C April 30th 2002

The final day of the Business Start-up course, run by the local
enterprise agency. There are 16 of us budding entrepreneurs, with 16
very different ideas for new businesses. Most of the class are there
due to redundancy, a few through positive choice, and one because Jesus
told him to do it. Today is presentation day, when we take it in turns
to stand up in front of the group, and invited local worthies, to
present our business plans.

The day starts with A ( the names have been changed to protect the
guilty) who is a First Aid trainer. She will provide "Disaster Scenario
Planning" to large organisations, complete with trained casualties, to
test their first aid training programmes. A informs us that 80\% of
first-aiders are female, so I volunteer my services as a groin strain
victim. I am rejected.

B, the butcher with a mission from God, is setting up a "real sausage"
business. We all get copies of the brochure: Pork and Honey, Beef and
Mustard, Lamb and Mint. He is offering eternal salivation, and many are
willing to believe.

The presentations continue through the day, ambitious, sincere,
hopeful, awful, inspiring and soporific by turns. By mid afternoon we
are reaching a state of collective coma. Then comes J. She and a
partner are opening an up-market sex shop, and she has brought samples
to illustrate her plans.

The room comes alive to the hum of vibrators, the rattle of love beads,
the rustle of silk lingerie, and the embarrassed coughs of the local
bank manager. The once dozing audience are reinvigorated, and the
question &; answer session at the end of her talk is the liveliest
of the day. Someone suggests that she and the god-bothering butcher
combine to sell a range of novelty sausages, and the bank manager has
to be resuscitated by A.

I am on next. I look out at the sea of faces, wondering how to make
computer training sound remotely interesting. I start to speak,
repeating in my head "enthusiasm, engagement, eye contact". But while
my mouth is saying skills, skills, skills, their eyes are saying
dildos, dildos, dildos. I finish prematurely - an apt response in the
circumstances - and return to my seat unquestioned. The old adage is
true; only 20\% of communication is in what you say. The other 80\% is
in a box marked "Rampant Roger".