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  “Yeah, I had a client who needed to improve their efficiency with production processing to impact the real bottom line,” started Dave, answering the question that no-one had asked “ but they didn’t have buy in from the top management at what they were doing. I mean, what is the point in churning out another thousand widgets quicker, if all your customers want gidgets. So I told the CEO…I looked him in the eye, and said Greg, it’s not just about doing projects right, it’s also about doing the right projects”, pointing his finger empathically as if Greg was actually amongst the people listening. He wasn’t.

  Dave delivered his short stories effortlessly and ended it with one of his barking chuckles as the stunned crowd of petrified introverted accountant droids stood in amazement and abated applause, without truly understanding a single word he said. Their grey suits, white shirts and plain ties paled into insignificance compared to Dave’s abundance of colour and frightening combinations that lit up a room even before his super sharp tongue was in first gear. His jovial slap on the arm of the nearest colleague jolted the ensuing crowd into the normal combination of awe and fear. To say Dave was in his element delivering a healthy serving of panache laced with knowledge and seasoned with finger pulsing accuracy, would be like saying Lance Armstrong looks at home on a bike.

  ***

  Chapter Facts & Figures As Food

  ***

  When Dave wasn’t business flirting, there was ‘Option 3’; the return from home, eat and consume more knowledge nights, which for Dave panned out to be essential recharging and data gathering moments for the unknown challenges he knew lay ahead. These nights involved track pants and badly fitting T-shirts as the uniform of choice, usually something from a US department store that he’d buy on one of his many business trips to show that a good income shouldn’t stop someone being frugal.

  A gourmet microwave meal was spinning around in the stainless steel device. Dave liked the speed and efficiency with which the meal was prepared, and the fact that the recipes had been allegedly conjured up by a chef from a 2 hat restaurant. It didn’t really matter as this was the culinary distraction and mere entrée for the real food.

  The real fodder and passionate consumption for Dave, the delicacy that made him salivate at the lips and his stomach grumble with anticipation of the wonderousness that he was about to dive into with no remorse and full unadulterated vigour, was business periodicals. Whether it be the Forbes magazine or the latest “How to…“ business journal, Dave attacked them like a hungover person finding a super sized Big Mac meal with milkshake freshly delivered for them at the foot of the bed. Dave even turned his Blackberry device to silent, with zero tolerance towards any concentration disturbance. Dave’s knife and fork were his pad and pen, as his keen starving eye gazed the material for the next gem that would get him one step ahead, and the stepping stone to his next achievement. To Dave, every morsel of information on the plate before him was filled with unlimited potential and that each mouth full of data would go some way to satisfy his never ending cravings for more knowledge and ultimately, more power.

  He knew that the guys he competed with in the office were all loved up, and he knew that their cutting edge and decisiveness was diminished by too many nights in front of the TV watching nonsense reality programmes and nonchalantly agreeing with their other halves. Being invited to a 1st Birthday party was not a great sign, but being forced to go to it to keep your ‘better half’ happy, was a sign of weakness that would never enter Dave’s realm. He was simply too good at what he did and too focused at success to be distracted by a woman. Where his peers lapped up dull dinner parties and trips to the garden centre, Dave was increasing his advantage over them with more knowledge. There were no visits to the DIY store for Dave. He outsourced his non-business critical tasks to free up the time so he could be better at what he did. Simple business logic to him.

  Dave’s apartment was a delusional display of technology and convenience, and to anyone who visited, shouted BACHELOR WITH TOO MUCH MONEY at the loudest decibel possible. For a place so rarely occupied and completely under-utilised, it was amazing that he bothered with his little cleaning lady. As a man with a decent disposable income, and no-one to spend it on but himself, one would expect a lavish pad, but Dave was frugal with his money, unless he was spending someone elses. His one exception to delving into his deep pockets was when it came to boys toys. You see, for all his management guru abilities, opinions and assuredness, Dave had an Achilles heel just like everyone else, and his frugal nature was frequently swallowed up when Dave treated himself to a new piece of technology. His favourite website was iwantoneofthose.com, which is where much of Dave’s money was invested. His recent acquisitions had included a system which stored every one of his 2,000 CD’s electronically on a server which connected to separate devices in every room which featured voice recognition playlists. Dave still got a cheap thrill every time he walked in his room and said the word Shakira, only to hear here dulcet tones come blasting out of the discreet speakers a matter of seconds later. “I wonder if one day they’ll be able to make her appear in my bedroom too?”, Dave thought to himself, shaking his hips and abundantly aware of this loneliness that his lifestyle choices presented. On this particular night, ‘Option 3’ was in full flow so the music system was getting a rest tonight, and the entertainment was coming from Dave’s state of the art audio visual suite, which was fully equipped with every device most people will never need.

  Dave didn’t watch television as such. Too many distractions. He much preferred DVD’s so he could watch things at his convenience. His entire collection was courtesy of Harvard, and consisted of more inspiration motivational speakers than it did hit comedies.

  A colleague from work, Roger, had lent Dave some DVD’s which he was eager to get familiar with. Dave had been a little hesitant given that Roger had provided him with a burnt copy of the show in question, and piracy really wasn’t Dave’s thing, but he could turn a blind eye for a free DVD.

  Dave hadn’t listened to Roger that intently, but he recalled something being said about a ‘documentary’ and ‘very successful’. In fact, he couldn’t even remember what the show was called, but knew it was definitely about offices.

  It was series 2, when David Brent left the handicapped girl on the fire stairs during the alarm, that Dave took studious notes, quickly noting the bullet points down:

  inspirational display of unconventional efficiency

  sharp and effective decision making

  survival of the fittest!! (one of his favourite theories of business)

  It was only the next day when Roger suggested they go out for a coffee. Dave assumed that it was to discuss the contents of the DVD’s that he’d borrowed.

  “I’m glad we’re out of the office. I don’t feel like there are many people I can talk to in there you know. Not properly.”

  Dave didn’t have a response. He didn’t entertain personal topics, and certainly wouldn’t have agreed to meet in public alone if that was the case. His fears were confirmed when Roger ordered a Chai Latte. Maybe he’d been on the EQ course.

  Sipping on his insipid smelling non-coffee, Roger did what Dave had dreaded. He confided in him.

  “So, thanks again for this. Look, I’m having a few problems at home, you know with the wife, and I just needed someone to talk to. Challenges in the bedroom are hard issues to talk about. You know how it is.”

  The silence was mainly caused by Dave trying to work out if his mate Roger really thought he was in the confession box at church, or whether he was just at the stage with his wife and two kids where it was somehow deemed as appropriate to open up to random work colleagues. However much he tried though, Dave couldn’t empathise with Roger, as their lives were just too different.

  Either way, this revelation had put Dave in a predicament. If he said nothing, it was a silent acknowledgement that Roger could continue, which was a hellish thought. If he cut him off entirely and changed the topic, then Roger
could be hurt. Dave had to find a joint topic that they shared and navigate the conversation that way.

  There was only one option.

  “Oh yeah, talking about you and your wife. Thanks so much for lending me those DVD’s. They are inspirational. I took some really good notes.” This was an unusual foray for Dave. He didn’t normally share his secrets about knowledge accumulation, but it was worth the risk to change the subject.

  Breaking the silence with his story about The Office, Dave wasn’t aware of the magnitude of his revelation, until the shuddering shock hit him, like the first time he tried to fix his ghetto blaster as a keen 12 year old, whilst forgetting to unplug it from the mains.

  ”David Brent isn’t real” he muttered to himself, inhaling the expensive coffee beans whilst merely tasting disgust and disappointment in this awful truth. Roger was no longer concerned about problems he was having at home, instead focusing his attention on the only error in judgement he’d ever known Dave to make. Roger sniggered right into Dave’s face, seeing an opportunity to mock the unmockable.

  “Please tell me that you honestly did not think that The Office was a documentary? Everyone knows that its one of the funniest things on TV, but you’d have to be socially inept and a very sad, lonely person to have not realised that…you are joking aren’t you?”

  Dave’s experience didn’t reach to understanding the need to recover from embarrassing situations, as he prided himself on never being in them in the first place, utilising another one of Dave’s dynamic ditties “prevention is better than cure”. Bereft of ideas on how to get away from this situation, Dave decided that the only option was distraction. So he swilled his coffee cup with such vigour that some foam leapt from the cup and landed with amazing accuracy on Roger’s dull tie. Once the napkins had been handed out and absorbed the foam, Dave began assuring Roger that he’d made up the story about thinking The Office was a documentary, to make him feel better about things at home. As they left the coffee shop, Dave patted himself on the back. It hadn’t been a comfortable situation, and he wouldn’t be seeking to do it again, but he genuinely felt like he’d helped Roger today and that felt good.

  The failure of his experiment with opening up, had convinced Dave that he needed something to prevent such embarrassments in the future. His solution was to stick to his ‘Rules of 3’ and do so with commitment, composure and confidence, and to do this, he needed an over aching framework with which to deliver the success he loved so much.

  The rules were simple and had been noted down by Dave in the cab on the way home from the conference that very night. Dave was glad of the structure that would hopefully provide him with even more cutting edge in the office. But it was too early to reveal them to the outside world just yet, otherwise their value could be compromised. Dave knew all too well that the best competitive advantage, was one which couldn’t be copied easily, and you can’t copy something that you don’t know about. Three words, and 3 rules.

  Dave knew there were no guarantees in life, but he was certain that with these three words, he could continue on his amazingly fruitful journey to success and avoid the pitfalls that others seemed to have to navigate. And importantly, if he kept to his ‘Rule of 3’, then no-one would need to know Dave’s secret and get to see the man behind the mask of success.

  That night at home, Dave got out his marker pen and wrote his ‘Rule of 3’ in big bold letters on his wardrobe doors. His new mantra was safe there. No-one else would ever see it and he could begin to absorb it with each victory. Three simple words.

  ***

  Chapter Where It All Started

  ***

  It was a chilly winter in Sheffield in 1991 as the Marsdon family prepared for its usual busy festive season. It had been an eventful year, with the Gulf War and the death of Freddie Mercury. The festive season was always a very special time of year for the family, but this year was extra special. David and Anne, his twin sister, both officially turned 13years old on the 6th December 1991, a double celebration for Jane and Derek who could commemorate 20 years of marriage at the same time as surviving to see their little nippers enter their teenage years. There was the obvious joy of Christmas time, which was scented with a hint of sadness for the senior Marsdon’s this year.

  The kids were starting to grow old fast, and despite being those funky parents that thought they were really hip, Jane could definitely see that the kids were growing at a rapid pace and would soon be young adults. Some recent incidents had proved sufficient examples to her, but Derek was still staunch.

  “They are still kids Jane. And they respect us because we are trendy parents ” he would frequently quip, much to the dismay of Jane and the obvious embarrassment of the ‘kids’ who were demoralised at being asked to “hang out” with their Dad. If that wasn’t enough, Derek had more than his fair share of Dad Jokes, and every time David got ready for his newspaper round, Derek would put on his ‘Mott The Hoople’ vinyl on the family stereo and do his air guitar entry into his rather high pitched impression of “All the young dudes, carry the news” whilst pointing at young David in his mock rock’n’roll fashion.

  David and Anne were mature beyond their years when it came to their Dad’s parading to old music and aging one liners, and often chuckled to themselves with his various performances. What was worse was when Derek could be found doing his drunken Mick Jagger impersonation around the lounge. Normally this was after a Sunday roast or over the Christmas period when one too many wines had been consumed, and Derek’s sleeves would be slid up his hairy and aging arms, as he assumed the position. The position required legs bent in at the knees, and out at the ankles, arms on hips and head back to the right hand side in a shocked/startled pose as he flicked his lips into the Mick Jagger pose, and began prancing around the lounge like hyperactive middle aged man with a point to prove…”come on kids, come and dance with your Dad” requested Derek, looking more like a white Tina Turner doing the chicken dance, than he did the front man of the Rolling Stones! The response from Derek and Anne was one of compelling silence, delivered with the now customary look to each other, a look of embarrassment and the look for an escape.

  Jane had seen the day coming for a while. There was the time that Derek sat down with David to concoct his annual letter to Santa, when the first of the teenage arguments ensued. It started with David not wanting to be called David anymore, and preferring Dave. Apparently David wasn’t manly enough, which caused immediate friction with Derek. Grandad Marsdon, Derek’s father, had recently passed away, and Derek had hoped that the memory of a fine upstanding citizen and gentleman of the community, would continue in the younger David.

  “Your granddad was a David for his entire life and it never did him any problems young man.” Derek rarely got feisty, but he was a staunch family man. He received merely a grunt back from Dave. It seemed their long silly boy chats were starting to be a thing of the past. Derek hoped that the Santa letter writing would be a good chance for the lads to reconnect, but once again this year, he’d got it wrong. Derek had busily prepared a hot chocolate for each of them and dropped in the essential marshmallow to really indicate just how much of a treat this was. Equipped with a selection of coloured paper, coloured pens, child safety scissors and an energetic imagination, Derek was mildly excited about the adventure. Sadly, on entering Dave’s room, Derek was a tad shocked to find that Dave wasn’t around but had already written his version of his Santa Letter.

  The Atari computer screen was flashing with an eclectic mix of colours and sounds, something which was new to Derek as technology was certainly not his forte. He kind of understood computers, but just didn’t trust them, and hadn’t been overly convinced when Jane persuaded him to get the computer for the kids for their 12th Birthday.

  “I mean, what about a good old fashioned board game that everyone in the family could sit around and enjoy?” Jane had won out, and Dave had bonded with the computer at the expense of his relationship with his father.


  Derek was convinced that these boxes of wires, oversized keyboards that looked like typewriters without the paper, would not take off. Waddingtons knew what they were doing, and Monopoly would be a staple in every home for decades to come. Derek was sure of it.

  Flashing on the screen in an abundance of red and white, was a statement which left nothing to the imagination…”IF YOU THINK SANTA IS GAY, THEN CLICK HERE”. Alone in the room, and besotted by curiosity, Derek approached the foreign environment that was the computer table and associated electronics and nervously navigated the mouse towards the appropriate button. The shriek that left his mouth was ear piercing, but was at such a frequency, that only mosquitoes and rare breeds of Alsatians could hear him. In fact, there was every chance that Lassie was on his way over.

  On closer inspection, the outer section of the screen was strewn with mini Santa’s been assaulted by a selection of his reindeer. The one that will forever remain imprinted on Derek’s mind was Prancer performing an erotic and thrusting style non-festive jig with Mr Claus from behind whilst Dancer was flashing his red nose into Mr Claus shocked looking face…at least he hoped it was his red nose.

  “Quite conclusive!” Derek was cautious as he nudged the mouse to the HERE button. There were mixed emotions of relief combined with sadness, as Derek saw what was in front of him. David was now Dave, and his little boy was growing into a young man. Not only was his grasping technology with ease, but he seemed quite comfortable using sexual references in such a jovial fashion.

  Derek was lost in his son’s world of confusing wires and even more confusing teenage hormones, but immediately knew that on the screen before him was Dave’s attempt at this year’s letter to Santa.