The politician, the pen and paying attention

One evening, many decades ago, I was interviewing a leading Labour politician of the time. My brief was simple. Ask him a few questions, instructed my news editor, and let him do the talking.

The politician was Tony Benn, whom I respected and so was pleased to get the chance to meet. He always recorded press interviews, and his pocket recorder sat on the table between us.

He smiled at me. Had I heard the story about the dear old lady who went to a political rally, he asked? Afterwards, she recounted, enthusiastically, to her friends how interesting it had been. In fact, she said, the politician was so interesting even the Press put down their pens to listen. We both laughed.

I can clearly remember that evening with Tony Benn, as well as his joke. As I’ve grown older, I have learned, slowly, to keep my mouth shut and occasionally put my pen down to listen. I have Tony Benn to thank for that.

Later in my career, the meeting prompted me to think about being interesting with my own speeches. And about listening. Perhaps I didn’t listen enough. Listening more would give me more assurance when I speak. Perhaps it would make me appear more intelligent and thoughtful. Nah, we’re in the realm of fantasy now.

Mrs B and I ran a PR and marketing business. I would regularly take part in seminars and conferences and Tony Benn’s joke would be on my mind. I used the joke several times in my material. It always got a laugh.

I strived to keep my material relevant, keep it interesting, make light of myself and make sure everyone laughed a few times. I always asked the audience to join in at least once – whether it be a show of hands or just to laugh at my expense.

If a speaker isn’t careful, the audience’s attention wanes after only 10 minutes. My theory is that some then drift into thoughts about what they’re doing at the weekend. Minutes later, a few more start daydreaming about their holidays. Then a few begin thinking about Christmas. Others drift to football and golf. Finally, the rest of the audience is most likely fantasising about sex. After 20 minutes, I could not only be talking to myself, but it’s likely everyone is having a better time than me.

So, I was always worried about content and delivery. But it seems though I wasn’t as sharp as I thought I was, or at least my conference approach hadn’t translated to the office and home.

One day, Mrs B took a call from an event organiser inviting me to be a speaker at a national communications conference.

‘When is it and how long do you want him to speak for?’ Mrs B asked.

‘Well, it’s two months away, and the plan allows for 25 minutes maximum,’ came the reply.

‘Good luck with that,’ announced Mrs B.

‘Oh dear, is 25 minutes too long?’

‘No, not all,’ replied my wife. ‘I meant good luck getting him to shut up after only 25 minutes.’