“Never be afraid of a blank sheet of paper”…one of many excerpts from the font of wisdom that is my eldest, Hen.
But this afternoon I stare at my empty screen terrified. In my defence this has been a slightly shattering week if you will allow me to whinge for a change. We had our Shinka corporate access event on Monday and Tuesday and even though it was a tremendous success - an awful lot of sushi was eaten if that is a measure of anything at all – it was quite draining.
When it was all over on Tuesday afternoon I felt a little like I used to feel after a week at a CLSA forum. Well that may be a little bit of a stretch. I remember once after a particular heavy Japan Forum and in an inspired attempt to beat jet-lag I had pulled an all-nighter in Tokyo, getting to the airport on Saturday morning and slumping into my seat on the plane where I instantly fell asleep and only awoke 12 hours later to find our plane in a holding pattern above Heathrow. Despite having a mouth as dry as ball of camel dung I discerned the most enormous hole in one of my teeth. During the night I had swallowed one of my fillings.
No. It wasn’t that bad and even though I moaned about having to go for dinner at the Phoenix Palace Chinese restaurant – back of Baker Street tube - we actually had a great evening. I made a new best friend. He is CEO of one of the companies we were hosting and what a terrific guy. He’s from Taiwan, but spends most of the week in Shenzhen. That’s commitment to the cause for you. And at the weekend he rides his dressage horses which he has imported from Holland. Like myself, he also has four children, but he seems to handle this with considerably greater equanimity than I do.
On the other hand he hadn’t had to dash round to Paddington Station before getting to the restaurant on a desperate mission to try to retrieve his 19 year old daughters iPhone which is what I had had to do. I know I shouldn’t be so stressy. It “wasn’t my fault” was the predictable comment from Jimmy. “It’s been stolen or maybe I left it on the ticket counter.” And it had been at least five weeks since the last time she lost it. I got it btw. And you would have been proud of the way I displayed only the slightest hint of annoyance when I noticed that the recently replaced screen was already cracked. I got my own back. The guy who had found the phone wouldn’t take the £10 I offered him but I didn’t tell that to Jimmy. She owes me.
If I still have you that reminds me of another phone story. Maybe I told you before but anyway we were skiing in Val D’Isere and Bob lost his phone on the slopes. I sent it a text pleading anyone who found it to return it. Lo and behold almost instantly an awfully nice sounding boy – turned out he was reading history at Nottingham University – rang. It turned out he was staying in Tignes and his Turkish girlfriend had suffered a suspected broken leg so he couldn’t get it to us immediately. A fairly convoluted series of arrangements made the following day had me eventually side stepping frantically half way up a mountain in order to get to our rendezvous at the appointed time. And there he was, just above the Tommeuses chairlift. Bob was happily reunited with his phone and EUR20 from Bob’s life savings was handed over by way of a thank you. No doubt what would have ensued would have been a series of expensive text messages between him and various friends, but instead he whizzed off, with me and the boy from Nottingham looking on aghast, across the piste, flew over a bank of snow and landed in a heap on an icy mogul smashing irreparably both his phone and a brand new pair of sunglasses.
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