Memorable moments: The Tel Aviv revelation

I have spent much of my life accompanied by a quiet, persistent shadow: Imposter Syndrome. Even when I was at the top of my class at school, I dismissed it as a lack of innate ability; I convinced myself I was simply working harder than the other kids. The anxiety was a constant hum during exams—the terrifying certainty that this was the time I’d finally bomb out and be "found out."

This pattern followed me into my professional life. At Old Mutual, I was singled out as a high-potential trainee, yet I waited daily for the mask to slip. By 2001, I was in the UK, working for a renowned branding agency with a vibrant culture and iconic clients. Despite excellent feedback, the syndrome was stronger than ever. Branding wasn't my specialty, and I felt like a guest who had snuck into a high-society party.

Then came the Israeli bank project.

Our team of three—including the Managing Director and our colleague Anita—flew from London to Tel Aviv every week. The MD was a powerhouse, a charismatic genius who had single-handedly formulated the brand identities for some of the world’s most iconic companies, including Apple. Watching him work was like watching a master conductor; I was in absolute awe of his confidence.

One night, after a long day of strategy, the three of us met in a hotel bar in Tel Aviv. After a few drinks, I finally confessed my admiration. I told the MD how much I respected his genius and, more than anything, his unshakable confidence.

He looked at me and said something that shifted my entire world view.

"You know," he said quietly, "I have a huge imposter syndrome. Every time I stand up in front of a board, I feel totally nervous. I think, 'Oh no, they’re going to find me out this time.'"

I was stunned. If the man who branded Apple felt like a fraud, what hope was there for us mere mortals?

It was a moment of profound self-compassion. I realized then that Imposter Syndrome isn't a sign of inadequacy; it’s a nearly universal human experience. It might even be the very thing that makes us a driven species. It’s the friction that motivates us to be better, to prepare more deeply, and to reach further.

The goal isn't to kill the imposter; it's to understand him, be kind to him, and then—like the MD in Tel Aviv—stand up in front of the board anyway.

Memorable moments: The kick of a mule

In 2023, while working for Volvo in Cambridge, I spent my nights in Duxford and my weekends in London. One particular evening, I was invited to my boss's house for a dinner party with my colleagues—a wonderful, mostly Swedish group.

In an effort to be helpful, I volunteered for kitchen duty. My task seemed simple enough: make the tzatziki by mixing five "cloves" of garlic into the yogurt. Being a culinary novice (and, let’s be honest, a bit of an idiot from time to time), I operated under the assumption that a "clove" was the entire, multi-segmented bulb.

I proceeded to mince five entire heads of garlic into a single bowl of yogurt.

The resulting dip didn't just have a "kick"—it had the concussive force of a mule. Surprisingly, the Swedes—who are famously reserved until the schnapps starts flowing—didn't seem to mind. In fact, as the evening devolved into a raucous affair of toasts and table-dancing to ABBA, I felt compelled to enter the spirit of things. I ate a heroic amount of my own toxic creation.

By the time I stumbled onto the train for the ten-minute ride back to my B&B in Duxford, I was well and truly "tiddly." I closed my eyes for a second and woke up ninety minutes later at Liverpool Street Station in London.

Resigned to my fate, I took the tube to our apartment in Hammersmith and crept into bed, trying not to wake Ally. She didn't stir at first, but as the cloud of five fermented garlic bulbs finally reached her side of the mattress, she recoiled in her sleep.

"Oh my God," she gagged, rolling as far away as the bedframe would allow. "You stink!"

I spent the next three days reeking like a medieval plague ward. I set out to impress my Swedish colleagues with my kitchen skills; I ended up proving that while ABBA is timeless, the scent of fifty garlic cloves is practically eternal.

Memorable moments: The thirty-person portion

I have never been much of a cook. In my house, when people smell something coming from the kitchen, they don’t ask, "What’s cooking?"—they ask, "What’s thawing?"

So, when I landed a job in 2002 as a tour leader for an overland expedition from Istanbul to Cairo, I was focused on the logistics: getting thirty people and a massive truck across the Middle East. It wasn't until I arrived in Istanbul that I received the terrifying fine print: I was also the head chef.

In a moment of pure, survival-driven genius, I held a briefing for the passengers. "This is not a tour," I told them solemnly. "This is a participatory adventure." I drew up rosters, declared that everyone would help shop and cook, and successfully outsourced my own incompetence.

However, I did have to pitch in. Over five months, I became a specialist in one specific area: Spaghetti Bolognese for thirty. It required an enormous pot, a literal shovel’s worth of mince, and the upper-body strength of a weightlifter to stir.

When I finally returned to London, I boasted to my wife about my newfound culinary prowess. Delighted, she stepped aside and let me take over the kitchen. I set to work, channeling the spirit of the Anatolian plateau. The meal was a triumph—rich, savory, and perfectly seasoned.

The only problem was the scale. My hands simply didn't know how to stop at "two servings." I had prepared enough pasta to fuel a small village's migration.

It was a delicious meal, but by week three of "Bolognese Breakfasts," my wife started asking if we could go back to the "What's Thawing?" era of our marriage.

Memorable moments: A lesson in interspecies etiquette

At the London Zoo, I decided to test my "horse-whispering" skills on a llama. I’d always found that a gentle, deep breath near a horse's nose was the ultimate ice-breaker—a way to build instant intimacy and trust.

I leaned in, eyes locked with the llama’s, and channeled all the calm, spiritual goodwill I could muster. I prepared for a moment of profound interspecies connection.

The llama, however, had a different communication style.

Before I could even finish my first "peace-offering" exhale, it launched a high-velocity, impeccably aimed spray of spit directly into my face.

As I stood there, stunned and dripping, a childhood memory flickered into view: a scene from Tintin where the exact same thing happens to a furious Captain Haddock. I’d read the warnings decades ago, but clearly, I’d forgotten the most important rule of the Andes.

Nostalgic music from my 30's

Favourite songs (Cambridge years)

These albums and songs were my anthems and soundtrack while I lived in London and Cambridge.

 

Trip to Brazil and the Iguazu Falls

One of my highlights from 2003 was visiting Brazil. It was a business trip but I got to spend 4 days exploring the region around the Iguazu Waterfalls. The falls themselves are stunning - over 200 separate falls melding into a churning mass of frothy water and spray. This is where The Mission was filmed (remember that unforgettable scene of the cross going over the falls).

The most exciting moment for me was when I got to see my first wild Toucan - these colourful, big billed birds have fascinated me since I was a child and it had been a life goal of mine to see one.

Croatia

I'll never forgot my shock of looking outside our hotel room and seeing a naked couple walking past. And two minutes later, another. Turns out our balcony was situated on a nudist beach. Turns out there are more nude beaches in Croatia than normal ones. Wouldn't be a pity if they attracted the toned and the beautiful, but it seems to work the opposite way. Mountains of wobbly flesh proubly put on display...

I got to try a bit of nude tanning myself but forgot to put sun tan on my flanks (too busy protecting other obvious bits) and got horribly burt. Dubrovnik was beautiful and we were there right in the middle of a large festival so got to see it at it's most festive.

 

.

The Trip

This poem describes a bad experience I had after taking two hash muffins in a coffee shop in Amsterdam.  

The Trip

Two muffins and the puff of a joint.
Amsterdam coffee shops – aren’t they great!
Sitting by the canal - Adam, Kerry, Ally and me
A waitress arrives for orders
“What does she want?” I chunter and glare
Oh, I feel weird.  Oh, so weird.  Woozy, like a dream
Pressure in my head
 “I feel funny Ally”
Adams tries to distract me with numbers
“Ally!  Oh god, I feel bad Ally, I feel bad”
The horribleness comes in waves.  Horrible  Horrible  Horrible
I wrap my arms tight and fidget my legs
Can’t keep still, we walk around
Ally takes me to the hotel, self consciously trying to distract me
Does she know?  Is this a ploy?
What if I fell or yelled or ran or died, would anyone notice? Is anything real?
Back in the room, I say sex might help
My mouth is dry, her’s too and down there also
Hell’s sex with no wetness  - dry to dry
“I’ll be back in a minute” – she’s gone
This is like a dream; except I can’t wake up
A nightmare.
I can’t wake up!
This is hell.  Hell.  This is hell.  Hell
Ally’s back.  “Oh my God, I’ve seen HELL!
“Graeme!”
“No, no - I’ve SEEN HELL!”
Door.  Corridor. In a rush.
When did I die?  Stuck in this.  Horror.  No escape.  What have I done?
“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO”
Corridor.  Door.  Eternity.
NO ESCAPE
I’M IN HELL
This can’t be happening
I’M IN HELL
 “Graeme!”
HORROR HORROR HORROR HORROR HORROR
So this is what we flee from all our days - thinly veiled, lurking beneath: Terror
HELL HELL HELL HELL HELL HELL HELL

UNENDING HELL
Escape.  The window.
End it.  You can’t end it.  Try!  At least try.
“GRAEME!
Pulling.  Shoving.  She’s hanging on.  So sad.  I must.
GRAEME! GRAEME!  GRAEME! GRAEME!
Looking down.  Not high enough.  I can’t end it
“GRAEME!”
Ally and Kerry hanging on
I’m tired.  So tired.  Weird that I am physically tired in Hell
They corner me in.  Holding on.
I’m nude.  Blanket covering me down there.
There’s two others here now – a boy and girl - they talk, gentle talk
Oh, how exhasuting life’ll  be
knowing that Hell lurks beneath
We walk down the stairs
Not enough space to jump
People around.  A movie on TV.  I know the actor and the movie.
But it’s all surreal.
I’m going insane.  Trapped in my mind.  Why me?
Someone else is spacing out
I sleep
I walk round Amsterdam with Adam
I sleep
I wake
Chuckle self consciously
They chatter as if nothing has happened. Ally, Kerry and Adam
“Oh my god, did I try to jump out the window?” I say
An uneasy pause
Then chattering resumes.

Written 2003

Adam comes to stay in London

Ally's wonderful cousin, Adam, stayed with us for a while in Hammersmith Grove. We had so much fun together.

Highlights

• Rollerblading!!
• Rugby 7 a side at Twickenhams
• Ripping off Michael
• Water ambushes from the 3rd story
• Lounge football

With Sam

Visit to Cape Town

Jo and Steve's wedding

It felt very special to be in Cape Town and able to attend this beautiful wedding between two such dear friends.

Favourite movies watched (2003)

• Kill Bill: Vol. 1 (2003)
• 28 Days Later (2002)
• Love Actually  (2003)
• North by Northwest (1959)
• Vertigo (1958)
• Jaws (1975)
• Aliens (1986)
• Alien  (1979)
• The Third Man  (1949)
• Citizen Kane (1941)
• Taxi Driver (1976)
• Deliverance (1972)
• It's a Wonderful Life (1946)
• Requiem for a Dream (2000)