One of the risks of having a partner who inhabits the corporate world Canary Wharf thrives on, is getting invited to some Organised Fun. Away days, team building, team bonding, and any event that is prefixed with the words “ice breaker”, bring me out in corporate branded hives.
I’m not business-ist, I feel the same about team sports or competitive crafting on hen dos, and any drinking game. Ever.
Fun is not something you can prearrange. Enjoyment is not a tick box exercise. You do not design fun and then execute it, as you might a spreadsheet or a tax return.
There is no greater oxymoronic phrase. Organised Fun brings on PTSD from being forced to do cross country in ill-fitting trainers, in driving sleet, ankle deep in mud and dog poo, while a teacher screamed at me to smile.
Fun is not regimented or dictated (unless you’re into S&M, in which case, all power, or submission, to you). Fun is spontaneous.
A natural shy thing that unfurls if given the right conditions. You can aim in the right direction. If you like walking and rivers, you could stroll by the Thames.
If you like TV, you get Netflix. If you like the odds, you get a gambling app. Fun is an individual choice. A personal taste.
If you take a random group who happen to work together, how can you expect them all to have fun?
Don’t let a uniform dress code fool you. Scratch that pinstripe surface and you’ll find a host of personalities and passions underneath. Only a fool would wrangle them into the same activity.
If you really want your Canary Wharf colleagues to have fun, give them a day off.
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