A family visit to the cinema and then dinner this evening – a celebration for my son’s birthday.

It snowed last night, and despite all you that may have read about the UK’s inability to cope with cold weather, the streets  were well-gritted, as were the pavements in the town centre. During the wee small hours,  a few workers had been out in freezing conditions to make the trip possible and safe.

On the way back, we passed a couple of vans topped with flashing yellow lights. The pungent air was evidence of a burst drain, probably caused by melting snow and frozen pipes. Three men – with long metal rods and a vacuum hose big enough to walk through – were looking into a manhole, assessing the damage.

Once home, we wheeled our rubbish bins to the front gate, ready for the collection that will happen before dawn, clearing away the detritus of another week.

It’s not only in public services that this kind of thing happens; through the night, cleaners and security guards and maintenance people will ensure that offices and plants everywhere are readied for we ‘knowledge workers’ to hit our desks in the morning and do what we do throughout the day.

So here’s to the support  staff  who are usually the invisible – and often forgotten – links in the value chain. Without them, work would be much more difficult and life a whole lot more unpleasant.

Coachaiku: 17-syllable reflections, in a 5-7-5 form,  for personal and professional development.

The higher my Client went up the organization, the higher she raised her personal bar.

When shortfall happened – as shortfalls are wont to do – she gave everyone a hard time; her team, her peers, her bosses. All the people around her who failed to meet her rising expectations.

Of course, she was especially hard on herself, which further fueled her frustrations.

She became very vocal, which started to alienate those upon whom she depended to deliver results.

The breakthrough came when she saw that her demands of others were really projections of her own drive for unattainable perfection.

Standards are important; then again, so is balance.

 Coachaiku: 17-syllable reflections, in a 5-7-5 form,  for personal and professional development.

I spent the past couple of weeks as a member of Faculty, delivering a Leadership Development program.

A theme that kept arising was the cultural bias that many organizations exhibit towards introverts.Even the brightest and the best can sometimes feel frozen out.

It reminded me of some sage advice I heard many years ago: Just because an introvert doesn’t say anything, it doesn’t mean that they have nothing to say. Or to put it another way…

 Coachaiku: 17-syllable ideas, in a 5-7-5 form,  for personal and professional reflection.

In keeping with the spirit of the times, I’m cutting back my blog posts . The length, not the frequency – it’s been six months since the last one; hardly a deluge.

There’s too much noise on the web, and I don’t see the wisdom in adding to it. 1500-word articles are fun to write, but I’m not  convinced that they’re the most efficient way of communicating ideas and starting dialogue.

Pith is the new black.

So picking up on a previous post, for the foreseeable future I’ll be writing in the form of haikus: seventeen syllables arranged in three lines, 5-7-5.

Why ‘Coachaiku’? Well, one of the many things I have learned while coaching over the past couple of years is that just a few words can have significant impact.

And that’s my proposition to you going forward: click on a link I send you and you’ll get an idea you can take away in a few seconds, but which may inform the rest of your day / week … who knows? If nothing else, they’ll give you a smile in the mind.

Given where we are in the calendar, the following seems a good place to start. Thanks, in advance, for your time.

In the previous post, I wrote about the power of economy in communication. The greater the understanding of context, the more it is possible to convey big ideas and have high impact with very few words.

One of the visitors to the blog – Isla (thanks for coming by) – followed up with a very reasonable question: “How do you come up with those killer sentences that are so full of meaning?”

Having mulled it over, the best ‘solution’ I can suggest is a mix of two ingredients: time and form.

The Philosopher and The Politicians

Brevity takes time; polishing, honing, rearranging, editing. Oftentimes it’s just easier to throw the kitchen sink at Word or PowerPoint and hope for the best.

As French philosopher and mathematician Blaise Pascal wrote:

“I have made this letter longer than usual, because I lack the time to make it short.”

When you’re up to your eyes in email, texts and IM, making time to ‘blue pencil’ your work is easier said than done. However, what greater courtesy can you show your audience than spending an hour of your time to save thirty minutes of theirs?

The second suggestion is to select a prescribed form, and to stay within its restrictions.

Winston Churchill and Dwight Eisenhower conducted WW2 insisting on single page memos. Imagine how their staffs had to cut and cut and cut to get to the kernel of the issue.

In a similar vein, I once saw Charles Handy give a 45 minute presentation using a single overhead slide (which dates me, him and the event).

Neither example is appropriate for all circumstances. Choose wisely.

Whether the restriction is spatial (a page or a slide), temporal (30 seconds, 5 minutes) or linguistic (25 lines, 200 words), setting a limit focuses the mind and forces economy.

‘Physician, Heal Thyself’

By this stage, you’re probably wondering if I will heed my own advice? So here goes:

As mentioned in the earlier posting, ‘haiku’ is a Japanese poetry form noted for  brevity and impact.

Although purists will say that it’s a flexible form, Western translation has settled on a particular three-line structure: 5 syllables in the first line, 7 in the second, 5 in the third.

17 syllables with which to conjure entire worlds.

The other important feature of haiku is that within the form it presents two aspects of a scene or a moment that play off one another – that create a tension of ideas – from which comes a third, more powerful insight.

Powerful, because it’s personal to the reader.

It strikes me as an apt metaphor of a coaching relationship – in which the Coach offers the Coachee enough material for personal discovery, but not so much as to leave no room for exploration.

So here’s the first in an occasional series of coaching haikus – a suggestion for practical self-reflection in 17 syllables:

Ernest Hemingway once said that his best work was a story he wrote in six words:

“For Sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

Whether or not he rated this over A Farewell to Arms is a moot point – but there’s no denying its impact. Nor its economy.

It works because Hemingway gives us just enough information, and not a scintilla more. There is so much in the story that he doesn’t include, but that’s its beauty.

He invites us to fill in the gaps.

It’s neither an explanation nor a description – it’s a prompt. A six word invitation that taps into shared understanding. We don’t need to be told who or where or how much.

All that matters is that in the spaces between the words we can find unendurable sorrow.

WHEN ENOUGH IS

Hemingway’s six words are the western equivalent of Japanese haiku, the seventeen syllable poetry form that , according to Zen expert Alan Watts:

“is a pebble thrown into the pool of the listener’s mind, evoking associations out of the richness of his/her own memory.”

Watts goes on to say that a good haiku invites participation, instead of leaving the reader ‘dumb with admiration while the poet shows off.’

The screen is full of

Bullets and targets. I cough.

He shoots me a look.

The secret of haiku composition is to balance form with emptiness, and above all to know when enough is enough.

We tend to leave that aside when we shut the covers of a Hemingway or Watts. There’s always one more thing to be said, one more slide to be added, one more point to be made.

I think that’s the sign of a tell culture.

FILLED TO THE MARGINS

A tell culture is one that is in a hurry, a culture that leaves no space for exploration or reflection or mutual creation.

It’s a culture that colours to the very edges, and leaves no room for personal doodles.

“This is the subject. Here are all the facts. Here is the data, the charts, the processes, the blah blah blah and the blah blah blah. I have now filled the boundaries of the subject, in just the same way I have filled you. This is what I think. All you have to do is agree with what I think.”

Yet without an invitation to participate, what do we do? We tune out.

The blah blah blah becomes verbal muzak, a morass of material where the vital and the trivial cannot be separated. It all becomes noise, because its setting is noise itself.

More words, more charts, more pages. More of me, no room for you.

Surely there’s another way? One in which we leave gaps for thought, in which we open a door, in which  we invite one another to explore the emptiness, to become part of the solution?

Here are two stories to set the ball rolling:

HOW TO CHANGE A LIFE WITH FIVE WORDS

Raymond Corsini worked as a psychologist in Auburn Prison in New York. One day an inmate, about to be released on parole, came into his office:

“I couldn’t  leave until I thanked you for what you did for me.”

Corsini was stumped; to the best of his knowledge he had never spoken to the man.

“When I left your office two years ago, I felt like I was walking on air. When I went into the prison yard, everything looked different, even the air smelled different. I was a new person.”

The inmate explained how, from that moment, he changed the group he was hanging out with, moved from a cushy job in the kitchen, learned a trade in the machine shop, got a qualification, started writing to his family, and going to chapel.

“You have freed me. Thank you for changing my life.”

Still Corsini couldn’t place the man, couldn’t remember his face.

“Oh, it was you alright.” said the inmate. “I had just come into prison and I had to do some of your psych tests. You told me I have a high IQ.”

Five words: “You have a high IQ”.

And that was the inmate’s ‘aha!’ moment. He understood why he was different – why he read novels rather than comics, played chess rather than draughts, was good at crosswords.

Five words that were an invitation to participate not just in a story, but in a life.

FOUR WORDS ON THE TOP LINE

There’s a tale – probably apocryphal – of a marketing consultant who asks for a meeting with the CEO of a large petrol company. (It must be corporate mythology, because he gets the meeting).

It takes place in a different time, perhaps the early ‘60s. Mad Men era.

The consultant says he has closely studied the efficiencies of the company’s distribution network, customer service, its sales techniques and the behaviour of its staff putting $5 of fuel into customers’ Chevvys and Fords.

“I have a full-proof way of increasing your top line revenue by substantial amounts with no added cost to the business.”

The CEO sits up. Trading has been down, his shareholders are not happy. This may save his head at the next AGM.

The consultant sets out his terms: a percentage of any revenue increase for the next fiscal year.

Well, if this works there’ll be no cost to the business, figures the  CEO, so he agrees and asks his secretary to cancel his meetings for the next two hours. He’s expecting the consultant to show him charts and reports and analysis.

Instead, the consultant takes an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and places on the CEO’s desk.

The CEO  opens it with the pearl-handled letter knife he was awarded for his 10-year service with the company.

Inside is a small white card. Written on it are just four words:

“Fill her up, sir?”

* * *

Generally speaking, there are three types of communication. The first two are:

1. That which contains important content

2. That which is presented in an engaging way

Most of the time, we seem to be on the receiving end of 1 or 2 – which means either worthy-but-dull or entertaining-but-empty.

VENN COMMS

Occasionally, these two circles overlap in a Venn diagram of communication, and bingo! Number 3 – something worthwhile meets time enjoyably spent.

Like supporters of a struggling football club, we attend conferences and meetings expecting #1 or #2, and hoping for the rare chance of #3. It’s like an away win for Lincoln City – to be savoured and remembered for a long time to come.

That’s just what Morgan Spurlock has achieved with his newly-posted TED talk.

TO PLUG OR NOT TO PLUG?

For those who don’t know, Spurlock is the Supersize Me campaigner / documentary maker  who tried living on McDonald’s for 30 days. At face value, this TED video is just an indy film maker plugging his new project – and duping people like me into helping him.

I sit, gullible as charged.

Alternatively, it’s 20 minutes of inspired brilliance,that works on so many levels, with lessons for anyone who’s in marketing, in business, needs to communicate, needs to take a risk, has a left-field idea or, indeed,  has a pulse:

HOW TO ENGAGE

• it’s a MASTER CLASS  in presenting. Talk, text, graphics, video, humour, audience participation – an orchestra of techniques all working together, with Spurlock as soloist and conductor.

• it’s BEAUTIFULLY STRUCTURED. After a brief credentials intro, he sets up a question, then only resolves it in the final minute. And while he plays out the other subplots in between, it’s the opening teaser that holds us in. And the pay-off… well, that would be telling.

HOW TO GIVE VALUE

• it’s CONTENT-RICH. Look – I don’t care if his ultimate motive is to plug his film. He does it by giving me lots to think about. He doesn’t insult the viewer’s intelligence; he flatters it.

• it’s SELF-CONTAINED  and valuable in-and-of-itself. We don’t have to watch his film when it’s released; he’s giving us the gist of the work in a short seminar. For free

HOW TO CHALLENGE

• it’s a CREATIVE DEMONSTRATION of his central premise: like the Masked Magician showing us how tricks are done, Spurlock also shows us how he prepared to show us. “This is how my movie got made – with or without the help of the corporate sorcerer’s and their apprentices.”

• it’s PARTICIPATIVE: unlike the Masked Magician, he eventually enlists the help of some fellow illusionists (his sponsors) to help him pull the curtain back – and in doing so, they come out with full credit. It might not win them many friends in the rest of the Magic Circle – especially their marketing agencies – but I bet it generates huge credibility with their customers (Might this be a Corporate Social Responsibility project in disguise?).

• it’s a CASE STUDY on the difficulty of genuinely thinking ‘outside of the box’. Creative agencies can be as hamstrung by their existing mental models as the rest of us. Spurlock offers them an opportunity to be involved in something different – and they hide! After you’ve finished laughing, consider what client-and- self-imposed boundaries kept them from taking the risk

SAVVY IS, AS SAVVY DOES

And that’s the most important point – we might talk about barriers coming down, social media blurring the dividing lines, new media presenting new ways to engage… but much of what’s practiced is still old wine in new bottles.

Here, I think Spurlock – by accident or design – is rewriting the rules. While there’s no doubt that some of his targets are there for ridicule ( 21st-century Wizards of Oz), there is a challenge in here which needs a business/marketing response:

As consumers grow increasingly savvy, is it better to be more transparent or more controlling? To show how the trick is done, or to find more sophisticated sleights of hand?

Or is the greatest play of all – to do both at the same time?

In 1965 the splendidly-named Delphus David Bourland Jr published an academic paper on semantics. It contained a rather radical thought; an idea that once shared can prove difficult to shift. Indeed, I have attempted – and failed – to forget it over the past three weeks.

Read on at your peril.

TO EXIST OR NOT TO EXIST

Bourland invented a new version of English: Think of it as Release 2.0. It looked astonishingly like the existing language – the same nouns, adjectives, adverbs, punctuation and syntax. Except he removed one key building block of the linguistic structure:

The verb “to be”.

Its derivatives were also culled: is, am, are, was, were, be, been, being. Bourland advocated a complete purge, saying that it represented only “20 or so lexical items” out of some one to two million. Not only wouldn’t the language suffer from their absence, in many instances it would improve.

He called it E-Prime.

At first pass, it sounds like the act of an academic with too much time on his hands (after he had finished sweeping the steps of his ivory tower). Did he intend to spend the rest of his tenure revising the entire Anglo-Saxon canon, starting with Hamlet perhaps?

Not at all. Bourland focused less on the poetry of language than its function as a representation of human experience. His gripe with be/is/am centred on the faux certainty they bring to communication. As he put it:

“implications of permanence and static experience that we do not find in the ‘real world.’” In other words, ‘to be’ doesn’t actually reflect what we perceive and believe that we know.

(At this point, I recall the voice of a previous manager many moons ago, who had just sat through another of my brilliant strategy presentations: “Really good Paul. Well researched, insightful, stimulating. But what do we do on Monday?”)

THE PROBLEM OF PREDICATION

Imagine this scenario; you attend a meeting to discuss investment in a new venture. In a pumped-up atmosphere – in which egos compete for oxygen – the leader of the new initiative completes his data-packed presentation with:

“The market is buoyant, the technology is proven. This is a breakthrough. This is the competitive edge that we need.” Stirring stuff indeed. The room is filled with air punches and ‘whoops’ of excitement.

“This is a winner!”

And yet, and yet – who really knows that the market ‘is buoyant’? Which market? How buoyant? How long will the buoyancy last? How do we define a ‘breakthrough’? Breakthrough into what – all the market? Some of the market? Our existing customers?

As Bourland says in a more recent paper: “ (E-Prime) invites attention to the verbal excesses of those who enjoy speaking in the ‘Deity Mode’.” Simply put, it helps detect those who present opinion as truth:

· “The film was awful” (The dialogue sounded clunky and I have never been a fan of the lead actress.)

· “Mr Tibbles is very friendly” (My cat will happily sit on your lap but when the mood takes him, he scratches.)

· “Manchester United are by far the greatest team the world has ever seen” (The club has had a good run under the current manager, and I have conveniently forgotten how we relegated to the Second Division under Tommy Docherty.)

Is offers an implication of completeness, finality and time independence; how ironic that this should have gone unnoticed in a business world where “change is the only constant”.

THE ISSUE OF IDENTITY

The second implication of E-Prime holds a more personal impact. Think for a moment of life without the conjugation I am.

Let’s take a hypothetical character, Bryan. He finds himself on the receiving end of a merger and corporate restructuring. He and his colleagues must apply for their own jobs, and despite hours of preparation and practice, he ends the process without a role. His conclusion..?

“I am a failure.”

Which illustrates the core problem with am: it puts us in a box. In this case, it casts a pall of gloom over everything. For Bryan, the shorthand of ‘I am a failure’ informs his entire outlook.

Similarly, descriptions such as ‘I am shy’, ‘I am loud’, ‘I am important’ – labels that colour all perception, and prevent the user from attending to the reality happening before them.

Ask Bryan to describe what else was going on in his life, and he tells of his children’s achievements at school, his fundraising with the local Rotary Club, the generosity of his severance package, the messages and calls of support he has received from his colleagues – some of whom have survived the downsizing, some of whom have not.

In describing his experience, Bryan reframes the description of himself, and finds a much richer, deeper self-identity.

WHAT DO WE DO ON MONDAY?

Like many other attempts to impose new language rules, E-Prime never really took off. A few authors wrote papers – even a couple of books – without to be. Paradoxically, the resultant texts have a very active voice and employ vivid descriptions.

I do not advocate anything as drastic as Bourland’s complete ban. Rather, I offer the practice as a lens through which to view the statements of others – especially politicians – and, perhaps more practically, as a way out when you find yourself in a personal cul-de-sac.

Try adapting E-Prime to write to yourself about an issue. It forces two outcomes: expression using straightforward statements, and a level of detachment that brings with it clarity.

Don’t expect an easy ride, though. E-Prime will drag you kicking-and-screaming away from the well-worn grooves of habitual thought.

As I discovered while writing this post.

We said goodbye to Owen last week.

Two hundred of us attended his funeral service; Owen was a man who touched the lives of many people.

The Rector stood before us and apologised for the lack of heat and light in the church (she’s having the builders in).  She needn’t have worried. The congregation generated its own warmth with its collective memory of a fine man.

Indeed, just being there cheered me. Says a lot about a life, don’t you think?

PERSONAL BOOKENDS

You won’t read Owen’s obituary in the national press; he wasn’t a statesmen or a war hero, a captain of industry or a reality celeb, But he was someone who made a real difference.

For me, he was the bookends of my University life – conducting my admission interview for business school, supporting me through my studies, providing my first-ever reference on the way out.

It was Owen that got me started on my career.

We kept in touch over the years, a lunch now-and-then to compare notes, for me to say thank you for his help, and for him to persuade me to do him a favour. Usually a presentation or a workshop for his next group of students.

It was always difficult to say ‘no’ to Owen, because his requests were never for his own direct benefit. He was usually asking for your help to help someone else.

MARKETING ‘THE WORD’

That ‘enabling’ continued long into his retirement.

He was on the Rector’s case the moment she arrived in the parish. In her first couple of days she received a couple of his hand-written notes with actions to help build her congregation. That continued for the next  three years -   strategies and suggestions, targets and tasks.

He expanded the circulation of the church magazine (more advertising and clandestine distribution trips way outside the parish). He became ‘the mystery parishioner’, attending other churches to benchmark their work.

You could take the man out of marketing, but you couldn’t take marketing out of the man.

MAKING THE INVISIBLE VISIBLE

But it was the smallest gestures in his life that , judging by the attendance last week, made the biggest impact:

Coming to the front gate to compliment refuse collectors on the quality and importance of their work;  pulling the car over to the side of the road to thank the council employees who were trimming the verges; acknowledging the service of local shop staff.

It didn’t take much, but the impact was huge. Days were brightened, steps were given a spring. People who were otherwise invisible were recognised.

That was at the core of Owen’s outlook – that everyone was making a contribution to his well-being, and his obligation was to do the same. Except it wasn’t an obligation for him; it was  a source of joy.

That was how Owen created meaning.

* * *

And so this posting was to have ended. Then, out-of-the-blue, a friend sent me the attached video from Nic Askew’s site, Soul Biographies. So make yourself a cup of coffee, turn off your mobile, and spend 10 minutes listening to Alison Wood.

Given Owen’s dress sense, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had been the City gent in question…

Like lost car keys, learning can turn up in the most unexpected places.

After a recent workshop on Client leadership, I’ve been reading The Trusted Advisor by Maister, Green and Galford. It’s a comprehensive, well-structured handbook aimed at those  in professional services who need to build and reinforce their business relationships.

Brimming with anecdotes, checklists and ‘how to’ tips, it’s  thorough and full of examples. Almost too thorough; no matter how many notes I made, and key paragraphs I underlined, it wasn’t sticking. It’s one of the shortcomings inherent in the ‘handbook’ form – I needed something to make it come alive.

Then yesterday I went to see The King’s Speech.

MOVIE MASTERCLASS

Geoffrey Rush plays Lionel Logue, the Australian speech therapist who helped Prince Bertie, the Duke of York (Colin Firth) – and second son of King George V – to overcome a debilitating stammer. To make matters worse, his elder brother (David aka Edward VIII) abdicated the throne to marry a divorcee, and Bertie became King on the eve of WW2 – at the time when the country needed a clear voice of leadership.

Like all great pieces of entertainment, it’s a movie that works on multiple levels: It’s the story of a man trying to conquer his daemons. It’s the portrait of a leader struggling to step up to his role. It’s a study of class and social hierarchy. It’s an essay on the impact of radio broadcasting on politics and society.

And it’s a masterclass in becoming a trusted adviser. Here are eight scenes from David Seidler’s original screenplay that beautifully illustrate many of the principles in Maister’s book:

1 “TRUSTED ADVISERS ARE CONSISTENT”

It is Bertie’s wife, Elizabeth, who first approaches Lionel about treating her husband. She does so under the pseudonym of Mrs Johnson. He is direct and to-the-point with her:

LIONEL: Where’s Mr Johnson?

ELIZABETH: He doesn’t know I’m here.

LIONEL: That’s not a promising start

He tells here to have hubby ‘pop by’ to give his personal history. She says “you must come to us.”

LIONEL: Sorry, Mrs J, my game, my turf, my rules

ELIZABETH: And what if my husband were the Duke of York?

The penny drops for Lionel, but not his faith in his method and his success rate:

LIONEL: I can cure your husband. But for my method to work there must be trust and total equality in the safety of my consultation room. No exceptions.

It’s testament to Helena Bonham Carter’s performance that you can see the relief in her face. Here is an adviser that is different, confident and will not make exceptions. Whether addressing commoner or royalty, he takes the same approach.

2 “BE NOT AFRAID. CREATING INTIMACY TAKES COURAGE.”

Obviously, this could be a flagship Client for Lionel; in that era, the gravitational pull of deference would have been immense. But his method – his advice – is based upon a relationship of equals, which he makes very clear to Bertie when they first meet.

LIONEL: I was told not to sit too close. I was also told, speaking to a Royal, one has to wait for the Royal to choose the subject.”

Cleverly, Lionel is already chipping away at the protocol; even Bertie acknowledges, with difficulty, that with him it could be a ‘rather long wait’. It’s a light moment before the inevitable conflict arises as the Adviser tries to map out his territory, focusing on facts:

LIONEL: When did the defect start?

BERTIE: It’s always been that way.

LIONEL: I doubt that.

BERTIE: Don’t tell me! It’s my defect.

LIONEL: It’s my field. I assure you, no infant starts to speak with a stammer.

After setting out his stall – he is the expert – he goes on to provoke Bertie, because it breaks down barriers and is part of the solution; Bertie doesn’t stammer when he’s angry. It’s hardly likely to be part of a B2B Client engagement strategy, but it’s a memorable reinforcement of the need to be brave in the face of defensive aggression.

3 “ILLUSTRATE, DON’T TELL.”

After provoking his potential Client, Lionel sets him an exercise to record his voice (if you haven’t seen the film, I’ll spare you the details). The session ends frostily, with Bertie saying that the treatment is not for him.

However, in a scene shortly after, Bertie listens to the recording, and realises that Lionel’s methods – or at least his approach – can yield results.

No one has told him this, it’s not on a testimonial. He has first hand, personal evidence of success.

4 “EARN THE RIGHT TO OFFER ADVICE”

When Bertie returns to trial Lionel’s methods, the Royal couple set out their terms:

BERTIE: Strictly business. No personal nonsense.

ELIZABETH: I thought I’d made that very clear in our interview?

Lionel points out that the couple’s request will result in dealing with the issue at surface level, and is told that it will suffice. So rather than be precious, he agrees to focus on breathing techniques, physical exercise and tongue twisters. We know that it won’t address the core problem, but this is Lionel’s first steps in forming the relationship. He is earning the right to go further.

5 “FOCUS ON THE CLIENT AS AN INDIVIDUAL, NOT AS SOMEONE WHO IS FILLING A ROLE.”

Halfway through the film, Bertie’s father (King George V) dies. When Client and Adviser meet soon after, the conversation extends beyond the prescribed boundaries. As is his duty, Bertie has been presenting a formal face to the world, so he treats the meeting with Lionel as a form of release. Lionel learns much about his background, his upbringing, his relationship with his parents and his siblings – much of it the root causes of his impediment.

BERTIE: You know, Lionel, you’re the first ordinary Englishman…

LIONEL: Australian.

BERTIE: I’ve ever really spoken to.

Of course, the subtext is that Lionel is the first person that Bertie has spoken to about these issues. Lionel has now reached the status of Trusted Adviser.

6 “BE SURE YOUR ADVICE IS BEING SOUGHT.”

The next time Bertie and Lionel meet, the prince is very angry with his elder brother. David is intent of marrying Mrs Simpson, a divorcee, so putting heart before duty. If it happens, Bertie will become King.

BERTIE: I am not an alternative to my brother.

LIONEL: If you had to, you could outshine David…

Lionel reaches out and gives Bertie a pat of comfort on the shoulder. Bertie pulls back in offended shock.

BERTIE: Don’t take liberties! That’s bordering on treason.

LIONEL: I’m just saying you could be King. You could do it!

BERTIE: That is treason.

They face each other, as though in combat.

LIONEL: I’m trying to get you to realise you need not be governed by fear.

BERTIE: I’ve had enough of this.

LIONEL: What are you afraid of?

BERTIE: Your poisonous words.

Bertie strides away, leaving Lionel to realise that he is no longer adviser to the man who is likely to be King.

It’s a brilliant scene, both dramatically and as illustration of a key point in Client intimacy. No matter how close the relationship becomes, there will always be areas that are off limits. Here, advice should only be given when invited.

7 “WHEN YOU NEED HELP, ASK FOR IT.”

Events turn in the drama, leading to a reconciliation between Bertie and Lionel. This happens at Lionel’s home, where he is visited by the royal couple while his wife is out playing bridge. Which is just as well, as Lionel has not told her of his ‘star’ Client.

Unfortunately, she returns home early, and finds Elizabeth in the dinning room. Bertie and Lionel are in the parlour, in a scene that reveals the latter’s vulnerability:

BERTIE: Logue, we can’t stay here all day.

LIONEL: Yes we can.

BERTIE: Logue…

LIONEL: Look, I need to wait for the opportune moment.

BERTIE: (realising) You’re being a coward!

LIONEL: You’re damn right.

Decisive, Bertie stands and throws open the door.

BERTIE: Get out there, man!

And so the adviser is advised.

8 “JUST BECAUSE THE CLIENT ASKS A QUESTION, DOESN’T MEAN IT’S THE RIGHT QUESTION TO ANSWER.”

Bertie’s coronation is the first major test of Lionel’s methods. He attends the preparations at Westminster Abbey, and gets a very cold reception from the Archbishop of Canterbury, who takes an exception to this antipodean outsider. In the following scene, it’s obvious that ‘the establishment’ has done some digging into Lionel’s past, which they have fed to Bertie.

BERTIE: True, you never called yourself ‘Doctor’. I did that for you. No diploma, no qualifications. Just a great deal of nerve.

How does Lionel respond? By pointing out that when he was developing his methods (to help shell-shocked soldiers returning from the Great War) there was no training. He admits that he has no piece of paper, but asks Bertie to focus on his track record of results, and what they have achieved together.

* * *

I’ll stop at this point rather than  spoil the end for those who haven’t yet seen The King’s Speech. I hope this post encourages you to do so, both as an emotionally charged historical biopic and as an object lesson in building Client relationships.

Maister et al say of the trusted advisor role: “…  virtually all issues, personal and professional are open to discussion and exploration. The trusted advisor is the person the client turns to when an issue first arises, often in times of great urgency: a crisis, a change, a triumph, or a defeat.”

For any of us hoping to build such a relationship, there’s plenty to learn from Lionel Logue.