Ernie’s Journeys!

Sale Language School

August 6th, 2007

I’m sure by this time that I’ve fallen beneath the radar of many of my (ex) regular readers since so much time has elapsed since I last graced these pages with scribblings. If I’m honest, I’m still suffering from the same reluctance with which I prefaced the last entry, namely, to relate the comings and goings of a relatively ordinary life, as opposed to reporting from far flung places about cycling round the world. However, I’m still getting occasional inquires as to what I’m up to, so here goes.

Actually, the following was written at the time of my last blog entry, but including it then would have put Martin my younger son in jeopardy as some of his colleagues had been following my journey via the site. However, he’s now resigned from his job at the local college and received his last pay cheque so we can now come clean about what we were planning. It could well have been viewed as in competition with the college and, therefore, in contravention of his employment contract – hence the secrecy.

We don’t yet quite have enough students to reach a break even situation but Sale Language School is up and running (www.salelanguageschool.co.uk); Its somewhat fraught gestation is outlined below, as written during the ‘heat of battle’ so to speak:

A few weeks before I arrived home, Martin had e mailed me with a rather cryptic proposition but didn’t explain what it was until we were sat down enjoying dinner and a glass of champagne on my first evening back. Having been an English teacher for ten years now, he knows the market. Given the number of foreign workers in Manchester, especially around the south of the City, he feels that a small private language school could attract enough students to constitute a viable business in that area. He’d started the ball rolling by locating suitable premises - a small suite of offices covering two floors above shops in Sale – and commenced negotiation of a lease agreement with the estate agent. I’ve agreed to help with setting up the business and, being a qualified TESOL teacher too, will do some part-time teaching once it’s up and running; until I head off on the next cycle ride that is! This is why I’ve chosen to stay west of the Pennines and what I was doing on odd days along side preparing the manuscript. Not wanting to outstay my welcome with Martin and Carrie, and given the location of the proposed school, before heading off to Yorkshire, I located a small flat in Sale and asked the agent to reserve it. On my return, I finalized a six months lease agreement and, on Tuesday 13th February, I moved in. It’s a basic, one-bedroomed place; the middle of three flats in a converted terraced house. Although on a fairly busy road, it’s quiet, especially at night, as the bedroom is at the back of the house. It’ll do me until I go travelling again.

Setting up the language school is proving problematic. The accommodation that we’d chosen is vacant and its previous use was as a small call centre. Consequently, to keep things strictly legal, we had to apply for ‘change of use’ planning permission from the local authority – a straightforward matter you might think. From my past experience I know that dealings with both central and local government can sometimes be difficult, but nothing prepared us for the bureaucratic nightmare that our application unleashed. You may remember that back in the late 80s and early 90s, the DTI, whilst promoting its support for small business, came up with the slogan “We’re from the government and we’re here to help you”. Of course the Department’s ‘interference’ usually resulted in more hindrance than help and, you may also remember, the slogan very quickly became a complete parody of the actual situation and the subject of many a comedian’s routine. I was reminded of this so vividly soon after our request hit Trafford MBC’s convoluted mechanisms.

I made a pre application initial inquiry by telephone to the Planning Department and had a very positive discussion with one of the planning officers. I outlined our proposal and gave him the address of the premises concerned. He pulled up the Department’s records while we were speaking, confirmed its current status and, although he stressed that he couldn’t give any guarantees, he thought that such activity in that area would be welcomed and was generally encouraging about the whole idea. I ordered the appropriate forms and, on the strength of this conversation, we paid the agent a non-returnable deposit of two months lease fee to take the premises off the market. The forms duly arrived and Martin and I sat down to complete the application. Essentially, this consisted of regurgitating the business plan in terms of numbers attending and modus operandi, and submitting detailed plans of exits, entrances and the uses of each room, including their position in relation to adjacent buildings, roads and walkways. I had a face-to-face meeting with the same officer in the Council’s building in Sale, where he very helpfully scrutinized our plans for their acceptability prior to our formally submitting them, which we duly did, along with the not inconsiderable fee. We were told that, where an application was straightforward, which ours was deemed to be, it didn’t need to go before the council’s planning committee and could be dealt with by the officers alone. So far so good.

Part of Trafford MBCs ‘Customer Care’ standards (another travesty) is to turn such applications round within eight weeks. The first five or six weeks of this period are to allow for objections to the new use of the building to be lodged. The period passed; no objections. We breathed a sigh of relief. An enquiry to the young woman planning officer who was now handling our application elicited the promise that she would visit the premises during her lunch break – they’re only a few hundred yards from her office - to make further investigations and get back to us. When I contacted her a couple of days later, she told me that the shopkeeper below one of the flats to one side of our premises, currently away in Spain, had once told him that he could hear a television; this dating back to the turn of the decade when the offices in question were a dwelling. On the strength of this, she had decided to put a condition on granting our permission that we must line the walls on both sides of our building. This is ridiculous. Although we plan to operate up to 8.30 in the evening, our small groups of foreign adults, at the most ten, would be making no more than ordinary conversational noise. We pleaded our case, both verbally and by e mail, going over yet again the quiet nature of our activities, but to no avail, she was adamant. Other conversations with planning officers at different times when I’ve been phoning the Department have come up with such phrases as “we always find something”, “we always attach conditions” or “this is normal”. Or to paraphrase them, accurately I think, “we’re not doing our jobs if we can’t find some conditions to attach to an application”. What a way to run a service. ‘We’re from the council. We’re here to help you!’ Although the work involves considerable construction and the relocation of radiators and electric sockets, and we’re sure that it’s totally unnecessary, reluctantly, we agreed to get the work done. Based on this, the young woman planning officer told Martin that she would grant permission for the change of use and pass it to her manager for ’signing off’ before the eight weeks were up.

14th March was the eight week deadline. Martin phoned madam planning officer to see why the permission hadn’t come through. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing when he later related the conversation to me. It seems that the Department’s manager, before signing the papers, noticed that, included on the plan was a car parking space, also part of our lease, but on the other side of a lane at the back of the building, along with other parking spaces for the adjacent shopkeepers. Since the plan showed that this parking space bordered the back yard of some flats, a further 21 days was to be allocated so that inquiries with the flats’ residents could be conducted. I was incandescent! This was way beyond the bounds of reason or common sense. The sale brass band (if there is one) could be playing in our building and not be heard in these flats. “We’ve been nobbled” I said to Martin. I was beginning to think that a conspiracy was afoot. They couldn’t give us an outright refusal, there weren’t any grounds, but someone was trying to wear us down to the point where we would withdraw. Influence from the local FE college perhaps. “I’ve had enough of brainless council bureaucrats” I thought. “It’s time to see what the councillors have to say”.

A little research yielded the names and numbers of six Sale councillors, but I was unable to determine which one represented the area where our proposed school was situated. I picked three likely ones and left messages on their telephone answer services. The first one to respond didn’t cover our area but seemed willing to listen to our problem. As soon as I got started, he stopped me to say that he was a member of the planning committee, so I should only ask my questions in general terms. However, in answering his clarifying questions, it wasn’t long before the full details of our situation came out. He agreed to continue on the proviso that, if the case did eventually end up being referred to the committee, he would have to withdraw from the deliberations. That was fine by me. I just wanted answers. He’d apparently been a member of the planning committee for 19 years and knew well all the officers concerned. He undertook to look into our case and get back to me which, to my surprise, he did, within a couple of hours. He’d spoken to the officers and was able to assure me that my conspiracy theories were unfounded. He said that our application was indeed viewed favourably, and that this latest delay was in order to protect the council, and us, from any potential legal action in the future. Again, he couldn’t give any guarantees but said that spurious objections wouldn’t be considered and that the permission would be granted. I was at least grateful for his help. We would have to be patient. Martin later got similar comments from madam planning officer.

In one respect it’s worse. The council officers aren’t mindless or corrupt after all; they’re simply following procedures. It’s the system that’s stupid. I can fully appreciate that society needs protection from people who would cut down trees, build on green fields, dangerously alter buildings or otherwise cause nuisance to neighbours, but common sense has gone out of the window. I remember a legal definition of ‘common sense’ as “something that the ordinary man in the street, or a man on a Clapham omnibus – and it was always a man – would consider reasonable”. But ‘common sense’ only seems to be legitimate when cited by a barrister in a court of law. It carries no weight if a lay person uses it. Council officers apparently have no notion of it. The 3 week period is gradually ticking by; we have our fingers crossed!

Having said all that above, I count amongst my friends people who work for local authorities; well adjusted, intelligent and sensible they seem to be too. There must be some sort of ’systemic common sense filter’ that clicks in once they arrive at work.

I’ll write again very soon and finish relating the birth of the school and talk about other things – including cycling!

More later