Mondays usually consist of endless rows of meetings for me.
Take yesterday: first greenkeeping, then heads of various teams sum total. Followed by two customers wanting to finalise details of tournaments and events they booked at our premises. Head of restaurant and chef, going through the upcoming weeks, discussing menues and offers, numbers of guests expected, new staff to hire and the like. Golf school manager, coordinating organisational matters of next Sunday’s public day on the golf course with me. A window cleaner wanting to inspect the zillion square meters of glass in the building for a proper offer. The facility manager going through everything to be taken care of while he will enjoy his upcoming holiday. Did I ever mention, we rent out parts of the house to businesses and offices? Two of those commercial tenants came to see me yesterday, too. Wanting to speak about new flooring (case one) and the design of a new information panel (case two) we are about to put up, to have their customers find the right entrance to the house.
Come evening, I sat at my desk with a stack of notes, considering, who to and where to all this gathered information needs to go in which order.
While summing up the agreed schedule for next Sunday’s public day in writing for my team of staff and volunteers, I receive a copy of the instructions to the golf trainer team, the golf school manager had written on the same topic, based on what we had discussed in the afternoon. Or so I hoped. Reading through it, I found, that miraculously things had changed in the course of a few hours. I checked back with my notes, maybe I had not remembered correctly. But no, a distinct change had snuggled itself into the plan, somehow. As one can’t have eleven staff working to one schedule and fifteen to a different one on the same project, I was back on the phone to the author of this fabulous, new plan. In the end adjusting everything on my side, as he had already mailed his version to all and sundry on his side of the team. This happens, when people just take last year’s text for a short-cut. Modern time non-communication, if you ask me. And a waste of my time.