Home Calling

I have just spent the last two days in Lisbon at the Temenos Community Forum. Basically Temenos’ products are extremely important for my client therefore it made sense for me to be there during the conference. I am now on my way back to Pau via San Sebastien in Spain.

I haven’t been to Portugal for almost 20 years and the last time I was here there was more impromptu football matches, less alcohol and hobnobbing, and definitely a better sun tan at the end of my trip despite it being absolutely roasting today.

Overall it has been a worthwhile trip and on balance I suspect it was a good decision not to stay for the final day. I have managed to spend some quality time with a couple of key clients and also some of our partners with who we work quite closely. It’s good being focused on just one client – you don’t need to spend these events trying to be everything to everyone.

That said possibly the most interesting conversation or set of conversations I had was with the chief operating officer of the Banque Populaire of Rwanda. It was absolutely fascinating to listen to him and his stories of how Rwanda has built itself back up after the end of the genocide in the early 1990s. It was interesting to see the similarities with Singapore where I was last month (Konde even confirmed that Singapore had actually been taken as a model for the new government). Basically a lot of what we hear in the western media about Rwanda doesn’t paint the true picture – apparently it is a very safe and law abiding country and whilst the public health system isn’t completely up to scratch and that one shouldn’t drink the tap water, it seems they have made huge progress over the last 17 years. What was most inspiring was listening to Konde who described how, whilst working in the financial services sector in London, his father told him that his generation had split their blood for the country, now it was Konde’s turn to put his brains to work for the country. He was clearly passionate about his role in the building of the country and the expansion of retail and mobile banking in a place in which literacy rates are only around 15% today. I’ve always been fairly unattached to the idea of the nation state and always questioned the real value that the financial sector in the developed world brings; however listening to Konde was a real eye opener – I was most impressed by the pride he felt whenever he saw a queue of people wishing to use an ATM machine with their new plastic bank cards. It really is a different world and I suspect that it gives you a different reason to get out of bed in the morning.

The other person who left his mark on me during this two days was Anthony Thomson, the co-founder of Metro Bank. It was the last presentation that I attended before heading to the airport. He talked through the challenges of setting up the UK’s first new retail bank for 150 years. The whole philosophy behind the business is that customers (who they like to call fans) will sacrifice a higher interest rate for an improved customer experience and better service. The key metric by which everyone is measured on in the bank is Net Promoter Score. All in all it was a very inspiring story by a very charismatic individual – although that goes without saying because he’s actually from Newcastle. Obvious really.

Ignore the Taxi Driver, it’s Dog Eat Dog out there

I like going to Southern Europe every now and then. On Monday I travelled through Spain to go to Portugal. I was most amused by the waiter in Madrid Airport who clearly believed he was a matador. Every gesture was excessively overdone and as he handed me back my credit card, all that was missing was him stamping his right foot and clacking a set of maracas in his left hand above his head (better that than him sticking a sword in the back of my neck and me falling down prostrate at his feet I suppose).

The improbably sun tanned and youthful yet silver haired taxi driver with his Ray Ban sunglasses in Lisbon was another character. Despite us being unable to communicate during the 15 minute journey from the airport, as I left his car and picked up my suitcase from the boot he started to well up and hugged me as if I were his long lost brother. I know times are hard in Portugal but I wasn’t expecting a tip of 60 centimes to warrant such a reaction.

That said life was very different as soon as I checked into my businessman infested hotel. I do know they say that business is dog eat dog but it’s been a long time since I had to prowl the floors of my hotel at the crack of dawn to find a stray ironing board and iron to ensure I looked vaguely presentable at 8AM. Humpf.

Pich de Toulven: Mug Shot

A photo from a recent outing we had at the weekend. I thought you might be interested to see what Pich actually looks like given you've heard so much about him.

Cocky Philistine and Steady Eddy

We’re now at the end of a week where I have been home helping ensure that everything is in order ahead of Sandie starting work again in Pau. Even apart from the fact that Sandie claimed not to be tired for about half a day this week (throughout the week it was me ensuring siesta time was carefully protected as stirring babes were whisked away before they turned into bawling brats), I can also safely say that we have made significant progress and that our flat in the grounds of the stud farm is now beginning to feel like a real home.

I am particularly proud of my new office space with its high speed internet connection, quiet reading area and gentle vanilla aroma that wafts around the place. I even managed to get my brand spanking new HP printer working tonight so I am feeling particularly chuffed (not yet on wireless – that will have to wait until one of my brothers visits). In keeping with my limited but effective “Steady Eddy Northern Grit” style, I tediously following the instructions booklet step by step (maybe that’s also in part the effect of a week of IKEA furniture). I had decided very early on that I was not going to be beaten by this particular piece of technology. The fact that I can even get double sided, four-pages-to-a-sheet print outs means I will be going to bed tonight a very smug man indeed (note that the fact that headers, footers, and page numbers are not printed is definitely not a reason for rain on this particular parade).

One other thing I was particularly proud of was Maxime’s bedroom – even before 9AM this morning I had stuck 10 big numbers on his bedroom wall in a very artistic fashion. (I have to confess that, for a 2 year old, he does seem to be pretty good with counting – clearly something that comes from his mother who never travels anywhere without her trusty calculator). However I was particularly annoyed when I walked into his bedroom at 5PM to see all of them, bar the number four, either rolled up in a sticky ball or stuck somewhere on his bed. He’s clearly either destined to drop out of school by the age of eight, or trying to tell me that my pathetic stickers were clearly not stretching enough for him. After ringing the shop to confirm they didn’t have an algebraic or standard deviation version, I painstakingly unpicked the sticky mess that was his bed and stuck them back on his wall with a fierce warning that I wouldn’t accept any such low brow behaviour in the future. As he stood before me half naked, a slipper missing and an inquisitive look on his face, holding his blue elephant by the trunk upside down, I concluded that he had probably got the message thus physical violence was avoided. I think we’re now both ready for a naughty Saturday tomorrow.

20 20

Despite having working in an Indian company for almost a year, this posting has nothing to do with cricket. It relates more to the positive news we received from the hospital today when Gaston and Capucine had their 7 month check up. It seems they are both going great guns and that we need not worry about any of the major problems that premature babies can sometimes have. Capucine is now 6.8KG and Gaston is a portly 7.7KG. The doctor noted how Capucine was extremely "tonique" which basically means she never sits still. As he dictated his notes to be typed up by his secretary, I heard him say that "Capucine is more active than her brother and of an, Irish, temperament" before a wry smile spread over his face.

Flat Pack Office and Chocolate Kisses

Sandie starts back at work next week. As such I am spending most of this week at home (i.e. the stud farm in Pau) to help ensure everything is in order. With me being here a bit more and all the grandparents having helped a lot last week, Sandie and I agreed that she would stay by herself in Biarritz this evening. That way she could go to the cinema, have dinner in a restaurant with other adults, get an early night and have a lie in tomorrow morning, all without fear of any one of our numerous offspring deciding to ruin the plan.

That meant that as of 17H53 I was home alone in Pau with three people who had spent a combined total of 44 months on this planet. I quickly drew the conclusion that I was most definitely in charge. Three of the four of us managed to have a bath, and 100% of participants in this evening’s festivities managed to eat something. All good, although I readily admit that the menu was somewhat limited – milk and milk for Gaston and Capucine; and bread, bread with pate, fougasse (bread for the uninitiated) with chunks of ham and cheese, followed by a tomato and olive croissant (bread, but this time I sold it to Maxime as “pizza”). Despite the lack of variety, Maxime seemed to forgive me at the end of the meal as we struck a deal that he could top off his 2KG of carbohydrates with a chocolate yoghurt so long as he didn’t tell his mother (I thought this dollop of simple sugars would help give dinner a more rounded feel – no pun intended). As Darwin Deez played faintly in the background on the iPod, I felt highly appreciated as Maxime leant over and landed a sloppy chocolatey kiss on my cheek. I don’t think I’m ever going to wash again.

The second part of the evening saw me take the time to put the finishing touches to my new office. I am extremely happy with my new work space with an excellent internet connection, lots of light and a view over the Pyrenees mountains, a big table, a music system and wall hangings of my choice. And to think that it only took three days.... We spent Monday at IKEA in Toulouse, Tuesday assembling flat pack furniture and seeking legal advice from divorce lawyers, and Wednesday was basically farming Sandie off to Biarritz so I could finally get my office exactly how I wanted it. I now just need a new lock for the office door and we can consider it ready for action. Let’s just hope the French government don’t close the stud farm any time soon!

Right, morning shift can start as early as 6H15 so I am off to find a dummy, place it strategically on my bedside table, and then wait in hiding until either the cock crows or Gaston cries. Whoever is first will then get 2 cm of rubber stuck down their throat.

A Siesta Back in the Real World

Whilst I fret about chicken sandwiches and diet cokes, the really important stuff in life is happening back in Pau. We basically moved the family back to the national stud farm today now that Sandie is nearing the end of her maternity leave. That means that Maxime goes back to his Congolese nanny who he absolutely adores. The big difference this time is that he is going to go there with Gaston and Capucine. Mimi is delighted to have him back with the twins – apparently he is keeping everyone smiling and on their toes. Today he proudly exclaimed after having put the babies down to bed, that Mimi no longer had any beds so he didn’t have to have an afternoon nap. Thankfully Mimi’s forward planning was slightly more adept than that of our 2 year old, and off he went when a big bed suddenly materialized before his eyes. Sandie and I both mused over the fact this evening that having a nanny who we trust and who the kids love is a massive advantage and a huge weight off our mind. The fact that she lives a 2 minute drive from the stud farm is just the icing on the cake.

Old Macho Dog, Simple New Tricks

I am back in Zurich tonight. However my normal routine is slightly different this week because rather than being at the client site tomorrow I am taking my boss and his boss on a site visit about 2.5 hours away from Zurich. So it will be me who is the chauffeur this week rather than being ferried around by various taxi drivers. As a result I had to hire a car at the airport tonight.

It is a well known phenomenon that as you get older you get less open to change – people get “set in their ways”. I suddenly realised then tonight that I am getting older; it was only after I had hired the car did the rather attractive girl tell me it was an automatic not a manual car. I had never driven an automatic car so I started to get flustered. However she was just too attractive for me to contemplate any form of embarrassing climb down, so I took my life into my hands, calmly said that everything would be fine (trying to turn a worried grin into a smooth nonchalant smile), and then went for the “learn to drive an automatic in 10 minutes” option. Thankfully there was a rather ugly skin head gent in the car park who was more than happy to show me where Mercedes had decided to hide the cigarette lighter (for the GPS) and how to shift out of “park”.

So this old macho dog learnt a new trick tonight although there is clearly room for improvement....the trip that takes the typical taxi driver around 18 minutes took me nearer 35 (and that doesn’t even include the 10 minutes that I sat in the car looking for the cigarette lighter). I obviously blame the GPS that I brought from home which, for the first 8 minutes of the trip, stubbornly refused to recognise the fact that it had left the bosom of the Basque Country and that it was in Switzerland. The upshot was that I had to guess at various German road signs whilst travelling at 120 KPH. I am sure that didn’t help my cause.

Thankfully I had regained my poise by the time I reached the hotel and as I walked into the bar I caught the eye of the Monday night waitress who, with the nod of a head, scuttled off to bring me my Monday night chicken club sandwich and diet coke. The sandwich was excellent – enough to compensate for that fact that my Monday night bedtime will now be 10.15PM rather than the habitual 10PM. Just call me grandpa.

Saturdays are for Weddings

Saturdays are not black ties and funerals. For those of you who are regular followers of the blog you will recall that Saturdays have been renamed “naughty Saturdays” as Maxime and I head off to the stables for our normal day out which includes dirt, pony rides, young girls, chicken nuggets and ice cream. Today however was definitely more “Tearful and Sad Saturday”. I was up at 6AM and the swirling warm winds and the pink and grey sky meant the whole day smelt of death from the outset. I drove 2.5 hours to the funeral of Cathy and Jean picking up some friends on the way. With over 700 people turning up at the cathedral in Tarbes, it was a very moving affair. Cathy’s mum stood up and talked about the overriding sense of unfairness that plagued the family. Jean’s mother, who had lost her husband only a couple of years earlier, had written a poem which was read out at the end of the service by another family member. It was the most poignant moment of the service. She talked of how Jean had wished to take his “gazelle” to Marrakech and how in Cathy, he had found his Eldorado. She also talked about how her love for Jean would be the reason why she would continue despite the immense sadness she felt in her heart. The poem then finished with a message to the terrorists; she said she would always love them.

Good Riddance Osama

On the 11th September 2001 I remember that I was working in Denning House at 90 Chancery Lane in London. I was working at Andersen Consulting in the Tech Architecture team at that time. A colleague and friend, Harvinder Rao, a Sikh (who was actually a qualified doctor who had decided to reconvert to consulting), was monitoring his stock portfolio on Yahoo that morning. He became quite alarmed as the bottom fell out of the market without any warning or explanation. That precipitated a mass move of 90 or so consultants into a small basement pub next door where we started to watch the fall out of the horrific events of that day. Just under 10 years on, and the day after I blogged about the loss of my friend Cathy to a terrorist attack in Marrakech last week, I woke up this morning to the news of the death of Osama Bin Laden. The obvious question of if the killing had taken place a week earlier could Cathy’s death have been avoided, sprang to my mind. Clearly a useless and forlorn question which couldn’t change the reality of the situation, but it just goes to show how difficult it is to reconcile certain things in one’s mind at times. Many people cheered the death of Bin Laden today. I didn’t, I just regretted the loss of Cathy even more.

Adieu Cathy

The older I get the more convinced I am that life is a series of phases that you typically experience in groups or cohorts of similarly aged people e.g. school, leaving home and going to university, first marriages, first children, first divorces, first grandchildren, first deaths etc. The phase I and many of my childhood friends are currently in is that of “first children”.

I was not ready to be pushed into the group that have experienced the first death of a contemporary. A friend of mine with who I ride horses was one of the seven French people killed last week in the terrorist attack in Marrakech. Cathy Lombard was a beautiful girl who died in last Thursday’s nail bomb attack whilst having lunch in broad daylight. I and the rest of the riders from the club only found out on Saturday morning whilst we were jumping in Gradignan near Bordeaux. It came as something of a shock to say the least. Her horse was in the box next to mine this weekend and it was difficult to walk past Ness Du Loch without thinking about Cathy. Her boyfriend, Jean, was also killed. He was one of the kindest men I had met in a long time.

It’s difficult to comprehend, and it’s certainly very sad to think that I’ll never see her cheeky smiling face again – when I got home from Bordeaux this evening it was tough watching a film of us jumping together last October – a competition that turned out to be one of her last. It’s also difficult to remain open minded to other cultures who might think that this type of behaviour is in any way justifiable. http://www.parismatch.com/Actu-Match/Monde/Actu/Jean-et-Cathy-victimes-du-terrorisme-a-Marrakech-278565/ and http://www.lindependant.fr/2011/05/01/michel-py-la-mort-de-jean-et-cathy-a-provoque-un-vrai-choc-a-leucate,12858.php