I haven't blogged in a while. Long story; quite a busy last few months of 2012 filled with stuff that wasn't right to write about. I thought about doing a retrospective 2012 blog post, but everyone seemed to be doing that and I'm not sure my reflections would add much. I also wasn't sure what my reflections were. 2012 was a funny old year.
Then this morning on twitter a discussion started prompted by this post and the imperative to write came back to me in a hesitant, 'should I?' type way. So here I am. I'll type and, if you're reading this, its because I thought 'fuck it' and pressed the 'publish' button.
In February of last year I was working at home one afternoon, when a relatively innocuous email made me physically recoil from my laptop. My heart began rushing. I wanted the world to stop, go away, leave me in peace. It was too much and it was all pushing down on me. I began huge, racking, uncontrollable sobbing. Then, almost as a subconscious reflex, I picked up the phone and dialled my GP. He recognised in me the symptoms of what they tend to rather vaguely call "generalised anxiety disorder" and signed me off work.
I'm not really going to get into the causes at this juncture. That's kind of not the point. My shitty experiences were no worse than other people's shitty experiences. I wasn't suffering from PTSD. Just your common or garden 'bursting into tears, feeling like there is a massive clamp on your lungs and that your heart might literally pop out of your chest' type disorder.
You aren't meant to feel this way when you work in HR. You're meant to be 'together', 'resilient', 'robust'. You aren't meant to burst into frightened tears when you reach the road junction that takes you to your office. And yet, statistically, 25% of us do. 25% of people in any profession, walk of life or situation will be affected by mental health issues at some point in their life.
There. I've typed it. Mental Health. This post is the first time I've talked publicly about my own period of illness. I reckon if I had a broken leg I'd have been tweeting about it every day. You'd have had updates on Facebook. Heck, my leg would probably have had its own page. But what was 'broken' was my mind. Or at least that's how it felt at the time. And I know that that's how it was perceived by some people who I had to tell. Lorna was 'broken'. And that was a bit awkward.
But it's how a lot of people view mental illness. They want to be understanding but, because there isn't a plaster cast they can sign, they don't really know how to behave around it. Certainly at work we aren't very good at managing it. We moan that someone has "Got themselves signed off with stress". Managers and colleagues often think because they can't 'see' it, then its not real. Or they make a value judgement about the person who is ill. I'm not sure I've ever heard a manager complain that someone who broke their leg playing Sunday League is unreliable and 'got themselves signed off sick', but you very often hear that in relation to mental illness. We don't get it. And if we don't get it, we can't respond properly to it. Which is wrong. And really stupid given the 25% statistic I mentioned earlier.
The way I see it now is this: I have a car. Its a fab little motor, well built and engineered, looks a bit quirky, good quality, strong resale value. But if I drive it for 20,000 miles without checking my tyres, or oil, or water I shouldn't be surprised if it breaks down on the A43. If it gets hit by another car and I don't take it to the body shop I shouldn't be surprised if it gets rusty. If I don't get the windscreen wipers fixed, get caught in a storm and crash 'cause I can't see where I'm going, then that too is no surprise. Of course, I might get lucky. Some of us have cars that we've reversed into lampposts, never checked the tyres, never top up with oil and they never crash or break down. But they are lucky.
Some cars seem more pre-disposed to breaking down or crashing. My lovely old MG for example, my father-in-law's TR6. They're not bad cars. They just require more skilled maintenance, or a different fuel, or special parts.
It's not a perfect analogy but it suits me and it takes some of the emotion out of explaining why I was poorly early last year. I have a tendency to do things at 100mph, I'm quick away from the lights because I'm impatient, I can sometimes try to carry more than is sensible for my torque and the pace I like to move at. I benefit from slowing down and cruising at a sensible speed every so often. If I'm going to drive that fast and take corners like that I need to make sure my tyres are good. I need a pit-stop every few laps.
I wasn't broken. I'm not unreliable. I'm not a bad person. I am (despite the car metaphor) human. I'm bloody good at my job and a pretty decent wife/aunt/friend/sister/daughter. I'm worth knowing, worth having around. I wasn't ready for the scrap-yard. I was just overdue a service. A member of the 25% Club. Like the MG Club, but with fewer newsletters and summer barbecues.
I'm not sure what, if any, impact blogging about this will have. But reading the post on Alison's blog this morning made me think. Someone has to start talking about the 25% Club. There is a taboo. There is shame. And that is wrong. I'm not Spartacus, I'm not even close. But if, by telling my small story, it makes someone else feel less ashamed, or treat a colleague or employee or friend in a slightly more understanding way then I reckon that's not a bad job for a Saturday morning.
Saturday 12 January 2013
Wednesday 26 September 2012
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
There's a reason that 99% of pop songs are about breaking up. Everyone, sooner or later, experiences a break up. All good things must come to an end and, when they do, they can bring drama and heartbreak and all kinds of lyrical inspiration.
It's no different at work. Sooner or later the love affair ends. One or both parties is left feeling bruised, hurt, angry and wants to show the other just what a big mistake they've made (see Beyonce or John Terry for details).
Neil Morrison wrote a post recently guiding employees through the break up process. It's here. It was funny, pithy and not a little caustic. If it were a pop song, it would be F*** You by Cee Lo Green.
As if on cue, less than 24 hours after reading Neil's post, I received a forwarded email from a friend. One of her distant colleagues had gone Michael Douglas Falling-Down style bonkers and emailed a detailed diatribe to the whole Head Office explaining exactly why he was leaving (I like to think he was channelling Adele - it was a self-indulgent, self-pitying little ditty in which he was the injured party and they were heartless b*******).
Does it have to be that way?
I left a business recently. We'd grown apart but the break-up was amicable. I have fond memories and part of me Will Always Love Them (Dolly, not Whitney). It was, to all intents and purposes, a grown-up break up.
But it takes two to make a grown-up break up. The onus isn't just on the employee who leaves to act professionally.
It's easy for a business (and by that I mean the people in the business) to create a pantomime villain out of a leaver. We've all seen it - they've gone, left us, done us wrong. We knew they were no good. If they've done a critical exit interview this is picked apart, justified or analysed as if it were a Dear John letter. They're dead to us now - we're Kelis, and we hate them so much.
What if everyone who leaves the business isn't a villain? What if, rather than a cardboard box and a "don't let the door hit your arse on the way out", we thought of them as Alumni? Knowledge centres? Friends? (Not you, John Terry, you're still a numpty).
After all, aren't they walking out with a head full of our IP, customer database and process maps, not to mention their honest, no-holds-barred insight into our business? The stuff that other employees may not want to share because they're too scared or too astute to? The stuff that if we listened, might prove priceless? Or might save us a hefty consultant's fee some stage down the line. They may be angry, they may be upset, they may not even like us very much but that's no reason to write them off as a twonk and assume they have nothing to teach us. We might survive, but will we have learned anything?
And what about this? Ex-employees are to your EVP what your customers are to your brand. Are yours advocates? What would they say about you? Would they back up the blurb in the glossy recruitment brochure?
A wise ex colleague of mine once told me that our job is to help everyone who leaves the business feel as warmly about us as they did when they joined. Ambitious? Maybe. But given the current climate and the increasing view that HR is becoming a "Downsizing Envoy" hadn't we better help the business learn a new tune and a little diplomacy when it comes to leavers? Hadn't we better get good at this grown-up break up stuff?
It's no different at work. Sooner or later the love affair ends. One or both parties is left feeling bruised, hurt, angry and wants to show the other just what a big mistake they've made (see Beyonce or John Terry for details).
Neil Morrison wrote a post recently guiding employees through the break up process. It's here. It was funny, pithy and not a little caustic. If it were a pop song, it would be F*** You by Cee Lo Green.
As if on cue, less than 24 hours after reading Neil's post, I received a forwarded email from a friend. One of her distant colleagues had gone Michael Douglas Falling-Down style bonkers and emailed a detailed diatribe to the whole Head Office explaining exactly why he was leaving (I like to think he was channelling Adele - it was a self-indulgent, self-pitying little ditty in which he was the injured party and they were heartless b*******).
Does it have to be that way?
I left a business recently. We'd grown apart but the break-up was amicable. I have fond memories and part of me Will Always Love Them (Dolly, not Whitney). It was, to all intents and purposes, a grown-up break up.
But it takes two to make a grown-up break up. The onus isn't just on the employee who leaves to act professionally.
It's easy for a business (and by that I mean the people in the business) to create a pantomime villain out of a leaver. We've all seen it - they've gone, left us, done us wrong. We knew they were no good. If they've done a critical exit interview this is picked apart, justified or analysed as if it were a Dear John letter. They're dead to us now - we're Kelis, and we hate them so much.
What if everyone who leaves the business isn't a villain? What if, rather than a cardboard box and a "don't let the door hit your arse on the way out", we thought of them as Alumni? Knowledge centres? Friends? (Not you, John Terry, you're still a numpty).
After all, aren't they walking out with a head full of our IP, customer database and process maps, not to mention their honest, no-holds-barred insight into our business? The stuff that other employees may not want to share because they're too scared or too astute to? The stuff that if we listened, might prove priceless? Or might save us a hefty consultant's fee some stage down the line. They may be angry, they may be upset, they may not even like us very much but that's no reason to write them off as a twonk and assume they have nothing to teach us. We might survive, but will we have learned anything?
And what about this? Ex-employees are to your EVP what your customers are to your brand. Are yours advocates? What would they say about you? Would they back up the blurb in the glossy recruitment brochure?
A wise ex colleague of mine once told me that our job is to help everyone who leaves the business feel as warmly about us as they did when they joined. Ambitious? Maybe. But given the current climate and the increasing view that HR is becoming a "Downsizing Envoy" hadn't we better help the business learn a new tune and a little diplomacy when it comes to leavers? Hadn't we better get good at this grown-up break up stuff?
Friday 7 September 2012
You Kept Cheering So I Kept Running
"You kept cheering, so I kept running" - As spoken by Mo Farah. Long distance runner extraordinaire, double Gold medallist, Olympic God.
He was talking about his performance on that glorious 'Super Saturday' when it felt like British athletes just couldn't put a foot wrong. When he put in a super human effort to storm to his second gold of his home Olympics. He was talking about where that super human effort came from and he isn't the only Olympian or Paralympian to praise the power of the supporters and the contribution they made to their success. It's an incredible thing - the sheer vocal will of enough people roaring for you to succeed. Beautiful really.
And quite rare in the grand scheme of things.
How often do we just cheer people on? I went to high school in the US for a while so I'm probably more comfortable than most Brits with the concept of cheering. But in the UK, 'You Go, Girl!' is one of a genre of phrases treated with cynicism and derision more often than not. It's a shame, because the act of cheering is elating for both cheerer and cheeree. And look at the results it achieves, the difference it can make.
When I left my job last week I made a point of sending an all staff email telling the people I'd worked with why I thought they were brilliant, and willing them on to even bigger things. My last cheer. One of our Account Directors told me afterwards that it had given her chills.
Yet we seem to do it so little. It isn't the same as expressing gratitude - which we Brits are pretty good at. It's not the same as giving feedback - which we HR types are evangelical about. Cheering, showing support, whether shouting "Go On!!!!" at the top of our lungs, or sending someone a card that says "You Rule" one quiet Tuesday afternoon, is subtly different but equally important.
Showing support is less about telling someone about the impact that they have had on you, more about doing what you can to have a positive impact on them. At its purest, it's selfless (although, as with all these things, there are those that would argue that the warm fuzzy feeling you get from cheering means that it isn't entirely a magnanimous act).
Can you imagine 80,000 people shouting their 'feedback' at Mo Farah on Super Saturday? "I'm a bit worried that you're not leading by now, Mo", "Are you sure you should be leading that soon, Mo?" (that's the beauty of feedback - everyone has an opinion). Or expressing gratitude? "Thanks for running, Mo, I'm having a brilliant time!". Mo ran how he ran because of 80,000 people yelling, until they were hoarse, "Go On Mo!!!!!!".
Because it's selfless, showing support means you take your lead from the person you want to cheer on. That's why 80,000 people fell silent when Jonnie Peacock put his fingers to his lips at the start of the T44 100m final last night. It's why they fell silent when the visually impaired relay runners or long jumpers were competing. Showing support means understanding what that person needs and giving it to them.
Nancy Kline tells us that, in order for people to have an environment in which they can perform, they need five times the amount of appreciation to challenge. Five times. For most of us that feels like overkill. But it's just what is needed. And the results it brings are phenomenal.
On Saturday, after the Paralympics are over, wouldn't it be nice to think that we had just been warming up our cheering muscles, and could now start putting them to work in other ways? Who could you cheer on? What do they need from you to know that you support them?
He was talking about his performance on that glorious 'Super Saturday' when it felt like British athletes just couldn't put a foot wrong. When he put in a super human effort to storm to his second gold of his home Olympics. He was talking about where that super human effort came from and he isn't the only Olympian or Paralympian to praise the power of the supporters and the contribution they made to their success. It's an incredible thing - the sheer vocal will of enough people roaring for you to succeed. Beautiful really.
And quite rare in the grand scheme of things.
How often do we just cheer people on? I went to high school in the US for a while so I'm probably more comfortable than most Brits with the concept of cheering. But in the UK, 'You Go, Girl!' is one of a genre of phrases treated with cynicism and derision more often than not. It's a shame, because the act of cheering is elating for both cheerer and cheeree. And look at the results it achieves, the difference it can make.
When I left my job last week I made a point of sending an all staff email telling the people I'd worked with why I thought they were brilliant, and willing them on to even bigger things. My last cheer. One of our Account Directors told me afterwards that it had given her chills.
Yet we seem to do it so little. It isn't the same as expressing gratitude - which we Brits are pretty good at. It's not the same as giving feedback - which we HR types are evangelical about. Cheering, showing support, whether shouting "Go On!!!!" at the top of our lungs, or sending someone a card that says "You Rule" one quiet Tuesday afternoon, is subtly different but equally important.
Showing support is less about telling someone about the impact that they have had on you, more about doing what you can to have a positive impact on them. At its purest, it's selfless (although, as with all these things, there are those that would argue that the warm fuzzy feeling you get from cheering means that it isn't entirely a magnanimous act).
Can you imagine 80,000 people shouting their 'feedback' at Mo Farah on Super Saturday? "I'm a bit worried that you're not leading by now, Mo", "Are you sure you should be leading that soon, Mo?" (that's the beauty of feedback - everyone has an opinion). Or expressing gratitude? "Thanks for running, Mo, I'm having a brilliant time!". Mo ran how he ran because of 80,000 people yelling, until they were hoarse, "Go On Mo!!!!!!".
Because it's selfless, showing support means you take your lead from the person you want to cheer on. That's why 80,000 people fell silent when Jonnie Peacock put his fingers to his lips at the start of the T44 100m final last night. It's why they fell silent when the visually impaired relay runners or long jumpers were competing. Showing support means understanding what that person needs and giving it to them.
Nancy Kline tells us that, in order for people to have an environment in which they can perform, they need five times the amount of appreciation to challenge. Five times. For most of us that feels like overkill. But it's just what is needed. And the results it brings are phenomenal.
On Saturday, after the Paralympics are over, wouldn't it be nice to think that we had just been warming up our cheering muscles, and could now start putting them to work in other ways? Who could you cheer on? What do they need from you to know that you support them?
Saturday 11 August 2012
For The Love Of It
I've been angry recently. Furious really. It's not pretty and those who are foolhardy enough to follow me on Twitter will have seen the evidence. More F-bombs, more retweets, more futile arguments with randoms.
It kicked off due to the resurgence of the debate about School Sport. While I welcome the return of the debate and the interest in the topic, it's reignited my fury. And I'm not happy about that. Contrary to appearances I don't like being furious.
So I thought I'd explain where that fury has come from.
Love.
Just typing that word makes me feel clearer-headed and less stomach-knotty. Isn't it always better to find the positive feeling behind something and focus your energy there?
My husband, the love of my life, is a self-confessed sports nut. He's lucky enough to have made a career from the thing he loves. He's worked in community sports development, sports development for a national governing body, coached sport abroad and, until last year, he ran a School Sports Partnership (SSP) across two counties.
He did it for love. There was no fame in working for an SSP, the pay wasn't that great and, as it turns out, his job security wasn't all that either. But he would come home buzzing with stories and passion - the inner city secondary school pupil who'd tried rowing for the first time in her life during one of his sessions and is now representing her county, the coach who came to work for him as part of his unemployment programme and was flying, the kids who had never swum before Jamie's partnership took them to a pool and gave them coaching, the teenagers who had become Young Sports Leaders and were blossoming with confidence and passion (he spotted one of them standing behind Usain Bolt during the 100m final and as he pressed 'pause' his pride was palpable). I used to look forward to these stories. These testimonies of the power of his passion for his work, and the sheer goodness that came out of it.
Jamie's love for sport is contagious. My own enjoyment of the Olympics is amplified because I get to experience it with him. I get to walk round the Olympic Park and see his face like a child at Christmas. I find myself jumping up and down on the sofa with him as our rowers/cyclists/runners speed towards the finish line. And the free explanations of sporting rules, gossip and insider knowledge is pretty handy too.
Because of love.
Jamie now works for Fields in Trust (FIT). Having found himself unable to achieve his goal of bringing his love of sport to as many people as possible via School Sport he just went and found another way round the problem. People with a shared love have a habit of finding each other and when Jamie found FIT I knew he'd found a home. He now works with communities, sports clubs and councils to protect playing fields and open space. He's about to launch a project to create opportunities for young people to play sport on the playing fields that FIT protect. Frankly, he's unstoppable. But of course he is - he has a love for something that teaches you to just keep going because the buzz of achieving great things is addictive.
That love is what we should be seeking out and replicating now as we enter the debate about School Sport, sports development and the Olympic legacy. It's not about politics. It's about propagating love for sport. You won't do that by making it compulsory, or by dictating how that love should manifest itself. You'll do it by bringing together the Jamies of this world, getting behind them and letting them do what they do best. They're the experts. They're the ones that have been doing this since before it became a cause du jour. And they do it for the love of it. Let them lead, give the job of shaping our legacy to those who care and who have the experience. Keep the politics out of it. Do it for love.
It kicked off due to the resurgence of the debate about School Sport. While I welcome the return of the debate and the interest in the topic, it's reignited my fury. And I'm not happy about that. Contrary to appearances I don't like being furious.
So I thought I'd explain where that fury has come from.
Love.
Just typing that word makes me feel clearer-headed and less stomach-knotty. Isn't it always better to find the positive feeling behind something and focus your energy there?
My husband, the love of my life, is a self-confessed sports nut. He's lucky enough to have made a career from the thing he loves. He's worked in community sports development, sports development for a national governing body, coached sport abroad and, until last year, he ran a School Sports Partnership (SSP) across two counties.
He did it for love. There was no fame in working for an SSP, the pay wasn't that great and, as it turns out, his job security wasn't all that either. But he would come home buzzing with stories and passion - the inner city secondary school pupil who'd tried rowing for the first time in her life during one of his sessions and is now representing her county, the coach who came to work for him as part of his unemployment programme and was flying, the kids who had never swum before Jamie's partnership took them to a pool and gave them coaching, the teenagers who had become Young Sports Leaders and were blossoming with confidence and passion (he spotted one of them standing behind Usain Bolt during the 100m final and as he pressed 'pause' his pride was palpable). I used to look forward to these stories. These testimonies of the power of his passion for his work, and the sheer goodness that came out of it.
Jamie's love for sport is contagious. My own enjoyment of the Olympics is amplified because I get to experience it with him. I get to walk round the Olympic Park and see his face like a child at Christmas. I find myself jumping up and down on the sofa with him as our rowers/cyclists/runners speed towards the finish line. And the free explanations of sporting rules, gossip and insider knowledge is pretty handy too.
Because of love.
Jamie now works for Fields in Trust (FIT). Having found himself unable to achieve his goal of bringing his love of sport to as many people as possible via School Sport he just went and found another way round the problem. People with a shared love have a habit of finding each other and when Jamie found FIT I knew he'd found a home. He now works with communities, sports clubs and councils to protect playing fields and open space. He's about to launch a project to create opportunities for young people to play sport on the playing fields that FIT protect. Frankly, he's unstoppable. But of course he is - he has a love for something that teaches you to just keep going because the buzz of achieving great things is addictive.
That love is what we should be seeking out and replicating now as we enter the debate about School Sport, sports development and the Olympic legacy. It's not about politics. It's about propagating love for sport. You won't do that by making it compulsory, or by dictating how that love should manifest itself. You'll do it by bringing together the Jamies of this world, getting behind them and letting them do what they do best. They're the experts. They're the ones that have been doing this since before it became a cause du jour. And they do it for the love of it. Let them lead, give the job of shaping our legacy to those who care and who have the experience. Keep the politics out of it. Do it for love.
Monday 6 August 2012
A.M.O. & Mo
Ability, Motivation, Opportunity.
Not so long ago Bath University ran a well known piece of research on the drivers of organisational performance. They concluded that performance was a product of three things: Ability to perform, Motivation to perform, and the Opportunity to perform.
In an organisational context, it would look something like this:
You hire and train people with the right skills, attitude and knowledge to perform well.
You encourage them, inspire them and engage (yes, I know, we hate that word) them.
You make sure that they have the opportunity to perform well - the organisational structure, systems, support functions and their role and remit all enable rather than impede high performance.
Of course, digging a bit deeper into that and it all becomes very difficult. Different parts of the organisational system don't support each other's performance. People are contrary beings and are motivated by complex and ever changed phenomena. Hiring the right people is something that everyone thinks they do well, yet howlers are still made. Training costs time and money and ROI is a bugger to measure.
But it is possible. And we are seeing a living, breathing, running, jumping, swimming, javelin-throwing example of it right now.
Yes, it's an Olympics blog. Sorry - I should have had a disclaimer upfront.
1996 was our worst Olympic year ever. We won 1 Gold medal. As I type, we have 5 days left and we're at16 17 Gold medals. So what happened in between?
Well, there was a plan. There was also investment. Lottery money and the School Sports Partnership programme ensured that we worked hard to get more young people playing more sport, in more variety, more often. It grew participation and, from that, found and developed future sporting talent. Denise Lewis spoke the other night about how much better the sporting bodies work together these days - the different systems support the overall performance. Jess Ennis, Greg Rutherford and Mo Farrah are all state school educated and grew up during the School Sports Partnership era. I wrote about School Sports Partnerships in one of my first blogs - I've said pretty much everything I need to there. That was almost two years ago and its safe to say they barely exist now. Participation is falling, funding is 5% of what it was then. The specialists who built the links between schools and clubs and governing bodies have gone and got jobs somewhere else. There's no joined up plan and comparably little training for coaches (most of whom were made redundant). 'Minority' sports are falling by the wayside (Gove would prefer that we play Rugger, like they do at Prep. Rugger isn't in the Olympics).
So, every time I hear about how the Olympics is motivating young people to take up sport, I feel conflicted. One the one hand it's awe-inspiring to see new, incredible, deserving role models - pretty much three a day for the past week. On the other hand, I know that the infrastructure to harness that motivation - the means to develop ability, the opportunity to play, to be coached, to compete - just isn't there at the levels required to replicate Beijing and London.
Lord Coe reminds me of the CEO who thinks that all that's needed to drive high performance in their people is a cracking Christmas party. Sustainable high performance requires a strategy, with investment. Our Olympics has been phenomenal. Inspirational, successful, quintessentially British, in a very modern and inclusive and uplifting way. But it isn't a strategy to sustain sporting success. It isn't even a strategy to increase sports participation in children. Without that strategy we'll have had a bloody good time. Some amazing people will have done some amazing things. But nothing will have changed. And we can kiss goodbye to 2020's Mo, Jess and Greg.
We may have Inspired a Generation. But without developing their talent, or giving them opportunities to play, we aren't building any kind of platform for future performance. Without that, we're all mouth and no trousers. Without that, we really might have wasted nine billion pounds.
Not so long ago Bath University ran a well known piece of research on the drivers of organisational performance. They concluded that performance was a product of three things: Ability to perform, Motivation to perform, and the Opportunity to perform.
In an organisational context, it would look something like this:
You hire and train people with the right skills, attitude and knowledge to perform well.
You encourage them, inspire them and engage (yes, I know, we hate that word) them.
You make sure that they have the opportunity to perform well - the organisational structure, systems, support functions and their role and remit all enable rather than impede high performance.
Of course, digging a bit deeper into that and it all becomes very difficult. Different parts of the organisational system don't support each other's performance. People are contrary beings and are motivated by complex and ever changed phenomena. Hiring the right people is something that everyone thinks they do well, yet howlers are still made. Training costs time and money and ROI is a bugger to measure.
But it is possible. And we are seeing a living, breathing, running, jumping, swimming, javelin-throwing example of it right now.
Yes, it's an Olympics blog. Sorry - I should have had a disclaimer upfront.
1996 was our worst Olympic year ever. We won 1 Gold medal. As I type, we have 5 days left and we're at
Well, there was a plan. There was also investment. Lottery money and the School Sports Partnership programme ensured that we worked hard to get more young people playing more sport, in more variety, more often. It grew participation and, from that, found and developed future sporting talent. Denise Lewis spoke the other night about how much better the sporting bodies work together these days - the different systems support the overall performance. Jess Ennis, Greg Rutherford and Mo Farrah are all state school educated and grew up during the School Sports Partnership era. I wrote about School Sports Partnerships in one of my first blogs - I've said pretty much everything I need to there. That was almost two years ago and its safe to say they barely exist now. Participation is falling, funding is 5% of what it was then. The specialists who built the links between schools and clubs and governing bodies have gone and got jobs somewhere else. There's no joined up plan and comparably little training for coaches (most of whom were made redundant). 'Minority' sports are falling by the wayside (Gove would prefer that we play Rugger, like they do at Prep. Rugger isn't in the Olympics).
So, every time I hear about how the Olympics is motivating young people to take up sport, I feel conflicted. One the one hand it's awe-inspiring to see new, incredible, deserving role models - pretty much three a day for the past week. On the other hand, I know that the infrastructure to harness that motivation - the means to develop ability, the opportunity to play, to be coached, to compete - just isn't there at the levels required to replicate Beijing and London.
Lord Coe reminds me of the CEO who thinks that all that's needed to drive high performance in their people is a cracking Christmas party. Sustainable high performance requires a strategy, with investment. Our Olympics has been phenomenal. Inspirational, successful, quintessentially British, in a very modern and inclusive and uplifting way. But it isn't a strategy to sustain sporting success. It isn't even a strategy to increase sports participation in children. Without that strategy we'll have had a bloody good time. Some amazing people will have done some amazing things. But nothing will have changed. And we can kiss goodbye to 2020's Mo, Jess and Greg.
We may have Inspired a Generation. But without developing their talent, or giving them opportunities to play, we aren't building any kind of platform for future performance. Without that, we're all mouth and no trousers. Without that, we really might have wasted nine billion pounds.
Friday 29 June 2012
People Are Stupid: 2
Its been a while since I've posted a ranty piece on my blog so for those of you who don't tune in for the ranting; apologies. To those of you who have missed it, this one's for you. Its a customer service rant.
Doug Shaw wrote recently about his experience of smaller organisations providing better levels of personal customer service. In the main I'd say my experience matches Doug's. Except when it comes to franchises. A funny thing happens with a franchise if you're not careful. Maybe it's something to do with the fact that they are both small and large company, maybe it's the model of tight, easily replicable cost management. Maybe it's that, while you can franchise a brand, a product or a name, franchising a level of service is far more difficult. Something that UK Mail may want to ponder on...
I can't imagine that its a particularly fulfilling job to be a driver for a franchised courier firm such as UK Mail. But I can't imagine that its a particularly taxing one either. What's to get wrong? Put boxes in van, drive to address, deposit boxes at address. Sounds simple, right? And I suppose if we were going to stick to the letter of that not very detailed job description (I refer you to 'People Are Stupid' mk1) then the driver for UK Mail who visited my house this morning has done his job.
If however, we take as a basic assumption that you layer on top of the tasks on your job description such competencies as honesty, empathy with the customer and common sense then it might be fair to say that UK Mail's driver for the Milton Keynes depot has failed spectacularly. And, in my view, so have UK Mail in their handling of the issue that he has created...
My husband works from home for a national charity and this morning a delivery of seven large boxes of promotional equipment were delivered to our house. I happen to know that UK Mail's delivery driver (in the interests of convenience and accuracy, lets call him 'Doofus') entered on his computer system that he banged loudly on our door at 7.45 this morning. I also happen to know that my husband was downstairs within earshot of our front door until 7.55 when he left to catch a train. I know this because I saw it with my own eyes. I can therefore only deduce that Doofus is either factually or temporally challenged.
I can't tell you what happened next, but what I came downstairs to at 9.30am was this:
Seven large boxes piled up directly outside my back door. I tried to open my back door to reach the boxes, but I couldn't... due to the seven large boxes piled up directly outside it.
I know, I thought; I'll go round the front, take the side alley to the back garden and move the boxes from the other side. Off I trotted, in my slippers, and went to open my back gate. But I couldn't - Doofus had reached over and pulled the bolt closed from the outside. I'm going to guess that Doofus is much taller than me. And evidently much stupider.
So there I am; trapped from my own back garden, two angry cats demanding to be let out, 7 boxes of paper-based promotional material on my deck, thunderstorms forecast and no phone number to contact the cretin who created the situation. After ranting loudly at my husband on the phone for five minutes (sorry darling) I went on the UK Mail website and found a phone number of someone else to shout at. I rang it, they gave me another number. I rang that, they gave me another number. Every person I spoke to asked me for my consignment number - which I couldn't give because it was written on the pile of boxes the other side of the door from me.
I finally got through to Maria (think that was her name, my memory is never great once the red mist has descended) in the Milton Keynes depot. After explaining the situation, Maria went off to track down Doofus. She came back on the line to tell me that he would pop back round 'at some point later this afternoon'. I asked if anyone could come sooner and was told that this wasn't possible as Doofus had other deliveries to make. When I said that this wasn't really acceptable Maria had no answer and, until I asked specifically for it, Maria made no apology. She also proceeded to tell me that I was obviously lying about being in my house at 7.45am because her computer said something very different.
The UK Mail office that Maria works in is 20 minutes from my house. I'm going to hazard a guess that at least one person who works in that office drives a car and can therefore get to my house and rectify Doofus's cock-up. But that doesn't seem to be a viable option for UK Mail.
So, I'm waiting in all day for South Northamptonshire's number one Doofus to visit me so that he can undo the evidence of his doofus-ery. The cats aren't happy. I'm not happy and if anyone has any ideas of what I might say to Doofus when/if he arrives I'm all ears.
Doug Shaw wrote recently about his experience of smaller organisations providing better levels of personal customer service. In the main I'd say my experience matches Doug's. Except when it comes to franchises. A funny thing happens with a franchise if you're not careful. Maybe it's something to do with the fact that they are both small and large company, maybe it's the model of tight, easily replicable cost management. Maybe it's that, while you can franchise a brand, a product or a name, franchising a level of service is far more difficult. Something that UK Mail may want to ponder on...
I can't imagine that its a particularly fulfilling job to be a driver for a franchised courier firm such as UK Mail. But I can't imagine that its a particularly taxing one either. What's to get wrong? Put boxes in van, drive to address, deposit boxes at address. Sounds simple, right? And I suppose if we were going to stick to the letter of that not very detailed job description (I refer you to 'People Are Stupid' mk1) then the driver for UK Mail who visited my house this morning has done his job.
If however, we take as a basic assumption that you layer on top of the tasks on your job description such competencies as honesty, empathy with the customer and common sense then it might be fair to say that UK Mail's driver for the Milton Keynes depot has failed spectacularly. And, in my view, so have UK Mail in their handling of the issue that he has created...
My husband works from home for a national charity and this morning a delivery of seven large boxes of promotional equipment were delivered to our house. I happen to know that UK Mail's delivery driver (in the interests of convenience and accuracy, lets call him 'Doofus') entered on his computer system that he banged loudly on our door at 7.45 this morning. I also happen to know that my husband was downstairs within earshot of our front door until 7.55 when he left to catch a train. I know this because I saw it with my own eyes. I can therefore only deduce that Doofus is either factually or temporally challenged.
I know, I thought; I'll go round the front, take the side alley to the back garden and move the boxes from the other side. Off I trotted, in my slippers, and went to open my back gate. But I couldn't - Doofus had reached over and pulled the bolt closed from the outside. I'm going to guess that Doofus is much taller than me. And evidently much stupider.
So there I am; trapped from my own back garden, two angry cats demanding to be let out, 7 boxes of paper-based promotional material on my deck, thunderstorms forecast and no phone number to contact the cretin who created the situation. After ranting loudly at my husband on the phone for five minutes (sorry darling) I went on the UK Mail website and found a phone number of someone else to shout at. I rang it, they gave me another number. I rang that, they gave me another number. Every person I spoke to asked me for my consignment number - which I couldn't give because it was written on the pile of boxes the other side of the door from me.
I finally got through to Maria (think that was her name, my memory is never great once the red mist has descended) in the Milton Keynes depot. After explaining the situation, Maria went off to track down Doofus. She came back on the line to tell me that he would pop back round 'at some point later this afternoon'. I asked if anyone could come sooner and was told that this wasn't possible as Doofus had other deliveries to make. When I said that this wasn't really acceptable Maria had no answer and, until I asked specifically for it, Maria made no apology. She also proceeded to tell me that I was obviously lying about being in my house at 7.45am because her computer said something very different.
The UK Mail office that Maria works in is 20 minutes from my house. I'm going to hazard a guess that at least one person who works in that office drives a car and can therefore get to my house and rectify Doofus's cock-up. But that doesn't seem to be a viable option for UK Mail.
So, I'm waiting in all day for South Northamptonshire's number one Doofus to visit me so that he can undo the evidence of his doofus-ery. The cats aren't happy. I'm not happy and if anyone has any ideas of what I might say to Doofus when/if he arrives I'm all ears.
Friday 15 June 2012
The Hip-Hop HR Manifesto
I know, weird title right? You're probably thinking "where's she going with this exactly?". Bear with me, I suspect I may be onto something...
The inimitable Perry Timms, Head of Talent & OD at The Big Lottery Fund, Northern Soul boy and fellow Towcestrian, has been champion of a movement he calls 'Punk HR' for some time now. To get a taste of Punk HR, follow Perry on Twitter or read his blog - full of energy, rebelliousness and attitude. Love it. Today on Twitter we were riffing on the theme of music genre based HR approaches. I've decided my personal favourite is Hip-Hop HR.
I've always been a closet Hip-Hop fan. I drove out of the gates on my last day of a job with a boss from hell playing Jay-Z's 99 Problems at full blast. I have been known to play Pop Ya Collar on a loop when having a particularly bad day. My singstar party piece is Baby Got Back. There's a lot that HR can learn from Hip-Hop and that is what I wanted to share. I give you The Hip-Hop HR manifesto:
First off, Hip-Hop HR doesn't apologise. It doesn't wait to be invited to the party. Hip-Hop HR screams up to the velvet rope in a Cadillac Escalade with an entourage and demands a table with Cristal on tap. Hip-Hop HR knows its worth. There are no self-esteem issues there. Contrast with Emo HR: full of angst about whether people take it seriously, or whining that it's not part of the in-crowd. HR needs to quit complaining about being invited, being taken seriously. Just rock up. Make an entrance. Know that the party wasn't really going until you came along anyway.
Hip-Hop HR collaborates. It isn't afraid to draw on a wide range of influences and inspiration. If Hip-Hop can have guest slots from Dido, Aerosmith and the cast of Annie, then HR should be collaborating with Marketing, Finance, IT, whoever. Celebrate the power of the collaboration. Maybe HR could benefit from a remix? Is there a guest artist you should be working with?
Hip-Hop HR has swag. Attitude. Style. It may not be to everyone's taste, but it is never grey, dull or generic. Hip-Hop understands the power of putting on a show, getting people excited. Hip-Hop knows that if something is worth doing, its worth doing with a light show, pyrotechnics and 50 dancers in gold body paint. Hip-Hop is exciting and HR could take a leaf from its swarovski encrusted book. Get people worked up. Involve them in some theatre. Do it with swag - they're with you for 40 hours a week so entertain them.
Hip-Hop is fun and the fun is contagious. It defies you not to get up and dance. It gets into your bones, gets you out on the floor strutting your stuff. It's positive, upbeat, makes you feel free and bold and brave. HR should do the same. Our job is to make people feel bullet-proof, brilliant, invincible. To help them find their swag.
Hip-Hop is about as far from easy listening as you can get. It's explicit. Not for the faint hearted. And neither is HR. It's not easy listening talking about the stuff that people like to pretend doesn't exist - culture, leadership behaviour, doing stupid stuff to your employees. Hip-Hop HR comes with an advisory warning - you may not always like what you hear. Hip-Hop HR keeps it real.
Personally, I'll be asking myself more regularly WWJZD? ... and if I have to tell you what that stands for, you probably aren't Hip-Hop HR.
The inimitable Perry Timms, Head of Talent & OD at The Big Lottery Fund, Northern Soul boy and fellow Towcestrian, has been champion of a movement he calls 'Punk HR' for some time now. To get a taste of Punk HR, follow Perry on Twitter or read his blog - full of energy, rebelliousness and attitude. Love it. Today on Twitter we were riffing on the theme of music genre based HR approaches. I've decided my personal favourite is Hip-Hop HR.
I've always been a closet Hip-Hop fan. I drove out of the gates on my last day of a job with a boss from hell playing Jay-Z's 99 Problems at full blast. I have been known to play Pop Ya Collar on a loop when having a particularly bad day. My singstar party piece is Baby Got Back. There's a lot that HR can learn from Hip-Hop and that is what I wanted to share. I give you The Hip-Hop HR manifesto:
First off, Hip-Hop HR doesn't apologise. It doesn't wait to be invited to the party. Hip-Hop HR screams up to the velvet rope in a Cadillac Escalade with an entourage and demands a table with Cristal on tap. Hip-Hop HR knows its worth. There are no self-esteem issues there. Contrast with Emo HR: full of angst about whether people take it seriously, or whining that it's not part of the in-crowd. HR needs to quit complaining about being invited, being taken seriously. Just rock up. Make an entrance. Know that the party wasn't really going until you came along anyway.
Hip-Hop HR collaborates. It isn't afraid to draw on a wide range of influences and inspiration. If Hip-Hop can have guest slots from Dido, Aerosmith and the cast of Annie, then HR should be collaborating with Marketing, Finance, IT, whoever. Celebrate the power of the collaboration. Maybe HR could benefit from a remix? Is there a guest artist you should be working with?
Hip-Hop HR has swag. Attitude. Style. It may not be to everyone's taste, but it is never grey, dull or generic. Hip-Hop understands the power of putting on a show, getting people excited. Hip-Hop knows that if something is worth doing, its worth doing with a light show, pyrotechnics and 50 dancers in gold body paint. Hip-Hop is exciting and HR could take a leaf from its swarovski encrusted book. Get people worked up. Involve them in some theatre. Do it with swag - they're with you for 40 hours a week so entertain them.
Hip-Hop is fun and the fun is contagious. It defies you not to get up and dance. It gets into your bones, gets you out on the floor strutting your stuff. It's positive, upbeat, makes you feel free and bold and brave. HR should do the same. Our job is to make people feel bullet-proof, brilliant, invincible. To help them find their swag.
Hip-Hop is about as far from easy listening as you can get. It's explicit. Not for the faint hearted. And neither is HR. It's not easy listening talking about the stuff that people like to pretend doesn't exist - culture, leadership behaviour, doing stupid stuff to your employees. Hip-Hop HR comes with an advisory warning - you may not always like what you hear. Hip-Hop HR keeps it real.
Personally, I'll be asking myself more regularly WWJZD? ... and if I have to tell you what that stands for, you probably aren't Hip-Hop HR.
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