The Ladybird Book of the Recession - Part Three

This is a hotel. It is a place where people can sleep and eat, if they are away from home. 

They are called guests. 

Many people work in the hotel to look after the guests.

The lady is called a receptionist. She asks the man what his name is. 

He tells her that it is Mr Smith.

Mr Smith does not want anyone to know what is in his suitcase. 

Mr Smith drops the suitcase by accident. It rattles and begins to make a buzzing noise.

This guest is also called Mr Smith. He has just told the hotel porter that his niece will be visiting him later.

Mr Smith has asked the porter to help his niece, as she is from another country and does not speak very good English.

The porter asks what country the niece is from. Mr Smith is not sure. 

It could be Latvia, he thinks.

Jean is the hotel's main receptionist. She can see that the new guest is writing 'Mr Smith' in the visitors' book.

With so many guests called Mr Smith, it can be very confusing when the hotel receives a telephone call for one of them.

This lady is called a maid. She tidies the room and puts clean sheets on the bed.

The maid has found something that she does not like.

The sheets will have to be thrown away.

Many hotels hold wedding receptions. This man is very rich and has paid the hotel to hold a big party. 

He has married his secretary, who is 24 years younger than him. He is very happy. 

The secretary is in love with someone else.

This is Reginald. He is the head barman. 

Reginald can hear voices in his head telling him that the world is going to be cleansed in flame. 

Maurice is the head waiter. He is asking the guests to speak quietly, as their voices are too common.

Maurice suggests that they might feel more comfortable in a 'steak house'.

The guests leave.

Some guests can be very rude to the staff. 

A lady from South Africa has been unkind to one of the waitresses, so the kitchen staff are adding a special ingredient to her desert. 

The rude lady will not know about the ingredient.

These porters are standing in an empty foyer. 

The hotel used to be the most popular one in the city, but not many people stay here now.

 

These men are in charge of the hotel. They are talking about why the hotel has fewer guests than it used to. 

One man thinks that guests now expect a television and private bathroom.

Another man wonders if ballroom dancing has gone out of fashion.

With fewer guests, the hotel does not need as many staff.

Stanley is the deputy chief porter. He has been asked to see the manager. 

The manager will thank Stanley for his 32 years of loyal service, before asking him to take early retirement.

Stanley had thought that he was going to be offered a pay rise.

In the kitchen, everyone is worried about losing their job. 

Some of the staff are starting to swear back at the head chef.

Outside the bar, Jean is changing the flowers. 

Reginald the barman walks past her, muttering something about the 'end times'. 

Jean can smell burning.

The Ladybird Book of the Recession - Part Two

 

This is a town, like many other towns. Perhaps you live somewhere like this. 

In this town, many people work in the local shops and factories. Some travel further, by rail or road, to a job in another town. 

The shops are very important to the town. 

When somebody buys bread at the bakery, the baker can use some of that money to buy meat from the local butcher. The butcher may then spend some of this money to have his car serviced at the nearby garage. 

This system of people passing money around is called a 'local economy'. 

Some experts think that if you spend a shilling, it will be worth ten shillings to the town, because it will have been handed around so many times.

This lady is not helping the local economy. 

She is buying her food from a supermaket that sends most of its money to another town, many miles away. But the supermarket is cheap and the lady is worried that she cannot afford to buy her food in the local shops.

The lady is not the only person in the town worrying about money. When a lot of people start to worry about money at the same time and begin buying fewer things, this is called a 'recession'.

 

A recession affects most people in the town. 

The fishmonger says that fewer people are buying fresh fish from his shop this year. Because of this, he will have to get rid of his assistant and may even close the shop. 

He is very worried.

Some governments will try to stop people worrying by spending more money, to protect jobs and help businesses. 

If fewer jobs are lost, more people will spend money in the shops. But this town has a government that is trying to mend the recession by spending less.

Because the Government is giving less money to people, many shops and businesses in the town are beginning to close. Some people are losing their jobs.

 

At this local factory, a man called Robert has been told that he is going to lose his job as a sales manager. 

He will also have to hand back his 'company car', which was given to him by the factory. 

Robert is very worried about how this will affect his family.

Robert and his family live in a nice new housing estate, but it is a long way from the centre of town. They will now have to catch a bus to go the shops. 

The buses are expensive and some of the passengers smell.

Robert likes drinking wine. 

Since he lost his job, Robert has been drinking more wine. His wife is worried that they cannot afford it, but Robert says that the wine cheers him up.

Wine can make people forgetful. 

Robert has forgotten to pay for his bottle of wine. 

As he leaves the shop, a policeman arrives. The policeman was called by the shopkeeper, who was worried that Robert has stolen the wine.

In a recession, when people cannot afford to buy the things they want, some of them steal. If they are caught, they may go to prison.

This lady may not look like a thief, but she has stolen an expensive handbag. 

She is trying to pretend that the handbag is hers. The other woman is getting cross.

The lady wanted the handbag because she had seen a lot of advertisements for it. 

When people who have no money keep being told to buy things they cannot afford, they can become sad or angry.

Some young people became so angry that they robbed this department store and set fire to it. The store will probably not open again and a lot of shopworkers will lose their jobs. 

Most people are afraid of losing their job. 

However, the Government is worried that a lot of people would prefer to stay at home and watch television instead of working and paying taxes, so they are changing the law.

These men will not be able to watch television all day, as they now live outdoors. 

They used to live in houses that belonged to the town, but they were told that these homes were too big for them. 

The Government would like these men to live in smaller homes and get a job.  

But they will have trouble finding work, as they cannot look smart for a job interview.

Nobody knows when the recession will end. 

Robert and his wife have decided to have a fresh start in Australia, where Robert will work at his brother-in-law's carpet cleaning business. 

Robert is not very interested in carpet cleaning.

They will all miss their family and friends. 

The town was their home, but they know that even if the recession ends, the old shops will not reopen and life will never quite be the same again.    

In Chains

It's now over a year since my mother moved to Lewes and she's settled down very well, but the one thing she doesn't like is the shops: "They don't have anywhere where I can buy nice blouses in my size".

By nice, my mother means the sorts of clothes that faintly resemble the staff uniforms of building society employees in the early 90s: pastel, understated floral patterns in washing machine-friendly artificial fibres.

As for size, Lewes is not fat town. Nationally, 66% of men of my age and height are heavier than me, but in Lewes I feel like a pasty-eating slob compared to the gaunt, earnest-looking men with beards who think nothing of starting the day with a 20-mile cycle ride. I should move to Walsall.

We needed to go further afield. I asked my mother if she'd like to try Eastbourne, a coastal resort with the highest number of people over 80 in the UK. Without pausing for thought, she replied "Not 'arf!"

As I parked the car at Lewes railway station, my mother remarked that this would be the first time that she'd been on a train in 30 years. I found it hard to believe, but her look of wonder as we boarded the air-conditioned carriage was genuine.

Suddenly, my mother looked worried: "But we can't sit here. This is 1st class isn't it?". I assured her that it wasn't and that the rail network had changed a lot since the days when scuffy men in donkey jackets half-heartedly ambled along the platform with a broom in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "Cor!" my mother replied, "It's posh isn't it!"

For me, it was an unremarkable train journey. For my mother, it was time travel.

Many aspects of the service industries have improved during the last three decades. This is obviously a 'good thing', but during my visit to Eastbourne's rather depressing Arndale Centre, I was reminded of the darker side of this cultural shift by a huge poster advertising 'exciting' job opportunities in a new branch of River Island.

Since when was working in a clothes shop exciting? You put clothes on display, tidy up the mess that customers have made and occasionally operate the till. It might be enjoyable if you like the work and get on with your colleagues, but surely the job's pretty low on thrills apart from the odd spat with a shoplifter.

Sadly, the River Island advert is symptomatic of a growing trend in which retailers want their employees souls as well as their bodies. You can work as hard as you like, but if you're not excited about the brand, you're not being part of the team. It's an employers' market.

When I joined the Ottakar's bookshop chain in the mid-90s, there was no nonsense about having to be excited. The senior managment used to motivate staff by giving them a lot of autonomy and rewarding success with generous bonuses. It worked. Staff were generally enthusiastic and, sometimes, even excited, but we didn't start grinning inanely at every customer who walked in the door.

However in today's economic climate, bonuses are thin on the ground and the main motivational tool is fear:

"Work hard, look as if you're really enjoying yourself and you might get to keep your job, but don't think you can fool us. If you're in a shop, leisure centre or museum, we have mystery customers. If you're in a call centre we will be listening to you. As for the drivers, we're tracking you all the way. Any unscheduled stops will be monitored. No-one is beyond our reach"

I'm very pleased that service has improved since the days when many shop assistants talked amongst themselves and treated customers like an inconvenience, but the growing trend of subjecting poorly-paid employees to an Orwellian regime of constant surveillance and 'thought police' who look for any signs of dissent disturbs me deeply.

In some cases, the result isn't even good service, but manic, rather desperate and intrusive behaviour that is deeply off-putting. When I walk in a clothes shop I want to be left alone, not befriended by an insincere assistant who is clearly terrified that I might be a mystery shopper, beaming at me every time I glance in their direction. Also, I'd like to be able to just buy something without any nonsense about bars of chocolate, loyalty cards, mobile phone top-ups and stamps.

During my last few months at Waterstone's, we were encouraged to get 'added value' from purchases by asking customers if there was anything else they wanted and, if there wasn't, would they be interested in buying "this £12 book on wine for £5? No? Well how about joining our loyalty card scheme..."

Some people responded, but most looked embarrassed or irritated and couldn't get out of the shop quickly enough. We were able to measure how many customers joined the loyalty card scheme, but not how many were put off by this approach. I hated it and knew that it was time to leave.

High street retailers are trying to save themselves by squeezing as much money as possible out of their diminishing pool of customers, but their methods are simply driving people like me towards the hassle-free environment of the internet. Sadly, they usually can't give their customers the thing they really want: value.

Back in the Arndale Centre I rejoined my mother, who was in Bon Marche, buying a coat that looked as if it would repel a chemical warfare attack. The shop assistant was desperately trying to sign my mother up to a new loyalty card scheme, but something wasn't working properly and I sensed a growing desperation. "I'm really sorry madam. I'll just try one more time..."

As we left the shop, my mother turned to me and said "That poor woman. I don't suppose I'll ever use this thing."

Independents' Day

I'm still getting used to the randomness of self-employment. After years of working regular hours for a set number of days per week, it feels strange to not know what you're doing from one day to the next.

On Monday I received a text from someone that read:

"Hi Phil, I'm in the process of designing a bookshop and could use some helpful input. I think you're probably the man - what do you reckon?"

24 hours later I was wandering around a huge, deserted haberdashery shop, trying to imagine how it would work as a bookshop. I wasn't sure whether I'd be much use, but I'd forgotten how much I'd learned. Years of opening shops, ordering stock and trawling through spreadsheets of sales data had given me a good overview of the priorities.

I made a few suggestions, including moving the till point closer to the entrance, putting the children's books nearer the back and reducing the opening stock order by 80%, but I couldn't bring myself to make the most obvious recommendation. Don't do it!

According to an article published in today's Bookseller, "Four in ten shops will shut and property portfolios will reduce by 30-40% in the next five years as customers increasingly turn to online shopping over bricks and mortar, according to a report released this morning".

It's not a good time to open a shop.

I'm fairly confident that the best independent bookshops will survive if they have a good catchment area, but sadly this shop wasn't in one of those towns. Indeed, when I looked at the shabbily-dressed locals, slowly hobbling past the window, it reminded me of an episode of The Walking Dead.

Luckily the rent is very low, so the shop will only have to sell a few books a day to be profitable. Also, the owner is a very talented bookseller with several successful businesses, so he knows exactly what he's doing. But I still think that it takes a tremendous amount of courage to open a shop in today's economic climate.

According to Hugo Clark from Deloitte's, "The role of stores is changing but that does not mean they will be less important. The store of the future will be less about driving product sales and more about a holistic brand experience."

I think if my name was Hugo, I'd refrain from using phrases like 'holistic brand experience' as people will think that you're a bit of a ponce. But he's right. I think that the retail chains of the future will make most of their money online and only need a small number of stores as showcases for their 'brand'.

It all sounds a bit depressing, but with fewer chain stores around we could be about to enter a new golden age of small businesses and independent shops.

I'll come clean; I want to see Britain end up like an episode of Chigley and if the recession brings us any closer to the promised land, then I welcome the retail meltdown. Let's bring back steam, tweed, cravats and tiffin:

A Different Tune

I've just returned from Rye, where I met an old friend for a drink.

Twelve years ago he was living around the corner from my flat in Twickenham, earning a fortune in business publishing, but hating every minute of his working day. Then one day he decided he'd had enough, sold his flat for £120,000 and bought another on the Kent coast for £60,000, using the balance to pay off his mortgage.

He's never had a 'proper' job since, and seems much happier for it.

Last year he was invited to audition for a French punk-folk band (he is a violinist) and phoned to book a seat as a foot passenger on a cross-channel ferry. "I'm sorry," he was told, "but we don't accept foot passengers any more, only people with vehicles. You'll have to pay the car rate, which is £60".

My friend slammed the phone down in disgust, lit a cigarette and fumed. Then he had an idea and redialled the number:

"You said I had to pay for a vehicle. If I came by bicycle, how much would that cost?"

"£10".

Two weeks later, my friend was the sole cyclist in a slowly moving queue of cars and lorries at Dover's docks, congratulating himself for his moral victory over mindless bureaucracy. The band were apparently waiting for him in Calais, so he decided to spend the hour-long crossing relaxing in the bar.

With five minutes left until the ferry docked, my friend made his way down to the vehicle hold and unchained his bicycle. Soon, he could hear the sound of chains moving and ramps descending, followed by the hissing of hydraulic brakes as the lorries began to edge forward. He quickly phoned one of the band members to find out where he needed to go.

"'Allo Graham. You muss follow le traffique and take ze second exit on the left. Yes? We are 500 metres away".

Graham followed their directions faithfully, making sure that he took the correct exit and found himself cycling up a rather steep ramp, which left him feeling a little breathless. To his relief, the ramp became flatter and seemed to be joining a proper road, then suddenly: WOOSSSHHHHH!

A powerful gust of wind almost knocked him off his bike and to Graham's horror, he found himself on a motorway being buffeted by a succession of fast-moving lorries. There didn't seem any way to get off the motorway. Terrified, he stood on the edge of the slow lane, wondering what to do next.

Suddenly, Graham's phone rang: "'Allo Graham. Eet is me again. Do NOT take ze second exit! Comprenez-vous? It is the WRONG exit!"

After a farcical (and very dangerous) half hour spent trying to leave the motorway, Graham eventually found the band and began what turned out to be a very alcoholic weekend. He now plays gigs with them on both sides of the channel.

It's strange how people's lives can change so much, in ways that we could never predict.

In the late 1990s, Graham seemed to have it all. He was earning at least four times as much as me and always seemed to be getting promoted. Evenings were often spent in smart restaurants, dining with the leading lights of international banking, or at the Strangers' Bar at the House of Commons, getting gossip from drunken MPs.

Occasionally Graham would say how depressed he was by the ease of his ascent. He'd never been particularly interested in business publishing and couldn't understand why people at the highest levels accepted him as one of their own. Success bought financial rewards and status, but also increasing levels of stress, boredom and frustration.

I don't know what finally pushed Graham to suddenly hand his notice in and he'd never expressed any interest in visiting Kent, let alone living there, but within the space of a few months he completely transformed his life.

Today, Graham plays the fiddle at folk festivals and private functions, earning just enough to pay the bills and enjoy the occasional trip to India. He lives quite frugally but is completely debt-free and doesn't miss his old life at all.

I'm sure that Graham's example partly gave me the courage and inspiration to change my life. Unlike Graham, I've never had to face the same temptations (although I was made a very attractive offer earlier this year), but it was still hard to take a leap into the unknown.

After saying goodbye to Graham, I sat on the train and looked at BBC News. In a piece about people who died in 2011, I saw these particularly apposite quotes by Steve Jobs:

"Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything - all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice."

I know it's easy to make statements like that when you're the billionaire CEO of a corporation (I'm not sure what the Chinese sweatshop workers who make many of Apple's products would say), but I agree with the sentiments.

I think that next year will be all about putting these ideas into practice.