Local Capitalism...the only way forward!
“Dad, where are the plasters?” asked my son.
“We haven’t got any,” I said.
“What about a bandage?”
“No, none of those either.”
“Why?”
“I felt your mother was spending too much money per annum on medical supplies…so I’ve outsourced it to Barry across the road.”
My son looked a bit confused, which I put down to him not having a sufficient grasp of the essential tenets of capitalism. Or it may be because he’s 10 years old and his hand was bleeding. I thought I better explain….
“Your mother was spending an average of £34 per year on medical supplies. I thought this was too high so I put it out to the rest of the cul-de-sac for competitive tender. Barry came in with the lowest bid. £17 for the whole year.”
“Is he a doctor?” asked my naïve little fella.
“Of course he’s not a doctor,” I said as I ruffled his poor little dim-witted head. “You can’t have doctors dealing with medical supplies. That’s ludicrous. Barry is a businessman. He used to sell hanging baskets door-to-door in Droitwich. Therefore, he knows about buying stuff, he knows about logistics, he knows about economies of scale.”
“Can I just have a plaster?”
“Of course. If you just log your needs on this easy to use app and Barry will drop one round within 4-6 hours. There will a small additional charge for delivery but Barry assures me that this will still be cheaper than our previous arrangement with your mother.”
“I’ll be dead in 4-6 hours,” said my boy, who does have a tendency to exaggerate.
“June, in the corner house, had offered a 1-2 hour response time but that was quite expensive. And besides, she used to be a nurse so I don’t think she would have the necessary commercial nous to keep driving costs down and standards up. Too entrenched in that public sector ethos if you know what I mean. You’ll just have to wait.”
“You’re going to have to take me to the hospital,” he said as he glanced out of the window. “Where’s the car?”
“Ah, have you ever heard of the word “franchise”….?”
“We haven’t got any,” I said.
“What about a bandage?”
“No, none of those either.”
“Why?”
“I felt your mother was spending too much money per annum on medical supplies…so I’ve outsourced it to Barry across the road.”
My son looked a bit confused, which I put down to him not having a sufficient grasp of the essential tenets of capitalism. Or it may be because he’s 10 years old and his hand was bleeding. I thought I better explain….
“Your mother was spending an average of £34 per year on medical supplies. I thought this was too high so I put it out to the rest of the cul-de-sac for competitive tender. Barry came in with the lowest bid. £17 for the whole year.”
“Is he a doctor?” asked my naïve little fella.
“Of course he’s not a doctor,” I said as I ruffled his poor little dim-witted head. “You can’t have doctors dealing with medical supplies. That’s ludicrous. Barry is a businessman. He used to sell hanging baskets door-to-door in Droitwich. Therefore, he knows about buying stuff, he knows about logistics, he knows about economies of scale.”
“Can I just have a plaster?”
“Of course. If you just log your needs on this easy to use app and Barry will drop one round within 4-6 hours. There will a small additional charge for delivery but Barry assures me that this will still be cheaper than our previous arrangement with your mother.”
“I’ll be dead in 4-6 hours,” said my boy, who does have a tendency to exaggerate.
“June, in the corner house, had offered a 1-2 hour response time but that was quite expensive. And besides, she used to be a nurse so I don’t think she would have the necessary commercial nous to keep driving costs down and standards up. Too entrenched in that public sector ethos if you know what I mean. You’ll just have to wait.”
“You’re going to have to take me to the hospital,” he said as he glanced out of the window. “Where’s the car?”
“Ah, have you ever heard of the word “franchise”….?”
No comments have been added yet.
