trip over the last step. He picked up the big tom and rubbed his face in the cat fur, hearing the contented purring and feeling the warmth of his body. 

The front door stuck refusing to open. He’d fix it one day, next summer, when the weather was better, although he’d been saying that for years now. Yanking at the handle, the door creaked and complained, finally swinging open. The cat squealed, scrabbling and complaining as Brian backed up into the hall. 

‘Good morning, Mr Peters I believe. Brian Peters is that you?’. The person standing on the doorstep was dressed in a smart blue suit and carried an official looking clip board. ‘Seasons greetings to you sir. Could you spare me five minutes just to answer…. you know …. a few questions’? Brian tried to close the door, but wasn’t quick enough and with one bound the man was in the hall next to him.

‘Jolly chilly out there, snow coming I wouldn’t be surprised. Edward’s my name but do call me Ted. Right shall we make a start? Great slippers by the way’ and he winked at Brian. 

‘Now Mr Peters you might be expecting a short survey, you know the sort that won’t take a minute. Well that’s what they say on the phone hey’. He winked again. Brian groaned, muttered something about tea and headed towards the kitchen. ‘No siree not our company, let’s cut straight to chase here’. He produced a business card from his top pocket.

‘Talent Spotters Inc that’s us, no talent too small. If you’ve got some, we’ll find it. Yes, we’re your people for talent’. He placed the card theatrically on the kitchen table next to teapot and peeling open his suit jacket, produced from his inside pocket a flash light. ‘Right let’s take a look shall we?’ and before Brian could stop him, or the cat had a chance to complain about the lack of breakfast, he was off –  opening and shutting cupboards, looking under the sideboard coming out covered in cobwebs. He set about each room, diligently searching, then making notes on a sheet of paper.  

‘Morning Mr Peters, apologies for coming right in, but the front door was ajar, looks like it sticks a bit, I couldn’t help noticing’. The new visitor placed her business card on the table too and stood back smiling. Brian, in an effort to stay calm, poured hot water onto the tea bags in the pot and took an extra cup from the shelf. Then he casually read the raised gold embossed writing ….  ‘Awareness and New Perspectives Ltd’.

‘Yes we bring light into your home. Light to places you never thought you had. Raise your awareness to a whole new level. Mind if I make a start Brian?’ And without pausing, she opened her leather bag pulled out an extending tape and began checking the measurements of the kitchen. Then using a smart 2B pencil, drew a scale diagram on her note pad. 

‘A new french window here would be just perfect, bring plenty of light in and west facing too. Imagine what you’ll see as you eat your cornflakes every day. A great source of insight I’d say’. She beamed at the cat, accepted the cup Brian passed over, drinking quickly. Not at all concerned that is was fresh from the pot and steaming hot.

‘Morning, I shut the door, had to give it a hard shove, but its closed now. You need to get that fixed. It’s not doing the joints or the frame any good. Best set a date to get that organised I recommend’. The new arrival, a smartly dressed man, walked confidently in and sat down. Brian knew the routine, put out his hand and took the business card.

‘Geoff is my name and I think I just saw Sandra heading into the living room there’. There was a pause as he took a breath. ‘ Discipline and Structure LLP. Yes, Brian you need us’. He lent forward, speaking quietly. The cat eyed him curiously, as he cleaned his paws carefully. I see my two friends have got here before me, which is fine. They’re early starters after all and often ahead of me with customers. Quite right too, but without D&S you’re sunk, yes sunk without trace’. He smiled benignly, before slipping on an apron and tying it behind his back. ‘Mind if I make few adjustments sir?’ He stood up and moved around the room, lining up pots, boxes, emptying one cupboard completely and reassembling the contents logically by sell by date. He occasionally rubbed his hands together, nodding to himself as he went about his business. Under the sink he found a cleaning spray and hummed to himself as he polished the kitchen window.  

Later Brian wouldn’t remember why he provided breakfast for them all. Maybe he thought he was in a dream and would wake up soon, maybe he was just friendly and liked company. Anyway, they all enjoyed the scrambled eggs with salmon (it was Christmas after all), and munched through a whole loaf of wholemeal toast together. He waited for them to speak, lining up the salt and pepper pot and getting a warm smile from D&S Ltd in return. 

‘Right if I might summarise Peter: plenty of talent, mostly hidden and not fully utilised. Some awareness, bags of opportunity for more. But to be blunt, poor self discipline and structure. Oh yes and by the way, those Superman slippers do you no favours either’. Geoff slid over a summary report, containing all the different perspectives. Then the three of them, sitting opposite him across the table, chipped in with additional examples and suggestions of changes he might make. 

‘And the price for all this work?’ Brian looked at them, across the neatly stacked plates waiting to go in the dishwasher. ‘A lot I suspect and you can deliver it all, the combined companies of Talent, Awareness and Discipline’? A hint of sarcasm filled the words.

‘Actually no, at Christmas we offer this service free’ Sandra replied. ‘You know we like to help the community a little, do our bit. It’s a time of reflection and contemplation, looking back on the year, looking ahead a little? A time for a personal mini audit perhaps’? Brian nodded, taken aback by the seriousness of the comment. 

‘But there is a price actually’ Ted’s voice seemed to float over across the kitchen. ‘Rather its more of a commitment’. The sun at that moment shone in through the window bringing a sharpness and clarity. The cat watched a piece of fluff float up into the air. ‘A commitment to use this information wisely and well, not waste your opportunities. Will you do that Brian?’ 

And with that, the three stood up left the room and the front door opened easily and neatly clicked shut. As it always would in the future.

Grahame Pitts – December 2018

Perhaps take a moment or two for reflection……. 
1. What are my talents? Am I using them well for myself and for helping others? Are there any talents hidden in cupboards, waiting to be used more?
2. What do I know about myself, my strengths, my weaknesses? How open am I to new information, feedback, new experiences? Do I encourage others to understand themselves more and find ways to learn and grow?
3. What level of self discipline and structure do i have? Does this need to change in any way – perhaps bringing more in, or perhaps having less control sometimes?

Something’s Moving in The Garden

‘Daddy, daddy there’s something in the flower pot, come look, please come and look’. Her face radiates up towards me, the blond curls spilling out from under her bright red bobble hat. Her gloves dangle by their strings out of her coat and I see her muddy hands, just a second before she grabs my trouser leg to get me out of my chair.
‘Woo, steady, I’m coming’. I fold up my newspaper, try to forget the quiet ten minutes I was having and head out through the patio doors into the cold winter air, realizing immediately I should have put a coat on. My wife is down the garden digging away, throwing weeds behind her. I resist the desire to call out and remind her this is my time and we’d agreed she and Lucy would garden together.   
‘Come on daddy, hurry up, this way’ and Lucy, our smart, insistent daughter trots ahead of me. I feel a glow of pride at watching her young confidence and remember the nativity play at school the week before. She is an angel and a junior one at that, with just three words to speak ‘peace and joy’. The hot stuffy hall, full of cameras and phones flashing. A confusing Christmas story full of sharks, zebras, a London post box, six kings and our daughter. There she is….. I see her vividly in her angel dress, her lines delivered slowly with loud perfection, each word which we’d practiced every night before bed after story time. My heart swells at the memory. I know she’ll be on the stage one day.
‘Look here, look’ and I peer into an extra large plastic flowerpot sitting on the floor of our small greenhouse, amongst the dry dusty bean canes. It’s the pot I had every intention of putting the Christmas tree in later, once I’d finished the sports pages. A strange animal looks up at me. A long snout, two large nostrils, a crinkled broad back and an even bigger tail, which swishes and cracks against the pot sides making the whole thing jump and vibrate. The eyes dare me to come forward and I am tempted to put my hands in, then change my mind.
‘Isn’t it sweet Daddy, can we keep it, please Daddy please’. Lucy jumps up and down on the spot, hopping from one leg to the other with excitement. Then her voice changes.
‘There, there calm down little one’ I hear Lucy recite her mothers words with the same intonation and softness and the thing settles, curling up, no longer banging the pot across the greenhouse floor. Before I can stop her, Lucy puts her grubby fingers in and rubs the top of its nose, calming it even more. There is a strange purring sort of noise.
‘I wouldn’t do that Lucy, just in case you know. Well it might have teeth’ and I tug at her coat and pull her away.
‘No, no Daddy he likes being picked up and cuddled. Look’ and she scoops the alligator looking reptile up in her arms. It flops over her shoulder like a rag doll and his snout hangs down her back, steam puffing out of the nostrils into the cold garden air. ‘He’s a bit too heavy though, can you take him’?
I carefully pick him off Lucy, unpeeling his claws which are sticking in her wooly coat. My hands just pass round the rough scaly body and I gently but firmly put him back in the pot. Except he doesn’t fit anymore and now drapes half in and half out.
‘Wow he’s grown’ Sue dumps a load of weeds on the compost and joins us in the greenhouse, watching it settle down, tail and rear end in the pot, the rest slumped over on the ground. First one eye closes then another. The  purring changes to a gentle snore.
‘Lucy showed me earlier, it looked like a lizard then, now I’m not so sure. Maybe its escaped from a pet shop or something’. That had been exactly my thought but there isn’t one near us, so my mind goes to the beatnik guy who lives three doors down. He had a snake once, but that was before we had Lucy. Then when he settled down with that new girlfriend, the posh one, I’m pretty sure he got a dog instead.
‘I could ask that snake guy at number twenty, or maybe we just phone the RSPCA’. Lucy looks up at me and I explain about the charity that helps sick and lost animals. She nods wisely.
‘But we will be able to keep him won’t we?’ and her head tilts upwards. ‘It would be the bestest Christmas present ever’.  Sue and I look at each other. 
‘Tell you what let’s have lunch, a boiled egg with soldiers and we’ll decide after. How about that’? I lift her up, swing her onto my shoulders and stride up the garden path, away from what seems like a complicated problem.

‘Right mate, what you got then, a baby crocodile the call said. Seems unlikely but we get all sorts of thing to deal with you know’. He’s standing on the door step, his RSPCA uniform not quite fitting, like he’s outgrown it. A beer belly hangs over his belt. He looks competent though, if a bit rough round the edges.
‘Okay I’ve got a cat travel cage here and if it’s bigger, this noose will hold it while we deal with it. This sorts out wild dogs, so it should do the job’. I look at the cage then the pole with a circle of rope and decide to not engage in a conversation. I’m not sure either will do, but its getting dark, so I show him through the house into the garden. Two pinpricks of light come from the greenhouse and the purring has turned to a low rumble.
“Right let’s be having you’ and flicking on his torch the man strides forward across the lawn. The blast of heat and flame shocks us all. Two small jets, like a pair of blowtorches arc towards us, smacking against his boots, charring the laces.
“Fireworks mummy’ shrieks Lucy with joy, wriggling to get away from her mum’s hand which is holding her tightly. No one can believe it, but it doesn’t matter because now the greenhouse begins to shake. One by one, with a bang, each pane shatters, sending slivers spinning away. Then the frame begins to twist and buckle, then crashing out of one end is a head and at the other a tail, flicking and crashing against the fence. With one last pop the frame disintegrates, aluminum pings everywhere and there standing in front of us is…
‘A dragon Daddy, a dragon, just like those pictures in the book.  Mummy, mummy Father Christmas has brought us a dragon, a real dragon’. Lucy is jumping up and down. My mouth is open. Sue is backing away and the RSPCA drops his alligator noose and runs. The dragon sits back on his haunches and with a soft thud settles down on top of the vegetable patch, his tail moving back and forth. Then it seems to wink at us.
‘My brussels, my brussels, my Christmas spuds, the turnips’ is all I can think about, as he then slumps forward, his head crashing down on the patio. He looks lovingly up at us. Warm air from his nose blows across our legs and with a contented sigh he drops off to sleep again.
‘I don’t know what to do, stop asking’. We’ve been round the subject endless times as we watch the dragon through the steamed up glass door.
‘Well he doesn’t seem to have grown overnight anyway, that’s a relief. And are you sure it’s a he, it maybe a she. In fact I’m sure it is a she’. Sue looks at me over her coffee cup as we watch Lucy, outside, leaning against the Dragon and patting his skin gently.
‘This is either very dangerous, in which case I should rescue my daughter, or I am in the middle of a very strange dream. Perhaps I’ll wake up soon’? I shake my head but nothing changes. Inside, I have an amazing sense of calm, which is crazy given the situation.
‘Don’t grab …..’ Too late, Lucy is gently pulling at his eye lashes, intrigued by their length and colour. The dragon doesn’t seem put out at all and closes both eyes, to let her run fingers through and across the black coarse fibres, like running fingers across a piano key board.   
‘Now we’re late, got to dash, I’m sure you’ll sort this out before we’re back’ and with a peck on the cheek I grab up my bag and head out.
‘Come on Lucy, time to go. Remember it’s dad’s and daughters day, then the party later’. We have this wonderful tradition where on the last day before Christmas, children are invited into the office and we finish with a kids party at lunch time. This is the first year for Lucy. She gives the dragon a kiss and skips over to me.

There’s a thud as I clip Lucy into her seat, the car rocks slightly then I feel a breath on my shoulder.

‘No, no, get out you beast’, but it’s too late, the Dragon is squashed in the back his head resting between the front seats and immediately the temperature rises and we’re in tropical heat. The frozen windscreen clears instantly and the rubber seal around the edge begins to overheat and smell. I am about to complain, then notice the curling lip and a large set of white sharp teeth emerging. And above, a slow lazy wink of an eye. I carefully and apologetically push the snout to one side, find the gear stick under the folds of rough skin and set off.

‘Morning you must be Lucy and you’ve brought your dinosaur too. Well done, just sign here’. I lift and hold her as she slowly writes her name across the visitors pad in large capital letters.
‘Its amazing what they can do now isn’t it, looks just like the real thing too’. The security man stares at the dragon.
‘And it even smells. What’ll they think of next hey. Look it winks, now that’s smart. Pricey I imagine. Do they do a smaller version at all? Sold out probably by now. Toy of the year is it? Maybe I can get one in the sales in January’? He chatters on, he always does, I mostly nod my head in the mornings, it nearly always seems too early for chatty conversation. Lucy hands him the pen and the security man looks at her name covering twenty of the official visitor signature boxes on the form.
‘Right oh guys let’s go and the three of us squash into the lift. I can’t help smiling as we step in. We practice counting the numbers on the panel, with dragon thumping a tail in the floor when Lucy hits ten. The lift is still bouncing up and down as the door slides open at my floor.     
Some people look, others don’t even seem to notice, as we walk through the open plan office. At my desk Lucy points at the family photos sitting beside my over flowing in tray, able to name each person, touching her fingers to the glass. Dragon comes close and examines each one, seeming to nod approval. At the same time as he moves, he is inadvertently knocking files and expense reports onto the floor and then swishing them into a muddle with his feet and tail.
‘CEO needs you in the Board room now, some sort of emergency’. Jane floats into the room, all competence and smartness. She is organised to the hilt, keeps all the executive team on track, the best assistant I have worked with.
‘Hi Lucy, why don’t you come with me for a few minutes? I’ve heard all about you, Daddy has a meeting to go to’. She doesn’t even seem to notice Dragon who begins to hiss as Lucy bursts into tears and hides behind my legs. I watch her stride back to desk, as I tell her ‘I will deal with this and that, sorry Lucy is not good with strangers’.

‘Are you sure, oh all right’ the CEO is muttering, unsure how to handle a child in the boardroom, but Lucy is quietly sitting on my lap tucked in to the table playing with the paper clips on the files in front of us, smiling sweetly. ‘Good old Luc’ I think, ‘come on let’s get old grouch ready for Christmas. Who needs a meeting today of all days’. No one noticed dragon slip under the large mahogany table and the whole room seems to not hear the rumble and notice movements by our feet. I am a bit disconcerted to have hot breath on my thigh as Lucy digs through the sweet jar she’s been given, dropping jelly babies into an open mouth. Each one disappearing with a satisfied smacking noise.       
I am sweating, this is a huge mistake, I am under attack. The CEO persists in his interrogation. Others in the team are slipping down in their seats, keeping out of the argument, one or two have tried to help me, but there is no stopping him. It was coming, of course it was. 
‘I gave you the chance, gave you resources, listened to your proposals, accepted your part of the business might be different, but look at the results’. He slaps the financial report on the table and his face gets redder and redder as his anger rises. It had been coming, he hates my challenge and now he’s picked up on my emails which he normally ignores. He knows we need to change but meanwhile his shares are losing value and we all know he wanted to cash out and retire this year.
I need to fight back, but not with Lucy here and she is looking worried, peering up into my face and holding tightly to my small finger with her left hand. As she reaches into the sweet jar with her other hand, it tips. Before I can reach out, it starts to roll down the length of the table, coloured jelly babies tipping out, red, black, yellow, green. Everyone watches transfixed as it drops off the edge, just as the finance director makes a snatch at the disappearing jar. He leans over to pick up the container, then pulls back fear all over his face.
First smoke, then the nose, then the teeth, the eyes, the flashing scales. The front feet haul up onto the Chippendale table, leaving deep scratches in the surface. His body, as he stretches, fills that end of the huge boardroom. His head crashes into the ornate plastered ceiling and his tail knocks the coffee cups off the side cabinet. With a roar of anger the flames and smoke spurt from his nostrils. The heat scorches down the table incinerating reports, note pads, wrecking laptops and phones. The flames destroy the smart organised file in front of the CEO and then with a flick, the last heat blackens his hair and softens his smart royal blue designer glasses, making them droop and distort on his nose.
No one moves. The CEO sits there stunned. The left lens on his glasses drops out into the ashes of his papers. Around the table hands go to faces and there are stifled giggles amongst the ‘oh dears’ and ‘that was unfortunate’. I don’t wait, I push back my seat and with Lucy trotting next me and Dragon behind, leave the smouldering room.
‘Happy Christmas everyone’ I call over my shoulder. ‘Catch up on all this in the New Year.  Or in case I’m not here, enjoy all that new business coming soon’. In the car park I consider matters.
‘Hey Dragon, any chance of a lift home? I think maybe we’ll leave the company car here’ and he bends his head to allow Lucy and I to slip onto his back. We lift off, waving to the warehouse staff as we glide up into the cold clear blue sky.  

Post Script

This story came from a conversation with a client recently, about running a small ‘different’ business within a much larger organisation. We chatted about a metaphor when a strange mystical creature appears in a regular well organised, efficient vegetable or flower garden.

And below, just a couple of possible reflective questions for you …….particularly for  those of you who ask  for practical applications, to land this fluffy fable stuff!

– What happens when change arrives and is different from the norm or what was planned or expected – for you yourself or for your business?

– Do you take on a particular approach, attitude, or behaviour when someone is in your vegetable patch, or you are stepping on someone’s prize flower bed?

– Can you see an aspect of yourself in the story? Do you sense a connection with one of the characters? Any messages for you?

Knockout Fight

“In the left hand corner representing joy, hope, anticipation, creativity, please give it up for Jhac our latest contender for the world title” the announcer’s voice boomed around in the darkness followed by muted clapping from the auditorium. Jhac waved and after a tentative half confident walk around the ring, settles on his stool in the corner and as his gloves are tightened, listens to his coaching team go through the final briefing.

“Come on Jhac you can do it ” calls a lone voice making him smile, his mum is in the crowd, willing him on, as she has at every bout since he’d chosen to take up boxing. Now she’s up on her feet chanting his name and others are half heartedly joining in. It doesn’t matter one way or another to her, she is there for her son and will be forever. Now she’s turning round shouting up into the rows behind and that gets the boozed up ones going, jeering, cat calling, telling her to f* off, sit down.

The pa systems booms into life drowning the argument and then the lights are flashing, followed by billowing iced smoke which swirls around the long corridor from the changing rooms to the ring.

“And now ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the defending and heavy weight champion of the world, representing doubt, worry, failure, despondency, Mr DWFD, or, as we know him Baaaaad Boooooy. The crowd are on their feet, stamping to the music, clapping, shouting and there emerging out of the smoke is the biggest boxer Jhac has ever seen. He fills the space, not just physically but emotionally and mentally too. He’s huge and threatening and ignores the crowd completely as he strides to the ring, squeezing through the ropes and eye balling Jhac with a sarcastic, arrogant look. The commentator reels off the belts, the titles Bad Boy has won. The crowds howl their delight and everyone can feel the anticipation of another annihilation ahead. It reminds Jahc of a fox hunt, a blood letting, the closest people can come to war without getting hurt themselves, baying for damage and destruction. Jhac’s mum does her best, shouting back and waving her arms, until a steward physically pushes her down into her chair and holds her there as she screams at him.

Bad Boy begins his ritual, pacing round the ring, beating his chest and growling, coming closer to Jahc’s corner every time, before finally walking right up to him and spiting on the floor between his legs. Jahc looks at the globule of phlegm and laughs, before standing, screwing his boot symbolically into the spit and raising his gloves. The bell hasn’t rung, the referee is about to intervene and give the normal set piece lecture, but it is too late they are off. Jahc is dancing round the ring, skipping to the music, which is then suddenly turned off as the management realise what is happening. Bad Boy isn’t happy, he’s used to dominating from the word go. He growls a ‘fuck you’ growl and lumbers across toward Jahc and swings. The right cut slices through the air, he’s fast and he knows it, the silence in the crowd says they know it too and they suspect it is all over before the bell has even rung for the start. Not Jahc though, he ducks, pivots and the boxing glove hisses past his face making Bad Boy stumble as he boxes into empty space.

Jahc’s mum is on her feet again yelling, the neutrals in the crowd are suddenly shouting for Jahc and new bets are being placed. Jahc’s heart is bounding, he’s following the drill the team has agreed, take the game to the opponent, don’t let him get into a groove, keep him guessing. Right thinks Jahc, great theory, but this guy is huge, deadly and now he’s mad too. The sweat begins to trickle down his face as he dances away and around the ring, making Bad Boy chase him and he neatly ducks away as his opponent tries to trap him in the corner, even managing to get a soft punch to the Bad Boy’s arm as he slips away again.

One minute, two minutes he’s still there skipping, weaving, occasionally making a punch but largely staying out of trouble, following the game plan for round one. Stay on your toes, stay focused is the last thought he has as the pile driver hits him, the glove smacking into his face, the soft leather crumbling against his cheek, before fully making contact and lifting Jahc off his feet and throwing him across the ring. He sees the crowd, the lights, his mum in the corner of his eye as she gasps and her hands go to her mouth in horror. There isn’t much more because his head hits the floor and he’s out cold.

“Five uh, six uh”, Jahc can hear the count through the haze, he knows he has to get up, but can’t, everything has gone to mush. His corner are yelling, he hears them. “Seven uh, eight uh” its all over he can’t get up, then he’s on his knees, blood drips from his nose onto the canvas. “Nine uh” he’s on his feet, just, bent over but up. Bad Boy snarls and charges toward him, the bell rings, the referee tries to intervene, but Bad Boy has none of it and brushes him aside before smacking Jahc on the nose and crashing him back onto the ropes.

There is uproar, the crowd want a fight but a relatively fair one, Jahc’s mum is climbing into the ring and being pulled back by the radio commentator whose microphone she has just sent flying as she stands on his crib notes. Jahc is a crumbled heap on the floor, he looks dead and his team gather on their knees around him, the smelling salts are waved under his nose. The referee mutters about stopping the fight, the competition doctor is being summoned, it looks like it is all over and Bad Boy has done it again.

Jahc remembers getting to his feet, seeing the red stain on the canvas and hearing the sound of his nose breaking, then nothing else. Now he thinks he can hear people talking, a face with a bow tie peering at him, looking in each of his eyes, then he slips away.

“Wo there boy where you going” and Jahc wakes to find himself walking past a gardener digging a vegetable patch, who is now leaning on his spade and eyeing him up and down, his eyes sparkling under his weather beaten cap. Jahc can see the path stretching off in the distance and turns to go.

“Funny gear to be wearing for a walk if you don’t mind me saying” and he points a dirty finger at Jahc’s bright blue shorts and then at the boxing gloves on his hands.

“Um, yea, well, you know, well never mind, I’ve got to be going now” and his eyes are drawn to the road ahead which looks warm and inviting, with the sun glinting in the distance.

“Ah ha, okay but you want a bit of advice”. Jahc doesn’t want to hear this old boy’s thoughts, he just feels a right idiot standing here half dressed and he waves his gloves around in a circle trying to be polite and without realising it does a little jink and circle as though he’s sparing in the practice gym.

“Classy, real style, if I didn’t know better I’d say that’s natural talent I’m looking at there” and the gardener rams his spade into the soil and moves over towards Jahc.

“ I have plenty of people pass me here you know, most don’t even see me, they’re just busy rushing by. He turns to look at the sun in the distance and it plays onto his wrinkled face creating shadows and highlights.

“You know they’ve had a go at something given it their best shot, hit some failure, I guess that might have happened to you hey” and he winks and then points at the soft gloves on Jhac’s hands.   “I don’t judge, because using your talent, well that isn’t easy. I know everyone who comes past here has given it a good go, there are others that don’t even start, so well done you, but I wonder….” and the gardener seemed to drift away into his thoughts, before turning, picking a large ripe tomato and fitting it neatly into the palm of Jahc’s right hand glove. “Known to have super powers these toms you know. Me I don’t know, but they taste great with a bit of salad though. Enjoy”. So Jhac does, but it’s tricky, not just holding the tomato in a boxing glove but eating it too, because it slips and slides and bursts as he bites into it. The taste though is exquisite and fills him with warm, hopeful sensations as he swallows.

“Come on Jahc let’s go” the shock of the water on his face and then the towel is roughly rubbed over his nose, coming away red and snotty brings him round. Then the bell rings and he’s on his feet, wobbly yes and nervous, but he’s out there ready to fight again. He tastes tomato on his mouth, have his back up team been feeding him supplements between rounds, he can’t remember. He can though hear the crowd who are rooting for him now and booing as Bad Boy comes lumbering towards him leering and cursing. He must have been given drugs he thinks because he can feel energy coming back and he’s back on his toes, dancing a little, bruised but already thinking through his plan. Audaciously he waves to the crowd, they roar back and he feels their support and notices his mum standing on the press table howling too. The commentators are going mad, not at mum, they’ve given up controlling her, apart from peering round and through her legs up to the ring shouting into microphones. They sense a shock is on the cards and it is.

Jahc wipes his nose with the back of his glove, then spits on the floor and quietly says to himself “ My way is the right way, but you’ve got to fight boy and fight smart”. Then he’s away parrying, jabbing, bouncing in and out of range. His team are yelling instructions, the gym work comes back, the practice moves, previous fights, he can see it all in his mind and then he sees the final move.

Bad Boy is worried now, he’s run out of ideas and finds himself chasing Jahc round the ring hoping to trap him in a corner. He doesn’t see it coming, a shimmy, a duck, a punch to the stomach making him double up, then the hook to his chin and he topples backwards like a large tree. “Timber” shouts a smart aleck in the crowd and time seems to stand still, until bang the torso of Bad Boy hits the canvas with a resounding thud. Jahc doesn’t look, his right hand hurts too much, it must be broken he can’t go on, the pain is shooting up his arm and into his shoulder. He wants to sit down, lie down, anything to take away the shock, but he hears his team telling him to stay there, walk and in a daze he listens to the count. Then the auditorium erupts. He’s done it, he’s knocked out Bad Boy.

Jahc doesn’t normally dream, he’s usually just exhausted at the end of the day, yet tonight he does. He’s wearing his winner’s belt and he’s back with the gardener and they are both laughing, and recreating the fight in the garden. Jahc pretends to knock out the old man, which he does carefully as his wrist and arm are plastered up to the elbow. The gardener falls gently backwards in amongst the rows of vegetables and flowers, squashing the carrots and lies there giggling to himself before pointing up at Jahc and saying

“Yup that’s some talent you’ve got there, watch out world”.


Post Script – Just a few ‘mulling’ questions:-

1. Do you know your talent(s)? Are you using them well, honouring the skills you have been given?
2. Are there blockages you are facing, what can you do about them?
3. Who can support, help you, encourage you, challenge you to keep moving forward? Or, perhaps point to a new direction, or how to address an issue in a different way?
4. Who do you know who deserves your support and encouragement? Maybe someone younger, a friend needing to make  a change, a member of your family?
5. At work, how are talent people supported? Are you pushing individuals to work well and productively every day? How much talent does your team have, could these be used more?
6. In the world at this tough time, what can you and I do, with the talents we have, to help tilt the world back to to safer stronger place?


James Goes Running

James pulled out the dusty mud crusted trainers from the bag he’d thrown them in all that time ago. Down here in the cellar all was quiet, just the occasionally hiss of the boiler as it began heating the house for the day ahead. He sat on the steps and pulled each one on, tightening the laces to just the right tension ready for the road ahead. With a deep breath and pulling back his shoulders, he took the steps two at time, the running shoes creaking and leaving dried earth behind on the steps. Out of the house he walked to the gate, turned into the road and set off at a gentle pace, shaking the sleepiness from his joints and muscles. He remembered what a great time of day it was before everyone woke up, the calmness and tranquility, no noise yet from the houses as he padded gently past. Before long James was in a rhythm, his body remembering and adjusting to the style and pace he ran at. His breathing regulated and steadied. Now his mind dropped into neutral and he noticed the world around him, yet he had as much attention inwards mulling and considering the day ahead and beyond that his future. The birds chattered, another runner passed with cheery hello and smart BMW roared by as the ‘bright young thing’, as they called him, from next door, shot past on his way to catch the 6.30 commuter train to London. He ran on taking the slight hill ahead with ease and confidence, letting his legs stretch out and enjoy themselves.

“Morning James, good to be out and about hey. Lovely time of day for a jog I say” and James looking to his left found himself running next to a rather rotund man, with billowing shorts to his knees, bright yellow trainers and a blue basketball hat crammed down over a bush of bright ginger curly hair.  He ran with an unerring confidence  and strength considering his size and shape. He thrust out his hand.

“CC’s my name, Captain Confidence actually but most people abbreviate it. We all need to believe in ourselves hey James and I’m your man to help there”. He nudged James in the ribs, his elbow seeming to send shock waves into his chest and directly up to his brain, where a fizz and a pop suddenly made the world a bit brighter and sharper, the birds now chirruping loudly in his ears. CC settled into a steady rhythm next to him and whistled as they turned left together into the park and set off round the perimeter track.

“Morning CC, morning James, good to see you both”. James startled, moved his eyes away from CC to his left and saw a tall gangly runner next to him wearing a trilby hat and a long overcoat, neither of which impeded his movement. His height meant he seemed to walk rather than run and he strode along next to them.

“Reggie Resources here, good to make your acquaintance, now what do you need?” and he pulled open his coat to reveal pockets stuffed with everything you could imagine.

“Maybe a map, or a compass, perhaps some Kendal Mint Cake, or better still, a brand new pair of running shoes” and with a broad flourish dived into a pocket and revealed the latest Nike trainers.

“Later, later old chap” retorted CC. “Plenty of time for all that, let’s just get into a good steady rhythm first”. And the three of them set off along the path together.

“You’ll definitely need contacts, I have a whole book full here” whispered Reggie to James, showing him surreptitiously a small leather bound notepad, before sliding it back into his pocket. James smiled. He thought his first run would be hard but it wasn’t, not physically, not mentally and actually, running between these two he felt carried along and somehow supported by them both. They swept round the bottom corner of the park and headed toward the bandstand where to everyones surprise,  the local town band sat tuning up, just as though it was a summer Sunday afternoon. The bandmaster seeing them, lifted his baton and the music flowed towards them, almost lifting them off their feet with its depth and resonance. The notes fell and rose with their running and the instruments shared in their journey, from the big base drum with its steady regular deep beat, to the tiny piccolo picking out softer detail. James’s heart lifted and a broad smile came to his face and he felt his toes lift his feet and his stride grow, until he was almost off the floor and flying. CC, Reggie and James glided on past the town band and floated on and around the side of the park.

With a miss timed e flat on the tuba and a clash of the cymbals, the music came to a sudden halt as the band master leapt from the stand and rushed after the three runners, waving his baton madly.
“Wait, wait….. wait for us” and he beckoned behind for the band to follow him “Don’t you want inspiring music to help you along?”

“Sounds great to me” said Reggie ever resourceful and thinking of other places this band might come in useful. CC didn’t reply, he was still bobbing about and singing to the last tune, skipping lightly over the grass, jumping up on the park benches, floating, then landing perfectly back on the ground. James liked the band, the sound inspired him with his running and without a thought of the consequences, invited the band to come on the adventure with them. So off they went, James, Reggie and CC taking longer and longer steps and finding, with the music playing, they could hurdle the park benches easily. The band, not quite as fit or able tried to keep up, found they lacked the puff to run and play at the same time, starting being crafty and as the three went round the perimeter of the park, they cut across the grass saving time and energy and allowing the trumpet players to have a quick smoke occasionally too, while they waited for the three runners to arrive.

James came back to the park gate after several circuits and turned out into the street, the music faded and looking back he saw the band waving him off. There leaning against the metal railings, stood CC and Reggie.

“We’re around any time, for sure when you are running, but other times too. Just let us know and we’ll get out trainers on ready” and both gently saluted him as he sped away down the street.

At his house, James stopped and did some gentle stretches to finish his run. He felt calm and relaxed and ready to face the day. Not bad for a first time out in ages he thought and clicking through his mind were all sorts of ideas for developing his career. He marched up the garden path, humming a catchy tune he’d heard earlier and headed in for a shower …. work called.

Grahame Pitts

December 2016


Post Script
So, imagine you are  needing to shift something in your business, or yes, you are lookng to make a career move. A couple of questions:-

– Do you know the resources you have available that are within you? Or, are they other external resources you sense you need? Are there other people who you need to make contact with and ask for their help and guidance?

– How confident are you, what gives you more confidence? Is your confidence grounded in reality, will others see how practical, experienced and capable you are? Can you describe your skills and talents well?

– Are you fit enough for the journey ahead, physically, mentally, emotionally? How do you maintain high performance, to move ahead daily to achieve your plans?

– What inspires you, keep you going when work may be tough? Listening to music, looking at wonderful art, being outdoors, reading great books?  Where do you go, what do you need  to lift you and give you creative direction?

PS James got the job he wanted, he persevered and got there!


The clock ticked through to 2.30 and Mark wriggled in his seat. The spare chairs around the conference table in his office sat empty, the coffee and the water fresh, with ten cups and nine glasses neatly arranged. He sighed, drank his own water and stood up.

“Any sign of anyone Jodie” he called as he checked through his IPad for messages and emails.

“No, sorry all looks pretty busy out there” she replied, while squinting down through the  broad open plan office. “To be fair it is one of those days and we do have that major client in”. Mark knew that and he understood the importance of this customer, he was in the round up and sign off later in the afternoon.

“Okay, no problem, but perhaps I’ll take stroll and see who I bump into” and he set off out of the executive suite, heading firstly to the marketing department who he intuitively felt more comfortable with. Fifteen minutes later his mood hadn’t improved. People were polite, engaging, some were clearly overwhelmed by having him stop by their desks, others interested, chatted amiably about the business. No one though seemed able, or willing to engage him in debate. He knew he had a bit of an abrasive style and he found social interactions a pain, so when the exec team suggested an open hour each week it had seemed like a great idea. Now he wasn’t so sure. He wanted fierce debate, challenge, honesty about the style of the business, ideas for the future. Yes, the weekly open meeting and his conversations had been some of that, but more about pay, conditions, toilets, the canteen. He was now seriously considering delegating the whole thing to HR.

He stalked off through operations and into finance asking questions and generally causing alarm and discomfort. He could see people slipping out from their desks and heading to the corridor, filling the toilets, creating queues at the coffee docks. Perhaps if one of his directors had been around they could have bridged the gap, but all the senior management were tied up. So, after getting one word answers from one of the IT analysts he headed downstairs to facilities. He had no interest in these things but he’d heard about Jim, head of maintenance, yet he never came to any meeting what so ever. Well he should and he would now. Mark banged his way through several safety doors, heading deeper into the bowels of the office. Past store rooms, skirting the central  heating boiler room, past a desk shoved up against the corridor wall and finally into what looked like the main electrical source centre. Large leads snaked across the walls into boxes, each marked and coloured ,acting as junction points and there laying on the floor two large leads waiting to be connected. Mark ever inquisitive went over to the large thick black cables, picked the two connectors up and looked carefully at the pins and sockets.

“Whoa there boy, slow down, don’t you be putting them together just yet” and a large gnarled, muscly hand lent over and took one wire away from him. “Just doing some work on that circuit so best not plug it in right now, we’re still running tests” said Jim, who knew exactly who Mark was and made no effort to treat him as the CEO.

Mark wasn’t used to having things taken away and later wouldn’t quite be able to recall why he did what he did next. Maybe frustration, or just plain curiosity, his mother and father always said it would get him into big trouble one day. Jim, when he told his mates in the pub later chuckling over a beer, would call it arrogance and stupidity. Yes he did, he really did, he grabbed back the two connectors and rammed one into another. The room exploded into light, a blue haze shot around them both, Mark’s feet lifted off the floor, his body vibrated and pulsed as the high energy current pulsed through him, pushing his hair up on end and his eyes bulging in their sockets. Jim momentarily stunned by seeing his boss illuminated, shaking and seeming to gurgle slightly, leapt into action launching himself across the room and slamming the main fuses off. Even without the power, Mark seemed to vibrate, his hands gripped the connectors with his fingers rigid around the plastic fittings. Jim prised his fingers free and guided him to a chair.

“Steady boss, steady, that was a real bolter you just took there, just sit for a moment. Do you need me to get the a first aider down?” Mark sucked in big lungfuls of air, ran his fingers through his upright hair, closed his eyes and then laughed.

“Now that’s what I call power, real power, you feel it right in your heart” and he thumped his chest “Power really does vibrate. Woo hoo, give me more”.

“Man, you are one crazy nut case” replied Jim looking at him “Who really enjoys being almost killed?”
“It isn’t that, it’s just real, that’s what power is” Mark sucked in more air. “Jim honestly that’s what it’s like in my job, but it’s so difficult to describe and I’ve just experienced it” and again he touched his chest. “Power at a senior level is just like that and if you don’t take care it is dangerous, yet fun, fun, fun”.

“Yea right and abusive too” retorted Jim “Some of you guys are just plain bullies, throwing your weight around”, including you he thought to himself.

“Yes, including me, I need to learn how to stop myself jumping in, bossing people about. And see,  I’m pretty good at guessing what you are thinking, so just say it from now on, tell it to me straight”. Jim nodded his head, shook his head, laughed and reaching into his lunch bag, pulled out his coffee flask. He added two large sugars to both drinks and watched Mark uncurl his fingers, crack his knuckles, take the coffee and swallow it in two large gulps. Jim sensing the opportunity lent over and eyeballed his boss, which was tricky as one pupil was massive dilated while the other had shrunk to a pin prick of blackness.

“You know you could take more of us with you, if you just thought about that power you have as executives. I’m used to electrical power, you felt it just know, you need to be professional, assess the risks and manage it well. I reckon management power is similar, not to be abused or mistreated but real important to get things done. Just take care how you use it”.

“Well maybe, hum well let me think” muttered David staring back, he’s eyes gradually normalising and returning to their normal green brown colour. He pulled himself out of the chair, put his mug down, shook Jim’s hand and with a slight stagger left the basement.

There’s nothing so grand as a story and this one whipped round the building. The meeting room was packed  at the next open hour, even Jim was there. The conversation was varied, soft and relaxed at times and sometime spiky and demanding. Mark mostly listened, interjecting occasionally and in the quieter moments, reflected on power and how a shock occasionally was a good wake up call.

Grahame Pitts – 21st September 2016

Post Script
Power is an interesting thing, we all need it and must use it. Yet applied without care and attention it can rapidly damage others and ourselves. So, thinking and reflecting about your power is important, in particular, being willing to try different approaches in different situations. How flexible are you with your personal or positional power? As a leader, are you aware of the impact of your power, does anything need to change?

Take a look  at the latest HBR Research on this in the article ‘Managing Yourself – Don’t Let Power Corrupt You’ in the October 2106 edition (page112) or down load it on

Slippers or Shoes

John settled himself in front of his state of the art computer, running his hand over the mouse watching the curser skip through his emails deleting them rapidly. He whistled as he sipped his cappuccino. Fridays were good days, working from home while everyone else schlepped up the motorway to the office. He wriggled his shoulders in pleasure and turned to the report he needed to write and get to his boss by lunch time. Two coffees and one chocolate biscuit later, time spent stroking the cat who taken up residence on the filing cabinet nearby and two hours closer to his deadline, he felt stuck. The words refused to flow, the issues seemed to elude him, the sheets and diagrams complicating not explaining things more clearly. He tapped his feet on the wooden floor in frustration. The soft thud on the oak planks did nothing to raise his spirits, in fact the sound irritated him. He pushed his ergonomic desk chair backwards and slumped down  running his fingers through his hair.
“Damn Damn, this is supposed to be easy” he muttered to himself. 
Horatio the cat didn’t mind, he leapt gracefully onto John’s lap and rubbed himself up against his face purring softly and deeply.  Twiddling the cat’s ear John sighed and looked down. He saw he was still wearing his cosy slippers, warm comfortable, the old soft leather reassuring and relaxing, a sign he was at home. 

“Why not Horacio, why not, I can wear what I like at home can’t I?” he muttered at the cat. “Do you remember the day I stayed in my pyjamas and almost got caught out by that surprise video conference”.

He smiled to himself, remembering how he’d dashed upstairs grabbed a shirt and had sat through the call, with the camera seeing his head and chest and completely missing his pyjama bottoms. Now he wondered, did what he wore make a difference to how he worked, to how he saw the world, how relaxed or focused he was –  even though it seemed such a small psychological thing to him? Now as he looked down he wondered. Depositing Horatio on the desk, where he promptly lay on the key board sending a spray of random letters and figures across the word document, John pulled off his slippers and went looking for his most comfortable work shoes.

The wall clock ticked round to 1.00 pm, John pressed the send button and watched the email and the attachments leave. Wow, the last ninety minutes had been incredibly productive, the ideas had flowed, the words seeming to literally just appear on the page in front of him.  Even though he said it himself, not a bad report at all. He decided there and then to wear his shoes when working from home. It was a little trick but it had worked, reframing his mind and approach to the business issues. 
Monday morning he was in the office early, it meant he missed the worst of the traffic but it also meant no one noticed the the stuffed plastic bag he brought in with him, alongside his normal briefcase. He laid out the footwear in his office ranging from his best ‘important presentation’ shoes, trainers, loafers, through to those favourite slippers, which looked rather out of place; but then so did the pair of Dr Martins which he still wore out if it was wet, or when he just needed good walking boots sometimes. Jane his PA, ever professional, came in to plan out the day and her eyes swept over the shoes.

“Planning a party later, fancy dress?” she wrinkled her eyes looking at the shoes. John couldn’t help smiling, he knew she had a pile of her own shoes arranged under her desk too, from flats to high heels, although these were never talked about.

“Yup, well no, more an experiment”

“Aha, so which will you wear to the Board meeting later, slippers or Doc Martins?” she teased him gently, already knowing the impact of different clothes and shoes on situations. Wasn’t this blindingly obvious she thought, but maybe not, he was a man after all.

“Okay how about the loafers for the meeting, semi formal, won’t cause a stir, relaxing for you to wear. Maybe creates a picture of you on a sailing yacht, Americas cup that sort of thing”.

So he did wear them, did it make an impact he wasn’t sure, but the meeting went very well and certainly the loafers, the picture of the boat cutting through the water, his mind being relaxed and calm, all seemed to help.

Jane couldn’t stop herself over the next few days, encouraging him to try different shoes in different situations, even creating a mini spread sheet to measure the impact. The Doc Martins were an instant hit with the ops team – the bad news on budgets he presented was accepted reasonably  well – maybe they were mesmerised by the size ten, highly polished, bovver boots. The slippers she noticed got worn in the  lunch break and at times when he needed to recharge and they always went home in the evening and weekends with him, until he bought a second pair. Within a short time, the shoes became company folk law, with people arriving to see John and checking in with Jane on ‘what sort of shoe day was it today’, before entering his office.  The anonymous witty article in the company newsletter John took well too and the regular teasing and banter from his colleagues. Better still he wore the whole variety of hats given to him at the staff Christmas party, selecting just the right one for what ever work he was doing.

He never could be absolutely sure if it was the shoes, the hats or something else which made him more productive, but he found himself promoted the following year.
Grahame Pitts – 9th September 2016

Post Script
This story comes from my own experience and reminded me of NLP (Neuro Linguistic Programming) which was in vogue not so long ago. The need to reframe a problem in a different way, whether with words, 
attitudes, or activities is very important if you are stuck. Enjoy trying something different and remember, it is often the easier and simpler idea, rather than the harder one, which works. I am reminded of the leader who felt his annual appraisals were just ‘form ticking’ and lacked quality and depth. So, he went on walks with every member of his team instead (the sheets were completed later and actually more quickly than normal). Everyone enjoyed themselves.

Happy experiments.