The Two Way Mirror

Last week I talked about a long term contract Richard had down in Cobham and this blog is from that time, too.

Richard would run a course Monday to Friday.  Delegates would leave the course after a closing presentation from the CEO of the business Richard was working for about 4.30 on the Frday afternoon.  Then, when the delegates had all left the CEO always insisted that everyone had to go for and end of course drink.

It has to be said that the guy in question was a generous fella, so it was off to Esher and the R Bar for a bottle of champagne (if the course had gone well) or a pint of beer (if the delegates left a bit flat).

Richard maintains he never tasted the beer in the R Bar but we're not sure we believe him!

Anyway, the R Bar was (and probably still is) nice place with an exclusive clientelle (apart from us, of course), most of whom were either footballers, entertainers or something to to do with Formula 1.

(As an aside: one time when Renee had also been down running the course we all ended up in the R Bar and were joined by a guy who was a race consultant to Formula 1 teams... very tall and handsome he was, too. 

Now, if you've not met Richard before it is very unlikely you would ever describe him as tall or handsome... but neither is he the jealous sort.  Mr Formula 1 took quite a shine to Renee, so much so that the CEO deicded that he had to reassure Richard: 'Don't worry, mate,' he said.  'He may be taller and better looking than you but he's much more boring than you are!'

Thanks a bunch for the complement thought Richard.)

Anyway, back to the R Bar and the two way mirror.

Imagine the bar: as you walk in the bar itself is along the left hand wall, there are tables along the right.  At the far end of the bar the wall from ceiling to about 4 feet from the floor is covered by an enormous mirror.  To the right hand side of the back wall there's a corridor leading to the loos.

So, a little way into the evening, Richard decides he needs to go to the loo.  Down the corridor the gents was the first door on the left and the urinals were on the wall behind the mirror, which turns out to be two way!

You could stand at the urinals doing, well, what needs to be done quite frankly, whilst watching the punters in the bar itself.  Richard remembers seeing both Chris Tarrant and John Terry chatting whilst he was...

Very funny and interesting it was, if slightly uncomfortable... but things suddenly got much more uncomfortable.

Richard was at the left hand urinal, closest to the corner when, suddenly, on the other side of the mirror up pops the face of the CEO.  He looks through the mirror and downwards and points to Richard's Gentleman's area, laughs and pops away again... only to re-appear a few seconds later with his entire team who proceeded to gather round exactly opposite Richard, all looking just where they shouldn't have been.

Very off putting it was, too, because Richard couldn't work out whether it was gag or a switch had been flicked and the mirror was now just a piece of glass...

A Little Bobby Dazzler

Some time ago Richard had a long term contract delivering training darn sarth.

To be precise the training venue was the Hilton Hotel in Cobham, Surrey.  It was a posh place (Cobham and its surroundings, not necessarily the Hilton).  Chelsea FC had their training centre there and Jose, in his first stint as Chelsea manager, stipulated that all players had to live no more than ten minutes from the facility.

Hence the players all lived in Esher, five minutes up the road.

Richard actually spent so much time at the hotel in 2004 that he would leave his suit to be dry cleaned and Ahmed the receptionist used to say as Richard arrived back on Sunday night, 'Welcome back, Richard.  You're in your usual room...'

Anyway... Rick Wakeman, the world famous keyboard player used to hold an annual fund raiser at the hotel for all his show biz pals.  He might still do, for all Richard knows.

Richard was with the CEO of the company he was working for in the car park of the hotel when Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee rolled up in a whacking great 4 x 4.  Richard may have said something like: 'I really don't like this whole celebrity thing...'

In response, the guy he was with said, 'Watch this!'

He jumped out of his car and strode over to Paul Daniels with his hand outstretched to shake.  As he got closer he said: 'Hey, Paul, great to see you again.  Haven't got time to speak now... I'll see you inside.'

Paul shook his hand and shouted after him as he strode off: 'Yeah, sure... you can buy me a drink!'

Richard was a bit flabbergasted.  'I didn't know you knew Paul Daniels', he said.

'I don't,' said his companion.  'Never met him, never want to!'

And now for the point of the story.

Because Richard had got to know most of the hotel staff he was invited to the charity party and watched Rick Wakeman's fantastic band play a gig... if only from just inside the main door.

The celebs had had their dinner and a few drinks.  Richard saw Denis Waterman holding court with some other actors but he most remembers seeing  a celeb who we'll call Bobby D.

Now, he can't swear to it, obviously, but it seemed as though Bobby might have had a couple of sherberts.

Whether he had or not he was certainly pursuing a young lady across the dance floor.  The problem was she was having none of it and, right in front of Richard, she turned around and shouted at the top of her voice 'go away'.

Those weren't her exact words but you get the point.

In reply, Bobby looked very shocked before shouting back at her 'But I'm Bobby D!'

Bush

Welcome to the second of our blogs, remembering some of the funny things that have happened to us over the years.

This blog relates to our time running a sales training business.

We make massive use of video to train sales and this course was no exception...

The customer was a gardening franchise and we were training their franchisees.  They did everything you'd expect from a gardening franchise; mowed lawns, pruned hedges, looked after flower beds and, errrr, the other things gardeners do.  Scarification and Aeration, I would imagine.

In actual fact, the franchisees made the sales and employed gardeners to do the bit with mowers, pruners and all that other stuff.

(As an aside, have you ever read the instruction manual for a Hayter petrol driven lawn mower?  No?  Well, it'd pretty funny in its own right.  'To start the mower you must pump the nipple to make sure it's turned on...')

Anyway, we were working with a group of franchisees and were filming the second lot of videos - the one where we prove to the franchisees that they really can sell.  The franchisee doing the selling was a youngish lad, probably about 21, something like that.  I have to say, though, he was a little naive...

His dad had bought him the franchise to help him 'man up'.  I'm not kidding.  Before joining this business the lad had been cabin crew with British Airways... you see where his dad was going?

He was a great chap and actually really good at the selling side of things; his customer service background with BA had really stood him in good stead.

His customer was another franchisee on the course.  A slightly older lady, probably about 55-60 years of age.  She was there with her husband and they were going to run the business together.

Renee was filming.

So, the young guy had measured up the lawn and talked about the flower beds.  Now he looked down to the bottom of the garden, looked back at his customer and said without any hint of self-awareness:

'Now, your bush looks a bit ropey.  Do you want me to trim that for you?'

The camera starts shaking as Renee begins silently laughing and there's pandemonium in the training room.

But, bless her heart, the customer retained her self composure on film and just looked at the lad.  Then she replied:

'No thank you.  My husband does that for me!'

Well, that was it... it took half an hour for the laughter to stop, only to re-start over dinner that evening.

But the thing is, to this day, the young lad does not know what we were all laughing at!

Sleeper on a course

I thought I'd start writing a new series of blogs about funny times Richard and I have experienced over our several years in business as trainers, accountants and a few other things, too...

The first in the series is from Richard and harks back to the time when we ran a training business together!

We've all had a sleeper on a course... well, it's inevitable when you've been doing it for a while.

I first experienced it when I worked for an army regiment, helping the officers with decision making.  I'd done my bit before lunch, which was very good (the lunch, I mean) and was served in the Officer's Mess.

In the afternoon we all filed into the lecture theatre where a distinguished looking old boy in full military fig proceeded to be very pedantic about decisions.

I was sitting next to two officers called Rupert and Tarquin.  Rupert looks over to Tarquin, folds his arms and says, 'My God this is boring; I'm going to sleep...'  which he did.

The officer who was lecturing noticed this and said to Tarquin: 'I say, my good man, the fellow next to you has gone to sleep.  Would you wake him up for me?'

To which Tarquin replies, quick as a flash: 'You put him to sleep, you wake him up!'

Brilliant!

I thought to myself Richard, lad, you need to salt that one away for future use.

About 10 years later Renee and I were running a course together.  It was a big group and Renee was presenting after lunch.  One guy was particularly, errr, rotund and had had a large lunch.  And a glass of Chianti - he was there with his son who was the one actually on the course.

Anyway, the guy drops off to sleep and I was sitting next to him.

I couldn't believe my luck when Renee said: 'The guy next to you, Richard, has fallen asleep you couldn't just wake him up could you?'

Well, I think you can see where this is going.  Without thinking I said, in front of the group: 'You put him to sleep, you wake him up!'

Pandemonium!

Anyway, as it turned out my ill judged comment turned out to be a spare room offence.  Never mind; it was very funny!

Toot as much as you like, wee man

I was dropping my husband off at the airport sometime during the middle of the night.

Actually it was 6 in the morning but it felt like the day before, if you see what I mean.

Edinburgh Airport (where Scotland meets the world (apparently)) is like most airports in that they try to shaft every last penny from the poor traveller... although I have to say Edinburgh isn't as bad as Norwich Airport which actually charges you £10 to use security!

The particular charge I'm on about is the £1 you have to pay to drop someone off at the airport unless you want to dump them a mile and a half away.  Anyway, it doesn't seem like a lot and I always have my pound ready to throw into the coin bin.

This morning my pound was made up from a 50p piece, 2 20p pieces and a 10p.

The 50p went in fine, as did the 20p pieces but, OMG, my 10p was rejected!

I had to jump out of the car to pick up the 10p from the reject bin (which was nowhere near  where I could get at it easily) before trying again.

As I got out the guy behind revved his engine at me.

Why?

Did he think I was having my 10p rejected deliberately to naff him off?

So I asked him.  'Why are you revving your engine?'  Said I.  He just looked at me sheepishly and sort of waved apologetically.

Anyway, I found 2 5p pieces to replace my 10p and threw them in the bin... I think you can probably see where this is going.

Yes, they were rejected, too.

So it was out of the car, into the boot where my purse was to find more coins.

This time there was a toot of a horn.

My head snapped round... the guy behind who had revved his engine earlier smiled wanly at me and shrugged his shoulders.  His message was clear: 'It wasn't me love.  Have a go at someone else.'

So I did.

'You can toot as much as you like,' I shouted at the tooter.  Do you think I'm doing this on purpose?  Or maybe you'd like me to crash through the barrier so you can be out 10 seconds sooner.'

Don't get me wrong, I'm as impatient as the next person if, say, a driver has missed a traffic light turning green.  But, come on, tooting your horn for something that's not in my control?

A lesson for me there, too.  Impatience in work is fine.  There's a job to do and we have to get on with it.  But I'm not going to get frustrated at the wrong things.

Oh, and by the way, my second 10p, extracted from the depths of my purse worked fine.

One of the funniest emails I've received

I received this email a couple of weeks ago and thought I could do nothing better than re-produce it word for word, other than to change the names to protect the guilty… enjoy:

Hi Renee

Whilst I would prefer to remain anonymous, I have a cautionary tale for those grappling their way painfully around the edges “Social Media”

I’ve been trying to take on-board the social media thing for a while now and, whilst I’ve had a Facebook account for a long time, I only ever used it to live vicariously through my family’s experiences and nothing else. 

About a year ago I created an account for my [Business Name] persona and gathered about me some “friends” so that I could peep into the lives clients too like a flasher-mac weirdo.

At dinner with the family a few months ago we were chatting about inane crap, as you do, and I was encouraged to dip my toe further into the virtual world by creating a Facebook account for our cat, Buzz who is an indoor cat and does nothing.  But, the children thought it would be fun to have a “Diary of an Indoor House Cat”, particularly the boys’ WAGs.  And I duly set to it the next evening.

I created a Facebook account for BuzzCat, invited all the family to be “Friends” and put a few postings up.

A week later Peter, the youngest, came in and said “You know you are posting Buzz’s messages on your [Business Name] Facebook account as if it’s you saying those things, don’t you?” and my heart stopped!   My postings said something along the lines of:

“I had a bit of a tummy ache tonight and I was yowling for an hour. Jonathan tried cuddling me but nothing helped. Nobody knew what was wrong with me and I didn’t know how to tell them.  ‘I know,’ I thought ‘I’ll shit in that lovely pile of clean washing at the end of our bed, that’ll make me feel better’ and do you know, it did!”

“I often find that if I lick Jonathan’s face in the night he stops snoring and I can get some bloody sleep!”

“I spent hours manically grooming today, I’ll really must have a rest now.”

“Hardcore Parkour in the bedroom tonight.  I need a day off tomorrow”

The message – don’t warble before you can tweet.

Anyway, I do hope you are well.  I’ll probably see you at the conference next spring. 

Take care

Carole

My Twitter Account Was Hacked

Well, it might have been… but my children, who seem to know a lot more about these things than I do, thought it might have been a virus.

Whatever… the net result was the same.

A variety of direct messages were sent from my Twitter account to people who are (or more accurately I suspect, were) following me.  The first message wasn’t particularly nice, saying something like this:

People are saying bad things about you… click here to find out what they are saying!

The second one was slightly funnier:

I laughed my head off when I saw this picture of you…

Anyway, I think I’ve fixed the problem by changing my password, deactivating and reactivating my account and then running round a church five times at the full moon without thinking about a lemon.

But the thing that was intriguing about the whole experience were the different reactions from people.  I had maybe a couple of hundred followers (all, no doubt, hanging on my every word) and I suppose about 30 responded to me either by email or a direct message via Twitter.

Most of them, it’s true, simply said something like: Your Twitter account has been hacked, you muppet, you need to sort it out.

But others seem to trust me to such an extent that they took the rogue tweets at face value.  A mate who I haven’t spoken with for a few years tweeted me to ask what it was all about and, as a result, I called him and we’re back in touch.

Another guy, who was responding to the ‘Laughed my head off’ tweet was simply the victim of timing.  A picture of him had just been put up on Facebook.  He was receiving an award and the camera angle made it look as though he was standing in a hole.

He responded by saying: ‘Yeah, I know… must make a note to make sure I get presented an award by someone my own height!’

Now I’m not sure what all this is saying about me or Twitter or the scumbag hackers, but how about this for a stab at analysis?:

• There’s was no rancour directed at me for getting hacked – and most people recognised the rogue tweets for what they were… meaning this is a regular occurrence

• Those who didn’t spot them as rogue tweets took what I was saying at face value which means I need to tweet more to get my message out there

• I guess about 25% of the people who were following me read the tweets meaning the reach of Twitter is much greater than I thought

What do you think?  Answers on a post card, or even better to reneemackay@taxassist.co.uk

You can see my other blogs at

www.taxassist.co.uk/reneemackay and

www.enterprisebritain.com