Chris Barrow’s Blog

Until 3rd September.

You can see my holiday reading list further down on the right.

Have a good month - I’ll be back!

Its the weather - it’s terrible!

Falmouth Week is in full swing - and that’s supposed to mean open-air concerts and all sorts of crowds watching water-born activities.

Last night I even saw crews from the Fastnet race who have been blown off course and just given up - gone to the pub.

The town is looking like a zombie movie - hundreds of families in crocs and plastic raincoats, staggering dejectedly along the streets and looking into shop windows for the umpteenth time.

After dinner last night we wandered down into Event Square and patiently waited in a freezing wind for the evenings free concert. After a half-hour of hypothermia,� a groupof young men� broke into a gypsy dance band rendition of protest songs - all accordions and violins - bloody awful racket.

Over in the Pavilions, the lucky ones were waiting to hear from the headline act - Sophie Ellis-Bextor- oh dear.

Last year we enjoyed a “Last Night at the Proms” - this year - I know the weather hasn’t helped - but I think the organisers have lost the plot a bit.

Saturday’s Caribbean dance night will be a wonder to behold.

Needless to say - Pizza Express is jam-packed. We were turned away at 6.30pm - no tables and a 45-minute delay in the kitchens - and, as I have mentioned, it’s the biggest in Europe!

Today I’m off to a local hotel for a full-day management meeting - and this afternoon we are meeting with a Falmouth design agency to dicuss corporate image for the new company.

I hope it stops raining.

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I was relieved to read in my latest issue of Wired magazine that “we are a society that is paranoid just because kids and adults happen to be in the same public place” BUT that “MySpace would love to have you - assuming you are not going to pose as a teenager.”

Point taken - and I never even wanted to look at MySpace.

But I read that 9% of MySpace users are over age 55, compared to 14% who are under 18 - so it’s not just the preserve of the multi-tasking 14-year old girl who can simultaneously watch ANTM, update her MySpace page, paint her toe-nails and chat to her friends on her phone (whilst adding hair extensions).

There is room (if not space) for us two-finger typists with glasses and the need for frequent pee breaks.

So I’m feeling a little more relaxed about my gradually increasing fascination with Facebook, the time I am spending updating my profile and contents - and the rather embarrasing glee with which I returned from a meeting in Event Square, Falmouth yesterday, excited at the prospect of seeing the first live photograph I had posted using my mobile phone.

Sad old bugger?

The reality is that I’m not terribly sure why I am doing this:

• searching for old friends? Unlikely - I’m very reclusive when not working (it’s a sort of backlash from my life as a semi-professional public speaker). I did run an enquiry on my old high school and didn’t find anybody within 20 years of my age or remotely close to my ethnic group;
• building a shrine to myself? Possibly - I think all writers, no matter how amateur, are searching for a means to leave a legacy;
• Just facinated by and playing with the technology? Another possibility - especially because my age, eyesight and manual dexterity make any form of computer game a fruitless and frustrating waste of time.

Whatever it is, Facebook has me semi-hooked, especially if it starts raining - and I suspect I’ll soon be loading even more old photographs, streaming video of my pulling faces at the webcam, searching for new tools and gizmos.

At least it’s stopping me from hanging out on street corners with other baby-boomers, looking for trouble.

Can you imagine?

Gangs of silver-haired, tooth-whitened oldies - standing around the town with portable digital radios tuned to Classic FM or Northern Soul - shouting across the street at teenagers “what are you looking at?”

Nope - it’s too cold for that.

Back to my computer screen - put the kettle on - let’s create a new album of my visit to a local garden centre….

Gripping stuff.

I am quite often asked why I choose to live so far away from everywhere! Most Friday’s end with either a train, plane or car journey that can be 4 hours or more in duration - and at the end of a busy week I do sometimes ask myself “why?”.

Then I walk out of my door on a Saturday and Sunday and, in less then 10 minutes, the answer becomes obvious - here are a few shots from the last weekend, taken literally minutes from where I live. Enjoy.

Back at the Forest of Arden for the umpteenth time in the last few weeks - today to present the last DBS workshop of the month, before the travel calms down considerably.

I’ve been living out of a suitcase for 10 days now - the laundry bags in the boot of my car are full, the case a little emptier - my briefcase looks like a disaster area with accumulated bits of paper that will be delegated early next week.

I feel like a Pony Express rider coming home after a trans-continental ride.

Last lap is the presentation today and then a crappy drive from Birmingham to Falmouth at 5.00pm on a Friday night - yuk - at least looking out of my window at blue skies, I can be reassured that the motorway is unlikely to be submerged again.

Here are some interesting dental numbers that came out of a workshop conversation this week.

23,000 - the number of dentists in the UK

10,000 - the number of individually owned practices

750 - the number who have BDA Good Practice Accreditation

491 - the number who have acheived Investors in People recognition.

The BDA told us on Wednesday that:

There are 2000 BDA Good Practice “packs” out there with practices working towards accreditation. They have a 24 month window to complete this after purchase.

And the reason I share these figures is to impress upon those who have achieved IIP that they are in the top 5% of UK practices - the top 10% if they have the BDA award.

If that were me I would be broadcasting it all over my web site and literature.

I can’t believe it’s Thursday and I haven’t written a blog post all week!

The reason is - just sheer workload and travel - Monday/Tuesday Edinburgh, Wednesday Gateshead, Leeds today and Birmingham tomorrow.

Arrive hotel mid-evening, unpack, change clothes, bar snack, bed, wake at 5.30am, shave, shower, dress, emails, breakfast, set up workshop room, deliver workshop, load car, drive, arrive hotel mid-evening…

There’s not much else to it.

But the good (no GREAT) news is that this is my last week of serious travel before a big August slow-down.

Next week will be 4 days in Falmouth and then a quick trip to London at the end of the week before I switch off for 2 weeks holiday, including a return to Ithaka and a week of relaxation and boating - bring it on.

This working week began in Edinburgh - where the Festival is in full swing - swarming with tourists and focused on the main exhibition of this year’s event - an Andy Warhol tribute, to celebrate what would have been his 80th birthday.

I’m sure I heard a radio interview mentioning a work of his that has sold for £70 million? I must get my brushes out when I get home.

I did arrive early enough on Monday to take a quick walk down Princes Street and enjoy some sunshine - and the sound of a� country dancing� band playing in front of the castle.

Unfortunately, the Festival made for the second noisiest night I have ever spent in a hotel - drums, cannon, singing drunks - it went on until the early hours and made for a very disturbed night.

This week’s workshops are about customer service, of course - and it’s been ironic that I have endured two lousy encounters with Hilton staff.

The first was in the restuarant at the Caledonian on Tuesday, when the officious manager refused to let me sit at the table I had chosen for lunch because it wasn’t part of “my group” - an area that had been partitioned off from the main tables - but at which there was no suitable room for me.

I asked him a direct question:

“Are you telling me that you cannot help me?”

He answered “yes - I cannot help you”. And so I simply (and politely) responded:

“Do I have permission to give you feedback?”

“Yes”

“I’m lecturing to 70 people here today on customer service - and what you have just said is the very epitomy of exactly what I am asking them not to do. If you cannot help me - go and find somebody who can.”

20 minutes later I was enjoying coffee with the Felix, the Food and Beverage Manager and explaining to him how� his colleague� was making me feel.

Feedback given.

Not many hours later, I arrive at the Hilton Gateshead - to meet with Miss Slapface 2007 - the receptionist at the front desk - who managed to check me in and upgrade me to the executive floor, whilst at the same time refusing to make eye contact, smile or make me feel in any way welcome. Quite an achievement.

Needless to say - my feedback to the hotel manager the next day was polite and direct.

On the positve side - about a year ago I presented at the Marriott in Newcastle’s Metro Centre and was looked after that evening by a funny, positive, helpful Geordie called Malcolm.

And there he was at the Hilton yesterday morning - it made my day.

As I reminded my delegates yesterday - all you need to deliver world-class customer service is:

1. a smile
2. a mission - and the mission is to always use the following phrase:

No problem, leave it with me, I’ll get it sorted

Simple stuff really - you wouldn’t think it would be so difficult to find sometimes.

Sunday evening at 8.30pm, I’m sat outside The Griffin in Bowdon, Cheshire - having a pint with my 17-year old son, Joshua - enjoying an intelligent conversation about his future choices - university or the work-force - passion versus necessity - straightening his life out after a year even more off the rails than normal.

I love this lad - he gets in more trouble than I ever imagined possible - he’s a good looking boy with a big mouth - after working out at the gym all year, he’s looking like a Calvin Klein advert.

He’s ADD configured - and I’ve asked a lot of questions in the last year about how best to communicate with him.

He’s infuriatingly good at passing exams, after cramming in last minute revision and hardly faltering in his relationship with girls, drink and dope.

Sunday evening feels like real progress - and we agree to stay in conversation on the subjects covered.

At 3.00am this morning I am woken by the need to deal with the same young man - home from a local night-club, drunk as a skunk, not high - but presenting some extraordinary behaviour- tears and anger in multiple layers.

After an hour of careful questioning, it appears that he has come close to being stabbed by a promiment member of the local Mafiosa - after causing some trouble that he cannot remember. On leaving the club he has been chased and almost caught by at least one, possibly more individuals brandishing knives.

Josh has been in fights before - sometimes fights he has started - but this is different. He is petrified by his experiences and in a state of deep shock.

I apologetically call his best friend’s mother to check that Max is OK - and he is soundly asleep.

There is no doubt that Josh isn’t faking it - he has been running so fast that there will be some very sore legs in the morning - there is blood on his clothes that worries us - but it could be from a bad scrape on the back of his hand.

He tells us that he ran and also hid in gardens on his solitary journey home from the village nightclub.

Both of his elder brothers arrive back a half-hour later - both drunk - and tell us that there was trouble at the club - that someone wanted a fight with Josh but that his brothers and friends stood by him.

It seems that later, somebody decided to take matters into their own hands.

By the time he wakes, I’ll be long gone on my business travels for the week - I just hope the fear has made a positive impression.

This morning I’m counting some of my blessings, feeling lucky that I still have three sons.

For the boys - a day in bed.

For Dad - a drive to Edinburgh and a week’s work to deliver after 4 hours sleep.

Such is parenting.

I’ve decided I want a new car - the big yellow Pontiac GTO has to go - sadly.

Why?

Well - it’s not really the right car for as aspiring entreprenuer. And I’ve been listening to and asking for feedback from clients.

A nurse in Leeds a few weeks ago saw me driving around the car park at Thorpe Park and told me I looked like a chav (!).

More importantly, a dentist who is a serious businessman and a good egg pointed out that it wasn’t the correct image for the DBS or for the new company going forward.

So that’s thrown me into “new car” mode - and those that know me will know that means weeks, if not months, of review and constant mind changing.

Let alone the financial constraints and considerations.

However, I’ve always found buying cars is like the long anticipation of a well-deserved holiday. Investing weeks in “leading up to it” is all part of the pleasure. I cannot imagine how dull it must be if you are loaded and can just walk into the showroom and say “I want that one”.

My latest fantasy has been the new Audi R8 - the progress and launch of which I have followed carefully and with heightening anticipation.

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Sneak papparazi shots became full blown magazine reviews. The web site evolved with artists impressions and then real movies - and finally, the car arrived in UK showrooms.

Yesterday, on finishing a business meeting at 2.00pm in Birmingham, I� rewarded myself� by visiting the largest Audi dealership in the UK - based in Solihull - and conveniently on my way to Reading for the evening.

There, on the forecourt, a gleaming R8 looking fast, sexy and expensive. Inside the immense showroom, yet another.

I approached one of the smartly be-suited salespeople and asked what was probably an unexpected question:

“Can you open the boot please?”

Why?

Because I don’t have the luxury of being able to buy an R8 for fun and then summat else for work - it’s one car for both.

For me that means up to 10 days of travel with clothing and assorted electronics and workshop material.

I bet you can guess where this is going.

The boot was, of course, at the front - and the lid was lifted to reveal a storage area just about big enough for� 12 cartons� of semi-skimmed milk.

In a panic, I rushed around to the side of the car, opened the drivers door and looked behind the seats, to find a “parcel” shelf 3 inches wide.

This car has been designed to sell to Premiership footballers who only ever use it to drive to the training ground and back with a pair of shorts, a shirt and trainers in the “boot”.

Or a WAG - in order to reduce the amount of shopping she brings home.

If I had attempted to transfer the luggage I had in the Pontiac into the R8, there would have been no room for me.

So that was £98,000 saved - not bad for one day.

Dream over.

Back to the drawing board.

I spent another hour shuffling between the RS4 and the new S5 (rather nice) - and deciding that, although they were� excellent cars, they didn’t juice me.

As I mentioned to a friend (who I emailed in desperation this morning for advice on “which Porsche?” - I need a car that will take 35,000 miles a year, my luggage - and still set my pulse racing every morning when I get in it.

It’s a guy thing - I know - in fact it’s especially a 53-year old guy thing - at least I’m honest enough to admit it.

Any suggestions?

Excluding “grow up” please - no intention of doing that.

This was the view from our conference room at the Marriott Forest of Arden yesterday - and a steady parade of 70’s entertainment and sport celebrities provided a distraction from the more serious business of customer service.

I’m first of all going to give a 10/10 score to this hotel for their customer service since I arrived on Monday - nothing has been too much trouble, including a carb-free meal last night in the bar, even though hundreds were flocking prior to their tented dinner and entertainment by the 18th.

I must admit that it was necessary to close my hotel window and break out the trusty ear-plugs before retiring last night, to the strains of what sounded like every wedding reception band that ever played.

My Servicemaster group yesterday were an intriguing change from the world of dentistry - and began the day feeling confident that they had nailed customer service and CRM.

However, as I took a journey through their lead conversion and CRM processes, it became clear to us all that there was plenty of work still to be done, especially in the area of CNE’s (as Paddi would call them).

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I could not have asked for a better physical environment in which to challenge their thinking and introduce radical new ideas - I always maintain that “environments” play a key role in business - and the abundance of natural light and fresh air in the room created an open learning zone.

Just as well for me - because they did squirm on the hook of progress - old habits die hard.

In the event - a good day.

And I’m going to publicly praise here my principal contact in Servicemaster, Dave Stirling, who is under the surgeons knife on 13th August to remove a tumour from his spine. Dave was in physical discomfort yesterday - but attended the meeting none the less - and stayed behind with me for coffee afterwards to discuss plans for a meeting we are building in September.

He left me at about 6.30pm last night, obviously suffering - to drive to Leicester and take a hotel room prior to another business meeting today.

His spirit was humbling - and I wish him every success in his treatment - he has already beaten his condition mentally - and the medics now have to do their work.

It put a lot of the issues I’m dealing with at the moment into perspective.

After all the excitement of yesterday’s announcement, I completed my call-in day mid-afternoon and packed for what will be 10-nights in hotels all over the UK.

It’s a� punishing schedule, made possible by the daily enjoyment of the work I do - and the prospect of 2 weeks vacation in 3 weeks time - a week of which will be in Vathi, Ithaka - at a beautiful boutique hotel that has become a sanctuary (not telling).

I’m carrying photographs from Greece on my desktop as a daily reminder of the� pleasure to come. The oil-rig shift is nearly over.

So I left a very sunny Cornwall at 4.30pm Monday afternoon, for the usual 5-hour drive to the Midlands, where I’m going to be based at the Forest of Arden for the next couple of nights.

The drive was good fun, largely because I spent a good deal of time hands-free on my cell phone, checking in with various team and clients and listening with great interest to the participants on our monthy bridge call - both of them.

Yes - it’s holiday season and clients are either away or in the garden - so attendance is down - but I want to thank the ever-reliable Marcus Spry and Ashley Davenport for what was a fascinating conversation about 21st Century branding for dentists.

Today, a quarterly workshop with Servicemaster - the world’s largest industrial contract cleaning franchise - I’m working with the top 10% of their UK franchisees - I know, “where are the dentists?” - it’s a long story and a long-standing connection that created this opportunity - and it does make a change from teeth and gums to buckets and mops - although not that much is different!

What I didn’t know is that there is a celebrity golf tournament at the hotel today.

As I checked in last night, I shared the experience (to my surprise) with Len Goodman - one of the judges in Britain’s “Strictly Come Dancing” show and now, I understand, commuting across the pond to perform similar duties on a USA equivalent.

Forgive me - “Strictly” is absolutely the only TV programme I ever watch, apart from football and the news - I love it and winter Saturday nights have become a weekly highlight as a result. So checking in with Big Len had me star-struck for the moment.

Confession - I used to attend ballroom dancing classes when I was 14 years old - and have always wanted to start again - an unfulfilled ambition.

About 10 minutes later I was walking back to the hotel bar from my room, when I found� Len wandering, lonely as a cloud, around the endless corridors of this place.

I helped Len Goodman find his way to the bar! How’s about that for an achievement? He seemed very good on his feet for his age - but clearly directionless - just the job for a compulsive helper.

This morning, I have enjoyed breakfast on a� table next to two 70’s football stars - Frank Worthington (who looks 60+ but still has long straggly hair) and Ian St John.

The word is that they are all playing from 7.45am this morning - and then there will be a big shin-dig in the� tent outside tonight - bearing in mind that the Black Abbots are here to play golf, I dread to think what the cabaret will be - Peters and Lee?

If I see any more famous people I’ll let you know - for now it’s off to coach my cleaners - aah, the jet-setting life of the international business coach.

Do Brad and Angelina play golf?