When I was an amorous teenager, I wrote a lot of bad poetry, songs and once the sketch of a novel, with tales of heartache and unreturned crushes. Essentially, I spent much of my teenage years (and my twenties!) wallowing in the belief that it fueled my creativity - and that my experience was unique.
I'm not sure why, but I had flashbacks of sitting in my bedroom, listening to REM whilst writing dubious verse as I considered the departure of my manager, friend and mentor, Andy Coulthurst, as MD of Motors.co.uk. I suspect the following will make him (and possibly you) highly uncomfortable. But I'm no longer the cowardly seventeen year old that would let opportunity pass him by, today I want to celebrate it!
I'm not sure why, but I had flashbacks of sitting in my bedroom, listening to REM whilst writing dubious verse as I considered the departure of my manager, friend and mentor, Andy Coulthurst, as MD of Motors.co.uk. I suspect the following will make him (and possibly you) highly uncomfortable. But I'm no longer the cowardly seventeen year old that would let opportunity pass him by, today I want to celebrate it!
In particular, I wanted to highlight the importance of a good mentor. Someone who provides you with a new way of thinking, pushes you to new limits and helps you enjoy the journey.
It's not always been nice words, I remember once being mentored with the following gem: "when I see you playing fantasy football at your desk, it makes me want to throw your computer through the fucking window!". It took me a while, but I eventually realised the lesson was to be conscious of how you are perceived in the workplace. I also no longer play fantasy football.
From each of my mentors, I have copied things in the hope that I can come near to their standards. For Andy, it will be his boundless enthusiasm, energy and ability to always conjure new ideas. I must no longer retreat within myself when things get hard, and fight negativity with positivity. A true salesman's ability to move on from rejection to the next opportunity. (an approach that would have been much more advisable as a teenager than the drawers of poor poetry I accumulated)
So whilst it might be weird to write poems about your colleagues (another mentor once told me that), I think it's fitting to remember Andy with a bad poem. Enjoy and feel free to judge, I don't care!
My Master's Voice
"Brilliant" he said, every time.
And, for him, it always was. Can it now be for me?
From his energy I'm fully charged,
For the next challenge on our path.
We conquered Vegas, on the front row,
of our International Leadership Conference.
The most willing and driven of servants,
In focused pursuit of our shared dream.
The Starsky to my Hutch,
The Maggie to my Dennis,
I must now emerge from the chrysalis
He ordered me to build in his vision.
My tea is now stronger, my resolve firmer,
My energy unbounded, my accent northerner.
Ask me how I am? And like my master
I'll always reply "Brilliant".
