I’ve had a really, really busy week, with more than enough rushing round London to keep me fully occupied, and suitably sore-footed by the end of every sweltering day. And business is great, thanks – July invoices just gone out, and for the third month running well ahead of target.
I feel I need to say all that before I get onto what I want to write about, which is the fact that, my goodness, these days it seems an awful lot of people cancel meetings with me at the last moment.
Monday morning began with an old friend texting me to say he was struggling to get an overseas trip organised and please could we refix our breakfast.
On Tuesday there was a date in the diary for a coffee with another one-man brand consultant, and not having been in touch for a while I emailed, called and texted to make sure he was still on: literally on my way down the escalator at Warren St he texted back to say he didn’t realise the date had been confirmed and could we refix.
Wednesday should have been an agreeable lunch with another old chum from a well-known financial agency, until he texted an hour or two before to say that he was enmired in pitch madness and could we do it another time.
On Thursday morning it was a meeting booked in with a business partner to discuss a project we’re working on. She called to report that a combination of work and domestic problems meant she couldn’t do it that day.
And then on Thursday evening I turned up at an agency where I’m giving a series of seminars on various aspects of financial services marketing (honest, they’re not as boring as they sound), and we agreed to postpone when it became apparent that I’d be addressing a rather small audience. A combination of the office summer party the previous night, and some big urgent projects keeping a lot of people working late, had reduced the number of those attending to just two. That’s the lot.
I’m not complaining, or not much. I appreciate that these were all meetings that either didn’t need to happen at all (breakfasts, lunches) or didn’t need to happen on that particular day and can perfectly well happen at some other time when the people involved are less frantic. And I’m doing well at not taking it personally, saying to myself that the things people were having to do instead of seeing me weren’t necessarily more important, or more enjoyable, but just more urgent.
But, I must say, although it’s true that during the week I did manage to fit in another 21 meetings of one sort or another pretty much on schedule, it’s not easy to run one’s life efficiently with this kind of level of last-minute turbulence.
Is it just me? Or does this sort – and level – of thing happen to everyone?