"For a Brighter Future"

Losing a child is perhaps the most devastating blow that can be imagined for a family.
All credit to the family of Karim Rayess then for setting up the Tamanna charitable foundation in 2005 to celebrate his short life. The aim of the foundation is simple – turning tears into laughter. It’s a sort of latter day “Jim’ll fix it” for kids who are seriously ill, and they’ve persuaded the British singer James Blunt to give a charity concert at Biel on 27th June, tickets available from Virgin. How have they done that? Well, because a child expressed the wish to see him sing!
Announced at the start of the British Lebanese Business Group’s meeting last Tuesday, it’s being strongly supported by the British Embassy here, as an initiative from a local foundation and as a British cultural event.
Which led us neatly (you'll see why) on to our main speaker, Bashra Salha, who gave us an exposition of the work of an organisation, the British Lebanese Association, set up in the UK during the Civil War by concerned Lebanese living there and British Friends to promote cultural links between the two countries. As a by-product, it has generated money for charities since its inception.
Again, the focus for benefit is the young, and specifically through education. For example, there is a Scholarship Fund for assisting Lebanese young men and women pursue post-graduate courses in Britain and direct assistance to Arc-en-Ciel, who are integrating disabled children into mainstream schools here in Lebanon.
Fund-raising has so far been exclusively in Britain, but this year will spread to Lebanon for the first time.
More details can be found on www.britishlebanese.org and www.arcenciel.org
So our meeting this time was not for planning, and money and facts but to provide us all with the opportunity to reflect on the most important of activities for those of us lucky enough to have achieved some standing in life – to pass our knowledge and wisdom (such as it might be) onto the next generation, and across the spectrum from those with obvious ability and talent and to those whose start has been less fortunate.
And so to the title of this little piece - it's the slogan of the British Lebanese Association's flagship fundraising event this year. A concept, however, with mulitple applications, and even useable in the worst imaginable situations.

Don't forget the Duty Frees

“Did you know the Irish invented duty free shops?” asked an Irish acquaintance a day or two ago.

Now it was April Fools’ Day, suggesting that perhaps I was having my leg gently pulled. On the other hand, “don’t forget the ‘duty frees’!” has long meant get your quota of cheap booze when you travel, so, given the Irish desire to pack away the hard stuff, it seemed quite reasonable that the they might well have invented the idea. Before I get a whole pile of complaints about insulting the Irish, let me point out that a lot of my great-great-grandparents left Ireland in the 1840’s famines. It was only a matter of luck and great good fortune, at least from my perspective, that they caught boats going east to Liverpool and Glasgow, rather than west to New York.

Anyway, I tried to do a bit of checking. The manager of the DFS in Dubai is Irish; the manager here in Beirut is Irish and the connection is there in others around the globe too. One exception is London’s Heathrow. Although the airport is owned by the Spanish, the DFS is owned by an Italian company – QuickGrill – a name that doesn’t really capitalise on any aspect I recognise of the cuisine that country is famous for.

“Famous for” well, let’s strain links a bit and connect to the “Famous Five”, a series of children’s adventure books written by that most English of authoresses – Enid Blyton. At least one of her series (Mallory Towers) is being added to many years after her death – but by a German.

In that spirit of globalisation, the British Company Gauchos which concentrates on Argentine specialities has opened its first restaurant outside the UK here in Beirut and have kindly offered to host the British Lebanese Business Group’s next meeting.

Whoops that wasn’t so much of a digression more heading off in a completely different direction; so, let’s get back to the subject in hand. It seems that there is indeed a very significant Irish business owning and/or operating DFSs all over the globe, so hats off to the Irish for finding a way round customs duties. Who invented them by the way? (Customs duties, not the Irish.) Well it seems that that the Romans did and the Boadicea uprising was at least partly inspired by the abuses of corrupt Roman tax collectors.

There is a sense of irony then that nearly two thousand years after an English revolt against Roman customs duties, the aforementioned Heathrow duty free is owned by Italians, albeit Milanese.

Surgery - the aftermath

I’m really glad to be back home after Wednesday’s surgery at Beirut’s American University Hospital (AUH).

Don’t misunderstand, the hospital staff, all Lebanese, were wonderful. Food appeared at regular intervals. A succession of nurses wrote their names and drew smiley faces on a strategically placed white board and insisted on pouring pain medication into me at regular intervals. I was interviewed on my experience by the head of nursing, the head of administration, a team of no less than six surgical residents (at least I think that’s what they were, sincere apologies if I have their titles wrong). The only problem was that my best thing had become sleeping; I’d suddenly got very good at it, dropping off without warning anywhere, anytime, probably because of all the pain killers! So my main experience was the bed and my major problem staying awake.

Topics of conversation were basic and limited. The sort of questions you’d hesitate to ask yourself in the privacy of your own bathroom had suddenly become subjects for group discussion. Normal rules of modesty and decorum had flown out of the window. “Do you mind if I shave you now, or would you rather wait until you’ve been anaesthetised?” my face was not in the equation, so I decided to watch and at least feel some semblance of control over the process. Some chaps, it seems, get quite exercised over the loss of body hair and can only be “done” when safely unconscious!

Strange it is then that in spite of having a veritable army of highly trained carers able to approach the most sensitive of topics with a disarming mixture of empathy and unconcern, I’m glad to be home in spite of all the problems posed. Problems? Well it’s amazing what we take for granted in daily life – the bed was too low for me to get back out of without assistance, so I spent the first night back home on a recliner – a friend once congratulated us on our swimming pool when seeing the master bathroom, but the sides assumed Everest proportions for a day or so; as for getting in and out of the car, well it’s just as well I can dial out the sound of horns honking.

I am under strict instructions to avoid driving and stairs for a week (especially at the same time, presumably!), and then not to cough, nor lift heavy weights nor take any exercise other than walking for six weeks. I’m not supposed to sneeze either, but have no idea how to stop that happening, oh and I have to watch what I eat but since the visual appeal of food is important to me, I always do that!.

Time to finish, I feel another snooze coming on, but at least I can choose now, the bed or the chair – that’s the main difficulty in being back home, all those decisions!

Surgery? - It's just routine!

On Wednesday I go under the surgeon’s knife.

“Don’t worry, a hernia is a very common problem in men, putting it right is a routine operation with a 96% probability of success,” intoned the instantly likeable fellow whom I’ve chosen to fillet me and stitch me back together again.

Now that sentence really needs some close examination. Routine. ROUTINE!! No it jolly well isn’t. Routine is having a cup of tea on waking each morning, routine is going to the supermarket once a week, routine is changing the bed sheets regularly, historians suggest that the Elizabethan habit of taking a bath twice a year was routine even if it was more regular than frequent. But injecting me with just enough poison to render me unconscious without killing me and then invading my insides with instruments I don’t ever want to see is definitely NOT routine.

And what about that 96% chance of success? Twenty-four to one on as the bookies put it. Pretty well a racing certainty, but would you bet your life savings even at those odds? Put differently, how would you feel about “your captain and crew wish to welcome you aboard KamiKaze airlines, there is a 4% chance of failure, but don’t worry and have a pleasant flight”? Get me to the emergency exit NOW.

Finally how about that rather arrogant “I have chosen” – it’s to give me the impression I’m still in some sort of control. Hmmm Graham, glad to see the art of self-delusion isn’t dead then are we? I was warned that he is a fanatical devotee of a certain European football club, so we consulted the match schedule to ensure there was no possibility of him operating on me the day after his side loses, an eventuality that brings on something akin to clinical depression apparently, and the last thing anyone needs is a suicidal surgeon. See - I’m still at it, kidding myself I’m controlling the date, when it’s actually just the first available one on his list.

Just in case you hadn’t spotted it, underneath this calm Anglo-Saxon sang-froid (this is Lebanon so mixing up languages is er, well, yes that’s the word - routine) logical acceptance is trying hard not to turn into emotional panic.

And then came a ‘phone call from a family friend – “Why didn’t you choose my husband to operate on you, he’s a pioneer in this field!” Oh dear, I’ve managed to offend someone as well. Suddenly the answer struck me, "Sorry, I didn't think he'd be interested in something 'routine'"!

Public speaking anyone? The English Speaking Union addresses the BLBG

What would you do with a spare $100?

Enjoy a celebration dinner for two? Buy a designer label shirt perhaps? Order the top five or so best selling books from Amazon? Start a successful organisation to promote the English language?

“Whoops, sorry, could you run that last one past me again please?” do I hear you say? Certainly, no problem, because that’s exactly what Youmna Asseily did in 2003.

Youmna is chairman of the Lebanese chapter of the English Speaking Union (ESU). A British charity, founded just after World War I, there are now over sixty other chapters in such diverse places as Australia, Brazil and China. Yesterday evening, Youmna addressed members of the British Lebanese Business Group (BLBG) with the stated objective of explaining the work of ESU Lebanon and as an aside showed us the power of oratory in action (that’s speaking to inspire - without the “help” of PowerPoint). A joy to watch and to listen to she was.

To digress, yesterday was International Women’s Day centenary, so to have Youmna address the BLBG on that day was both serendipitous and apposite. Her audience was not quite half ladies, but did include HE Ambassador Frances Guy, and the Director of the British Council, Barbara Hewitt a grouping that would have been rather different in 1911. Given that sixty per cent of UK graduates are now women, I suspect that the currently lowly percentage of women on the Boards and in charge of British companies will have changed dramatically in less than another hundred years.

But back to the ESU Lebanon – Youmna explained that it has four main programs to achieve its stated aim of promoting international cooperation through the use and practice of English. There’s an annual public speaking competition; ESU Lebanon are rightly proud that it was won by a Lebanese student last year, earning him a trip to Buckingham Palace to receive his award from Prince Phillip: doubtless a treasured memory for life. The Debating challenge, drama experience through a tie-up with the Shakespeare Globe Theatre and workshops in creative writing with the help of the University of Iowa make up the other three. Donations and memberships fund these and provide the means for sending a few lucky young people on scholarships too.

If you want to help the work of this organisation or just want to know more, click on the links to go direct to ESU Lebanon’s web-site. And if you can’t think of a way of spoiling yourself with that spare thirty odd dollars, never mind a hundred, you could always become a member of ESU Lebanon with it.

Don't just do something - SIT THERE!

“Don’t make a drama out of a crisis!”

So ran the slogan for an advertising campaign to promote a major insurance company some years ago; strange that it worked really, as theatres are full of people every night who pay to see a drama while crises are no great audience pullers that I’ve noticed.

Since life is supposed to ape art, let’s have a look at books and plays for a bit of inspiration. There’s really only one plot. Hero(ine) needs something badly and there will be dire consequences if (s)he doesn’t get it: Hamlet wants a crown, Harry Potter wants rid of Voldemort, Amanda wants to know who her father is (Mama Mia). Part I – Explanation of the “what” and “why” of the need, usually loss of life, self-worth, love, power or possessions if item isn’t obtained. Part II – Hero(ine) has numerous little triumphs and unexpected set-backs in pursuit of item. Part III – Hero(ine) ascends to glorious success or descends into dismal failure with feared adverse consequences. And it works for Lord of the Rings and Homer’s Odyssey too.

Those surprise set-backs are, of course, crises and the triumphs the resolution of them. Add heat (stir emotion into the mix) and take away light (so we can’t see what’s happening) and there it is – a drama. Well hey-ho, a crisis is a nasty surprise that’s got seriously out of hand and a drama is much the same but with more heat and less light.

This gives us a clue on how deservedly to earn that great complement “(s)he’s a good (wo)man in a crisis.” Keep the lights turned up, the heat turned down and best thinking cap firmly on head. “Analyse before doing anything else” is the first rule of crisis management.

Listen to the news: earthquake, fire, flood, revolution, they’ve all happened before – and people have coped well and/or badly with them (the Titanic was an example of both). So there’s plenty of prior experience in dealing with those sudden surprise set-backs. That leads to the second rule of crisis management, once you know what you’re dealing with, find something that worked previously and use it to make a plan.

A general principle of my life, noted elsewhere on this blog, is applied laziness. Work out once how to do something, then re-apply it. In the course of a crisis, if you can re-use someone else’s plan, do so. There are ethics & laws that mean we cannot steal the creativity, the patents or the work of others, but coping with a crisis? Not at all, use anything available, providing only that it has been proven to work, in short – Plagiarise. Some people call that experience, but, whatever you call it – make a plan. These first two phases (Analyse then Plan) can be summed up as the “don’t just do something, SIT THERE!” part and wow, is that difficult!

Right, we understand the problem; we’ve got a plan to deal it: only after that should we do and then with the utmost despatch. “Action this day” to quote Churchill. Get moving and don’t stop except to test that the plan is working.

There it is, Analyse, Plagiarise, Execute (I’d liked to have written an alliterative ‘exercise’, but the meaning’s wrong) – APE for short. Crisis managed.

Of course, if we want to sell tickets, turn off the lights and turn up the heat to create a drama – not advised. Now I see why the slogan worked.

First Impressions of Saudi Arabia

Finally I’ve seen it, well a bit of it anyway.

I’m talking about the largest Arab country, in size anyway – the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, aka KSA. “What do you think of it?” “How did you find it?” have been common questions both while I was there and since coming back to Lebanon.

Well, it’s like Nevada, but without Las Vegas. It’s very flat, there’s lots of sand and the roads are wide and well made. Pedestrians, however, are rare and the driving standards don’t really match the road system: dawdlers in the fast lane are a regular feature, even though a full tank of petrol is less than a tenner. And there’s a lot of land, so, while real estate and petrol are both ridiculously expensive in London, packets of land and tanks full of petrol are readily and cheaply obtainable.

I liked the appearance of the buildings in Riyadh, not just the spectacular Kingdom Tower (known locally as the bottle opener) and the Al Faisaliyah Centre with which it’s aligned, but the ordinary shops, offices and houses. There isn’t the architectural indigestion that Dubai’s tallest, widest, longest, biggest approach creates, nor is there that feeling of utilitarian concrete overuse apparent in some of the Beirut suburbs, so good marks on that score.

On a completely different note, though having been to a boys only school and men only college at University, single sex education did not inspire me to a life of separation and celibacy. Indeed I used to organise dances and parties at University bringing in young women by coach from single (and opposite of course!) sex teacher training and nursing colleges in outlying small towns. I’ll leave you to imagine the effects of the combination of youthful hormones, dance music and alcohol on groups who hadn’t even seen members of the opposite sex for sometimes weeks. Perhaps, understandably, both the educational establishments that attempted to equip me with knowledge for dealing with life have seen the light and become co-ed.

KSA gave me flashbacks to those times, and not the ones shortly after the coaches had arrived either. The excellent fish restaurant where we lunched, had two doors onto the street – one marked “Restaurant” which was for men only and one marked “Families”. Women do not go out alone and the doors lead to completely separate establishments on different floors. I did not see anyone of the female persuasion neither in the two businesses visited, nor on the streets, nor behind the wheel of a car the whole time I was there; those on the plane from Beirut magically evaporated at airport arrivals to reappear only in the departure lounge, I really hope they hadn’t been there the whole time.

Home life, at least the one I was delighted to share for all too short a time with my step-daughter, her husband and their three kids, seemed like an oasis of normality – and then friends of theirs arrived and a party happened centred on an Indian take away so even more social normality, according to my standards anyway.

I’d been warned not to speak to strangers, but predictably ignored that. I asked a fellow traveller if I was in the right queue at the airport check-in area, he was a local and instead of the curt “yes” normal in most places, proffered his hand and struck up a conversation, in English, before we went to our separate queues, and that made me feel good about the place.

On balance then, I’m glad to have been and seen, and, having broken the duck so to speak, will go back, not much future for it as tourist destination though. Oh, sorry I didn’t answer the second question, “how did I find it”. Well I didn’t, I let the pilot do that.