At the beginning of the year we were reef fishing in the Bahamas, John hooked a snapper. While he was reeling it in, a barracuda, with an elegant, powerful swirl, bit off its tail-end, leaving the other half on the hook. John left this in the water, and, sure enough, the barracuda came back for the rest of his breakfast. He swallowed it, hook, line and fly — and was himself caught. When we opened him up, we found both halves of the snapper and two other whole fish. Greedy beast.
The other reason we were in the Caribbean was to attend a business conference on Necker Island, at which I had to speak. I confess to accepting because I couldn’t resist the lure of Branson’s paradise, not because I boast some magic business touch. Indeed, almost all the big companies on whose boards I’ve served, came to sticky ends: British Rail was privatised, Woolworths went bust, Safeway got swallowed by Morrisons, Leeds Permanent Building Society proved anything but permanent and the Halifax Bank merged disastrously with the Bank of Scotland only to collapse seven years later. The only plc of which I was a director to still be thriving and independent, is Whitbread. Even Belmond, the luxury hotel chain, has had to seek shelter in the gilded arms of LVMH. I hasten to say all these calamities happened after I’d left, but it just goes to show how dicey, albeit exciting, business is.
I feared the Necker conference delegates would be designer-clad multi-billionaires, arriving in private planes, greenwashing their corporations and altogether too pleased with themselves. But Liberty Ventures, who staged the conference, back businesses genuinely trying to do the right thing and the boss, Alexander Corbin, hand-picked the delegates, who mostly wore ancient tee-shirts and scruffy shorts. There were only 40 of them, some young geniuses bent on doing good through commerce, some old dogs who proved you could stick to your principles and make money, and some venture capitalists looking for young talent to back. It was just terrific.
Almost the best thing about holidays is having time to read. And my two recommendations are Wendell Steavenson’s Margot, a novel about a gifted, but timid child, repressed by her stultifyingly rich, snobbish, strict and stupid mother Peggy, one of the most chilling characters I’ve met in fiction. The writing is original and sparkling.
Equally captivating is No More Champagne, by David Lough which is yet another biography of Churchill, but this time seen through his financial tribulations. Neither Churchill nor Clementine could ever economise. She spent a fortune on clothes, he on champagne, cigars, grand accommodation and gambling. Somehow he managed Europe’s destiny while on a constant financial knife edge.