Hay
All leaders must take time out to simply forget the business for a while whether they want to or not.
There were lots
of ways to deflect the mind in Herefordshire this week. We chose the Hay
Festival of literature and the arts. After the glorious weather recently we
were all decked out in sandals and tea shirts, but unbeknown to us office types
the last 36 hours had seen a change in the weather.
Despite the
Kilvert Hotel proclaiming 'enjoy the sun' the town was waterlogged and 15
degrees C colder than when they put the sign out. People wielding umbrellas
were a constant threat and those that were only half wet by the time we caught
the Hopper to the pavilion, need not have bothered because the enthusiastic
volunteer bus drivers found the deepest puddles with which to drench us all as
we waited to board.
Some
consolation in the pavilion may have been the thought that there were some
pretty famous people about. The fact that I had bought tickets for Ian McEwan
the writer when I thought we were seeing Ian McKellen the actor failed to
dampen spirits. But queuing to get to the event involved nipping smartly
between adjoining tents; the people in front did it but then unaccountably
stopped, leaving me stranded between them and the group behind. My reward, as
the wind gusted, was a short, sharp, shock of icy water that raced down from
neck to toe.
After the event
it was smartly to the Hopper stop to get back to Hay in time for a bevvy.
Wheezing, freezing and sneezing I was first on and grabbed the front seat. But
this is the spot where the following passengers look up the bus to see where
they might sit so, as they purposefully flourished their umbrellas in and out,
they showered a wretched, sodden figure cowering behind the door trying to
reawaken frozen limbs.
Back home now and I didn’t think about work at all, you
could try it yourself, since there are seven days left.
posted by Tim @ 12:01 AM
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