I’m not a massive rollercoaster fan. I once insisted my brother-in-law buy me a Rock ‘n’ Rollercoaster cap after the Disney Aerosmith ride, contrary to all pre-ride promises, performed several vomit inducing loops.

 

We’ve just concluded our 2017 conference at work. The feeling of exhilaration I feel now is much the same as when I got off that ride.

 

My company organises the biggest CEO-level healthcare conference in the world, I’m told. It took place this year in the QEII Centre, a stone’s throw from Parliament. It was a spectacular venue, with amazing views of the capital, but I didn’t really get the chance to take them in as I chaired four of the panels and schmoozed and networked my way through both days from 8 till very late.

 

In many ways the prep was harder work than the event. I’m happy on a stage. Give me a microphone and an audience of any size and I’ll happily chat. Or sing. I have memories of giving a near flawless performance of Careless Whisper at a Skegness pub in 1998 but my recollections may be skewed by the 6 or 7 pints I’d consumed that evening, and my subsequent victory in a limited, mixed ability field was assured by having weighted the audience in my favour in advance. I’m as good as teatotal these days barring Christmas parties but back in the day, especially during the wayward period when I was running my own business, I didn’t really see any barriers in life.

 

But back to the conference. I spent weeks, on and off, outside of office hours, making myself an expert in digital health, central and eastern Europe, elderly care, and MENA (Middle East and North Africa).

 

I’ve never shied away from asking difficult questions and this conference was no exception. I loved it – see for yourself:

 

 

For the hour or three while I was on those stages, I had my briefs mastered! Just don’t ask me anything about them! In fact, don’t ask me anything for the next two weeks. Now I’ve got to write it all up.