Rob Phillips managing director of Accutronics, speaks out for UK innovation... and drummers.
An old joke goes 'What do you call a guy who hangs around with musicians? A drummer.' It frustrates me that drummers get such a bad press. I'm one and, like so many others, I led bands, wrote songs, arranged the music and then played alongside them.
In fact, it's one of my two major frustrations: the other is when youngsters dismiss technical, design or engineering careers without even thinking.
In both cases, people just don't know what they are missing. In 2009, I and two other investors bought our company back from a Chinese parent and re-established it as a proudly British business. We were an insignificant part of a volume producer; now, we specialise in custom-built smart batteries, researched, designed and created with and for OEMs. The thrill is bringing innovation and jobs to the north Midlands.
The disappointment is that more of these ground-breaking OEMs aren't also in the UK. And that situation won't change until talented kids understand one simple thing: people designing and making transforming products change the world, not celebs.
As a youngster, I drummed on sofas with my mother's knitting needles – not on tubs for UK engineering. Music was always part of my life the piano, violin and guitar, as well as drums. I was born in a council house in Stoke-on-Trent in the 60s. My dad taught English, my mother was a nurse and there were four of us kids. They were great parents but my greatest formative influence was possibly my grandparents.
They were both blind but they still brought up their family without help. My granddad not only made furniture; he played the piano in silent movies. A friend whispered what was on the screen and he turned it into music that swept and morphed alongside the movie. I only realised how remarkable it was when I was older. His music and determination soaked into me at an early age. Kids should know you don't have to be a diehard techie to work in a technology company – there's room for softer stuff like music and art.
I graduated as a mining engineer. At 23, I was the youngest mine deputy in the western area, responsible for the work and safety of 30 tough, worldly-wise miners a mile below the surface. It matures you pretty sharply; you learn how to serve your team and get out of the way when you are not needed, even though you are nominally the leader. Occasionally underground fires still happened. You rely on each other for your life. Civvy street seemed tame after that you might spill a coffee rather than get fried.
I regularly played in bands until the MD job pressures got too much. For a decade I was in a tribute band called Nearly Dan and if you can't work that out, I pity you. But it wasn't feasible to keep running round Ireland on Sunday, getting home four hours before a board meeting on Monday. Once, the band suggested I throw a sickie. I pointed out it doesn't work that way I'd be phoning myself. But it was a wonderful second side to life creative, unpressured and with great friends. I've converted my garage into a soundproof studio and I still make music to unwind. Now, my son is the professional musician.
The night before he was due to play with The Musgraves on The Graham Norton Show, the van with all their gear was stolen. He faced the biggest challenge of his life wearing someone else's clothes and playing a hired bass guitar. I am so proud of him and I'm happy he occasionally lets me drum in his bands.
-Career highs: Realising our team not offshore owners would be totally responsible for our success or failure. Safeguarding jobs and creating even more since.
-Lows: Being a mining engineer during the death of an entire primary industry.
-Best advice: Work hard, show what you are bringing to the table and good things will happen.
-Major irritations: Entitlement. An attitude that says 'Show me what's in it for me and I'll condescend to work'.
-Last meal before the firing squad: At home my purpose is to eat up all the leftovers. But for a final bow, I would like a smorgasbord of tasters from around the world, in the hope that it would take so long they'd forget to shoot me.