Shop talk

Im not naturally suspicious, but a recent occurrence really brought out the Sherlock Holmes in me. I'd always hankered after a boxer dog, but my wife of 32 years had resolutely resisted (she said it was the thought of all that dribbling – the dog's, not mine). However, my children eventually wore her down and – apparently unbeknown to me – they plotted together to get me a dog as what they thought would be a surprise 50th birthday present. Like a modern-day deerstalker-wearing detective, however, I already had it all sussed out. There were various clues; for example, members of my family would creep furtively in and out of the house in the weeks leading up to my birthday. All it took to confirm my suspicions was a sneaky peek at the recent destinations on my son's sat nav; a quick trawl through Google and I found the dog breeder that he had clearly visited. (I had narrowed the gift down to a watch or puppy, but why, I reasoned, make several trips to visit a watch?) My family realised I'd worked it out when my appalling acting let me down on the big day. Still, I was delighted, and they were delighted that I was delighted. Even the dog was delighted. Barking mad Now, when I'm home, every day begins horribly early with Henry (he's our eighth pet so I thought the name appropriate) letting out a loud "woof" from downstairs. Sadly, though, it's rare enough that I am at home to be awoken by Henry nowadays because I'm involved in mentoring 97 plants around the world and that means I have to do a lot of overseas travelling. I was born in a cottage that was originally constructed for the men who built the Crystal Palace in South London. All my friends came from families that owned the local shops and I loved every minute of growing up there. It also taught me good values for life. My father was still going through his engineering apprenticeship when I was born (apprenticeships were five years in those days). My younger brother and I both grew up to be engineers, but he has proper hands-on skill and works as a fabricator while I drifted through any department that paid a few pennies more than the last. I spent 25 years working in one aerospace company and worked my way up to be head of operations, which always made for interesting family gatherings – dad had spent many years as a union man and my brother has an 'us-and-them' attitude to management. I know my family are proud of my achievements, but that doesn't guarantee respect and it certainly keeps my feet on the ground. Inherent contradictions I love working in manufacturing. I particularly enjoy its inherent contradictions – for example, how similar every 'unique' factory is. Each plant I visit tells me that what they intend to improve will be difficult because their work/processes are so very different from every other plant. Little do they know. Variations on a theme are a challenge that helps make it interesting, but nothing is that different if you step far enough back from it. It's impossible for me to describe a typical working day. That's what's great about what I do. Last year, I spent around 50 per cent of my working time travelling to eight countries. The rest of the time I either work from an office in Kent, or from home where I catch up on emails and general administration. Variety is the spice of life. Anyway, back to Henry. I was walking him on the beach the other day when I heard a voice calling for help. I glanced around, but couldn't see anyone. Then, looking up, I saw this guy in a hot air balloon. "Can you tell me where I am?" he asked. "You are 50ft off the ground above this beach," I replied helpfully. "You must be a CI advisor," he told me with a sneer. "I am, but how do you know?" I enquired. "Because, everything you told me is accurate, but it's of no use to me at all," he responded. "You must be a plant manager," I retorted. "That's right," he said. "How did you know?" "Well," I explained, "you don't know where you are or where you're going, but you expect me to be able to help you. You're in the same position you were before we met, but now it's my fault!"