Trevor was an in-company training manager. He frequently ran programmes for young, up-and-coming managers on interpersonal skills. The course, called simply People Skills, was a residential 5-day event run in a hotel in deepest Sussex. The hotel stood on a hill in the countryside about 6 miles outside the nearest town.

Trevor was a typical trainer of many years’ experience. He had a well-earned reputation for quick-witted banter and amusing small-talk perfected over many years of enforced cheerfulness over countless hotel breakfasts, lunches and dinners. When he wasn’t required to perform, he relished periods of solitude when he could temporarily escape the limelight. He would often slip out for short walks when the course participants were safely preoccupied in syndicate groups. There was a churchyard nearby where Trevor would read the gravestones and ponder his own mortality. In these brief periods of reflection, Trevor frequently felt overwhelmed by the futility of running courses, doubting that, in the scheme of things, his life’s work was making an iota of difference to anything.

Trevor was always careful to return in good time from these brief respites to visit the syndicate groups and remind them when the next plenary session was scheduled to begin. No one could have guessed that he had been absent and, with his cheerful behaviour back in evidence, no one could ever have imagined that he harboured feelings of self-doubt.

One day, towards the end of a successful week with a particularly responsive group of young managers, Trevor decided to nip into town and draw some money out of the hole-in-the-wall at the local bank. It was Thursday and he knew he’d need some cash to fund the traditional night out at a nearby bowling alley. As usual, the course participants were safely at work in their respective syndicate rooms. Trevor was confident that he would not be missed for the 20 minutes or so that the round trip would take. He jumped into his car and drove the six miles into town. He arrived at the bank and decided to risk parking on double yellow lines right outside the cash-dispensing machine. He put his debit card in the appropriate slot and entered his PIN number only for the display to tell him that the machine was temporarily out of order.

Having retrieved his card, Trevor, still wanting cash, went inside the bank and joined a small queue. He anxiously checked his watch. Exactly 30 minutes before he needed to be back masterminding the plenary. Ample time to return to the hotel as if he had never been away.

Suddenly two men burst into the bank wearing balaclavas and waving shotguns. One gun was trained on the cashier, the other on Trevor and his companions in the queue. The man shouted at them to lie face down on the floor.

The raid was over remarkably quickly and the two men fled with whatever money the cashier had given them. No sooner had Trevor stood up and brushed himself down than the police arrived. No one was allowed to leave until statements had been taken.

Eventually, after two hours, Trevor staggered out of the bank – to find that his car had been clamped!

When at last he arrived back at the hotel after his series of unexpected mishaps, the police were there (a different squad!) talking with the course participants. It transpired that in his absence they had taken a number of impressive initiatives. In the following order they had:

• Made sure that he wasn’t asleep in his room.
• Established that he wasn’t dallying with the hotel manageress (an attractive lady whom Trevor had remarked on admiringly during the week).
• Phoned his office and his home to find out whether he had left any messages with them.
• Discovered that his car was missing from the hotel car park.
• Searched the lanes in the immediate vicinity of the hotel to check that he wasn’t slumped over the steering wheel having suffered a heart attack.
• Reported him missing to the local police.

The experience cured Trevor’s tendency to slope off during syndicate exercises.