Amy Chua the “Tiger Mother” is in London. In case you’ve not heard, she’s the Chinese woman stirring controversy with her book The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother in which she describes the terror regime she instilled on her children in order to turn them into over-achievers – famously banning one from going to the loo until she’d perfected a violin piece.
I’ve not read the book but my wife almost certainly will. Of the two of us, she is definitely the “Tiger Parent”. But, then again, that’s the right way round – recent surveys have concluded that the level of the mother’s education is the key predictor for the educational level likely to be achieved by the child, which – given the amount of time spent with the kids – is obvious when you think about it. My father was wholly absent from my education: a remote figure occasionally grumbling about me “ending up on the scrapheap” without ever feeling the need for proactivity in order to avoid such a fate. And, before you ask, this is not a “woe is me” moan – just a lament that so many fathers feel their role does not extend to the micro-education of their children.
Yet the reverse seems to be the case when it comes to the child’s career. Particularly for boys, the all-important role model with respect to career attainment is their father. And the influence may even be subliminal, as it was for me. My father’s cajoling me to join the building professions (he was a structural engineer) eventually failed, although – years later – I have to recognise that, after all, I did take after him. He spent his days as a small businessman in a slightly scruffy office on the outer fringes of London (Brentwood in fact). Well what d’you know – here I am running a small business (a public relations agency) from a slightly scruffy office on the fringes of Central London. Something has always felt right about it – more so than working in an enormous steel-n-glass bank, no matter what the rewards in terms of money and prestige. And despite the company’s growth, I’ve resisted smarter offices, as well as merger and acquisition opportunities that would change what feels like my natural habitat.
It may also explain why I felt so at home in my previous role with Metrocube – an e-business incubator that, in reality, consisted of two “no-frills” buildings on the fringes of London’s financial district that we filled with small companies hoping to grow (I was the CEO but Metrocube was the brainchild of its chairman Charlie Hoult, who is now trying to repeat the trick in Newcastle). Here were a series of small companies (over 200 passed through the doors during our 2000-03 existence) viewing scruffy offices located in secondary areas as at least their immediate future.
So if it’s to be like father, like son, are we condemned to make the same mistakes? I hope not. In my view my father made a fatal error with respect to running his business (at least in terms of its potential growth): he arrived late and left late. He clearly wasn’t lazy. No small businessman or woman can survive being anything other than a Trojan when it comes to effort and diligence. Yet his routine undermined him in the office and eroded his family life – hence one of my strongest recommendations to any small business start-up being to start early and leave at a reasonable hour.
I’m at my desk at seven. Yes, that’s 7am. Here’s why:
• I’m always first in. If there are any surprises overnight (from our Singapore client, perhaps), I know about it first and will have developed a strategy (and often executed a remedy) prior to others arriving. I’m therefore totally on top of the day and in the driving seat (sorry to mix metaphors). Meanwhile, my father had to catch-up. Any crisis would have had time to escalate before he arrived, meaning he’d have lost control of it, unbeknown, while still eating his Shreddies.
• Dad always arrived around 10am by which time everyone else was in. Yet his team could have arrived at 9.55 and he’d have been none the wiser (in fact he used to moan that this was probably the case). We start at 9am – so I’ve been in and working for two hours prior to the others joining me. Because they know this they make due effort to arrive on time. Those consistently in at 9.05am get a warning (sorry if that seems draconian but it’s unfair on the others and corrosive on the culture of the office). The point is that it’s my company and I know what goes on with respect to the people that work here. And they're my standards they have to adhere to. Meanwhile, I remember my father complaining that his chiding of staff for being late (as reported by his deputy) was sometimes rebuffed with a “well what about you?” riposte.
• Between 7 and 9am is a wonderful time to work. My mind is clear and I’m raring to go. Projects that I assume will take days can be dealt with in those two highly-focused hours (Power of an Hour by David Lakhani is a good book in this respect). Indeed, my best and most creative thinking is always at that time. Sure, it took a little getting used to but it’s now a habit, and one I’d hate to change – not least because there’s little traffic on the road and the dawn light is lovely.
• And it’s allowed me to write a book: What’s Stopping You? coming out in April. Lots of people have asked me how I found the time while running a PR agency and juggling a young family. While my wife may also require praise at this point (as well as my team at Moorgate), a key aspect was those two core hours – I managed around 2,000 words a day, all before 9am. Articles and speeches promoting the book, as well as this blog, are all, again, thanks to that critical window.
• The benefits also extend to the other end of the day. For instance, there is no “stay late” culture at Moorgate, which the team appreciates. We are focused on being efficient during the working day, making the evening (and weekends) entirely our own.
• Indeed, at Metrocube I noticed that the companies within the incubator with a “late-start, stay-late” culture were less professional and, consequently, likely to be less successful (despite their appearances of commitment). Even the “all nighter” brigades looked like they were playing at it to me, many with dartboards or pool tables or fridges full of beer (all clues they were an unprofessional set up in my view). Few people (other than strippers) do their best work in the evening, so no wonder they needed games and beer to occupy the time that should have been used for recharging their batteries away from the office.
• And there have been benefits for my family. I miss the morning chaos at home (another bonus – my father grumpily read the paper with it going on around him) but I’m usually at home by 6pm, meaning I’m there for the far more rewarding bedtime routine. Each evening, I get some quality time with my two boys denied to many busy fathers. And I can even get involved in their education, usually through my choice of bedtime reading. History of the English Speaking World anyone?
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