Statistically, public speaking ranks higher in stress terms than almost any other activity. Quite what the parameters were, for research that produced this startling fact, am not sure. Find it hard to believe addressing an audience could cause more angst than say, a visit to a man in a mask who runs out of the room whilst zapping you with x-rays before returning to do things with a needle and drill.

However, there seems little doubt that whilst there are those who like nothing better than a captive audience, the reactions of many of the rest of us range from it being a minor chore to a knee-knocking, sweaty palmed endurance test. So in spirit of helpfulness, let’s look at a few things that might come to your aid.

Of course before you stand up and give it, you have to write the wretched thing and if at this very moment you’re sitting in front of a blank screen, fingers poised you’ll be aware that this is often easier in theory than it proves in practice.

Obviously there are always horses for courses. What goes down a treat from the Best Man at a wedding won’t be quite as appropriate as a business conference Keynote Speech. There are though some general rules which apply equally as well to one as to the other:

•  Keep it as short as you reasonably can. You may well have put blood, sweat, tears and the best years of your life into composing the thing, but shorter is still always better.
•  Never start your speech with ‘A’ is for . . .  this induces a dreadful sense of foreboding in your audience who immediately see where you’re going with this and can promptly lose the will to live, let alone listen.
• Do try and start your speech with a small joke, bearing in mind all the while that you’re not on the Edinburgh Fringe, so don’t need to have them rolling in the aisles. And when I say a small joke I mean it – there’s a time for shaggy dog tales and this isn’t it.
•  If you’re lucky enough to get a laugh, savour it. Let people chuckle before you hurtle onwards and upwards. Which brings us to another important point . . .
•  Speak slowly. Slowly and clearly. And do remember, if you gabble, you force yourself to breathe quicker. This results in a lot of swift inhaling in order to remain standing and although an indrawn breath is normally no problem, up close and personal to a microphone, it can sound truly startling.

Don’t forget body language is just as important as anything you’re saying. Raised shoulders are a sign of tension. Not a good look. It’s a fact, when people are watching you, many of them will unconsciously mimic your movements. Bearing in mind most of us aren’t swan-necked at the best of times, think how a roomful of ears on shoulders is going to look. Do everyone a favour, shake those shoulders down.

If you’re nervous, don’t hold any notes. Place them securely on the table in front of you. The sight of a shivering sheaf of papers will unnerve your audience.  Even if you’re not a nervous speaker, your body will still probably react to the situation by shooting adrenaline into your system. This puts you into fight or flight mode – a basic physical reaction undeniably handy back in the ice-age, snout to snout with a sabre tooth. Possibly not quite so essential when addressing a not unduly hostile crowd.  

So there you are, awash with adrenaline and as you’re not planning to fight or run (hopefully), all you can do is accept your body’s only trying to help. You might find it useful to think of this bodily reaction as similar to your kids doing the washing up – well-intentioned but ultimately more trouble than it’s worth. An adrenaline rush usually however gives you a dry mouth. So have a glass of water to hand. Panellists, musicians, actors, indeed anyone who has to perform in public is subject to exactly the same physiological reactions, so be reassured, you’re probably feeling no better or worse than a contingent from the Royal Shakespeare Company.

A glass of wine may help relax you prior to speaking but take into account your own limitations. Sliding gently under the table, five minutes before you’re due on, isn’t going to do anyone any good. Finally, don’t forget to include everybody as you speak. Look up, make eye contact, turn your body slightly to face people. And smile, smile, smile. Most people are instinctively polite, they’ll smile back and you’ll all feel more cheerful even if your speech is truly dreadful.

~ end ~

Joan of Arc heard voices, which did her no favours at all.  I, on the other hand, hear lots of beeps and pings and whilst not necessarily heading down quite the same dramatic path as she, can’t help but worry a little.

Setting aside household chores for the weekend isn’t so much a deliberate domestic goddess strategy, more a question of imminent dearth of clean plates and underwear. Have now though whipped in the washing, packed the dishwasher to the gills, given the go-ahead to the tumble dryer, switched on the robot vacuum cleaner and (eat your heart out Jamie) thrown a lot of stuff into the slow cooker which in due course, and with a fair wind, should emerge as a casserole.

Am tempted to fling self onto nearest flat surface for a rest but feel this might be a bit previous and indeed self-indulgent. Could of course tackle linen cupboard which has become somewhat twitchy for reasons best known to itself. Don’t know what on earth’s changed in there but every time I open the door, several bath towels fall on my head, so there’s obviously something gone wrong. However, reaching relevant shelves means standing on a chair and I have busy week ahead so figure a fall’s the last thing I need.

Whilst such rationalization might not work for everyone, it satisfies me and nip upstairs to finish and check some notes and a quote for a client which should go off first thing on Monday. Sadly become distracted by the siren call of Tweet Deck and spend a fair amount of time responding, looking up interesting things mentioned and tutting that so many people are, like me, happily whiling away a whole morning saying nothing hugely important to each other. Addictive or what?

By this time, something’s beeping downstairs. Small, but I hope helpful, suggestion to the technical brains behind our domestic gadgetry. If instead of a beep, the machine could identify itself ie, ‘This is your dishwasher speaking…’, it would save a heck of a lot of time mistakenly trying to force open the washing machine door in mid-cycle. Shall say no more!

Have not started the week in a good way. On the phone to a new client, taking notes, sipping coffee and being consummate professional when large white dog (daughter’s) launches itself from the door onto to my lap in paroxysm of excitement at visiting. Phone heads left, coffee heads right, hang on to professional manner with some effort. Don’t like to shout ‘Down’ as feel this could confuse client, neither do I feel can mention there’s now a new enthusiastic member of the team, lapping coffee out of my in-tray. Decide to just continue discussing marketing strategy.

~ end ~

There’s certainly no doubt that life with all its little vicissitudes, might be an altogether smoother running exercise if phone callers would only leave their name at decipherable speed, spell out anything more complicated than Smith and leave a considerate pause whilst you jot.

However, I usually find whilst am still furrow-browed over the name – is that their’s or their company’s? – they’re hitting me hard and at speed with the vast variety of numbers on which I can call them back, if only I could write them down in time.

And of course that’s just landlines, mobiles are a different ball game altogether. And yes, I hear you. I know my iphone can do more clever things in a minute than I can do in an hour. I know it knows who called last, has stored their message somewhere and probably even, to pass the time, given them their own special little ring-tone so I’ll know who they are if they call again. Does this help me – does it heck!

This world’s split into two sorts. Those who run headlong into the arms of technology with little moans of pleasure, embracing each new innovation with fevered fervor – let’s call them the Cans. And there are those who don’t – let’s label them the Cannots.

Cans have their mobile or blackberry no less than 2 inches away from their right hand at any given moment, night or day. They are always poised and quivering, alert to the next beep, burp or ping signifying an email, a text, a reminder and yes, even possibly a phone call. They will, when it sounds, respond instantly – think Gary Cooper, High Noon.

Cannots (and I’m guessing you’ve sussed where I am on this) never really expect their phone to go off in the first place and tend initially to think that attractive little tune they’re hearing is something on the radio. This leads to a short time lapse before they make a belated lunge for their handbag or briefcase. Unfortunately by the time they’ve located the wretchedly teeny weeny object, wedged securely between make-up bag and cheque book and tangled up in spare pair of tights, they’ll of course have missed the call. Should they then by some miracle be able to locate any message left, it will have almost certainly have been left by someone apparently speaking in tongues and at great speed. Which rather brings me back to where I started.

So just a short appeal on behalf of the Cannots. Remember we’re different – not better, not worse, just different. And if you’re a Can and you come across a hot, flustered and frustrated Cannot be gentle not patronising, kind, not cruel and for pity’s sake SHOW ME WHICH RUDDY BUTTON TO PRESS!

~end ~

Discover a merry band of wasps busily buzzing back and forth from brickwork outside the spare room window. I’m no David Attenborough but immediately suss a nest. Helpful wasp control chap recommended by neighbour turns up and sucks air through his teeth. (Is there a course you go on to learn how to do that?) ‘Yup,’ he says, ‘Yup, lot of ‘em in there.’ and looks at me suspiciously, like I’ve been recruiting from other nests. Lubricated with a couple of cuppas  he does his stuff, the morals of which I’d rather not go into too deeply. ‘Might find the odd straggler.’ he warns as he departs. He was kidding not. Keep encountering small accusatory yellow bodies and hastily consigning them to the loo, that’s how I know wasps don’t flush. Unlike some of us.

At women’s networking group meeting. Of the twenty or so present at least a dozen of us are shedding jackets, fanning faces with the agenda and muttering ‘Hot in here? Or is it me? Flipping hormones – whose idea were they anyway?  Mind you, was a bit hot and bothered when I arrived. Of course, in an ideal world you should roll up to a business meeting after a leisurely drive, slide into a conveniently located parking space just outside and sally forth cool, unruffled and in full business mode.

Unfortunately, prior to this particular meeting get stuck in deliberately-placed-on-my-route roadworks. Make it, with minutes to spare, only to find not half an inch of parking space within running distance. Drive around for what seems like ages getting less cool and more bothered by the minute and muttering the sort of words you’d slap the children for using. Finally park in Rhett Butler spirit, if they tow it, frankly my dear …. ! Hurtle into hotel at which point should of course be in a position to clearly, concisely and confidently convey all relevant  business information to anyone who chooses to shake my decidedly clammy hand. Can hear myself making rather less sense than I’d like.

Get home and make a list of things I need to do better, like setting off earlier and wearing thinner clothes. Place this alongside list of things to do today and on top of list of things should have done yesterday. Yes, indeed, am one of those people who, along with the vicissitudes of everyday life, find themselves additionally burdened with an embarrassing problem no-one really likes to talk about.

Lists of course aren’t a bad thing, indeed there’s nothing so handy to guide you round the supermarket as a well-tuned one, providing of course you haven’t left it in the car, posted it by error with the day’s mailing or forgotten to tear it off the kitchen pad. And there’s certainly no harm and a good deal of comfort in a trusty Things To Do nestled next to your computer.

However, we all know even a good thing can go too far and if you start getting twitchy when pen and paper aren’t to hand and a far-away look in the eye as you try and mentally bullet-point items, you can be pretty certain you’re probably well on the way to la la land and need to haul yourself back from the brink before it’s far too late.

Talking of warning signs, opening the chest freezer this evening, am more than a little put out to discover carrier bag containing three tins of pineapple, two tins of a very nice pea soup and a large bottle of Lenor (Spring Breeze).  Cannot for one moment imagine how these could have landed in here, certainly have no recall of doing anything quite so daft. One thing’s for sure though, this small mental aberration must have occurred a little while ago because the tins of pineapple are ready to rupture, the soup is in a solidly sorry state and the Lenore isn’t half as breezy as it was. Worrying or what?     ~ end ~

Recent article I wrote for a newsletter was on public speaking and that some people dread it so much they’d sooner have a root canal. Hot on publication, indignant and lengthy email arrives from dentist who’s taken great umbrage at what he’s interpreted as heinous slight on his profession.  Honestly, you couldn’t make it up!

I hastily email back to say, last profession I’d ever want to offend is the dental one. Am tempted to add that would consider it foolish in the extreme to get on the wrong side of people wearing masks and bearing needles but feel this would only add insult to injury. So stick to profuse and humble apology and express surprise that my light-hearted musings should have caused anybody any distress.

Anyone else out there with increasingly depressing tendency to start a sentence, get halfway through then completely forget how you planned to end? To counter this small problem, have cultivated habit of  gazing thoughtfully into the middle distance, as if struck suddenly by something of momentous relevance. This gives helpful few seconds to re-gather the threads. Question: why should getting older mean everything starts heading south except for brain cells which head for the hills?

Out for meeting with a web site designer I met at breakfast networking session. Didn’t get a chance to talk to him much at the meeting although he did appear pretty miserable, am hoping he’s cheered up. Turns out he hasn’t. Ever noticed how people fall into three personality categories – radiators give off  lots of warmth, have strong sense of humour and make you feel heaps better, simply for being with them. Drains, whilst often perfectly nice people, veer slightly towards the needy. And occasionally you come across a hoover! Naturally we aspire to radiatorhood but can all, on occasion drift drainward. Hopefully most of us haul ourselves back from the brink before reaching hooverdom.

Fear this time I hit a hoover, which, as long as you’re aware what’s going on, shouldn’t be overpowering – unless of course you’re feeling a tad under the weather. As I sit down and we order coffee, can detect a thumping headache on the way. Knock back a couple of industrial strength painkillers which according to ads will do their stuff in double time because they have superb sense of direction and know exactly where the source of the pain is. Website designer shakes his head gloomily, ‘Painkillers,’ he says, have I thought about stomach bleeding? As it so happens, I graduated years ago with first class honours in hypochondria, so there’s actually nothing I don’t already ‘think’ about on a daily basis.

I pass swiftly over bleeding ulcers and suggest he tells me what he was doing before he decided to set up the web business. He was, he says, a clown. Not sure if he’s kidding, but he doesn’t seem like a kidding sort of a guy. ‘Really?’ I say. Yes he says, he ran a children’s party entertainment company.  ’That must have been hard work.’ I say. ‘Hard?’ he says, ‘Hard? It was bloody torture!’ Feel headache take rapid turn for the worse. Wherever flipping painkillers have gone, it’s certainly not to the source of the pain!

Naturally, If you blather on an enough about trusting your own business instincts and the importance of clarity in communication people start to say, put your money where your mouth is.

So, I’ve grasped the nettle, seized the moment and gone with the flow. The result is 4 small (but bossy. Sound like anyone we know?) business books the first two of which are going to be available as e-books from Tuesday 15th June from my web site.

If you have a moment I’ve slipped in an excerpt below and you’ll see at the base of the page how the actual ebook looks thanks to the magic touch of Gail D’almaine my wonderful book designer.

CHAPTER 6

WAVING OR DROWNING?

Work/Life balance are words that get bandied around a lot and we’re certainly all aware we should take more time for ourselves. Most of us plan to do just that – as soon as we have a moment.

So how important is it that you do rip a hole in the fabric of your day for time out? Actually pretty darn important and it’s not about kindness to yourself at all. It’s just plain common sense that you can only maximise, your business if you’re running on all four cylinders. Talented though we are and amazingly adept at keeping numerous plates spinning at any one time, we’re not working at maximum efficiency or effectiveness if we’ve got brain strain. Nor do stress and creativity sit comfortably together and as for lateral, innovative thinking and spotting opportunity – forget it!

The concern is that so many of us work such silly hours that we actually get used to feeling like a wrung out dishcloth all the time and the danger is we accept that as perfectly  normal and that’s not really very bright is it? And don’t for one moment feel you’re getting a lecture here because I’m sooooo in there with you. Indeed leaning as I do towards the OCD type of personality, I’m probably one of the worst sinners of the lot! However, I’ve recognised it and isn’t that step 1?

This is not a nap, it’s business management

So here’s a suggestion and don’t fall around laughing. In the same way you have to make time in your day for meetings, responding to emails, initiating marketing plans, ordering a new cartridge for the printer and last but of course not least, networking to pull in more business – how about you set aside an hour (30 minutes at a pinch) as an official recharging time. And make it official, put it into your diary every day in the same way you put in a meeting or an arranged phone consultation. And don’t you dare put it down under the heading of self-indulgence, note it as Business Management. And don’t say you can’t because the only person who has to give you permission is YOU!

Which way to the nearest exit?

It may seem a bit daft to be thinking about this now, but actually it’s down to our good old

standby, common sense – and I know you’re going to be sick of this phrase  by the time you’ve ploughed through my ramblings but sorry my friends, there’s no getting away from it.

After all, most times when you get into anything car, plane, shopping centre you’ve a pretty good idea of how you’re going to get out again. It’s not really something you give a huge amount of thought to (except in the case of a plane if like me you’re a hysterically nervous passenger) it’s just something you know.

You do it too, when you invest your hard earned dosh in a house or a flat, it may be somewhere you plan to live for years but nevertheless, part of your decision-making will be based on things like – it’s awfully near the main road, I don’t mind, but what about when I want to re-sell, will that be an isse?

So whilst you’re investing blood, sweat and tears getting into your business, spare a thought as to how, why and when you might want to get out. This might not be for three, five  or twenty years but how cleverly you build now, will dictate how smoothly and profitably you slip on out when the time’s right.

~end excerpt~

Little Black Business e-Books available to download fromwww.createcommunication.co.uk

Anyone else hate ‘See you later’? Makes me want to respond, ‘No you won’t. You’ve never seen me before I pitched up at this checkout and as I’m in on my own tonight, you’re not likely to catch up with me then either!’

Unpleasant phone experience. Leaving my number for a client and can’t for the life of me remember what it might be. Frantic scrabble for a business card which I cover with a faux fit of coughing. How can memory desert you when you don’t want it to yet let you recall with distressing clarity the excruciating moment at a party when you discovered you’d got your dress tucked into your knickers?

Been putting off a cholesterol test for ages. Woman or wuss? I keep asking myself. Over the years have not behaved well when presented with someone in white who wants to take my blood. There are phlebotomists who’ve dealt with me, who’re still in counseling. However, challenges are for rising to. Swallow a couple of paracetamol  on a pain preventative basis and present myself at the surgery. They’ve installed a computer for patients to register their arrival. Slightly problematic, as it’s a touch screen and hand is shaking so badly I keep missing aimed-for icon.

Take my place in waiting room and have a swig or two of Rescue Remedy. Have also taken precaution of bringing cooling menthol stick used for headaches, in the hopes it might prevent me from coming over all unnecessary. In updating the surgery, they’ve installed a loudspeaker to alert the next patient. This is so loud it’s surely beyond a healthy decibel level. Every time it squawks, the whole waiting room jumps as one.

Woman next to me wants to talk. I don’t, so feign strong interest in hastily grabbed leaflet which turns out embarrassingly to be on STDs . We all jump a few more times. Hope there’s nobody in with a weak heart, then it’s my turn. Not easy to walk whilst finishing bottle of Rescue Remedy and scrubbing forehead with 4Head.

Phlebotomist takes one look and can tell she’s got a right one here, ‘Goodness’ she says flinching as wave of menthol hits her. ‘That’s a strong smell. Bit nervous are we?’ Concede that I am indeed but hope she isn’t. We laugh and she gets busy with the black rubber thing. ‘Just relax,’ she says. Relax? Relax is something you do on the sofa with the tv, not what you do when a woman who can’t see straight, because of menthol in her eyes, is looking where to stick her needle.

‘There, all done, not so bad. Just press down firmly.’ I smile, nod, rise and descend again quickly as room starts to fade. Not to worry I say, euphoric with the fact it’s over ‘Always happens, will just stick head between knees for a bit.’ Half an hour, 3 glasses of water and two and a half faints later, make my way home. Have rather complicated but vital business plan to write for a restaurant client, might just leave that for this afternoon – in his interests!

Client meeting first thing, someone I’ve done work for in the past’s bringing her chartered accountant husband who wants his website revamping. Can see as they arrive he’s here under protest.

We discuss what he might like. He’s mournfully monosyllabic, keeps gazing past me and when he is persuaded to talk, volunteers that he hates what he does, always has. Wanted, he says, to be a gardener, working with his hands, not with bloody figures but of course that wouldn’t bring in the money.

She says she’s sure it’s not her fault he’s not happy, she’s always said do what you want. He says, yes, but where were the holidays and the clothes going to come from then. Am uncomfortably aware I’m suddenly in the midst of a domestic. Finish notes as swiftly as possible and see them off with a cheerful wave as they bicker down the path.

Retire gratefully to office and am halfway through a complicated piece for a conflict resolution specialist, could have done with her earlier, when computer suddenly ups and dies on me. I look at blank screen blankly. It’s never done this before. A couple of little lights on the front wink bravely at me then go out. Panic mounts. Press the start up and it doesn’t. Complete and utter horror sets in and sad to report I revert completely to Neanderthal, need a man back in the cave. Pick up the phone and shriek at R who luckily works locally. Come home I say, am in extremis not to mention homicidal, suicidal and definitely not happy!

My wonderful man rolls up five minutes later. Whereupon I reel off all the jobs not started, half finished or coming back for amendments. R hums and hahs in a techie sort of way presses all the buttons I’ve pressed then delves into the rats nest of wires, transformers, transducers and god knows what else that festoon the study floor, fiddles around and hey presto. Apparently a plug got pulled, I’ve been working on battery and it was that which finally died on me. I am deeply, deeply ashamed, as well I should be. Were there sackcloth and ashes to hand I’d be making use thereof. R returns to work muttering never mind Create Communication more like Create Chaos.

Were I a wiser woman, though think we’ve established beyond doubt where I stand on that front, would have called it a day there and then and retired to a darkened bedroom with damp cloth on forehead. However, I plunge back in. Complete two pages of work and then press the Oh **** !! key on the computer. Not sure where that is? Well it’s located in different places on different computers but when you’ve found it, trust me, you’ll know. Suffice to say I know I’ve saved the piece of work and it’s somewhere in the ruddy system but can I find it? I cannot! Can hear the siren call of darkened room and damp cloth.

Do you, like me, have a strong urge to sharply kick the shin of any woman who says she’s just a mum?

In fact we all of us know full well that anyone who’s ever juggled the spinning plates and poles of household and family, is almost certainly a darn sight better qualified than most politicians to put a stop to all this double-dip recession talk.

At the same time she’d be sorting the National Debt; equalizing house prices clearing up the ash cloud and bringing matrons back en masse to the NHS. And, if after all that, there was a slight disinclination towards a hot oven, she’d have set up a take-away.

Look at a job spec for a just at homer:

• Excellent time management.
• Natural networking abilities.
• Motivated.
• Experienced oil-on-troubled-waters-pourer.
• Knowledge of first aid but sense enough to know when to head for A&E.
• Forward planning, long and short term.
• Results/goal orientated.
• Toilet/waste disposal blockage clearance expertise.
• Negotiation strengths.
• Catering skills from basic to Nigella.
• Safe and steady driving whilst discussing the facts of life and wrapping birthday present for a party.
• Making a budget stretch in unexpected directions.
• And last but not least, ability to maintain a saintly demeanour when someone says “bit snappy are we? Time of the month?”

I consider my case rested![tweetmeme source=”Marilyn_messik” only_single=false]

Rather a humiliating visit to the dentist. Up till now had felt tooth grinding, which I know I do when stressed, was something best kept between me and myself.  This view endorsed when passing unexpected mirror and realizing that when doing it I look like nothing so much as Les Dawson gurning – not a good look.

Dentist however having done the lowering of the back of the chair thing to the point where you’re worried you’re going to slide backwards onto the floor – or is that just me? Dons the mask and informs me I’ve been grinding so hard I’ve worn away lots of surface enamel, not to mention, he adds, gloomily some of the surrounding bone area. Am I, he asks, stressed? Well if I wasn’t before, I certainly am now. Would point this out if didn’t have my mouth full of that vicious little hose thing that likes to catch your tongue.

A tooth guard apparently is the answer. Now I have a problem in that for some reason always feel an obligation to entertain sundry members of the medical profession with light banter and chat – probably a subconscious urge to distract them from whatever they’re going to do to me. Am working hard on suppressing this unfortunate tendency although when dentist sits me up and says he’s going to do a couple of impressions, mouth mutters ‘Tommy Cooper?’ before brain has a chance to stop it. I duly bite hard into blue pack of Playdoh type substance which whilst not at all comfortable at least has the silver cloud lining of not allowing me to say anything for a while.

Straighten myself up, dust myself down and trot off for meeting with a new client, followed by a networking lunch at which I’m speaking. Not until I get home do I realize have gone the whole day with a piece of bright blue plasticy stuff fetchingly wedged between my two front teeth.