lifeofyablon.com

I used to be a really annoying person in a drama. That person who tries to stay calm but manages to amplify the tension by either (nervous) giggling or asking a billion useless questions.

Our Longboat besties have recently invested in a sizable floating vessel. She is stunning, full of all those mod cons you’d die for in your home, let alone on a boat. Catalina is her name and, since receiving her for her 40^th birthday, my friend is fast learning the ropes. Courses for horses, practical hours with Captain Jim and …. well, each excursion brings its challenges – and there is probably no better way to learn.

Small loving the speed

Anyway, yesterday we had a bit of a boat drama.

In short, we made the error of coming out of the channel (in the bay), seeking a perfect fishing spot. The water suddenly became very shallow and the boat grounded. Engines immediately failed and when we tried to drop the anchor, it JAMMED. As if on cue, the wind and current picked up rapidly and before we could anchor down with the back anchor, we found ourselves (these things always happen at speed) floating fast towards the rocky sandbank, close to a seriously concrete bridge.

friend at the helm

And there appeared our Christmas angel, in the form of hipster Jake and Nelly his stunning dog. When he could have hollered (Yanks don’t shout) obscenities at us from dry land, he simply waded out, hopped on board and instructed us kindly.

our Christmas angel

and his dog Nelly

A flag using a towel tied to a pole was made to attract attention to ourselves and (this is the best bit) my Him was volunteered to stand in the freezing water and hold the (heavy) front of the boat to prevent any more driftage. For the best part of an hour.

SeaTow (Think AA on water but less friendly) eventually arrived and got us out of our pickle.

Friend restarted the motor and carefully and calmly steered us back into the marina. Once we had cold beers in hand, MY did we laugh….

Interestingly – glancing at my camera roll – I noticed that the drama had me refocusing my lens and capturing the whole episode… probably as a tension diversion… hence being able to share our comic adventure here.

Whatever floats your boat, I suppose.

the kids in the cabin thought the drama was BRILLIANT

An old friend sent me an email this morning which I opened over my cooked breakfast. At a dinner party last night, she reported, the subject of blog writing had come up as some of the guests had aspirations to start their personal blog.  Life of Yablon had been cited as an example and its contents had been chewed over… while quaffing some fine wine, I’m sure.

Reading the email I felt a PANG. Not (as I used to) because of my hang-up cringe excuse for a career as a writer but because my poor neglected blog could hardly be called a regular soapbox nowadays. My voice (although He would hasten to deny that I have ever neglected my voice), my ex-day-job, my online home of constant self-indulgent drivel…. all seem to be a distant memory.

You see, the harder I have worked this year, the less I have had any time and energy for Life of Yablon– despite having promised Lord Y that the posts would keep on coming through thick / thin.

Of course, anyone who works in a fast-paced work environment will nod adamantly as I sit here and complain of the total creative drain I feel at the end of a long day. [Plus recently I’ve been re-cranking my middle-aged brain to tune into with 11+ Maths and English papers in my ‘free time’.]

But instead of droning on about the lack of time and inclination I have clearly been suffering, I wanted to report back on something really interesting I have learnt from my back-to-office work life. Observing curiously as those (much younger than me) integrate themselves into their daily grind, I have had a couple of revelations. Some are more academic than others, some are edgier than others but almost all are keen – keen to learn, have fun and move onwards and upwards in their careers. In short, normal kids in the media world.

Where I would have presumed IQ was all they needed to excel, I have instead noted that it’s more about their EQ – yes, that’s their emotional intelligence – as they set about managing clients/teams/media expectations. But there’s a further catch here…. EQ makes zero difference when those who are emotionally tuned in are not quite the genuine article.  Because genuine people don’t even need to try to make people like them. It’s that effortless quality we’d all die for and makes for perfectly powerful persuasion.

My next massive learning (and those who might work with me might be quaking here) is that I now have proof that authenticity requires a certain amount of vulnerability – crucially mixed with transparency and a healthy dose of integrity. If you really want someone to listen to the point you’re making, say it in a friendly way – concisely but with confidence–keeping it REAL the whole way.

So there you go. I’m writing less (here) but learning more (there) and all the time working out what works best in storytelling. So far it seems that a genuine attitude is much more important than knowing all the answers. So maybe my blog had a point after all…

I was never very good at being that hostess with the most-est. All the excitement up front – the invitation, stocking up the fridge, fresh flowers by the bedside and the sweet-smelling bread in the oven. But then, as soon as the guest has unpacked, I start glancing at the clock, waiting for this long-awaited friend to depart.  You see, home is my sanctuary; a place where I totally switch off, shuffle around in slippers and wear BAD tracksuits.

But this particular guest was never invited. He simply dug his way into our lives and now seems to act like he’s ruling our roost. OUR casa is HIS casa, or so it seems.

Of course I immediately called in the 4^th emergency service to get this furry (non)friend evicted. Traps were set and poison laid down. But no, he still reins on; over us mere lodgers in his castle.

Now known by our other 5* hotel guests as ‘The Other Him’, the pest is dead (if only) keen on midnight feasting, tireless scurrying and general frolicking.  In short, TOH is living it up chez nous. And I’m now not seeing the funny side of this intruder. So another appointment has been booked and this time it’s HIM or ME.

I know, I know. Those who live surrounded by green fields have many such infiltrators, some even with longer tails. I know that he’s a great deal smaller than me. I know he’s potentially harmless (if you don’t count the countless health risks carried by these pests) but I absolutely refuse to cohabit one more day with an overly curious, entirely intrusive, trap-dodging RODENT.

This column first appeared in The Lady where I am their Mum About Town.