A DAY IN THE LIFE OF...

The alarm rings. I do not have to move until the Radio 4 announcer says it is nine minutes past seven: that's a firm routine. So what is being lined up for me this morning?

First thing at Ballyhough I check the faxes to see what has been happening overnight. A boy in Capetown has just had an operation: is he OK? Someone wants a reference: could I fax one immediately? There is a quotation from the printers for the new annual report: decision needed. One of the representatives overseas is querying the forthcoming visit of John Fraser: can John change his dates because the representative won't be there. All routine, but it takes time to read the faxes, take the decisions and make sure that everyone is clear how to proceed.

Many of the weekday mornings are taken up with selection courses: twenty four fresh-faced seventeen year olds from all over the UK making their first visit to the Hebrides, and for some, their first visit to Scotland. Some have never made it north of Watford, but they try to hide this from us. It is extraordinary how many have travelled all over the world in their holidays, but never been to Scotland: what has happened to British tourism? 

I may have to listen to some very amateur lessons which they give. Or perhaps I will chair a discussion on some of our policies. They have all read the literature carefully and most of them accept, if not believe strongly in, what they read.

Perhaps Nick and I will take a pair out to Grishipol on an individual task. Gathering sheep is a favourite although we must be careful they don't think that we are using them as cheap labour. The sheep who get so regularly gathered certainly don't think so. It is a good task: you can test the candidates' common sense, their physical ability and their intelligence. If it is pouring with rain it tests their determination as well.

If I am overseas the day has probably begun at 6.30 when a taxi or car driven by the local representative has turned up to collect me. Although I am feeling jet lagged and exhausted, and the day is hot and steamy. I must look and pretend to feel at my best.

When I am overseas there are usually meetings all morning. I must adapt my attitude to the custom of where I am. In Indonesia I must wait to drink the cup of hot sweet tea until the host indicates. In Egypt I can start at once. In some places they are not so keen dealing with a woman and have a hunted look on their face as though they hope my husband will appear and save them from this terrifying woman. I must be persuasive, friendly and clear, all with a big smile on my face to counteract this distrust.

At every point I will make a point of having a drink and going to the loo. One of these days I am going to write a book about international loos I have known: some are best avoided at all costs. I need a cast iron bladder to cope. Have I ever told you about the one with the rat running down the open drain and a discrete wall which only reaches my waist?

After lunch it is back to the office if I am on Coll. I have letters to write, to file, computers to check out, people to see, decisions to make.

If it is the end of the week I might be making life and death decisions about the future of the candidates with the help of the team which has been working with them all week. 'Cathie said she was hopeless at doing the washing-up and sat in her bedroom giggling with her partner all evening', comes the evidence. 'Low adaptability' is the interpretation. She does not sound as though she could cope with difficult decisions overseas. 'Ruth says he was exceptionally charming and polite to her but left his room in a tip'. So what does that say about him? High on social range but low on his ability to look after himself overseas. The decision we make can change the lives of these young people: we have to work very hard to try to come to the right solution.

If I am overseas I may be visiting a school in the company of the volunteers working there and probably the Headmistress too. We walk into a classroom and sixty black faces with shiny white eyes and teeth gaze at us. The class all stand up. 'Good morning Madam', they chorus. `How are you?' 'Good morning children,' I reply, 'I am fine.' Sometimes the teacher will ask me to say who I am and what I am doing there, so I have to give a small speech, tailoring it to the age and the amount of English spoken by the class. No one can pronounce `Lavinia' and `Mrs Bristol' sounds pompous. Perhaps I will call myself by my second name, Mary, and risk real confusion. The end of the day on Coll is around 5.00pm when there is a general rush to get the candidates back to their hosts. Some of us may linger on for a while, but often there are shops to visit. So it is home for a welcome break from the office, with Nick and a large glass of gin. If I am overseas I may take the volunteers out to supper. We have to choose a restaurant carefully, maximum amount of food and minimum cost. If I am in the Far East the food will probably be delicious, but if it is Africa, probably not. It is probably an alcohol free evening as far as I am concerned - just a large glass of coke.

We sit and chat the evening away, until around 9.00pm when I feel it is legitimate that I can leave to go back to my hotel to sleep. I need an hours pottering gently every evening to get my papers ready for the next day, notes written up, washing done, and a good dose of reading to take my mind of the pressures of the day. I sleep lightly but soundly, I hope.

Lavinia Bristol