The Owl (that’s my sister) and I were off for a much needed rest and recuperation in Jersey for 5 days. It’s rare we get away together and the Lion was glad to see the back of me as we planned and plotted our break over snatched phone calls in our inordinately busy days.

With the trip imminent final departure plans were made to coordinate a joint entrance to the airport and we arrived at the rendezvous point just outside the airport to make that happen. Seeking a conspicuous position amongst the taxis and anxious parents arriving to pick up their offspring at a safe distance from the greedy car park fees. The Owls Beamer rolled up powering its engine to a halt long enough for me to join her and enter the airport in synchronised style. With a hurried farewell kiss with the Lion we drove toward the high end parking facilities that registered the start of our break.

Our flight by DifficultJet required a bag drop. We had paid extra for luggage and seats. Feeling Lighter from the bag drop and heady with holiday joy we headed to the hustle and bustle of security. Lines of travellers of all ages, size and appearance approached the scan barrier with confidence or nervousness. We passed through joining a conga only severed by staff in yellow jackets hurtling us toward moving boxes on a conveyer belt. Soon devoid of all possessions we found ourselves patiently waiting to rejoin our stuff as a line of boxes had frozen in time stacking up high behind those that hadn’t passed through security well. So it was we were held up for twenty minutes. Finally the conveyer belt surged forward the weight of twenty boxes shoving themselves toward us and so with our possessions reunited we went to check our gate information.

Our hearts sank to see a delay of 2 hours. Passengers were directed to check the App for further information. The airport heaved like giant lungs with passengers ebbing and flowing through its corridors. Some with purpose in their stride others wantonly wandering without care or concern.

The App was like those passengers slow and undirected nor did it marry up too well with the delay information. We made extra sure by checking 2 further boards before we resigned ourselves to having to accept the delay.

It was so welcome to have time for lunch the journey held so much preparation and organisation the fact we had a two hour delay didn’t really make too much of a difference. We ordered Prosecco. But the waitress wanted to bathe us in it so that didn’t go down too well. In good spirits (as well as being drenched in them) we ordered food while a second round was organised.

Being the worrier I insisted the board was checked at least every ten minutes. The App remained dormant with no updates or new information. Between our continual ups and downs to check the board we polished off lunch and a fruity Rioja

I spotted a couple inside I’d known for many years eating quietly in the corner and approached them with a warm smile. They too were suffering with the delays to their flying arrangements. So after a brief hello I left to rejoin the Owl and move toward the concourse.

The board was now reading go to gate but no gate information to be found. As the difficult jet staff walked toward us I felt my stomach lurch. The lunch and Rioja travelling full speed toward my throat. The board ahead now reading gate closed.

There were plenty seats at the gate but just us to fill them. And slowly it became a reality our flight had gone. The delay was a fiction of the boards imagination. It was gone on time. Without us. Blood drained from my face. My brain registering a thousand actions none of which included boarding a plane. The Owl as bewildered as me shocked that the flight had indeed not been delayed while nothing seemed to indicate that.

We floated back to the main concourse. Everyone seemed to have more purpose than we did. In the absence of knowledge we lurched from what to do next to where to go with no clear strategy on how to achieve either.

Heading for the exit we checked for baggage but the missed flight carousel wasn’t humming our tune. We strode with vigour now to the desk only to find another poor couple in the same boat as us.

Everyone managed to get the flight except us. I’m still not sure how that happened nor were the other couple who’d also organised airport assistance which never arrived. We’d both been watching the boards. And so it was the Lion returned to collect us a little sooner than expected and another holiday slipped into the drama…..

It really began with an innocuous comment on Facebook. You know how it goes,scrolling without noticing, but something really interesting caught my eye. It was my sister, (I’ll call her the Owl) who had commented on a post “..one day I’d love to do that”. Well it’s not often the gift horse pops up and rides by. And I almost missed it. This innocuous comment put my autoscrolling gear hastily into reverse, hailing me abruptly enough to allow me to relocate the post from the other inane drivel I’d skipped by.

It was a post with a picture of the Flying Scotsman, smoke billowing against stately, bushy green trees, blue skies without clouds, and so alluring in its green and black majesty, I could actually hear it go chiggety chigg from the picture. Really? The Flying Scotsman train? In 59 years of thinking I knew the Owl; I’d shared a bed with her when we were little, played houses with our dolls, made mud pies in the garage, worked with her at Chelsea, stood side by side with her during my marriage, her marriage, birth of my kids, birth of her son, loss of her pet, etcetera etcetera…

And yet this was the strongest signal to me that perhaps I knew nothing at all about her. I didn’t worry too much about that for long, nope time was of the essence and instead of aimless auto-scrolling I quickly linked this most overtly passionate desire to an imminent big birthday. Delighted to have been guided by her, unwittingly, and quite smugly, I will add, to this gift I started looking with devoted fervour. While the birthday was still 6 months away the fact that The Scotsman itself was 100 yrs old and doing her centenary tours now meant I had to get a move on.

After a limited but focused search on my iPhone, I finally located a trip on the Flying Scotsman train at Strathspey Railway Station, Boat of Garten, Inverness. From the website I could see that the final date at this location was October 1st. Thereafter it wasn’t too clear where it was going next. I had to get my skates on.

Limited and focused searching, viz a vie looking only at the Strathspey site narrowed my options; with potentially better journey options available from other stations that may have been highlighted in a more general search. But, when you’re in a hurry to secure the tickets before the inevitable sell out, that can put rather large blinkers on you. In my haste, but still to my delight, I could see there were tickets available and at a very reasonable price. I quickly secured them praising my good planning, my excellent observation skills and my smug big sisterness.

To make up for the low cost tickets I was sure we could spend a weekend there and savour the local hospitality something I knew she would love. With accommodation, dinner and transport nicely arranged and my plans all made well in advance, nothing could possibly go wrong.

This is a Little Dramas site though and my life is full of them so it’s almost natural to expect one even with the most meticulous of planning. The day before we planned to travel, my phone literally erupted with explosive messages. Voicemails, WhatsApp’s, sms and Insta all advising me that the Flying Scotsman had crashed. Shock, disbelief and Horror! We tried, and failed, to be able to confirm the event was going ahead. Public messaging not quite on the horizon of the many volunteers who run this railway. Our social media trawls suggested the train itself wasn’t damaged and may well go ahead. Nevertheless decisions take time and we had a journey to make. Cancellation wasn’t foremost on our minds and hope does live eternal.

With no updates by 9 am the next day, I boarded a train to Perth beginning the journey North. By 1030 am and arrival in Perth there was still no public messaging, nor private information cancelling the trip. We grew expectantly confident from the lack of communication. Following a delightful lunch at the Deli in Dunkeld, highly recommended for innovative food and wine I may add, we headed back onto the A9. Around 5pm arriving into civilisation from the majestic mountains and hillsides of the Cairngorms. A bristling, miasma of hill walkers and outdoorsy types carpeted the sidewalks and pavements signalling this was not our kinda town. Not for us such casual outerwear, we had packed only finery befitting the occasion and for our journey on the train.

Then the email arrived, clunking it’s way into the mailbox with 97 tonnes of steel, cancelling the trip. The desolation of that news slowing the Owl to cruising status in her powerful BMW car. It growled to a purr as she vocalised her disappointment in the most profane of vocabulary. I guessed she was unhappy. Moments later we arrived at our hotel. A costly couple of nights without the main attraction, it was like getting to Las Vegas with no possibility of gambling.

Our cases ( yep several for two days) were trudged across the car park, our gait laden with disappointment. Dresses within that earlier may have been jostling for priority for the main event, now laying neatly, floppy and deflated by the real possibility of remaining unseen in the case rather than be worn.

A couple of flat Proseccos later, I did a wider search for the Flying Scotsman’s next outing. Remarkably I found it and for only a couple of days hence. In a whim of “devil may care” and comments of “you only live once” I booked premium seats on the Edinburgh to Aberdeen Flyer.

And that just lifted us enough to get dolled up for dinner. Among the guests at Alexander’s restaurant were weary travellers in hiking boots and Tees. A quick check of the interior suggested nothing out of the ordinary about them. Us on the other hand, overdressed, over glamourised and tottering on the highest and finest heels, brought jaws quickly from the food to the floor. In a single sashay of the best silk, finest wool, most exquisite of make-up and perfume trailing in our wake we were shown to our seats. The deathly silence as we took our specs out to review the menu had every woman wondering if she’d made the right amount of effort. Don’t worry ladies I have to remind you, we were only waiting for a train….. to be continued.

During my working career I held leadership roles and was fortunate to undertake a variety of leadership programmes focussing on an array of methods often informed by ethics, values and beliefs. These leadership strategies and tactics would be adopted and adapted to a wide range of situations and people management so that my approach to any issue had a basis in theory and would ensure consistency and confidence in the way I applied my leadership. As a result I have been in a helicopter, watched dancing from a balcony, developed and built a spacecraft, recognised that what I lacked in charisma I could make up with emotional intelligence and importantly differentiate between the transactional and the transformational leadership style that would allow me to flex and adapt to the situational need. Equally in the natural hierarchical order of my organisation I was naturally managed by (mainly men) those balancing the plethora of similar leadership approaches in managing people and situations.

Then I met TaPas. He would admittedly be shocked to read any indication that this piece might be about him, and I also know that he would have read the first line and immediately decided it was not worth continuing; his view would more likely be that it was something he’d rather eat fish and chips from than read. But it is about him and it is about his leadership. Our most effective leaders throughout history have emerged from situations that either afforded them opportunities to lead effectively or to have effortlessly failed. TaPas cannot claim to have emerged from an historic situation but in his own inimitable style I will argue that he was not only effective he effortlessly succeeded.

At first meeting, he doesn’t strike you as charismatic. His shirt is likely to be hanging outside his trousers at the back, his trousers sagging around his shoes indicate he didn’t take much time getting the right fit, something more important going on perhaps. He will be carrying a sheaf of papers, precariously balanced on his briefcase on the outside rather than inside and always in danger of cascading to the floor, creating the potential drama of an additional layer of chaos in his organisation. For those of us onlookers, familiar with this sight we were strangely comforted that, despite the possibility of such chaos befalling him, there was a flurry of yellow post-it notes, carefully ordered containing succinct notations outlining which paper was for which meeting, where he was going, the time, date and person he was addressing. You’d be excused for thinking, “he sounds like a bumbling fool” at first glance you may also form that view, but you’d be the fool if you underestimate TaPas in this way.

He was the only transformational leader I ever worked with. He doesn’t even acknowledge that as a statement, mainly because he effortlessly applied his methods in the absence of theory; he would argue he was just being himself. His management team would walk on hot coals for him such was the bond he developed with us as a team. But the teams on the ground of whom he was in overall charge worshiped him. TaPas put his staff at the heart of every decision, but we adhered to an overt code of ethical behaviour we spent two days discerning and agreeing must inform every decision affecting the division and the individuals who worked there. He placed importance of being present, turning up on the nightshift and wading into battle to support his teams when they needed him most. The Battle of PP as it was later more commonly known created the status of legend. I gained more confidence in my ability in my whole career in those precious years than my whole time in the service. Others might have felt his wrath, but it was never driven by personal or subjective views, rather TaPas was driven in these decisions by a code of ethical behaviour, a moral compass he considered essential to enable him to consistently judge those of us who strayed.

Despite the depth of responsibility he carried every day, there was room for humour and laughter, mainly at his own expense, his own misgivings. Such was the subtlety of his leadership, he was giving us permission to laugh along with him. Equally we protected him; like barbed wire surrounding a wall to prevent intruders climbing over it, we gathered around him prickling at anyone who might seek to usurp his methods. If I reflect on his character and his ambitions he was developing and building each and every one of us both consciously and sub-consciously, effortlessly succeeding in achieving his goals. Then he got ill. We were all so concerned as his behaviour was a bit odd, his driving skills were beginning to resemble his briefcase, always moving in the wrong direction to the rest of the traffic. We secretly shared our concerns and collectively identified we needed to explore this with him, our leader was ill and he needed our support. We rallied in his hour of need, but obviously his family stepped up at this time.

A tumour the size of a tennis ball was removed from his brain, he claimed it was clearly preventing his organisational skills from optimal functionality. He called me the day after the operation and I could visualise him dancing around the ward in his tie up the back gown, naturally untied and gaping, his backside most likely hanging out as he shared his delight and glee at the success of this serious operation. I stopped my car, as I was on the A9 at the time heading back to the Danders, and I wept tears of relief and joy that my great friend had been saved. When I next saw him the dark shadows below his eyes had disappeared and his cheeky cockney smile reached all the way to his forehead.

As with everything in life, things change, its a constant, and we are advised our leadership can adapt to it. But not when its been along with a transformational leader. You are going to miss that style, that affirmation, that approach. Soon our team dispersed. Scattered to the four winds. But such was the bond we had nurtured we determined that we would continue to meet, to celebrate this unique relationship under TaPas’ leadership and what better way than over food and wine. When there are a few of you agreeing on the kind of food we would like to share, a collegiate decision is almost too difficult to reach. But Tapas was the resounding vote as it provided us with a variety that reflected the team; a miasma of dishes to suit all tastes, reflecting our personalities a fiery chili and prawns, sweet and crispy chicken, round robust meatballs, melodramatic patatas bravas, flirty anti-pasta. The slow yet timely delivery of the dishes was reminiscent of the ruminations of our team meetings, the delicious wines and jugs of beer enabled a relaxation that permitted us to settle into smaller more intimate groups chatting and comfortably sharing our stories and news before musical chairs commenced and we drifted with stumbling ease into the next seat and initiated the chatter all over again. And not a single post-it note was in sight. TaPas enjoying Tapas with his team and over time that team included partners and those quarterly meetings continued until COVID changed it all.

One man created some of the greatest memories of my career, the most harmonious team I ever worked with and became one of my closest friends. The Tapas Crew our Whatsapp group name is indicative of what real leadership might achieve beyond your working life and a reminder that for some we can rely on theory of course, but real leaders are doing it in their sleep. Oh and its his birthday today, Happy Birthday TaPas……..