ManServant

 

I lost my wedding ring that Summer. I could not have known the poignancy of its passing over the knuckle, almost in slow motion, as my hand stretched over boulder rocks at the bottom of the lake. I had capsized from my canoe and was in need of some air. So when the slime of the weed bottom calmly enveloped the gold treasure of fifteen years I knew in the darkness that it was gone for ever.

When I surfaced I instinctively cried, "my wedding ring", "I have lost my ring". Naturally all my fellow paddlers that day were concerned for me and our instructor took it upon herself  to paddled up and down the position of my roll & plunge. "Its ok" I said. "We will never find it". "Its far too mirky down there". An air of gloom decended over our party at least until lunch time & I felt a bit of a prat for making a fuss.  

My ring had a section of white gold less than one third the size of the complete gold band. It was a perfect match to my partner's and both were originally made together; new, original, modern, bright and clean. I had lost mine several times before. Once, it lay at the bottom of the freezer cabinet for over four months! I had returned from the supermarket and placed all the frozen food with already cold hands in their place. The next day I had phoned the supermarket, driven to its parking spaces and searched the tarmack there for my ring. I wanted it back. I felt unsettled without it.

And so it was after the Summer's canoe incident that my unsettling grew to become a very difficult time. I wonder now if there was something more in the trip last Summer; an omen or an expectation being set which could not be appreciated or foretold.  

 

Let it Rain

A Glasgow morning had been heavy with warm fog and darkening skys. At breaktime in year one Neil & I kicked a ball between us and from gate to post. If the ball was angled just right it would result in a perfect rebound to your playing partner who would attempt the same shot. The more of these you got in a row, the more satisfying the game was. We counted each pass, hoping to reach twenty. Neil played for Motherwell and I played for the Pars!

Although it was mid February, the rain began heavily, like a tropical storm; not gently with tiny wind blown drops first felt on the face, but with dark shapes that appeared on the ground. One after the other landed about us. Very quickly they became more frequent and in only a second or two, the heavens opened. My uniform cap was drummed by the falling rain and instinctively we stopped our game and looked up.

The whistle sounded signalling the end of playtime but for some reason we remained rooted to the spot at the far and of the concrete enclosure. Still looking skywards I removed my cap and opened my mouth to taste. We stood in a gushing shower. I'm concsious now that its taste was not tropical however. Instead I recognised the faint metalic and familiar coal fires at the back of my throat. Neil struck a familiar pose and as the other children ran off back to class he continued to look skywards, squinting from the rain in his eyes.

As if welcoming the torrent's arrival he outstretched both arms and waggled his fingers. We looked across to each other, ignoring the ball as it rolled far away from us, and smiled. 'Jeeessuuuss', said Neil, thats proper rain. Our maroon blazers were now soaked and the puddles now forming at our feet were deep enough to splash in. Sandles and socks had been relatively dry but we soon fixed that by splashing each other! You might think we looked like we were playing at the local baths or imagining a day trip at the seaside. Instead of passing the ball we gleefully traded splashes. By now we seemed to have forgotten we were at school.      

Let it Rain      

   

Sodom & Gomorrah of our time

 

First the politicians, then the banks, the shops, the downturn, property, Woolies, bailing out car companies, record cold snap it makes you wonder if this is the Sodom & Gomorrah of our time. I have a prediction that something big will happen with schools and in particular exam results this year; pupils will start to get lower grades. Instead of the compulsary A star star double plus highly praised standard eagerly provided by the government so that they can continue to say 'we kept our promise on education', somebody somewhere will turn a blind eye to one teacher breaking ranks and actually reading and marking a paper ! After all, ministers will still be too busy borrowing more money this Summer to even notice. 

So are we being punished for wrong doing? In a way I suppose we are but unlike the biblical fire and brimstuff delivered to ancient cities by the Gods, its the weakness of man to greed and temptation, our unbalanced focus on wants, which can be blamed for some of our woes. There is a feel too of natural forces at work. The elasticity of the feel good factor, can only mean that a bubble of confidence will be contracted at some point by its own quivering membrane.

Ten year cycles of boom and bust have been around for decades but this one does feel different. Sodom and Gomorrah could indeed be New York & London where many once high and mighty reveared individuals have been exposed for what they are. There no longer appears to be anything that sophisticated about the world of high finance. Don't you think? 

Events have surely shown us that a more sustainable and peaceful way of living and a greater balance for all our existance must be the new goal. I know, this sounds a bit John Lennon, but as Billy Joel said 'We did'nt start the fire, it has always been buring since the world was turning.' Perhaps ever since market traders in Sodom and residents of Gomorrah struggled to pay their own creditors we have continued to miss the whole point of us being here ....       

Raasay Day Trip ....

 

We took the boat from Skye on a balmy Summer's day. Walking on the small roll-on, roll-off ferry as foot passangers with bikes. Jessie was on the tag-a-long trailer bike with its one wheel and bright orange flag displayed high above her seat. Just able to reach the pedals she had the sensation of the freedom of cycling without any of the effort required! Her cousins were old enough to have their own bikes and so at a young age she could join in and be part of it all. Smiling and holding tight as we bumped onto the ferry doors now lying flat on the rough concrete jetty, her red hair rippled in the cool sea breeze.

Parking the bikes in their alloted space on the ferry I lifted her off from under both armpits and looked into her beaming face. The same smile had been there all day and I never wanted it to leave. How light she was. With arms still chubby and with dimpled knuckles she grabbed my cheeks and squeeled with joy. We took our seats on the boat and waited for the off.

Not content to sit as only adults can the kids were eager to explore the boat and so off they went while we raided the picnic everyone knew was really for later on in the day. Not susprisingly the snacks and variety filled rolls got their attention back and we were soon out of all the cheese and marmite options! Moving out slowly past the anchored mast tapping yachts, she was now on my knee, her heel rythmically prodding my shins as she sung a song to herself. With one hand she inspected the insides of one of our last rolls and with her other, the brittle texture of quavers. My nose rested on the top of her head and the smell of sunshine, beach, and cradlecap merged together. A distinctive and recognisable smell of sunshine kid, your own.     

From the shelter of harbour banks to bow chopping ripples, our ferry swing round to point directly at Raasay. Not a big island but one we already could see was of a different character to Skye. We had left a rather barron easterly edge whose backdrop was the dark and dramatic Cullin mountains. Raasay now filled the frames of cameras and we appeared to be approaching lush grass and tall trees. It was a welcome contrast. The shudder from reverse gears signalled our arrival and as if about to enter a new world, we eagerly ready ourselves and our bikes. Jess on the tag behind me smiled and let out a 'Daddy, lets go'.  ....     

Its a game ....

'Don't take it too seriously. Its just a game.' I've heard this a couple of times recently from friends and ex colleagues. It reminded me when business times have been tough in the past. Thats when I heard it last. Of course it has always been so, but when we simply cant get that meeting we have been dreaming of for a while, or we have spent an entire day listening to soundbites swirling through halitocis ridden hot air, we all need reminding that there are always winners and losers in the game. By being in the game there is a platform to create our own luck.

All we are trying to do is be in the right place at the right time talking to the right people, saying the right things and for those on the receiving end to respond positively. One of the biggest and best game players I have met has walked his platform for fifteen years or more.

He's done the same job in a business that grew from a dozen people to several thousand, never wanted to be 'a manager', just focussed on his customers, has 'global account status' with the biggest names in the pink paper, kids in private school, appears ice cool and confident, has seen it all. "Its just a game", he said to me, "but I will be leaving the table in under five years". The ice man was starting to thaw and I am grateful he revealed to me some things I know he was keeping to himself.    

Well deserved praise ...

 

Blurred vision made it all the more necessary to begin to explore surroundings through touch, sense and smell. The slight pressure on knees and ankles grew stronger with each attempt to raise body weight stretching out toward dark shapes above.

 

The lighter coloured object between the shapes behaved as if connected to thought, moving from left to right, near and far. Touching the darker objects high above fused new wires in the brain. Imperfect varnished surfaces could be mapped as fingers became receptors to smooth plateaus, rough peaks and irregular knolls. The contrast between this and the warm fabric under the knees was registered. Finally digits could be wrapped around the firm dark shape and as if triggering an automatic response, pulling of hands and pushing from below resulted in a standing position.

 

In the background muffled sounds of quiet voices rose and fell away again. The head moved round to look at the voices but their muffled tones were not there anymore. Instead steps of adult feet could be heard softly becoming more distant. At that critical time, smiling to itself and calling out, a whole being transmitted its joy. With head popping from left to right where the voices were last heard, and knees bending and stretching, a need for the reflection of felt joy, recognition and praise built from nothing to a strong desire in a very short space of time. Infant calls were soon to become screams as a hole in the once perfect being opened up inside.

 

The wound would continue to grow from this very moment, often becoming infected throughout an entire lifetime. She was not there to mirror the joy of a now standing infant with wide eyes and smiling face. Instead the child slumped back to the floor, rolled on its back and cried. This was no ordinary call for attention due to hunger pains.                             

Dear City Boy....

 

I read your book in only a couple of days as it was a real ‘page turner’ for me. Just thought I might share my thoughts. This is not a ‘review’ or critique’ just an opportunity to share some of my own experiences and observations on your incredible journey. I’m in my mid 40’s, had a few bumper P’60’s in my time through selling and have been trying to change direction since hitting 40 !!

 

Firstly it seems to me like you were always going to be at odds with being a City Boy and all that entails because of your upbringing and family roots. Although not entirely socialist, you had an in built value system from the outset which kept voicing its opinion inside you whenever it felt like it needed to i.e. all the time and every day! Congratulations to you and your parents. I know you have done this many times. E.g. when speaking to your father after your accident. I was moved by this humbling experience and your descriptions of how events changed you. Many never recover from a life long dose of the ‘affluenza’ virus.

 

Secondly, you are so right that money doesn’t necessarily bring us happiness. Ironically we seem to spend the first half of our lives struggling to ‘make it’ only to find at the top of the pile there really isn’t much there worth having! Coincidentally we also feel we have made it just at the very time we start to hunger more for life experience rather than just clamoring for more material wealth. I believe this is also part of what is dismissively called – especially by woman - the male ‘mid life crisis’.

 

This is often brought on earlier in life the more we ‘achieve’ in our careers. Furthermore with age comes a heightened awareness of mortality. When we also start losing people we care about the appeal of the Porsche starts to wane !  I don’t mean to dwell on this too much but recently I wake at night and am reminded of the falling Sperm Whale in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy who for 2 seconds before he hits the ground, tries to fathom in his small brain; “what’s it all about”!  Morbid but true!   

 

The dimension which does indeed make it all worth while, as you eloquently point out at the end of your book, is love. This can be spiritual, in whatever shape and form works for each of us, and of course it is lived through the people we chose to be closest to. The wife and kids of City Boys in your book and other ‘high achieving’ families don’t seem to harbor a great deal of love let alone mutual respect! It seems to me you were in love with the woman you lived with and if my wife was reading your book she would want to see you win her back at the end! I confess I thought this would also make a good ending at least in the movies!

 

Good luck and thanks for the book.

 

Trevor

Top Gear

 

You can tell by some recent posts that I did visit the Motor Show this year! Yesterday while parking up at a business well know to me in the Berkshire Boroughs I was struck by the love affair sales people have with their wheels. Originally - and I think at a time before email so I'm now showing my age here !! - The car was a very practical solution to sales folk who must on a regular basis visit prospects and customers ! In short, the reason you got the car with the job was because you were expected to spend so much time in it. Sometimes all week i.e. never at home and so the better the model the greater the incentive to work your balls off making other people rich ! 

What started out as a practical solution and 'perk' has develepod into a full blown obsession. But then as we all know, the car says a great deal about the driver. At the end of the day stereotypes do seem to fit when we look at cars. Personally I do drive one of these 'Chelsea tractor' things - but more fuel efficient than most - and am therefore one of the most hated motorists in London ! I admit that a greater size and density does make me feel like I am signalling to many other on the road - "Get out of my Way"! The high driving position gives me better visibility and the tailgate is great for the dog. 

Again showing my age, a small part of me would swap the ageing Chuck Wagon for a two seater very fast and brightly coloured variety but I'm extremely aware that this would actually make me look like a bit of a prick and succeed only in advertising to my friends that I have now entered the stage in my life when erectile disfunction is acknowledged as a potential future problem.

To me its absolutely fine to own the vehicle you desire for whatever reason but please just don't go on and tell the world about it. In doing so you are surely just confirming that you believe you have higher status - of one kind or another - because in actual fact you have a hole inside that needs filling with road tax, high fuel charges, and the badge or a prestigeous manufacturer - usually German.

Cars are much more than about getting from A to B. This was true even in the days when getting from A to B on our roads could be achieved in less than a week or more. To have a car - for some - was essential to the confirmation to oneself that we had 'made it', were 'getting on fine' or indeed that we had higher status. At the motor show there was a VIP area for invited guests only who could sit in and stoke very expensive cars. I actually saw a bloke stroke a yellow Corvette several times. With a mesmerised expression he also looked like he was starting to dribble before he remembered he was in a public place and quickly dabbed his slaver with a hanky.

I was struck by the design work on show and found the whole visit to be a feast for the eyes as much as anything. ......       

Methods & Madness ...

Sales methodologies exist largely to make money for the authors and trainers. The ones that spring to mind include; Customer Centric Selling. SPIN Solution Selling, Huthwaite Research, Hiemen's New Strategic Selling etc. Like many people who have done these and others you begin to notice a common thread.

The sales cysle goes something like this - find the lead thats good, i.e. budget, timescale, key players, decision process, needs, (both technical & business!), competition etc. can quite easily be qualified, get in front of the prospect, sell the benefits, get your timing right and ask for the order!! Along the way this are acres written about establishing rapport, calculating ruturn on Investment (ROI), total cost of ownership (TCO), selling the vision, identifying and demonstrating alingment, selling benefits not features and all the blah blah that goes with all the above.

You can't document or certify the other methods that are far more intangible however; there's getting to know and like people - professionally - sometimes 'entertaining them', stalking people literally outside their offices, making hundreds of phone dials in one day just to speak to the right people, driving for hours on highly congested roads, marshalling 'internal resources'  to maximise and leverage their full potential, 'knocking down doors', getting them drunk and yourself along with them. Buying breakfast lunch and dinner for people, taking them to seedy bars, informing them about events, selling bums on seats at these events, being ultra responsive, getting them to come to all your boss's favourite sporting venue, getting them to commit to a round of golf with ..... your boss, buying champagne and flowers for the prospect's PA for all her help, pretending you know what techies are talking about at all times, looking really interested, being a smart and credible professional. .... 

Its this very last point - the credibility that very often seems to elude us however - and I think its the key to the whole thing.....

Ross & Brand ......

 

My bank has behaved very irresponsibly – tonight confirmed by the BBC’s special report on the financial crisis. No surprise there but whilst watching the program – some filming took place outside the prestigious headquarters frequently visited by vendors  – I was reminded how the greedy buggers inside spent much of their energy intimidating suppliers whilst at the same time squeezing as much as they could out of every customer contact. 

 

Banks smugly emanated the odor of high brow commercial sophistication as if their ‘business practices’ which were ‘setting new standards for global best practice’ could not be understood or replicated by anyone else. We now know that all of that was just part of the horseshit smokescreen. None of us need ever feel intimidated by these twatts ever again. You see unlike any sensible corner shop owner these clowns sold as much credit as they could without ANY checks and balances bringing as they did all the sales & marketing ‘talent’ from the good old gun slinging U S OF A.

 

On the BBC program a previous Head of Risk Management was interviewed about being ‘made redundant’ in ’04. Frankly, he was in the way and he knew it.  Risk was no longer part of the business model equation. The billions sold in credit were largely underwritten with NO exposure assessment and the FSA’s pronouncements were ignored like a limp dick just before the money shot. The balance sheet for all this credit was shored up by billions of market sourced greenback. The wholesale machine of cash was gladly hemorrhaging what it could as the culture greed and irresponsibility gathered momentum.

 

If you can get away with something and it also brings short term gain, human nature dictates that the pattern will be repeated. Like Brand and Ross in this weeks media scandal, the jokers in the City increased their outrageous behavior with each new target met. Bonuses quickly followed with each ‘success’ and latterly for failure too. So why put the brakes on when you are enjoying the ride like no other ? As the wholesalers gradually called in the bill the party was already over; defaulting customers were appearing like so many zombies in a horror film; and the bank’s front and back office were at war.

 

The customer you see had been used not serviced. The balloon of sophistication lost all its grace deflating to a pathetically shriveled red faced embarrassment. I suggest now might be a good time to set up your own Building Society perhaps in your local street or as grandma said all too frequently keep your money in a biscuit tin under your bed.