Squib and Kettle's Latest (And Possibly Greatest) Business Idea

If you flip through The Financial Review of a morning no doubt you're familiar with the story of Squib's and my meteoric rise through the ranks of Australia's, nay the world's, business community.

Taking the SOHO (small office home office) scene by storm in late 2008 we've been steadily building momentum with sales across our unique product ranges, from our doomed children's books to our carnation-coloured tents.

At the cutting edge of Sciuridae HR reform, Squib is a leader in the Squirrel-crafted hair button field, and enjoys broad support from the Association of Artisan Squirrels. My recent work in the home-based/backyard holiday sector has dramatically reduced Australia's carbon footprint and, some drunken idiots suggest, has initiated the reversal of the global warming process.

After this giddy catalogue of successes, where could we possibly go from here, you may well ask?*

The answer is clear: postcards.

Recently titillated by a nice bit of leg in a 'Hat Head New South Wales' postcard we have realised the time is right for a postcard boom of mammoth proportions.

And due to the Elephantine size of our aspirations we don't want to dick around with postcards for every little town with a giant prawn or over-sized sheep. No: our great postcard innovation is to design a range of cards centred around the globe's principal oceans and smaller seas. It seems so obvious, doesn't it? That way we can kill thousands of kilometres of coastal towns with one postcard-stone, so to speak.**

Take, for example, this early Pacific Ocean prototype, suitable for sale right along the 1,338.3 km between Bega and Tweed Heads:


Apart from the obvious profit-making potential of such a versatile postcard, imagine the sense of community and connection it will spread from one end of coastal New South Wales to the other.

But the genius doesn't stop with principal oceans and smaller seas of the globe; how about postcards of water and marine animals of any kind, like this delightful example, suitable for sale anywhere there may be, or may once have been, water and/or a dolphin:


Simply take off the reference to Australia and this little puppy has global appeal, don't you think?

So when you're voting for joint Australians of the year, don't forget Squib and me: keeping Australia's economy afloat, we are.***

****

* Or not, if you have a lick of sense.
** Chroist sorry. I couldn't sound the mixed metaphor/crap line alarm in time.
*** It's possible Squib was harmed in the writing of this post.
**** There will be a prize if you can list all the cliches and wallyisms here. That's right: a prize!

What ho! The answer was on page 13!

Searching for a job involves looking at more cheesy images than you can circle with a red pencil.

The job hunt has continued this week with applications here and interviews there. I have answered some probing questions (where do I see myself in five years time? In residence at the Lodge, either as Prime Minister or Head Gardener) and explained, in 100 words or less, exactly how I've used my effective verbal communication, consultation, and negotiation skills to communicate with officers at various levels, within and external to an organisation (I also found myself talking about Ruth Park's novel My Sister Sif in the same interview so I'm not sure how well it went, on reflection).

Having previously only read the first section of the newspaper in order to win the weekly news quiz*, I thought this week I'd actually read the job ads that fill the bottom half of every page; I thought perhaps I'd find the answer to What To Do there. Could one be the perfect job for me?

Page six, bottom left: Senior Lecturer/Associate Professor of Organic Chemistry. I could have a crack at that. The ad doesn't actually say you need a background in organic chemistry, just that they're seeking "an individual who will strengthen this environment and also contribute with vision and innovation". Nothing a bit of perfectly acceptable application-based exaggeration won't cover there.

Page ten, middle left: Federal Court judge. Great timing to be made redundant: the Attorney-General of Australia is currently seeking nominations and expressions of interest for appointment to the Federal Court in Sydney and Melbourne. I'll nominate you if you nominate me.

Page 13, bottom left: Director of the Government Media Unit in the Office of the Premier of Queensland Anna Bligh. I read the paper every day so I'm pretty sure I'm qualified for this one.

And then I see it, page 13, bottom right:

Seachange for Two
Energetic couple to manage immaculate retirement village, 34 days annual leave each year, magnificent gardens, salary + super + spacious self-contained accommodation.

If only I was 75 I'd be able to work from home.

The search continues...


* A high score in which is more a measure of how much time you've wasted during the week, as opposed to a confirmation of the ontological status of the quiz as a true competition. Also, there are no prizes.

The things you do

I've now finished the second of the making-millions-working-from-home books that I borrowed from my favourite local library, and have picked up what I'm sure will be useful skills for some kind of home-based business.

I can now throw around such small biz acronyms as 'SOHO' ('small office, home office') with gay working-from-home abandon, and provide anyone with a rundown of just what the Corporation's Act expects of me personally.

[One thing that I haven't so much learnt as once again thoroughly enjoyed is snorting at such embarassing generalisations as the following, which appear with alarming and disappointing regularity in the business world: I haven't seen such flagrant sexism and imperialist dog-ness since The Benny Hill Show and/or The Goodies. All we can hope is that Mr Bossman is kind enough to Mrs Beancounter as to only oppress her on Tuesdays and Thursdays.]

But none the matter, I'm sure Ms Make-it can look after herself (provided she doesn't hook up with Mr Snakeoil), so back to the many things I've learned and the changes I've made that show just what an impact these SOHO books have had.

I no longer meet friends for a beer and a chat but provide refreshments to my chosen focus group (who represent my target market) in order to conduct market research on them. I no longer spend slothful, wasted evenings on the couch quoting lines from Top Gun and The Simpsons but rather enjoy many giddy hours on the computer building spreadsheets and itemising my deductible and non-deductible expenses (non-compulsory uniforms had me stumped for a while there - exciting stuff!).

But perhap the biggest change has been what is my newest and I'm sure most endearing trait of seeing all printed images as possible elements in what will surely be The World's Greatest Logo Ever and lying, stealing and cheating to procure them.

I've been ripping out pages from magazines in paediatricians' waiting rooms if I see borders that I like, and pocketing coasters from pubs if they happen to have even the slightest hint of a pretty, spidery-lined motif.

But my proudest and most enterprising image-collection moment came when I saw a woman walking down a random street in my local area drinking a coffee in a take-away cup that had a quite lovely Arabesque pattern printed on it. Knowing that this cup was in fact my graphic designer's holy grail, from which fount all logo-related inspiration would flow, I decided the right thing to do was to loiter nearby while she finished her coffee, to choke back my "Stop! Litterer!" when she threw her empty Arabesque-patterned cup under a tree, and then to wait until she was out of sight before carefully collecting my cuppy treasure. It was definitely the right thing to do to take it home, wash and dry it, cut out the bottom, flatten it, scan it and send it to my designer.

On reflection I can see the precise moment where I crossed the line.

Good cop, bad cop

Whenever two people get together to do anything there's a universal law that says one will be sweetness and light while the other will be just one small step above George Dubya.

So it is with the two authors of the work-from-home book I've been reading. It starts off benignly enough with a few pages from the lolly pops and raindrops author, who ruminates pleasantly on a few stats about advances in technology and the number of people who want to spend more time with their family instead of commuting, etc.

Then we move onto the "let's get ready to start thinking about getting ready to start" chapter, which begins with a few little exercises like make a list of all the skills you've acquired from past jobs / lives / time-travel experiences, and clearly here the bunnies and kittens writer is still at the keyboard.

Then wham! The evil twin-author must have sent the sunbeams and fairy-floss writer flying off his or her swivel chair and snatched up the keyboard because there's a definite change of tone on the next page:

Find out what friends and family really think about your plans. The people who know you best can often surprise you with their insight into your potential.

[Ok, sounds positive-ish enough. Let's keep going.]

Often their opinions are unexpected; they could perhaps be fundamentally negative about what they perceive as a risk-laden venture, which could cost you, and possibly them, dear if it all goes wrong.

[Ok again, not so positive but he or she is encouraging us to think about the risks involved with starting a home-based business, I get that.]

They could come up with strong reasons why a particular idea is not, in fact, so bright.

[Starting to get a little na-sty. I'll tell you who's not so bright.]

They may also reveal an inherent lack of faith in your ability to be successful at all.

[Screw you buddy!]

Bah. I'm setting up my lemonade stand no matter what they say.