Farming Breeds: Rich Flashman – the salesman
Join us for a funny, irreverent look at some of the characters that make the British countryside what it is. Our tongue-in-cheek guide puts characters such as the retired Major, the “perfect” next-door farmer and the young tearaway under the microscope. Here we meet salesman Richard Flashman, who wants to conquer the world, just like his hero Richard Branson…
Rich is dead pleased with himself. Fresh out of college and he landed this job as a salesman. “A junior representative,” as he prefers it to be called.
The money is decent and then there’s the car. The Ford Mondeo – the smart one with the CD, the spoilers and the cloth seats. It gets a bit messed up visiting farms – but that’s the way it goes. You can’t sell without getting out and seeing your punters. “I know my patch inside out,” he claims.
Not that many farmers are that pleased to see him. “We’re less liked than tax inspectors,” he laughs, sitting in the bar of some hotel on another overnight stay. Rich is telling the young barmaid the story of how he got bitten by a border collie on his first day. And – sinking his pints, watching her – he’s got things on his mind other than selling agricultural products.
There are a lot of overnight stays in this job. Lots of long, boring evenings in hotel rooms. Films marked “miscellaneous” appear prominently on the salesman’s bills.
The salesman prides himself on having good interpersonal skills. He reckons the word “persuasive” best describes him.
The junior representative is full of ambition. He, like his all-time hero Richard Branson, is going to conquer the world. He’s read a book called How To Be A Winner. He wants to be a winner.
“Closing the deal – that’s what it’s all about,” he tells his mates. Anyone would think Rich was trading millions of pounds of stocks and shares. In fact, he’s selling an obscure form of (largely unnecessary) cattle feed supplement manufactured in a small market town.
If there’s one thing the salesman’s learned most about since starting the job, it’s route planning. He can tell you the precise mileage from any two given points in his patch, knows the A and B road network like the back of his hand and, in most detail of all, where the best places are to eat.
He sits in country pubs at lunchtime, deliberating whether to have a starter or a dessert with his scampi (juniors have a lunch budget of £11 and that won’t cover three courses). He goes for the ice cream then, with an hour-and-a-half before his next appointment, pulls into a lay-by, loosens his River Island tie and has a nap.
The salesman prides himself on having good interpersonal skills. He reckons the word “persuasive” best describes him. “A cocky little git” is what farmers say when they come home to find him sitting in their chair, drinking coffee, chatting familiarly with the missus and patting the dog (the name of which, of course, he always remembers).
The salesman’s very familiar with everyone. He remembers to ask how middle son is doing at college, how the badly-drained field is standing up to the wet weather and whether it’s a good year or not for jam-making. It’s almost as if he cares.
Then, seamlessly, he moves on to the subject dearest to his heart and his wallet – cattle feed supplements.