Last Midsummer’s Eve, I embarked upon a long walk to Salisbury Plain. Among our small group of revellers was a polar explorer named Ben Saunders. He carried a small navigational device, made by a company called Iridium. That moonlit night, we joined the ranks of military and government personnel who have been guided to safety by the calming light of Iridium’s technology.
So it came as a surprise this week to read that one of their satellites had crashed, pranged into a Russian vehicle, five hundred miles above earth. When I say ‘pranged’, I mean smashed headlong into. If their biggest birds cannot steer themselves to safety, it’s a wonder we saw the sun rise over Stonehenge at all.
One man who knows his satellites is Rupert Murdoch, and one man who knows Rupert Murdoch is Michael Wolff. The American author has just completed his biography of the media mogul and describes him as a man “who wakes each morning wondering who he is going to pick a fight with”.
He explained to me how he kept being granted visits on account of the fact that KRM, as he is known, is “kind of conflict averse”. This contradiction between interpersonal charm and fierce private ambition fascinates me. So too does Wolff’s assertion that the greatest newspaperman of our time has “never read a book”. Judging by initial reactions, that number may just have risen by one. Murdoch, upon reading the first drafts, allegedly remarked with surprise just how much of the book was about him.
Amanda Rose may become one of the cyber stars of this year. In the space of just a few weeks, she coordinated Twestival. The meet-up of members of Twitter saw guests encouraged to donate to Charity Water, raising hundreds of thousands in the process. Parties took place in over 180 cities, attracting mass media coverage. The fact that Amanda is a member, rather than a director of Twitter is interesting. Some of the most powerful movements of the coming years will emerge from ordinary citizens using the web to connect people, with or without the permission of the media owners who attracted them in the first place.
Rocco Forte once said the secret of delivering great hotel service is to “hire nice people”. Asked at a media conference what makes a great story, a film producer recently replied: “Having a great story.” Speaking at this month’s launch of his book, Ken Robinson told of how a teacher had complained to him that her pupils were bored in class. “Could that be,” wondered Sir Ken, “because it’s boring?” Sometimes the blindingly obvious, isn’t. Paul Graham, founder of Silicon Valley incubator Y Combinator, sums up what some entrepreneurs miss: “I like to find (a) simple solutions (b) to overlooked problems (c) that actually need to be solved, and (d) deliver them as informally as possible, (e) starting with a very crude version 1, then (f) iterating rapidly.” How many people you work with can tick all six boxes?
Head-on collisions are best avoided in business. How often do we dodge being highly opinionated for fear of causing offence? From the BBC to the House of Commons, Britain seems to have developed a phobia of speaking its mind. Mostly this is down to a fear of getting the sack. That is why our saviours in this recession can and should be entrepreneurs. With an ability to solve problems and be disruptive, you’re not afraid to point out the emperor’s obvious nudity or the figures that don’t add up. You don’t spend your professional life treading on eggshells. Seize this moment! Say exactly what you’re thinking. If Britain’s entrepreneurs can’t do that, who will?