No 108: Male Bonding (Middle Eastern style)

Last night I caught the overnight flight from Melbourne to Dubai. It was not a good journey. I was at the back of the plane in the cheap seats, squeezed next to a stocky man who, despite his best efforts, struggled to contain himself within his allotted seat space. Every time one of us dropped off the other person would wriggle and we would both be awake. I have a sneaky feeling that eventually we gently snuggled into each other and drifted off, but I prefer not to think about this too much. It was the start of a day of male bonding.

I landed in Dubai feeling fairly groggy at about 8am. After a bit of haggling I secured myself a taxi for the day and proceeded to my various meetings. Over the day my driver, Shaniker, and I developed a great camaraderie. It is Ramadan and he, like almost everyone in the region, is fasting during daylight. As we travelled from Dubai to Abu Dhabi he shared with me his fasting stories. The Ramadan fast is truly nil-by-mouth, which excludes food and water (and I learnt from my new best friend, cigarettes). Not that I had a lot of choice since no shops were open and no one offered any refreshments in the meetings but I decided to join Shaniker in the day of fasting. Our bonding was a two-way process. Shaniker quickly picked up on my obsession with scoring each meeting I attend out of 10. He would enthusiastically quiz me on how things had gone. If nothing else it kept both our minds off the growing aching hunger as the day progressed. Such was our bonding that tomorrow Shaniker has agreed to repeat the exercise, being my driver to get be back to Dubai and on to Sharjah for the last set of meetings before I finally return home.

The highlight of today however was this evening. The Ramadan fast breaks with an Iftar feast at sundown, around 720pm. I had been invited to a post-Iftar meeting at the private residence of one of the senior directors of the Abu Dhabi Environment Agency. I arrived at 930pm a little unsure of what the evening would entail. I arrived with a big box of Ferrero Roche chocolates, bought somewhat hastily at my hotel gift shop. That advert from the 1980s is to blame.  

I was shown into a huge, luxuriously decorated lounge with cushions and loungers spread across the floor. As the night wore on various neighbours and friends visited, staying for 30 minutes or so. Laughter is the best word to describe the evening. Collectively we did our best to put the world to rights, debating the various merits of groundwater over rainwater, or how to resolve the increasing salinity in the Arabian Gulf, or what to do with the growing mountain of 40 million used car tyres in the desert (any suggestions welcome by the way). There were fresh dates, home-made cakes and unlimited amounts of Red Tea and Arabic coffee. There was even homemade trifle. It really was like Christmas (just without the snow, the Christmas tree or the in-laws).

When I left at 1am I was embraced like a brother, with an invitation from the patriarchal grandfather who hosted the night that on my next visit we must meet at his farm. He claims the water is better there than in London. I suspect international etiquette will demand I agree.  

It is now just past 130am. I have a few short hours before Shaniker arrives to collect me. The caffeine coursing through my veins means tonight will be another fitful night (how does any one drink more than one cup of Arabic coffee without getting the shakes?). But it has been a good day of male bonding. I have enjoyed every minute, but I want to go home now. Male bonding is good, but it only goes so far. It is time now to see my wife.

No 107: The 7th Most Powerful Man in Australia

Today I met with Barnaby Joyce, Minister for Agriculture and Water for Australia. (I do so like to name drop). Prior to the meeting he had variously been described to me as ‘the Boris Johnson of Australia’ and ‘More right wing than Stalin’,  neither of which inspired confidence. He is the deputy leader of the National Party and is the 7^th most powerful politician in Australia (behind the PM, the deputy PM, the chancellor, and the Ministers for Defence, Foreign Affairs and the Home Office). We met in Parliament House in Canberra, which was appropriately awesome. A bit like the Houses of Parliament in London but without the Gothic turrets. Think Eucalyptus coloured marble columns and you can’t go much wrong.

Barnaby is definitely a key character on the Aussie political stage. He recently courted international fame by being the man who wouldn’t let Johnny Depp bring his pet Yorkshire Terriers into the country. I successfully resisted the urge to open the meeting with a who-let-the–dogs-out quip. He is also a fervent opponent to same-sex marriages. Sam (Smith, my Isle colleague who attended the meeting with me) and I fought back the impulse to mince into the meeting holding hands.

According to the never-wrong Wikipedia his is an avowed climate change denier. This was something I was not prepared to let pass by unchecked. During our 30 minute meeting (kindly arranged by Joe Rettino of East Gippsland Water) I managed to slip in a whole series of climate-change-related technology anecdotes, sharing stories about Syrinix (leak detection), Biobullets (control of invasive crustaceans) and Ostara (phosphorus recovery). I even managed to slip in a story about Cogent and the excellent work they are doing with bull semen. Now that’s a topic you can take to a dinner party….

The most abiding feature of him when he walked into the room was his colour, best described as angry beetroot. He was either in a very bad mood or had just come off the running machine. I suspect it was the former. You can’t blame him. At the end of a long hard day he probably wasn’t looking forward to a meeting with an unknown Englishman to talk about water technology and project investment. As our meeting progressed he became notably less ruddy and I venture to believe that he warmed to the topic. He still looked like a man you wouldn’t want to mess with. He is 47, a mere 2 years my senior. However, even in my current haggard, jet-lagged, sunken-eyed state I still looked a good 10 years his junior. Being an Aussie politician is clearly a wearing task.

I should cut him some slack. He is juggling a number of very difficult, complex and competing agendas. I doubt he will be going home to his wife tonight to proudly say that today he met with the 61 millionth important person in the UK. The name dropping glory was all one way.  

No 106: My personal highlight from the Singapore Water Innovation Summit 2015

I am currently at the Water Innovation Summit in Singapore. A 2 day event, involving 350 senior water executives from 35 countries, all passionately and fervently discussing ways to make the water industry better. I love it.

Last February, in Note 84, I shared that I had been invited to chair one of the sessions. I requested suggestions on how I could make my session a bit more lively and engaging and I was bombarded with ideas. I submitted to the organisers seven different options, ranging from the traditional (read bland) through to the truly audacious (read mad). They picked option 3, nearer the traditional than the audacious, but still with some surprising elements. As part of my session, which was focussed on the culture, values and behaviours that an organisation needs to adopt to be a successful innovator, I had invited Vikram Banerjee, a former professional athlete (cricket) and current Head of Consulting for Footdown, to give a thought-provoking talk about experiences from outside the water sector. It was during his talk that I experienced something that will stay with me for a very long time….

As a short ice-breaker exercise Vikram asked everyone in the audience to take a piece of paper, find a partner and then, in 30 seconds, draw a picture of that person. After a brief moment of stilted discomfort everyone got on with the task and, 30 seconds later the room was abuzz with nervous laughter as we all shared our pathetic artistic creations, caveated with lots of apologies for how bad they were. The aim of the exercise had been to demonstrate how, as we get older, we tend to be less open to failure and it worked perfectly. Children apparently embrace this exercise, yet as adults we don’t like to do something where we know the result won’t be brilliant so we tend not to try. This fear of failure stifles innovation. It was a brilliant point, very well made.

I happened to be sitting next to His Excellency Dr So-and-so (names not my strong point) from Cambodia. He is a member of the Royal family and is also a senior director of the national water agency. He was my drawing partner. Due to the language barrier I am not sure he fully understood the purpose of the task, but he enthusiastically participated nonetheless. His picture of me looked like Yul Brenner (probably not unfair). Unfortunately my picture of him looked like Hitler. Realising my emerging mistake I hastily drew on glasses to try and soften the impact. I think I got away with it. We laughed, we bonded, we moved on.

It was, without a doubt, my personal highlight from the summit. So far at least. We still have another day to go…..

No 105: Am I really the best person to celebrate ‘Excellence’?

Last Weds night I had the honour of hosting the 5^th annual Thames Water ‘Excellence in Health and Safety Awards’. I hosted it last year too.

Last year it coincided with the World Cup football match between England and Uruguay. Fearing that our audience might be glued to their smart phones we restructured the evening with an earlier start and then put the second half of the match on the big conference screen. Watching a football match on a big screen, in a smart venue, with 300 like-minded people, with copious amounts of fine wine and good food is so how I like to watch sport. It was just a shame that we lost. To Uruguay?!

This year we had no such sporting conflicts. However we still had a theme: James Bond movies. Some might think this was a cumbersome attempt to inject glamour and glitz into a potential staid topic. They would be wrong. Bond is ideal for a H&S event: just think of all the risk assessments spies must have to do. It’s the main reason I have resisted calls to join MI5. That, and the fact that I would probably blurt out national secrets as part of this blog. And they haven’t called me. Yet.

Attached is a photo of the branding for the event. My opening line was to draw the audience’s attention to the triple-oh-seven logo. I pointed out how the triple zeros represented Thames’ highly successful ‘Zero incidents, Zero harm, Zero compromise’ campaign. I went on to explain that the ‘7’ represents the seven key values in the TW H&S manifesto. Finally, unable to resist, I commented that the bendy tap logo at the end of the 0007 was there to highlight the importance of male erectile dysfunction. It got a laugh and set the tone for the rest of the evening.

My faourite part was after the interval. I asked for the most senior representative from each of the organisations that had won an award during the first half of the evening to join me on stage. Thinking that they were about to be given a further award they enthusiastically stepped forward. Once I had them trapped on the stage they were mine to do with as I pleased. I pointed out how it was now pay-back time for all those people who had not won an award. All those people who had sat with rictus smiles while their competitors basked in glory were now about to get their due reward.

As everyone who has seen a Bond film knows, the opening credits always include a scantily clad lady dancing in a somewhat bizarre, slow-motion, semi-provocative manner. In return for WaterAid contributions from the audience, the 7 senior directors were coaxed (bullied some might say) into dancing in said manner to the theme music of ‘For Your Eyes Only’ (which, thanks to YouTube, it almost certainly won’t be). It was like watching a car crash version of The Full Monty. We raised £400. Not bad for the 15 seconds. We should get them to do 15 minutes next year and raise £24k

However, as Martin Baggs (CEO for TW) was one of my seven dancers something tells me I won’t be there next year. However perhaps MI5 are also reading this email. Perhaps they will offer me a job. I can also sing all the Bond theme tunes. That must count for something? 

No 104: Something for the weekend?

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