the Monday Musings column from that consultant bloke

A true story, this one, with just names changed to avoid embarrassment. It comes from my freelance days when I, like so many others, worked in various loose collectives of the self-employed. So, let me take you back to May 2017 when I had one of those days that fall into the “You couldn’t make it up” category.

It had started a month earlier when, I’ll call him Bob, one of the people who used me from time to time, rang and asked if I knew a chap, who I will call Paul, over in Belfast. I told him that I did and Bob said that he would email something over to me and suggested a Skype chat the next day.

The brief that he sent me was for a training programme that would be delivered, if we got the job, by Dave (another made up name), one of the other mercenaries in our collective. I gave it some thought, wrote some suggestions that I emailed back to Bob for his consideration. Bob and I, along with Dave, had a Skype video chat the next day. Bob pitched our proposal to Paul and I left it at that.

Three weeks later Bob rang to say that we were on a short list of two for the work and that Paul wanted to meet us. Dave was not available, but, as Paul and I had worked together before, he was keen for me to be part of the discussion. Bob was happy to pay for my air fare and expenses to go with him to Northern Ireland, and proposed a fee of £500 if we won the work. I love Belfast and have been going there regularly since the mid-1980s and so I said yes. There was no pay, but it would be a free day trip.

On the day selected I started out down the M4 towards Heathrow on a sunny Spring morning with the aim of meeting up with Bob at a McDonalds on the Great Western Road near Heathrow. I was just past Slough when a call came in on the hands-free: Bob was held up in traffic on the M25 orbital motorway and would be late. I should go straight to Terminal 5.

At T5 I checked in and made my way to the food court to grab and sandwich and a coffee whilst waiting for Bob. Then came the second call to say that he was stuck in traffic near Watford and would not make the flight. He was about to call Paul and would ring me back. At that point the Belfast City flight had not been allocated a gate number so I sat back and watched the ‘planes as the pottered about outside on the apron.

Bob had still not called back when the gate number came up on the board, but he called as I walked through the terminal. He had spoken to Paul and the latter would meet me off the flight. We could have a chat in the Costa Coffee bar in the terminal and Bob would be available to come in on a conference call if we needed him. That meant that I would not get to see the city, but business is business and so I boarded the British Airways A320.

About an hour later we pulled up at the gate at George Best Belfast City airport. I made my way through the arrivals area, but there was no sign of Paul, so I found Costa, ordered a latte and settled down. After ten minutes I was still alone and so rang Bob, who was now on his way back to Essex. He said that he would pull off at the next junction, park up and ring Paul.

By this stage I was into my second latte and had succumbed to a lemon tart as I sat and people watched. My ‘phone rang with an unfamiliar number: It was Paul. After a few pleasantries and a reminisce about the old days; “Bob says I’m to give you a call” he said. I explained that I was sitting in the airport waiting for him as I thought that we were meeting about the training project. “But you’re not coming, are you.” he replied.

Having established that I had, indeed, come, he said that it was now too late for him to get out to see me as he had another meeting scheduled later that afternoon, but that Bob had sent him the notes that I had prepared and that they satisfied the questions that he would have asked. I finished my second coffee, wandered around the airport shops and checked in for the flight back, this time on an A319. Back at Heathrow I found my car and drove home.

It had been one of the most bizzare days in my working life.

Postscript: We won the contract and I got paid my £500, but before the programme of training could start, Paul moved on and his successor cancelled the work. Bob was good enough not to ask me to return my fee.