There are times when I can admit to having bad ideas but last week’s fiasco plumbed new depths.
Why did I ever agree to do the monthly staff-briefing in the style of a poetry slam? And why compound this insanity by inviting the chairman along?
The idea has noble precursors, allegedly.
“The Epic of Gilgamesh informed a Sumerian audience of noble activity, heroism and disaster planning. Its version of the Flood offers parallels with what happened to our stores last month! So why,” our floridly psychotic director of learning and access suggested in a deft but complete non sequitur, “shouldn’t we give poetry a thrash?”
The contortions that colleagues put themselves through with metres, haikus, sonnet forms and Dylanesque half-rhymes just to get the staffing timetable changes announced, was toe-curlingly embarrassing.
Granted, it may yet turn out to be another literary artform, but our little escapade went viral when a disgruntled staff member leaked our innovative but incomprehensible dub briefing to the local rag.
We got satirised as the “Bonkers Bards of Merseybeat Museum” with a smartphone picture of me looking more like Lady Gaga than Roger McGough.
When my chair, a man of conservative tastes and politics, rang up two days later to discuss the unhelpful press coverage, to my amazement he said he quite liked it.
“Naturally I’d have preferred iambic pentameters for the business round-up, but the dub version of the board report will take some beating! Mersey-beating, wouldn’t wonder!” he chortled, “Happy New Year!”
Is there a muse of unexpected reprieves?
Why did I ever agree to do the monthly staff-briefing in the style of a poetry slam? And why compound this insanity by inviting the chairman along?
The idea has noble precursors, allegedly.
“The Epic of Gilgamesh informed a Sumerian audience of noble activity, heroism and disaster planning. Its version of the Flood offers parallels with what happened to our stores last month! So why,” our floridly psychotic director of learning and access suggested in a deft but complete non sequitur, “shouldn’t we give poetry a thrash?”
The contortions that colleagues put themselves through with metres, haikus, sonnet forms and Dylanesque half-rhymes just to get the staffing timetable changes announced, was toe-curlingly embarrassing.
Granted, it may yet turn out to be another literary artform, but our little escapade went viral when a disgruntled staff member leaked our innovative but incomprehensible dub briefing to the local rag.
We got satirised as the “Bonkers Bards of Merseybeat Museum” with a smartphone picture of me looking more like Lady Gaga than Roger McGough.
When my chair, a man of conservative tastes and politics, rang up two days later to discuss the unhelpful press coverage, to my amazement he said he quite liked it.
“Naturally I’d have preferred iambic pentameters for the business round-up, but the dub version of the board report will take some beating! Mersey-beating, wouldn’t wonder!” he chortled, “Happy New Year!”
Is there a muse of unexpected reprieves?
