"Only wimps need handovers."
First job: buy a PDA (Personal Digital Assistant). I could't live without one. No discussion. With it on my belt, I no longer felt naked: a talisman perhaps; I felt the sap rising in me sufficient to resist a request to attend a politically sensitive government meeting in a neighbouring country next month, in place of a junior colleague. A meeting we needed to say some "No"s at. Of course he would be out of his depth and embarrassed. Tough. His hosts would forgive him since he was a junior. Not me. I'd just be out of my depth and what with my authority, our organisation would lose some serious 'face', I knew that much. Anyway, this early in my new job was the only time I'd be able to make such a gesture look innocent (and this bunch certainly needed a gesture). But in future it would only be interpreted as it actually was: a snub, not forgiven in a general round of bonhommie. Again - tough. (I was feeling tough.)
Second job: handover from my predecessor. Completed in eight hours. This was minimal. Very minimal. Virtually pointless. For such a large programme, it was actually far beyond disappointing. Forget it. I was tough. I was going to orientate myself to the field operations. Handovers? Only wimps need handovers.
