Charlotte Bray's latest column sees her armed with an Excel spreadsheet to defend against death and talking dogs
It started with a throwaway comment. Stephen, our associate rector, quite fancied abseiling down St. John’s 100 foot-high tower. However, such statements are never casual if said within the hearing range of enterprising fundraisers. That’s the reason I ended up enduring the horrific Mighty Deerstalker, twice.
So, #abseilstjohns swiftly became an event. As the number of foolish, sorry, willing friends joined Stephen at the top of the tower, I decided to call in the professionals. I can tie a mean figure of eight at Ratho, but didn’t fancy being responsible for dropping our associate rector from a great height. He is only the associate, but even so...
Like Professor Sorensen turned anti-man, fired up by an accelerator (see: Doctor Who, Planet of Evil) the event grew with terrifying speed. Soon there were 40 abseilers, including the Lord Provost. Added into the mix were 15 volunteers, including a dog, taiko drummers, a troupe of pipers, two meringues the size of my face and about 200 cupcakes. Oh and our regular soup kitchen, who were precariously planning to access our hall via the terrace that was also be serving as an abseil landing pad.
What could possibly go wrong?
The good news is we did manage to turn it off and no-one was microwaved
When faced with alarming challenges, I always do what superman would do: I create a reassuring spreadsheet. From past event experience, I knew to include a few of the old regulars. Projected income/expenditure, volunteer roles and event timings were obvious. Less obvious was: how to turn off the massive telephone mast at the top of the church tower. Having guided our 40 abseilers safely up three external ladders and across two roofs, I didn’t want them being irradiated on the way back down.
Several phone calls and a million emails later, I was reassured to have a deactivation code. I was less reassured when, two days before the event, an engineer arrived to install an emergency generator to keep the phone mast operational during our event. My excellent communication skills had clearly failed. Another hundred frantic emails ...
The good news is we did manage to turn it off and no-one was microwaved. I even did the abseil myself, so I know how well the events company looked after everyone. And, despite my pre-event nightmare, it went really well. No apocalyptic storms, no dodgy, unfinished scaffolding, no massive traffic pile ups on Princes Street, no-one falling through the roof and no talking dog (not sure how he fitted in, but that’s nightmares for you). No one died. In fact, everyone seemed to have a lovely time. More than that, we raised some money and got some positive PR into the bargain.
Sitting with a very well-earned gin, we pondered lessons learned. The moral of the story: perfect planning prevents poor performance? Maybe. It was a terribly good spreadsheet.
More likely, as with so many such things, I learned that many friends make light work. There is no doubt that without the many willing bucket shakers, befrienders, cake bakers and sellers, shifters and carriers and general all round good-eggs, the event would not have been the big success that it was. I owe you all big time.
Oh and there apparently is no such thing as a stupid idea. Next up: sponsored porridge hurling.
