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When was the last time you despaired reading an exec summary?

The Sumo wrestler in Speedos
(ridiculously fat document squeezed into a ridiculously small one)

The 60-second Hamlet
(boring proposal with all the boring bits taken out)

The naked emperor
(Why didn’t anyone tell me this didn’t make any sense?)   

The burst balloon
(a bright and promising pitch with all the air sucked out of it)

The Marie Antionette
(it’s all about me, me, me – let the customer eat cake)

The polished t**d
(fabulously well-written, but the content stinks)

The road to nowhere
(well built, well signposted, but with no clear conclusion)

The vicar’s knickers
(practical and functional, but lacking excitement)

You probably recognise a few of these. We do – we’ve seen them all. That's how we've come to know what works and what doesn’t: the difference between a killer exec summary and a long-winded suicide note.

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Amidst the splenetic debate about bankers’ bonuses, I was chatting the other evening to a friend with a long career in investment banking, much of it spent in Germany.  He was pointing out that Germany’s economic success is in part down to its backbone of privately-owned companies, at the heart of which is a vibrant Mittelstand community – the many thousands of small- to medium-sized private companies which feed Germany’s mighty manufacturing machine.

Germany’s Mittelstand is booming – with double-digit growth according to some measures.  René Obermann, the CEO of Deutsche Telekom, observed last year that this is “faster than the Chinese economy.”  It set me thinking.  The UK Government repeatedly tells us that our economy will stand or fall on the success of our own entrepreneurs and growing private companies.  But how much encouragement do we really give this crucial constituency?

In a surprising burst of humility, my investment banker friend said that his own industry is probably partly to blame for preventing many private companies from maturing into the adulthood they deserve.  “The problem is, investment banks are incentivised to churn the private market,” he said.  “We positively encourage businesses to grow as fast as possible, then sell out after five or six years to one of their publicly-listed competitors – or to private equity, which holds onto them for another three or four years and then sells them on.”

He has a point.  With the right financial support and fiscal encouragement from Government, how many more JCBs, Virgins, John Lewis’s and Triumphs would we have in the UK?  These are great brands, big brands, market-leading brands – all privately-owned (not a venture capitalist or private equity investor in sight), unhindered by the constraints of a listed share price or the short-termism of institutional investors.

As our investment bankers ponder their worth and their bonuses this January, it might be worth them reflecting on the Mittelstand – and how they could help create the same phenomenon here.

As I was leaving our office in Marylebone on a Monday recently I saw the usual queue of customers outside the Le Relais de Venise restaurant.  Queues 20 deep are not uncommon in the evening with customers standing outside shivering as a gale and driving rain chills them to the bone.

It made me think about their business model in a time of recession.  Although London is less affected than other parts of the country, there are dozens of restaurants within a stone’s throw with vacant tables – particularly on a Monday.

I’ve dined there a few times.  The service is not great.  So it’s not that.  There is no choice on the menu either.  Just a walnut salad followed by steak frites.  The only choice you have is how the steak is cooked – rare, medium or well done.  Not even medium rare – non merci!

But then again, that’s it’s secret. In a world where we’re swamped with choice it’s nice to switch off and know what you’re getting.  Spend the evening with friends or business acquaintances chatting and not worrying if the duck is cooked properly or the pasta is fresh.

With retailers trying to offer more and more choice at higher and higher cost to them, perhaps there’s a place for sticking to a simpler, more predictable customer experience.

Tesco has been queen of shops for most of our working lives.  But is their reign about to come to an end?  In the wake of a disappointing trading statement and a £5 billion slump in its stock market value, customers are legitimately beginning to ask: what’s the real value of Tesco to me?

One look at the giant supermarket’s proposition, Every Little Helps, tells you everything you need to know about why Tesco has been so successful for so long – and why it has finally stumbled.  Ask yourself what it says to the shopper.  One of its key subliminal messages is that ‘We’re on your side and we know that every little saving we give you helps to make your life easier.’  Price is a key part of the message.

Tesco has underpinned its proposition with a series of price promotions over the years designed to make us believe that we are saving real, hard-earned cash. 

The first problem is that customers have started to believe these savings aren’t real. The notorious £4 chicken (or rather, allegedly, the £5 blink-and-you-missed-it chicken) is a classic example. 

The second problem is that, according to many commentators, shoppers never really much liked Tesco in the first place.  Its ruthless expansion, bloated high street omnipresence, and tired and utilitarian store formats have created a growing unease among customers.  It’s the brand we’ve all supported by default, but without any real enthusiasm.

And the reason?  Because for years it’s been our nearest and cheapest supermarket.  Take away the ‘cheapest’ part of the equation, particularly in these austere times when people are shopping around like never before, and what’s left?  How hard can it be to drive a few extra miles to Sainsbury’s or Morrisons, if we feel that they are offering us real – rather than illusory – value?

Here’s a thought.  Who really likes flying with Ryanair?  We travel on their planes because they’re cheap as chips, with no pretence at luxury and arguably only a passing acquaintance with customer service.  Take away Ryanair’s low-fare advantage and how long do you think the airline would survive? 

When your value proposition is solely about price, there’s only one way to go when you lose that price advantage.  Could Tesco be about to find this out?