Unprincipled Spivs

Moving from the public to the private sector was something of an eye-opener. It was a very different culture. I had not expected to be working with such an unprincipled set of spivs.

Previously, I had only worked in the accountancy profession and universities where the main considerations were thoroughness and accuracy. In accountancy, we checked everything to the penny. There was no short-cut sampling and rounding as now. It was similar in universities. We aimed to review and understand all previous work in a field before attempting to extend it. Where I did have dealings with the private sector, it was either with audit clients wanting to demonstrate compliance, or with the research arms of large companies governed by quality procedures. You could say that things were done properly.

Then, along came nineteen-eighties ‘Thatcher’s Britain’, when competition and cost-cutting were king. You could say that standards began to drop.

Universities were driven to seek commercial partners. By then, I could bullshit pretty convincingly about ways to make computers easier to use, so when a systems company with problems came along, I was sent to talk to them. It was not supposed to be part of the plan for them to offer me a job on a lot more money. Feeling near to burnout with university work, I took it.

It was a medium-sized systems company driven by sales and profit, with an eye on what things cost and how long they took. The computer system they sold had been developed for an equipment maintenance business, but as the system expanded to handle more and more business functions, other companies wanted to use it too, and it became valuable in its own right. By the time I joined, there were around seventy computing staff, and the system was used by some of the biggest firms in Europe, from cash machine operators to telecoms companies. It had become immensely complicated and few fully understood it any more.

I identified problems, improved the information provided to customers, and began to take on consultancy roles, as they said I would. I can’t complain about that. But I disliked the prevailing ethos which was aggressive, competitive and sales-led rather than professional.

It oozed down from the owner. He had left school early and chanced upon the opportunity to lease and maintain office equipment, such as internal telephones and fax machines. He was a first-rate wheeler dealer and could spin a good yarn, and the business grew rapidly. He was also arrogant and ruthless. I cannot repeat all the sexist, racist, homophobic and explicit things I heard him say. In one meeting, he complimented a non-white staff member on his wonderful sun tan, and asked where he went on holiday to get it. In another, he likened a map of Scandinavia, “where our biggest customers are, Ladies”, to a “penis and testicles”. I suppose he thought it humorous; the sort of humour I had not heard in years. His attitude was that if customers were not complaining, we were giving them too much too cheaply.

This brand of arrogance pervaded company culture. Many of the staff, especially in sales, went along with it. They were paid ‘loadsamoney’ to drive around in company sports cars. There was pressure to go out drinking and socializing with customers. I did not feel ‘part of the team’. I don’t know if others felt uncomfortable too, but if so, they hid it well. The promise of more money and a company car tends to keep people in line, even when they never materialise.

The owner did not tolerate dissent. If you wanted to keep your job, you kept quiet. Those who crossed him were sacked, sued or both. One employee broke his leg playing football and was dismissed because “the injury was his own fault”. Another left to set up his own company and foolishly solicited business from his ex-employer’s customers. He was brought to the brink of bankruptcy.

The firm took on large numbers of new computing staff to redevelop and modernise the system. When they had served their purpose, 50% of the systems division were made redundant. I was tipped off by my manager that it was coming. He said that even if I survived I should get out as soon as I could. The phrase “unprinciples set of spivs” was his. I survive but he didn’t.

In all, I stuck it out for nearly four years. As I said, it was well-paid. The crunch came one Friday morning when I had to drop everything to go to Stockholm to sort out an urgent problem. I popped home to pack a bag and leave a note that I might not be back until Tuesday. It began to look as if more work like this would come my way. It might sound exciting, but it was all work. There was no free time to see the places you visited.

Newly married, with a family in mind, this was not the kind of life we wanted. It was a relief a few months later to find another university job. Although on a lower salary, I reasoned that the public service pension benefits compensated for that.

Windmills Of Our Minds

I always have a tune playing in my head. This week there have been two not thought about in over sixty years. Where do we keep these things and the associations that suddenly bring them back?

I had been enjoying, on Yorkshire Pudding's recommendation a few weeks ago, the three series of 'The Detectorists' on BBC iPlayer. It is indeed good, although it contains more and more soap opera elements as it progresses, which I found annoying. 'Dad's Army' never needed extended plot lines about wives, daughers and girl friends.

I thought the best bit was the last five minutes of Series 3 Episode 1, when one of the main characters detects a falconer's whistle. He cleans if and blows to see if it still works, and to the eerie harmonies of The Unthanks 'Magpie' we are transported back to the scene of an Anglo Saxon burial on exactly the same piece of earth several centuries ago.

"Devil, devil, I defy thee", they sing. And then: "Oh, the magpie brings us tidings, Of news both fair and foul, She's more cunning than the raven, More wise than any owl, For she brings us news of the harvest, Of the barley, wheat, and corn, And she knows when we'll go to our graves, And how we shall be born." I had tingles down my spine.

After hearing 'Magpie' for a day or so, trying to make sense of the harmonies, I was struck by its slight similarity to the theme tune of the nineteen-fifties television series 'Cannonball'. It came back out of nowhere and I had to 'listen' to it for a time. This was then replaced, by association, with the singer Freddy Cannon's awful nineteen-fifties hit, 'Way Down Yonder in New Orleans', one of the first commercial songs I knew all the words to because they were printed in a magazine. I can still 'see' it from more than sixty years ago.

At least I can play The Unthanks to get rid of these two tunes, but sometime, it would be nice just to be able to switch it off.

https://youtu.be/w6EIFD80f90