An average day in the life of Lashbrook Lassis
Get up. Check emails, hoping that one of the big buyers we’d contacted decided to reply at the crack of dawn, placing a big order of lassis before going to work. As you could imagine, such hope was often in vain.
Have breakfast with Jo and talk about who we are going to harangue and how we can differentiate the phrase, “Dear so-and-so, I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to read my last email, but we’d love to send you some samples of our culturally-inspired yoghurt drinks…” Once we’ve written a few of these emails, we decide to send buyers samples anyway, even though they haven’t requested any, let alone reply to our emails. At least then we can start future emails with, “Dear so-and-so, I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to taste our delicious lassis that we sent you last week? We’d love to hear what you think, blah blah blah…”
By about midday, we decide that all this email writing is not getting us anywhere and that we need some sustenance to help inspire some original thinking to propel our business onto the global stage. After lunch, we check our emails and while we’ve received numerous messages, all of them are offering some sort of consulting, website, marketing service.
Jo and I decide we need to change tack. Instead of approaching buyers by offering our wares, we’ll look put ourselves in a position where we’re so popular that buyers will be approaching us instead – this seems very clever; though with all such clever ideas, the execution is much harder. We look at some events and trade shows where we could sell our drinks as well as meet potential buyers. However, such trade shows often have a starting price of about £1,000 and our bank balance is looking a little precarious as it is. We decide to go ahead nevertheless and begin ensuring we have enough drinks to take with us. In our early days, this would often mean actually making the drinks ourselves, which would become a fraught, late-night affair. Yet, by the end of the day, we’ll have our lassis ready to go and our hearts full of hope that we’ll just so happen to meet the owner of Selfridges who would just so happen to love our drinks and wants to buy them at any price.
This perpetual cycle of hopefulness to dismay was repeated hourly, daily and monthly. It meant we were constantly on the verge of quitting the business but didn’t, just in case next week we might receive the email which would turn things around. Yet of course, such an email never came, and it probably doesn’t even exist. We would be forever trying to find new ways of marketing, selling, manufacturing our drinks, though in the end we realised we’d set ourselves an impossible task. Trying to set a business up within an incredibly difficult and competitive market with a relatively paltry sum for capital, was in hindsight, almost farcical.
Oh, how I rarely miss such days...