BRITISH RESERVE

Over the last few weeks I have attended more shows than usual. All of them were interesting and all apparently successful for the event organisers. I question, however, whether the same can be said for the minority of the exhibitors populating these events?

At one extreme I visited a consumer show with a couple of girl friends who were rather taken with a (and I quote) ‘rather dishy hunk dressed like a fireman’. This alleged ‘dish’ was successfully engaging the girls for over twenty minutes, and was responsible for promoting hen parties (amongst his other talents). The girls giggled effusively and appeared quite animated during the interchange. They even spent several minutes glancing backwards in his direction post-encounter, mostly to check whether he could observe them throwing his ‘literature’ into a blue bin down aisle ‘B’ (or so I supposed). With an approach like that he was certainly getting through the ladies and his supply of literature. Sadly his approach was indiscriminate and rather pointless from a business generation point of view, and not cricket!

At the other extreme I was fascinated to see an exhibitor sitting on a high metal tubular stool with his head bowed, rocking, much like a caged animal is prone to do having been in captivity too long. I was inspired to take a photograph on my phone as a warning to other potential exhibitors. He managed quite a nice little rhythm – metronomic in tempo and hypnotic in crescendo. At least he managed to save on dispensing expensive literature.

My real frustration however came from a company that truly had a wonderful new product, which I discovered almost by accident. I caught up with the managing director in the coffee area the previous day, and was invited to his stand to assess his latest brainchild. I have to say, after nearly twenty years of trawling aisles, it was amongst the best new service I have ever seen. The problem was that the previous day I had walked merrily past his stand and hadn’t noticed this wonder product. It was tucked away on a side wall and on the back wall. It really needed someone like our fireman friend (granted with a few more brain cells perhaps) to entice visitors onto the stand to ogle the product rather than his pecs. In the interests of equality, political correctness and liberation, I should add that a scantily dressed, size 10 model in a size 8 nurse’s uniform would probably have worked as well (if you like that sort of thing?).

I wonder whether this reluctance to shout about the new product was a symptom of the British ‘reserve’ or of something more sinister – like missing a trick? Of one thing I am sure – our transatlantic cousins would surely not have been so slow in coming forward?