Prints Charming

I set up in business back in 1991.

It was an exciting but also quite a sobering experience.

That inner confidence behind making the transition from salaried to self employed status was strong and resolute but that would of course be for nought if any of the other components were lacking in any way.

An additional factor was that I, by now, had two children under the age of 3, a new bigger mortgage and had only recently moved back into my home area from a few years working away. I had a very encouraging and supporting wife who had herself given up a promising career and we all felt at quite a crossroads in our own, relatively young lives.

It was not an impulsive decision for all that.

There were clients to court from my existing position working for a national company, the Bank Manager to approve of the business plan, premises, vehicles and personnel to source.

I was in a privileged position in that my father had just taken early retirement and he kindly offered funds which would be matched by the bank as an overdraft facility. Gradually things began to come together and I tempted fate by setting May 1st as the start date for the new enterprise.

In the search for a commercial printer to produce the letterheads, business cards and all of the customised stationery it was a case of not having to look too far. The new office, a bit of a run down 1833 built terraced former house overlooking a bit of a neglected but beautiful oval public gardens just off the city centre was surrounded by a mixture of small businesses occupying similarly  run down premises.

Under a sort of local self help philosophy I went to see the printers who were actually the neighbours, or at least nearest operation of its kind directly behind my office.

They were two brothers but you would not have thought so, such was the difference in their appearance, characters and personalities. One short and nicotine yellowed, the other tall and, well, at first glance could pass for a large female although I later understood this to be down to a slight hormonal imbalance.

The heavy, full arch outer doors to the Print Works were sun-faded. I rapped on the small wicket door but obviously the mechanical noises from behind drowned out by knocking. I persisted but it was still a few minutes before a head popped out, surprised and not a little alarmed.

Explaining my requirements and providing sample logos, layouts  and Pantone numbers I was assured that samples would be ready within a couple of days.

Their premises could easily be seen from the rear window of my office but it was strange in that whilst they had no living accommodation in their building I never saw them arrive or leave which could imply that they just camped out amongst the presses.

It was getting very close to the 1st of May launch and I had not seen any proof copies of, in particular the all important letterhead.

The print works door remained shut but noises emanated from within.

In retrospect I should have thought about the relationship between noise and the art of printing. High Street shops and light industrial tech units on out of town estates provided print services but theirs was an image of a clean, precise, swift and virtually soundless process.

I should have been worried, looking back but the whole adrenalin fuelled journey into self employment must have dulled my senses or at least insulated me from the possibility of setbacks and difficulties.

In eventually presenting the new stationery the two brothers were triumphant. Granted, the handover was in their dimly lit premises and I was all too glad to take the items away so that a good proportion of them could be immediately typed on and distributed to herald the new kids on the block.

The quality of the work was abysmal.

The three overlaid colours of the company logo that had been decided upon to instil professionalism and  preciseness were blurred into each other. At least my surname was correctly spelled but this amounted to the sole positive. An expected crisp, whiteness of the page was speckled with white, blue and yellow ink. The A4 sheets were thick and quite a bit like rice paper in texture.

This theme of amateurishness was constant across all of the range of stationery.

There was no time to arrange for another printer to be engaged and so, with reluctant dread, the first launch announcements and actual commissions went out on something that my own infant children could have bettered with cut potatoes and poster paint.

Still, looking back. I can laugh about it now, or at least without the accompaniment of sweats and palpitations.