Money Money Money
Having a concept, name, logo, jingle, voice mail and website is one thing, but having money to spend on marketing and advertising is another! So, I set out to get a third party involved who would invest cash. I created a profile on the Irish Investment Network which attracted about 8 investors, one of whom was a fire breathing dragon from a well-known RTE TV show. I met with all 8 investors and 2 of them bit. One gentleman was interested in investing funds subject to me securing matching funding from a government agency with the initials EI. Getting funding from EI is about as easy as catching a fly using chop sticks. This might be an easy task for a hot shot like Mr Myagi, but Mr Myagi I am not.
Just before I thought the exercise of securing investment was futile, I received an email while I was away in Spain. It was from an investor called Sean. We agreed to meet in a coffee shop on Dawson Street when I got back from Spain. Within an hour of our meeting, I managed to convince Sean to invest €40,000 in return for a third of the company. Now Sean, BS and yours truly would own a third of the company each. A magnificent ménage à trois.
Sean was from the Michael O’Leary School of Fashion. He didn’t wear fancy schmancy clothes. He always sported an understated, avant-garde look which I admired and respected much more than I would a pink-tie-wearing BMW salesman type of guy. I’ll never forget one day when we were holding interviews in the salubrious Carr Communications premises in Dublin 4. I presumed it would be necessary to dress up for the occasion. When I say dress up, I don’t mean put on a pink lycra tutu with a bright blue velvet shawl and a pair of tight violet stilettos, carrying two over-sized purple pompoms and wearing a long flowing luminous yellow wig and a monocle (I leave that kind of carry on for Saturday nights), I mean a shirt and trousers. Conversely, Sean rocked in wearing a jumper with brown shoulder patches and a pair of jeans. Respect to him.
I know for a fact Sean is reading this because I have already seen a number of hits on the blog that have originated in the Islington district of Inner London (Sean’s hood). So a quick note to Sean:
Hi Sean, I hope you are well! We must have that game of golf in Grange soon!
Apologies to those of you who are not Sean. I really don’t mean to ignore you. A big shout out and hug to you guys too! 🙂
Money – check.
R.O.T. (Rest Of Team)
Finding the best teachers in Ireland would not be an easy task. I would certainly need an elf or two to help me out. So, out to find an elf I set. However, what I found was far greater than an elf. It was an entrepreneurial, scholarship-earning, Trinners student from craggy island territory. He was a genius, albeit with a slight penchant for being visible in the media. He managed the interview process with me. He was hard working, inventive, full of ideas and a great problem solver. All in all a good guy with whom we all got along (most of the time).
We then needed someone to look after the sales and marketing end of things, and who better than a good friend of mine called Aine. I am not going to say ANYTHING whatsoever about Aine as she is a personal friend and WILL actually kill me if I do. I can safely say that BS would not kill me, but he would do evil things to me, as he is an evil man (I am told) (SL). Aine doesn’t have an evil streak in her body, not even where ants or blue bottles are concerned.
Rest of team – check.
We now needed somewhere to DO the grinds. I viewed about 8 different places, alone might I add. BS did visit one place with me, but it was because the place was in his neighbourhood (Sandyford region – in case anyone wants to knock him off for me, although I wouldn’t be willing to pay you any more than €0.10 for sealing the deal. That’s the fairest price one could possibly put on his existence, I hear) (SL).
I did a deal with a lovely girl called Donna who had a place to rent on Pearse Street. We had a Dublin 2 office address. My life was complete. Needless to say I would always downplay the fact that we had a drug rehabilitation clinic LITERALLY next door that provided us with regular visits from Micko and Moana. I think they called her Moana on purpose. Although I don’t think it was a nickname, I reckon her parents were psychic and could tell that she was going to do a lot of lunchtime moaning around Pearse Street, on a bi daily basis (or so).
Studio – check.