Let's all do popup training

People's Summit, Rio+20

I want to run pop-up training. Here today, gone tomorrow. You’ve heard of popup shops, popup galleries, and popup restaurants. Why can’t we do popup training?

Caravans and Castles

I want to run popup training in surprising locations. In a caravan or a castle. Imagine hosting a workshop in one of London’s hidden underground stations. Or one of the nicer airport lounges to help high-flyers combat the feelings of hopelessness in transit? Or on the platform of a new Boris bus. “Hop on, what’s your name? Hop off, nice to meet you”.

Environmentally Friendly and Unsustainable

The glorious thing about popup training is that it is totally unsustainable in an environmentally friendly way. Practically any space will do. No expensive technology or structural alterations required. No discernable impact on the environment, and nothing left behind.

Open Space Rules

I wouldn’t feel guilty about doing training with no lasting impact. Popup training is not meant to last. In fact, the rules are very similar to Open Space:

1. Whoever come are the right people.
2. Whatever happens is the only thing that could have.
3. Whenever it starts is the right time.
4. When it’s over, it’s over.

Popup Training at the People’s Summit, Rio+20

This is just silly, you say. Well, I can tell you, I’ve done popup training, very successfully, at the People’s Summit in Rio, with a little help from my friends. The training space was a popup tent with a roof and no walls, like those flimsy efforts that make gardens look summery. We had some tables, and chairs, and we staked out our territory with a circle of chairs. We made friends with the local radio station who were doing live broadcasting in a bigger tent. They even lent us a microphone and loudspeaker, so people could hear what I was saying. People came: some students, a lady with a pink bag, and a very young boy. We played a game of catch with juggling balls. More people came to watch, and then joined in. We started a bit late. Three people in curiously anatomical tiger costumes did an exotic dance in front of our tent. Somehow I held people’s attention with the game, until it felt that we were done. Some people stayed to talk. Others melted away. When it was over, I felt good.

Popup Training Satisfaction Ratio

What does this say about popup training? The feeling of satisfaction after, was greater than the size of the event. And I have run large-scale, resource intensive training events, where the feeling of satisfaction was considerably less than size of the event. That's why I want to run popup training in surprising places. The people who come will be the right people. Whatever we do will be the only thing we could have done. Whenever it starts will be the right time, and when it’s over, it will definitely be over.

When I grow tired of London

The house that squares up to the mountains

I’m going to live in a manse in the Scottish Highlands, within striking distance of a Victorian railway station, with glass canopies and pillars with cast iron flowers. I want an honest granite house that squares up to a view of mountains and water. Fit for a minister, his wife, four children, and domestic, the manse has grounds (unmaintained), outhouses (unconverted), and fishing rights (mainly pike). The chimneys lean towards Charles Rennie Mackintosh, but the architect is unknown. The rooms are generously proportioned, and sparsely furnished. There are more bedrooms than a bachelor could need, and not quite enough bathrooms.

The manse is set well back from the road, invisible to traffic on the A9. On rare days when the clouds have lifted, the view of the Cairngorms makes you want to stop and stare. There is no heating to speak of, and lighting fires between March and October is forbidden. There are potholes in the unmetalled track to deter visitors. I am furious when intruders come to picnic by the river. The midges drive them away.

I will have a manservant called Duncan who seldom speaks. Duncan does everything. He runs the house, grows vegetables, chops wood, and fixes the car. Duncan knows what I am thinking before I do. Duncan reads books about the Second World War, and keeps a firearm that he knows how to use.

I will drive a beaten up second hand car, a Bristol, or some classic tourer that has not been driven by James Bond. For entertainment I drive recklessly into Inverness, and drink gin at the Station Hotel. I post letters in the antique post box. Sometimes I enjoy myself too much to drive home. The hotel staff, who all know me, arrange parking for the car, and a bed for me.

I am on speaking terms with my distant neighbours, most of whom could be extras in the Carroll / Donat version of ‘The 39 Steps”. We hail each other at the annual Highland Gathering, and, more often, at Tesco’s in Inverness, when I am stocking up on malts, and other essentials.

People bracket my name with Fitzroy Maclean, Patrick Leigh Fermor, and Compton McKenzie. I have Whisky Galore in my cellar.  I write prickly prose and poetry in 72 page notebooks bequeathed to me by Muriel Spark from the stock she acquired from James Thin in Edinburgh. People think I am writing a great work. I will never complete it.

Increasingly, I am absent from the manse. People say I am doing something ‘hush hush’. In fact, I am sailing around the Mediterranean with a troupe of dancers from the Royal Ballet, drinking gin martinis with friends up at their villas. I repay their hospitality with advice on what to plant in a hot border. When it comes to drought tolerant plants, I am a fount of knowledge. Small wonder I never made much of the bog garden at the manse. I’m going to give up the manse. It’s just not a realistic proposition.

Town or Country? Could you live in a small island community?

Caroline and Vic catching up on their holiday reading

"I'm so tired of the squalor and the grime of the city" Richard Rodney Bennett, 1978

I remember, in the 1980s, quite sensible people decided to leave London and move to Brighton, or the West Country. ‘To hell with London’ they said.  And having packed up, and shacked up, by the sea or in the woods, how they did go on about not missing London at all.

I stayed, because I could go to ‘Pizza on the Park’ to see jazz singers like Richard Rodney Bennett and Marion Montgomery. I once heard them do “Let’s go and live in the country”. It’s a comic duet written by Bennett about a couple who flirt with the idea of living in the country, and then rush back to the city, because they are allergic to hay, and know they couldn't cope if the roof started to leak. I used to agree with them.

Recently, however, I’ve been having thoughts about going to live by the sea, getting an Irish Terrier, and growing vegetables. A short holiday in the Western Isles of Scotland gave me a chance to weigh the pros and cons of staying put, or going for a complete life change. This is what I learned.

What are the gains of island life?

• The freshest, most gulpable air. In the spring, the island air is even sweeter with the scent of bluebells.
• Being part of a real community. They have a ceilidh when they think they need one, and anyone can join the dance. Children dance with their parents, and dogs are most welcome.
• Time goes further, spread over long days and short nights. I had to learn how to take my time. When I rushed to the only shop to buy a missing ingredient for supper, the locals gently reproached me. “People are a bit more relaxed here”.
• Spirit raising views. The sea and the hills change colour with the light and the weather. Watching Rum from Eigg is like being at a Son et Lumiere show, powered by nature. The best thing about Eigg is the view of Rum, according to the people who live on Rum. But they would say that, wouldn’t they?

What do islanders give up?

• Globalisation, things like the energy crisis. Eigg produces more electricity than the residents can use
• Commuting to work; it doesn’t happen
• Any desire for national or international news. It’s irrelevant
• Having to remember to take your keys with you. No-one bothers to lock their door
• Consumerism, though the village shops are well stocked, and Amazon does good business
• Traffic, except when people are arriving or departing on the ferry
• Noise, except birdsong and – I suspect – the sound of raindrops and howling gales.

What is the person specification for an islander?

Ability to have many jobs, or none

Islanders have multiple identities, and many hold down different jobs. The Harbour Master, without whom the boat cannot arrive or depart, also drives the electric buggy, mends the road, and tends the trees. The lady who cooked you a splendid dinner, also runs the bakery. Your dance partner at the ceilidh, pops up in the tea shop to serve you coffee and cakes, and later arrives to prepare your accommodation for the next group. Everybody else is unemployed, or has no obvious responsibilities.

Tolerance

You are unlikely to take to island life unless you can learn to tolerate midges, tourists, alcohol, unpredictable weather, and things left where they were last used or needed e.g. tractors, baths, bits of machinery.

Other skills, knowledge and attitudes that will serve you well on a Scottish Island are:

• Being outdoorsy, and good with your hands
• Knowing how to chop wood, light a fire
• Ability to bake a cake
• Ability to take a car engine to pieces and reassemble it
• Ability to get on with wide range of people
• Stamina to help you party all of the night, and into the next day
• For men, a beard is almost essential.

After a week exploring the Western Isles of Scotland, beautiful as it was, I think I will stay in the city, and holiday in the country. I am allergic to hay, and if the roof began to leak, I would definitely need a man with a beard. 

Thanks to everyone living in the small isles who made us feel welcome.

Song: ‘Let’s go and live in the country’1978, Richard Rodney Bennett

8 June 2013

Thanks for reading my blog. If you liked this page, you might like to check out my business website which has more content on leadership and learning.

www.kellowlearning.com

Dance with a Stranger: how do you nurture talent?

Earlier this year a young dancer from the Ukraine resigned abruptly from the Royal Ballet. He was scheduled to dance a number of leading roles, and had recently been described as “better than Baryshnikov”. “Now I know how it felt when The Beatles split” tweeted one of his fans.

“Where were you when you heard the news?” asked a journalist. Like many people, I read the news on Twitter when I was settling in for a performance of new works by some of his (now former) colleagues. Monica Mason, Director of the Royal Ballet, looked grim in the bar afterwards. It was reported that the now ex-Royal Ballet soloist had gone up to Dame Monica at the end of a rehearsal and told her he “didn’t want to dance anymore”. In a press release Dame Monica said, “This has obviously come as a huge shock”.

A Star Turns

I was shocked, too. Not want to dance anymore, he who could land on a sixpence and give meaning and purpose to every gesture? I, who know nothing about ballet except that I find it rather a challenge to maintain the ‘Dancer’s Position’ in my yoga class, had identified the Ukrainian as one of the most exciting dancers in the company. Other dancers might get name checked more often by the critics, and on Twitter, but I was always rooting for the Ukrainian. Like a fond parent, I glowed when he was given new roles. I basked in his reflected glory. When he became a world star, I, for one, would not be surprised. 

Stage Twitterers

What happened after his departure was interesting. Regular Twitterers from the Royal Ballet said almost nothing. One well-known dancer tweeted that the Ukrainian needed a spanking. A number of journalists and bloggers speculated why he had resigned? Was he rebelling against years of discipline at the Royal Ballet? What was known about his family, education, health and hobbies was sifted for clues about his emotional and mental state. Some of his tweets were discovered to be alarming. Were his tattoos really misspelt? Had the golden boy become the Amy Winehouse of ballet?

‘I think I jumped a little bit higher than Ivan!’

So far, so painful. What to make of the whole affair? Should one feel sad that someone with so much potential left the company that nurtured him so abruptly? Or should one be grateful for the joy that his dancing has given already, and be glad for him that he jumped? What is the real story? How do people at the Royal Ballet feel about his resignation? What was done to help him? What is going on in his head? We know from his Twitter account that he still takes pride in jumping higher than Ivan.

“4 controversial years left!!!!”

I work in learning and development as a facilitator and as a coach. One of my main pleasures is to watch people grow in confidence, and to see them become the person that they want to be. I want the people I work with to be happy and successful. I think this is what troubles me about the Ukrainian: that he may not know who he wants to be, that he may not reach his full potential and that he may not be happy.

What is the best way to support people with exceptional gifts, and how do you nurture talent in a hothouse environment like the Royal Ballet? I don’t have any answers. Maybe my reaction to the Ukrainian’s departure is selfish. If he wants to be a tattooist, then let it him. But please let him learn to spell.

“I was impressed to watch your stage in Tokyo”

The good news is that the tattooed one has danced recently in London and Tokyo. He is scheduled to dance in London again, though not with the Royal Ballet. I will go to see him for as long as he wants to dance.

The Art of Hosting: conversations with young people

Take 5 London Mayoral candidates, a few hundred young leaders, 2 television presenters, a musician, a live Twitter feed, fish and chips, and what do you get? For me, lots of food for thought about how to host an event, and how to communicate with young people. Last night Channel 4 Television and UpRise co-hosted a well attended conversation about young people, equality and diversity in London. What made the evening special?

Make people feel welcome

When I arrived Channel 4 staff were organised and welcoming. Delicious fish and chips,drinks and nibbles restored my spirits after a long working day.

Give people a chance to get to know each other

I really enjoyed talking to a social entrepreneur and an IT Graduate who were quietly engaging. In the nicest possible way they gave me insights into what it is like to be young and looking for work. I also met a community film maker with three mobile phones who used to live near me in Peckham. These conversations made me feel less like an outsider.

Appeal to different senses

The evening started with a solo performance by British vocalist, cellist and composer Ayanna whose resonant singing and playing reminded me of Nina Simone.

Structure your event

The 5 mayoral candidates were invited to speak for 2-3 minutes about what mattered to them. I felt a little bit sorry for the speakers who had to communicate what really mattered to their absent leaders. Ten young ambassadors were invited to put questions to the candidates from the front of the stage. Although, the audience did not get many answers to their thoughtful questions, presenter Konnie Huq assured them that they would receive written answers.  

Make technology available

There was a highly visible (edited) Twitter feed running all through the evening which at times was very entertaining.

 Be comfortable with passion

Things kicked off towards the end but my lasting memory is how respectful the audience were to the mayoral candidates and how attentively they listened.

Getting your message across

I don’t think the goal of the evening was to create a winner. However, the audience reaction and the Twitter Feed suggested that Siobhan Benita was the most popular candidate. Based on what I saw and heard, Siobhan gained the approval of the audience because she spoke from the heart. Genuineness and authenticity are powerful.

Communicating with young people

I am an older white male. When I am working with younger people I always think very carefully about what I might have to say, and how I can best say it. Why, I ask myself, would young people want to listen to me unless what I say is relevant, credible and different? Unfortunately, by not turning up at all, Boris and Ken lost an opportunity to engage with some really committed young leaders.