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I went to a talk last week.
The title was fine. Slide two. Nine bullet points. That’s not a presentation—it’s a confession.
💡 ONE IDEA WELLToo often, we treat presentations like a dumping ground for everything we’ve ever learned. We forget that our job isn’t to say everything—it’s to help the audience remember something. Nine bullet points don’t show how clever you are. But here’s the truth: nobody remembers bullet six. The best talks aren’t information-rich—they’re message-clear. So here’s a better way to think about your next talk: What’s the one thing you want your audience to remember three days from now? You’ll say less—but you’ll mean more. 🧰 LESS MESS, MORE MESSAGEHere’s a quick fix you can try: Now reframe the slide around that. 🔄 Before:
📸 Here’s what that shift might look like in practice: 🧭 ASK YOURSELF THISWhat’s the one thing you want your audience to remember three days from now? Everything else supports it—or distracts from it. |
One idea a week to help you teach and present with more clarity, confidence, and calm. No fluff. No scripts. Just practical tools that land.
There is a right way to make a cream tea. There are, in fact, two of them, and they live forty minutes apart. In Devon, you split the scone, spread the cream, then add the jam. In Cornwall, the jam goes first. Both counties are completely certain. Neither has any doubts. I spent two weeks in the West Country recently and ate the wrong cream tea twice. This is not a piece about cream teas. 💡 ONE IDEA WELL Most medical presentations start the same way. Title slide. Speaker's name and...
Rusty put his hands on my shoulders before he asked. We were in the middle of the auditorium, the session just finished, people filing past us towards the doors. He leaned forward from the row behind, hands on my shoulders, and asked if he could give me some feedback. I said yes. People usually do, then immediately wish they hadn't. "It might not be neuro-inclusive," he said. He meant the stage. Every session at DFTB, since the very first one, we've had all three speakers and the chair sit up...
Ten years ago this week, I flew 17,000 kilometres to attend a medical conference in Dublin. I am not someone who loves large crowds. Which is a little ironic because I have spent the last decade co-organising a paediatric conference that deliberately fills a room with them. I also arrived in Dublin with a pocket full of stickers and a sheet of temporary tattoos, because my colleagues and I were trying to advertise the very first conference for a small paediatric education website we had built...