Rattled Nerves

"It would help you to read it, settle your nerves, calm you down a bit", she said as we made our way down the M50 in the pouring rain. She was right, of course, but I think I need the adrenalin rush of living close to the edge all the time. Otherwise I’d never do anything. And I can’t bear wasting time – my time, that is – hanging around, waiting for things to happen. If there’s any free time going I want it to be experienced while my feet are up; not standing upon another’s fancy. But still, she may have a point and perhaps I should get myself a copy. After all, what’s my hurry? I can still hear my father’s voice as he often used to say, "When God made time, he made lots of it!"

We sped away from another two-day session in Mullingar where we were further enlightened on how to tackle difficult problems, from the perspective of an effective manager. But between you, me and the wall, there was one particular area that everyone failed dramatically to address: how do you deal with a person in the workplace who has an unacceptable level of personal hygiene? Imagine, if you will, our group in role-play: Me, as manager, and Blue Eyes giving an Oscar winning performance as the wronged employee giving me such a hard time. I found myself backtracking, sidestepping the issue, squirming in my seat, while she ate the face off me, threatened me with her union rep, and said that really she had no idea what I was talking about. Then it was Desperate Dan’s turn. He tried "desperately" to control Blue Eyes while she tore strips off him, too: "Sure the aftershave you’re wearing stinks the place out. I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to complain about me!" In the end, after we collapsed with laughter and realised how utterly impossible such a situation would be for such a hapless manager, Blue Eyes came up with a solution: Decide on a code of conduct with input from all concerned, discuss, come to agreement, make sure everyone has a copy and in the event of an issue, refer to the code. And the award for best actress goes to...

Perhaps every workplace should have a copy of Self Help for Your Nerves by Claire Weekes. First published in 1972, it is still recommended by doctors today as a useful tool in dealing with anxiety disorders. This Australian GP avoided the term 'nervous breakdown' as she felt it to be unscientific. Instead she came up with "nervous illness" and concentrated on three areas that she decided were central to the issue: sensitization, bewilderment and fear. She based her work on personal experience of nervous illness and that of her patients and was greatly respected in her chosen field.

My driver, who was suffering from a bout of nerves brought on by watching Thierry Henry’s illegal handling of the ball in the Ireland/France game, drove home from Mullingar fuming. She hadn’t slept the previous night and had probably been replaying the disaster in her head as she tossed and turned in her King-size bed. I can just imagine her, smoke coming out of her ears, reaching for her copy of Self Help for Your Nerves to throw at the television as the awful events of the match are shown again and again in repeats and replays. But she’ll have to pull herself together by tomorrow morning and turn back into an effective manager whose main concern is for the well being and welfare of her staff – however odoriferous!

Swedish Design

We made it: up the M50, through the road works, past misleading signs and into the car park. We tied an orange scarf around the front mirror just inside the window so we’d find our silver car again in amongst a sea of silver cars. I’d resisted for so long but was persuaded that today was the perfect day for a gander in Dublin’s first IKEA store. A warehouse of strong colour and hip design that snaked around for miles through every room in the house you could possibly need furniture for. It was full of crying babies, bored husbands, harassed wives, irritated children, and me with my bad back. We touched everything, ran our hands across wooden tables, stroked cushions and bedspreads, opened jars, unzipped bags, poked mattresses, sat on chairs (I nearly didn’t get up again), opened drawers, peered in cupboards, measured, weighed up the pros and cons, wrote notes, exclaimed, admired, resisted and finally, left. It was exhausting! I spent a total of €7.67. My daughter went mad altogether and spent €23.45!

IKEA was founded in 1943 by Ingvar Kamprad. Kamprad probably drew his inspiration from Carl Larsson, another Swedish designer, born nearly a centuary before. Larsson was an artist who began his career illustrating books, magazines and newspapers. He married fellow artist, Karin Bergöö, and together they had eight children and created what seemed like an idyllic life. It was through being a husband and a parent that Larsson blossomed as an artist and this was reflected in their home, a place where thousands of tourists visit every year. His illustrated books A Home and A Family are still an inspiration to aficiandos of his work.

Larsson’s major work, Midvinterblot, a huge oil painting that had been commissioned for a wall in the National Museum in Stockholm was rejected on completion by the board of the museum in 1915. Larsson was devastated. The picture, having been offered free to the museum at one stage, was eventually sold to Hiroshi Ishizuka, a Japanese collector. Ishizuka was persuaded, by public demand, to sell Midvinterblot, back to the museum in 1997 where it now hangs, pride of place, in its originally intended destination.

I have, as my desktop picture, a copy of The Kitchen, a watercolour painted by Larsson in 1898. I remember it from when I was a child; I loved its simplicity and wanted a kitchen like that in my home. The picture shows two girls, Larsson’s daughters, churning butter in the middle of a bright and airy room filled with colour: a red chair, the Aga in the corner, a green chest of drawers, an elegant jug, a shelf with curves beneath on which to balance.

Today, in IKEA, I saw the hand of Larsson in each simple yet functional design. It had been done before, over one hundred years ago, yet we all thought it was exciting and new and couldn’t wait to belt up the M50 – recession or not – to create our own flat pack ultra modern lives. Take a bow, Carl Larsson, your work lives on in more ways than you’d have ever imagined!