Show Me The Money!

This week's email is longer than usual so buckle up. And please excuse me for a moment or two while I begin by reminiscing about the best job I’ve ever had.

In spring 1996 I completed a Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) certificate at Leeds Metropolitan University. I got on well with the teaching staff and they invited me to apply for a post at the summer school.

For six weeks I was to teach a class in the morning and then become the social events organiser in the afternoon. Being a language teacher was fun and a good learning experience but being the social secretary was simply the best thing ever.

We Are Young

I ran the summer programme for four summers in a row and it was always brilliant. Each year we had a few hundred students from all over the world. They were here to study hard and to have lots of fun. They were all over eighteen and independent so I didn’t have to consider any sort of age related restrictions when planning events.

The range of nationalities was wide and made for enlightening and educational experiences. A lot of the time individuals would embody the national stereotypes you always get told are exaggerated myths. Not in my experience! This is what I observed.

The Germans were always very serious and wanted to study. The French showed open disdain for the English food. The Turks and the Greeks refused to dance with each other at the Barn Dance event. The Japanese students were so deferential they had to be taught in separate classes to all the other nationalities. The South Korean girls all dressed like Janet Jackson from her Rhythm Nation era.

The Spanish were probably my favourites though. Every year there was a massive contingent and my initial difficulty, each and every year, was getting them to believe that the pubs closed at 11pm. They were just getting ready to go out at that time!

Each and every year the new intake would at some point introduce me to Kalimotxo, an alcoholic student tipple concocted by combining red wine and coke. Basically, you take two perfectly good drinks, mix them together and create something really quite awful.

If You Want To Go Out

Lots of the events I organised made use of the excellent social venues in Leeds and the 1990s Cool Britannia vibe. I introduced our students to the infamous Otley Run and the fifteen pubs en route. Only a few made it as far as the Original Oak, less than half way, and it was only the hardiest that ever reached the Dry Dock.

One thing that still boggles my mind is that I could claim my entrance cost to nightclubs as an expense, as long as I advertised the night out as an event and accompanied them to the venue.

You have no idea how many nights a week I promoted visits to The Cooker, The Underground, The Love Train at the Town and Country Club, Top Banana and the cavernous Majestyk.

See The Sights

It wasn’t all hedonism though. I introduced them to the north’s greatest cultural hits too. York, Haworth, Saltaire, The Lake District and Fountains Abbey were all roaringly successful trips.

We took one solitary trip to Blackpool, advertised (by me) as ‘England’s quintessential traditional seaside resort - a must see town’. 

The final stretch of the coach drive took us slowly along the promenade. We passed two women fighting, seemingly over a tray of chips, and then a hundred yards further on, we all watched in silence as a guy on a street corner unravelled a massive python out of a suitcase.

When we stepped off the coach the view was an oppressive wall of grey; the sky and sea were indistinguishable. There were two Italian girls on the coach. They were from Sorrento no less and were dressed immaculately for their day at the England's premier seaside resort. They approached me, almost in tears.

“Why have you taken us here?!” one asked, distraught. Her accusatory look of betrayal and hurt still haunts me now.

Meanwhile the Japanese students absolutely loved the Pleasure Beach Amusement Park. At the end of their stint in Leeds they rated the day at Blackpool as their favourite event of the summer.

See Our Friends

I organised a lot of free events like cinema viewings in the lecture hall and sunny games of rounders on the main field, but lots of activities had a cost attached to them. The cultural trips and the social gatherings, like our end of term barbecue, all cost money.

So as well as planning my lessons, teaching, organising the events and generally being as hedonistic as I could manage, I also had to collect, count and look after hundreds and hundreds of pounds. I forget exactly how much but I do remember being amazed at how much coach hire, parking, entrance fees and burger buns can rack up.

I had a red metal money box that accompanied me at all times, so students could pay for events whenever they saw me and I could talk them into signing up for. (Sorry Italian girls!) Every now and again, when the fivers and tenners had filled the box, I’d hand over the funds to one of the sensible office people.

Great days.

Tell Us What You Know

At the end of the first summer school in 1996 I flew off to Turkey. I had a one year contract to teach English at the Kadıköy Anadolu Lisesi, hailed as the best state school in all of Istanbul. I know! They approached me with an offer and I never did find out how they got my details.

I’d been working there a few months when the phone rang in my apartment. My phone rang rarely. Very few people had my number and those who did called infrequently - international call charges were as high as the Gallagher brothers in the 1990s.

“Hello.”

“Hello there Iain, it’s Jim.”

“Hi Jim . . . Sorry, Jim who?”

“From Leeds.”

“Jim from . . . Leeds?”

“Yes, Jim from The Language Centre. At Leeds Met University. Finance.”

Suddenly it clicked. It was Jim! Jim was in charge of Finance. Jim was one of the proper grown ups.

My mind span around. Why the hell was Jim from the Finance Department ringing me up in Istanbul in November?

“Hello Jim. How can I help?”

“Erm, Iain . . . What did you do with the money?”

I wasn’t expecting that!

Save Your Money For The Children

The summer school expenses like coaches etc were paid for up front out of a general float that had been issued for the summer. Then the monies I collected from the students were designed to subsequently cover those costs. Apart from now the funds were nowhere to be found.

A few assumptions were made, conclusions hastily drawn and it didn’t look very good for me.

Everyone knew I was the one that had collected the money. I was required to be a central character in the story of the summer school. All the students and staff knew who I was. Every day I was dashing around, generating enthusiasm for upcoming events. And always with my flashy red tin stuffed full of banknotes.

Sheafs of five and ten pound notes were forever riffling in and out of my hands, at all times of the day and on all corners of the campus. I’m still fairly relaxed but in the 90s I was virtually horizontal and all the money was managed very informally, totally on trust. 

“I’m not saying you’ve taken the money,” said Jim, giving voice to that very idea, and literally saying the words "you’ve taken the money."

No, Jim wasn’t accusing me of taking the money, but he flipping well thought I had and had rung up to ask me what I'd done with it!

Long story short; I hadn’t taken the money. Someone else had nabbed it.

In It For The Money

The person I had regularly handed the red tin money over to, turned out to be not such a sensible office person after all. Or trustworthy. They also turned out to be someone who had rather irregular financial systems in place.

By the time I came back to Leeds the following summer they were no longer working for the University and my reputation had been redeemed. But for a very short time things felt unpleasant.

I’ve got plenty of failings but dishonesty isn’t one of them. It was horrible to be accused, however indirectly, of stealing. It was horrible to have people even consider the possibility that I nicked the cash.

But here’s a thing. I think that all of this could have been avoided with a little more proactivity on my part.

It's Late In The Day

Back here in 2022 I’m writing a course on communication. It’s taking forever, mainly because I’m quite slow but also because it’s becoming fairly epic, expanding every time I sit down to write.

One of the sections deals with how to choose the most appropriate channel when communicating. As a general rule of thumb I suggest that whenever possible we should use verbal communication. (Ignore the fact that I’m suggesting this in a written email!)

We’re really experienced at communicating through speech. As a species we’ve been communicating verbally for around a hundred thousand years, whereas writing and reading has only been around for five millenia maximum.

For most of us, speaking and listening are the things we’re best at doing and understanding. Speech is quick, simple and effective and, for many many situations, it is the most appropriate form of communication to employ.

But there are times where written communication would be better. Times when, for example, you might want to leave a clear paper trail. I think you can probably tell where I’m going with this.

How much better for me, and for Jim, would it have been if I had communicated in writing what I was doing with the money? If I'd left a trail?

We're Alright

Email was a thing back in 1996 so I could have quickly booted up my Hotmail account every time I handed some funds over. I could have jotted down a short note like:

“Hi Future Funds Thief,

Just a quick note to confirm I deposited £387 with you today - most of it was the York trip.

Cheers, Iain x”

I’d have a simple paper trail outlining my actions. And I’d have probably got replies from my counterpart to prove it.

Or even if they had never replied I’d still have a collection of my outgoing emails. Perhaps the emails alone wouldn’t prove anything outright but I’d have had to have been a wannabe master criminal to fraudulently create a series of fake emails to cover my tracks. It’s not that likely is it?

I’m pretty sure Jim would have been assuaged a lot quicker if I’d been able to forward copies of written communication to him.

We Jumped All Night On Your Trampoline

This week’s Top Tip is to keep a written record of things you feel are important. Do this for things that may come in handy in the future. Especially if it could look like you have committed a crime and gone on the run in Asia Minor.

It doesn’t have to be an onerous task. I’m not suggesting you write up a long and detailed report. Keep it simple and brief.

With some emails I receive I’ll forward a reply that only goes to myself. It might say something simple like “Agreed to deliver X on X date for X hours at X rate. Call back on X date to firm up details” and then I’ll ‘snooze’ that email for action at a later date. Then I know what I agreed at the time. 

Of course you could reply to the person so that this information is shared and both understand. Whichever is most appropriate.

It doesn't have to start with email either. After an important phone call you could then send a simple written email outlining the action that was just agreed.

“Thanks so much for agreeing to help organise the village fete next Saturday. Much appreciated. We’re all meeting at 10am. Look forward to seeing you and your prize pig.”

It clarifies the situation and acts as a brief summary. It could be via email, text or WhatsApp. The form it takes isn’t that important as long as it exists and you have access to it.

Sort Me Out Alright

Take a moment this weekend and consider what it might be worth making a written note for. Is there anything you communicate verbally that could be misconstrued? Would the consequences of this outweigh the two minutes it would take to write a short email? If so then maybe jot down a line a two and protect your future self.

Now I’m going to stick Supergrass on Spotify and pretend it’s 1996 all over again!