Launch and lunch
Generally, not a day goes by where I don’t thank my lucky stars for this gift (generously bestowed after much soul searching by both the other half and myself), of not working. And, to balance that gratitude, not a day goes by that I don’t miss (with a gale force 10, or 7.8 on the richter scale of intensity) my former hectic world of work. The hilariously unmanageable quantity of tasks has gone but so too has the seemingly unending stream of energy, drive and hysterical bleak humour which made the task list bearable and an intriguing “challenge” rather than an interminable “chore”.
The side of the scales was down on the “thank” side with absolute certainty though, last Tuesday. K’s boat was launched and as Mrs K, I wasn’t just asked along to the official bit (enough of a treat) but joined in the pre-launch (nerves jangling) sociable dinner at our local Japanese restaurant and the post-launch (ties off, hair down) drink or two. So, I got to join in all the craic and the banter and attend a lovely – indeed very swish – event with none of the stress or anxiety of the planning.
All work has its drawbacks, its factors which make the job a darn site more difficult than it needs to be and, apparently, its idiotic individuals who are supposed to be on your team but appear to be so busy waggling their oar about in the air, forcing the rest of you to constantly check and balance your own stroke to compensate or make up for their lack of pulling, that you end up expending an equal amount of effort muttering under your breath that really it would be much simpler to clonk them over the head with said oar and take them out of the equation.
I’ve always been impressed with K’s work practice of hiring and firing individuals with a consistent desire to reward and retain the hard working, capable individuals (who may need coaching) and get rid – as fast as possible – of any time wasting, work shirking eejits. Mistakes are allowed, but not many. Better to be one who is unsure and asks questions (so long as these questions don’t fall into the “daft” category) than one who believes – and continually shares the fact - that they know it all. The latter tend to reach their pay off day faster than the former.
However, climb the organisation tree and you still find a few who you’d probably not want to share a lifeboat with, unless you were taking them along as bait. I found it hilarious to listen in to the venting of spleens and boiling of blood of co-workers who would start every new tale of woe with, “God, I promised I wasn’t going to talk about him/her tonight, but the thing is …” It didn’t matter that I didn’t know who was who or what was what. I could empathise with the story. It might be factors other than hugely constrained budgets, narrow-minded politicians/civil servants or the inability of resources to stretch to see that all that was needed was done (enough being well shy of a the feast that optimal might have been). Villains in suits haunt every workplace making life more difficult than it needs to be, but they do create a bond for co-workers to pull together in the face of.
The next day rang more bells. An important event, carefully planned, over which you have maybe – at best – partial control. At least four separate organisations involved, their contributions to the project needing to be accurately reflected. The correct individuals given pride of place on the podium, the speech makers carefully briefed.
The launching was a spectacular affair, efficiently organised and carefully planned to include pre-event coffees, buses to the boat, a red carpet to the podium, a covered podium in case it rained. This was all the surface. Beneath us, a specially trained and necessarily careful team of 10 alternated between concentrated activity and intense stillness in their rows of five, port and starboard. Their task was to undertake the removal of the last pins and blocks before, from a safe and sensible distance, a rope is broken and bottle is smashed.
The photographer’s lense might have been on the beautifully kimono clad dignitary, but mine was firmly on the blue boiler-suited gents beneath the boat. My shoulders must have dropped at least an inch when I saw the foreman for each team raise his green flag. Then I was able to take in and enjoy the unfurling of streamers and showers of confetti that fell as the boat slipped bottom first into the water, with exactly the sort of splash you’d expect.
We were then photographed on the slipway, the boat – which I suppose I should really be calling a ship – being gently nudged into position by tugs behind us. Split into two groups, we were then taken on a tour of the machine factory – if anywhere ever called for Bond and a group of baddies to run through, this was it. Armed, or rather eared, with headsets so as we could hear our guide’s detailed description above the din we moved through two gigantic warehouses. I couldn’t help but expect the 007 theme or maybe Mission Impossible to fade in, but it didn’t. Not even during our scary walk along 30 metre high gangway to look down on the chaps happily clambering over their big bits of metal and machinery, Daniel Craig could have put in an appearance, held my hand while my knees wobbled unhelpfully.
It was cold in the shipyard, especially when you are wandering around in posh trousers rather than the climatically more appropriate three layers of thermal, normal and boiler suit. The organisers had thought of that too, though, and as well as being handed a small bottle of water for our transfer up to Okayama to the celebratory lunch, we were handed hand warmers to take the chill off our frozen fingers.
What with the various organisations involved in the project, there were a number of speeches, made slightly longer by the necessity to translate. At arms length from it all, and not being worried about whether or not the carefully briefed individuals kept to their brief, I was able to just watch and listen.
There are as vast a range of styles and abilities when it comes to public speaking as there are languages in the world, but some things are universal. Before barely the first sentence had passed, even before it has been translated, you can tell who is worth listening to and who is not. It has, I think as much to do with how the speaker holds him or herself as it does anything else, combined to their approach to the task at hand I suppose their manner.
You can tell that the less confident speaker has something more interesting to say than some of the bold ones. You can tell quickly whether the speaker is going to go over or stick to his/her allotted time. You can tell even before the translation, that you are going to want to hang on to every word that this person is saying. You can wonder how on earth this person got to the top of their organisation or you can see instantly why they have arrived at the position they hold. And you can be mightily impressed at the individual who delivers his entire speech in perfect English.
This one gentleman excelled all others – talking not in platitudes and generalities and hopes of continued good working relationships, not about the surface of things, he spoke of the things underneath. The risks for their sector, the demands the public will make, and should make, of their industry and the necessity to maintain a professional awareness that alternatives must continue to be examined. His speech stood out, for its clarity and desire for understanding, embracing and accepting that they, in their wee bit of Japan, would work - that we all must work – very hard to solve this one, tricky but necessary part of the world’s worries.
The serious bit over, the speakers donned ceremonial jackets, lifted mallets and broke the saki cask. We were each presented with a wooden drinking vessel and toasted the ship. The saki tasted of wood to me, but that might be a harsh judgement, given that the glass of champagne clutched in my other hand was the first bit of alcohol to cross my lips in two weeks. It, needless to say, tasted lovely.
We were then treated to a wonderful buffet – and when I say treated, I mean treated. It was a stand up affair, with carefully placed tables round which you could gather to rest your glass or plate, or saki cup. And you could opt for self service, only you didn’t need to. Around six impeccably dressed and made-up ladies would come and ask if you would like to try some sushi or sashimi, maybe some beef or some chicken … I said yes to just about everything and sampled about six dishes of fish which looked so beautiful it almost seemed a crime to eat them.
After the first two, I realised that on the whole, raw fish is lovely. There was I think only one mouthful that I would gladly of deposited back on to the plate rather than swallowed, but being in such a well mannered country I nodded, made big eyes and swallowed, following it with a speedy champagne chaser that probably looked a bit like I’d not seen alcohol, oooh, in two weeks.
The eyes and the tastebuds having been treated and surprised by the sushi and sashimi bearing geisha/waitressess, the next act only came to notice with a dimming of the lights and the first few beats by a traditional Japanese drummer. I was so intent on wondering how he could get such a wide range of sounds from the three drums before him, I didn’t notice the two dancing lion/dragons who had, at some point, joined him on stage until their writhing blocked the drummer’s arms from view. The dance was amazing, rhythmic and beautifully untamed, only hinting at the control that must go into its production.
The surface actions of manoeuvring the lion’s head, co-ordinating turns and twists made it tricky to believe there was just one person within the mask and gown that made up the lion’s garb. And before I knew it, the lions were somehow – with no visible suggestion that they could see out – negotiating the transfer from stage to floor and winding their way through the audience.
I had, for reason of a shaky hand blurring my flash free photos, knelt down beside the buffet table to watch. Before I knew it, one of the lions was circling or rather semi-circling me and then came to a dead stop behind me and bit my head. What can you do when everyone is smiling and clapping at you? Blush. Then notice that the other lion on the other side of the room is getting a slightly different reception from your other half. K, not one to take things quietly had thrown his arms around the other lion and kissed it as it tried to bite him.
One of the geisha/waitresses came up to me and explained that it is believed to be great luck if the lion chooses to bite you, they might dance round one or two people, but will rarely bestow their good fortune with a bite. How remarkable with around 100 in the audience that the lions had chosen on their opposite sides of the room – port and starboard - to bite us both. Maybe we shouldn’t read too much into these things, but on the surface, it seems a pretty an unlikely coincidence …
