Speaker’s corner

THRENODY! THRENODEEEE! THRENO… Threnody Higginbottom is my secretary (I call her Miss Smith). She files everything under M for Miscellaneous. THRENODEEEEE! Ah, there you are, filing your nails under M. Did you book that Cape Town flight for me for Thursday?

Cape Town, Sir? You said Harare! And you said Friday.

I have told you before, Threnody – never listen to what I SAY, listen to what I THINK. This is why this firm is getting nowhere. Now, quickly, book me that flight to Harare. Harare? Wherever. One day I had to fly from Johannesburg to Cape Town and, having just read Mark H McCormack’s book Hit the Ground Running: The Insider’s Guide to Executive Travel,I decided to emulate him.

From the moment I leapt from my bed at 5am with my usual cry of “Tora! Tora! Tora!” I said to myself: “This day, I shall hit the ground running.”

I had, of course, first to shower and shave and put a little Mum for Men under the armpits, so could not immediately start running.

In no time I got the thick end of my tie to hang lower than the thin end and was sitting down enjoying a light McCormack-style breakfast. No bread, he advises. Bread is full of air and air expands at altitude and thus the hostess may have cut you loose from your seatbelt and allow you to float against the ceiling until the aircraft loses altitude.

McCormack makes a big thing of what the Busy Executive should carry and says he always has a pre-packed “executive survival kit” on standby. I usually pack half an hour before I leave. I never need much: on this occasion I packed my conference papers, string (I always carry string), safety pin (ditto), banana (in case I am held up by a robber – it is always wise to have something to give the man), air ticket, wallet and loose cash (minimum 20c) for tips.

I was at the airport by 6.45am and found a sign reading “Try lower parking” so I did. First mistake. Seeing I was about to be propelled to 30 000 feet into the air, the sensible thing would have been to save time by parking nearer the sky on the upper deck.

I was flying with a small airline which, because it was a rival to the national carrier, was relegated to the far end of the airport next to the dustbins.

I began my ascent from the parking basement taking the steps two at a time to the upper parking level; then up some steps marked “C terminal” where I ran up against some glass doors. They were chained and padlocked. The airport management in those days was run by practical jokers. Undismayed I skippety-skipped back down the steps, entered “foreign departures”, descended to “foreign arrivals” and found the “local departures” sign pointing to the dustbin end. I thought that if McCormack had come to Johannesburg he would have hit the ground sprawling.

I paced up and down the transit lounge (McCormack says the Busy Executive should get as much exercise as possible while waiting for planes) until we were shepherded on to a bus. There followed a long bus journey on a north-easterly bearing to what looked like a quarantine section for infected airliners. The ride to the aircraft was free despite the distance and no comfort stops were made.

We flew in to Cape Town on time and having nothing in the aircraft hold, I was able to run pell-mell across the tarmac (Cape Town airport was still saving up for buses at the time), through the doors and, panting ever so slightly, right up to the chauffeur who was waiting. I had hit the ground running! The driver told me to relax – he was picking up three others and they all had luggage in the hold and there was trouble with the carousel.

Moral: Hitting the ground running is fine, but don’t rush it.