Tom Guru Management Consultant

Just returned home from a final client meeting (with the emphasis on the word final). I fear I had what I am coming to describe as a 'Jack Nicholson Moment'. The project was a nine-month sojourn around some very nice parts of the world. It was a Marketing positioning research project to find the ideal indication for a new skin cancer drug. Although skin cancer is far from nice, the project had, until last Friday, been very good for me because I had to interview world leaders in the field to determine the best market for my clients' new drug. Luckily for me, the world experts on skin cancer reside in nice sunny countries and so, dear reader, I have been merrily trotting around Florida, Sydney, and (for reasons unclear even to me) Coventry! Still, all was well, the physicians had been very generous with their time and had all agreed on one irrevocable conclusion (a feat in itself since, usually, if you have three surgeons in a room that is enough for five opinions), there was a very clear space for my client's product, No, there was a screaming need for my client's product - Good Times! It came down to testing which of two possible types of Skin Cancer the product should be marketed for and the results were, as I say, overwhelming. Indication A got 9 votes, Indication B got Minus 8 votes (they actually thought it would cause harm). So, full of the calm bravado that the soon to be doomed often display, I presented my findings to the client. At the end, I sat down, awaiting the certain applause and ready to bask in the shower of adulation they were sure to heap upon me. "We kinda (they weren't American but seemed to want to talk like they were) hoped it would be indication B" the CEO said. "Well I'm afraid it isn't" said I "but the great news is they would all use it yesterday if it were available for indication A", I grinned my best Tony Curtis grin in triumph. "Well, we REALLY need it to be indication B" was the sad reply. We see-sawed with this for about fifteen minutes when (exasperated now, Tony Curtis grins a dim distant memory), I raised my voice "Look, it is what it is, it's good news why can't you be happy with that"?, at which point, things went VERY Pear-shaped. The CEO it was who finally triggered the moment I went critical and waved 'Goodbye' to my career - triggering my 'Jack Nicholson in 'A Few Good Men' moment' when he said (after only 25 minutes of this nonsense) "Look Tom, don't get mad, WE ONLY WANT THE TRUTH". I know, I guess you are ahead of me, I should have paused, done some dep breathing and relaxation exercises, my therapist would probably tell me to think of Mountain streams or fluffy kittens or something - instead I heard the veritable Mr. Nicholson's voice booming from my mouth "THE TRUTH?...YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH". The meeting ended shortly after. And THAT is how you get from Tony Curtis to Jack Nicholson in only two moves. The Senior Partner wants to see me in the morning - I wonder what it's about? Tom

I had never really bought into this notion that the Brains of Men and Women were wired fundamentally differently, as seems to be the assertion in the tabloid newspapers on an almost daily basis. But recent events have, however, caused me to at least pause to reconsider my position.  The first occasion happened a few weeks back, there had been a programme on TV (I forget which channel, it was something like GB Gold TV Replay +1 or something similar) where a man and a women, who were both far too earnest for comfort asserted that the popular book Men are from Mars etc was essentially correct only didn't go anywhere near far enough. I let the programme wash over me rather and didn't take its central thesis too seriously because the nauseating presenters' attempts and first building and then dismantling Sexual Chemistry were starting to irritate me (I don't think they even managed to get to Sexual Physics, let alone Chemistry). The show did however, give me something to consider as I ambled down to the local to take part in the weekly pub quiz.  When I was about 200 yards (sorry, don't do Metrics) from the pub I saw two women peering into the window of the antiques** shop next to the pub. As I approached I heard one exclaim to the other "Ooh Sandra, come and look at these lovely spoons". It was at that moment that I realised that, although Men and Women LOOK like they are of the same species, that this is simply a delusion. The idea that a spoon could be Lovely is a concept as alien to most men as the title star of that Sigourney Weaver film where she sweatily climbs into a spacesuit wearing those little pants (men of a certain age will all know what I mean).  The second occasion that I realised that although the two genders walk side-by side on the planet but inhabit vastly different worlds, came last weekend in the kitchen of the Guru household. Our kitchen had a Microwave oven, fitted into a space above the oven, and, unfortunately, last Saturday expired, it has warmed its last sausage roll, you might say it had shuffled off its own coil (sic). No worries, I thought, I would just pop off to our local out of town Electrical Superstore, get a replacement and pop it into the hole and Robert would indeed be my auntie's husband.  Imagine my surprise then, at the exchange which took place between yours truly and Mrs Guru, the summary of which follows;  Mrs Guru asserted that, since there was now a gap above the Oven where the recently departed Microwave had resided, it was time to reconsider the entire cooker/oven/hob concept. It appears Mrs Guru has long hankered after a Range-type cooker (perhaps she wants to tie her hair back, wear a pinafore and bake bread - although she has never mentioned it). "Oh" was my witty and urbane response to this news, Ranges are a darn sight more expensive than Microwaves and my Senior Partner at the firm does not appreciate the true value of yours truly in keeping the commercial wheels on the enterprise in quite the way he should. However, that was just a warm-up, it was about to get a lot worse!  The Range would not fit in our kitchen as things stand, but would fit beautifully if the kitchen were to be extended into the dining room also. I was ready for this and rapidly riposted that this would mean that we would have no Dining Room, a major inconvenience and also a way of destroying the asset value of our home when we decide to sell (THAT's why they pay me the big bucks - speed of thought under pressure). Mrs Guru responded with the phrase that has always given me chills "I've thought of that" (I shudder as I type this) "we should get an extension built".  And THAT dear reader, is when I realised that we may live amongst each other but we are totally different species, a broken Microwave becomes the (pressing) need for a major home extension in two easy moves (via a Range) - this is how Nuclear wars start!  I wonder if they'll repeat that TV programme, I think I need to study it now - does anyone have a TV listing for GB Gold Homes Classic +1 channel?  Tom.  **Junk

I am writing this blog from Asia as I have been presenting at a major health care conference here. Now the conference was fine, well attended and organised - I'm sure heralded as a great success by everyone. Yours truly was given the role of 'last speaker in a very long day', a very sought after slot, surpassed only by the coveted 'first on after a damn good lunch' position. I was presenting on branding, a subject close to one's heart and something that, ordinarily, I would have nailed, however this time, fate conspired against me and the source of the problem lies with my old friend, air travel.  Readers of this blog will be starting to realise that air travel is a part of my life that I have mixed feelings about (as in sometimes, I only despise it!), but there does seem to be a trend emerging that every time I get onto an aircraft, events or circumstances conspire to ensure that, as we say in the Consultancy business, "outcomes are compromised to the point of sub-optimisation" (NB Consultant's maxim "Never use one word when ten will do"). On this occasion, the problem is deafness.  Now I have always gone a little bit deaf on aeroplanes (everyone does don't they?) but on this occasion, the effect has been spectacular. We had barely left the runway at Schipol (I don't do Heathrow - but that will be a topic for another day) when there was a pop in my right ear and, that was that. Silence, silencio, rien de sound - aural nowt! Usually this reverses on landing so I was not too distressed. (This will actually soon become a boon since some airlines are piloting a (daft) scheme to allow people to use their mobiles in flight. Can you imagine? Manchester to Kuala Lumpur, 13 hours of being welded into an over large baked bean tin with wings, strapped into a seat next to some prat yelling "Yeah I'm on the plane, just going past Bangalore" - Oh god!) However, on this occasion it did not reverse. Going through customs I had to cock my head at a ludicrous angle like some kind of demented parrot, just to hear the customs official ask me if I was a drug-trafficking human slaver or not.  That was on Sunday, on Monday I was due to give my presentation and could not actually tell whether I was whispering or yelling like a TV evangelist (or worse still Donald Trump - have you seen the US version of the Apprentice? If not, you have no idea just how GOOD Alan Sugar, sorry "Sralan", actually is). Luckily, as this was a health care conference and one of the delegates was a client, help was at hand. A lovely lady, she manages one of the hospitals in town and speedily referred me to an ENT specialist. This was great and involved her in putting herself and her staff out for me quite considerably. I am very grateful to them all for their efforts but it did start a rather frantic race against the clock which one's blood pressure has still to normalise from, and resulted in me shouting at some strangers in Starbucks!  I raced to the hospital, leaving the convention centre at 2 in the afternoon (due to present at 5, so no pressure!). The ENT surgeon saw me really quickly but said he would have to make incisions in my eardrums (not as nice as it sounds!) but that, since this was a private facility, he would give me a local anaesthetic first which would take one hour to work. In the meantime, the anaesthetic would make me A LITTLE MORE DEAF and that I could go downstairs to the Starbucks and have a coffee while we waited.  This I did but on getting to Starbucks I was now so deaf I could not even hear my own footfall. I ordered a Cappacino, by which I mean I TRIED to order a cappacino. It was obvious from the body language of the "Barista" that I was not speaking too loudly (he was virtually bent double over the counter trying to hear me). As I am a world-renowned expert in non-verbal communications, I was quickly able to deduce that I needed to speak up a little bit and so I made a slight and subtle adjustment. He recoiled as if shot...everyone did. I looked behind me, it was carnage! Someone had dropped a tray on the floor, small children were crying and hiding behind their mother's skirts - it is just possible that I had over-adjusted just a tad on the volume front! I was asked to leave. Never actually been barred from a coffee house before so that is another first for the personal CV.  Finally went back to the doc and had the procedure then rushed back to the convention centre with 5 minutes to spare. Presentation was a bit of a blur but I think the audience didn't notice the pale pink liquid that gently seeped from the presenters' ears every time he looked up from the lectern.  I wonder if they'll ask me back next year?