My company staged a ‘team-building’ exercise in Newlands forest yesterday afternoon. I’m afraid that where my office is concerned, the only building I’m really keen on involves walling some of my colleagues up and leaving them to rot. Actually, now that I think about it, large lumps of concrete and the harbour on a moonless night would get the job done rather nicely, too. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s illegal to kill people.
Anyway, our team-building extravaganza was a kind of scavenger hunt. The plan was for us to take a pleasant stroll in the woods, while looking for clues marked on a map. A fine idea in theory. In practice, it involved falling down ravines, getting flayed by sharp vegetation and sweating buckets – sort of like Eco Challenge for the chronically unfit. A pie-eating competition or a four hour sit-a-thon would perhaps have been more appropriate.
As my team emerged scratched and bleeding from the bush onto one of the hiking trails, we happened upon a father and son out walking the dog. “What are they doing, Daddy?”, asked the youngster. “I don’t know”, replied Daddy, “But it doesn’t look like fun”.