Blinded by tech, are UK businesses forgetting the basics?

Common sense still not an optional app.

 

The nation’s “bricks and mortar” retailers are beginning to show cracks, with vast numbers looking to set up their stalls online. In fact, the UK retail industry is embracing e-commerce quicker and more successfully than any other Western European countries. But are they missing a trick by deserting the high street?

The UK has indeed taken the lead with innovation and mobile commerce is beginning to kick off: once the smartphone  was invented we had to find a use for it and this is how we started ordering Android-delivered pizza, i-phone delivered pairs of shoes or phone delivered music.

So, whether it’s a country of tech-savvies or a country with too much rain, the mere fact is that no one in Europe has done better in convincing people to shop online.

However, it’s time for the downside. Turning the pages of a couple of reports and chatting with retail, payment and regulatory gurus, it turns out that, in the rush to the web-mirage, UK businesses are forgetting something: “The basics of business”.

This is the conclusion offered by the CEO of a leading payments services provider a few days ago, in front of very full English breakfast.

The very same breakfast that went the wrong way after hearing the staggering number of e-companies, including big players, that are putting security issues linked to customers’ information right at the bottom of the agenda, or just forgetting about it altogether.

Twenty per cent of businesses surveyed by payments company Sage Pay said they are not even sure whether they are compliant or not. They don’t know if they are managing their clients’ data according to the law. Names, addresses, credit card details? Yes, maybe, we don’t really know.

It doesn’t get any more refreshing when it comes to certainties: some 20 per cent know - they are really, really sure - they are not compliant. And another third is convinced it is not important after all, despite the fact that breaches could tarnish the reputation of a business forever.

Even when focusing on the revenue side of the story not everyone seems to get it right.

Take HMV, for example: was it simply the latest high-street retailer to lose out to the power of the web and of new technologies? The truth is that the music store had been on the web for many years before being forced to go into administration.

It did jump on the right tool, but kept a bricks and mortar mentality. When shopping on the web, instead, the same clients become different clients, with speed being the first commandment. When the structure is big and heavy the jump has proved to be more risky.

What should the rules be then? The recipe for success can only come from finding where failure hides.

It’s best to start with the toughest moment of the shopping experience: paying. The majority of customers who visit the website drop out after landing on the payment page, namely after having shown the clear intention of wanting to buy the goods.

Why? Read the data and you’ll get the answer: the longer it takes to pay and the greater number of payment pages you’ve got, the greater the probability the client will get tired and leave. Some websites use up to four pages: worse than queuing ten minutes at Costa.

There are some ego-problems as well: many small merchants think it’s a smart idea to personalise the payment page with their brand. However, if your logo makes your aunty look famous, it will be difficult to convince the customer he can safely give out his data. Better leave the job of reassuring the client to the payments brands. Visa, MasterCard or PayPal inspire more trust than a beloved but unknown aunty Grace, after all.

It doesn’t end here: surprisingly, many small and medium merchants are not taking advantage of social networks. Figures show they work more than the pay-per-click strategy to drive traffic but not enough businesses have an embedded payment feature in the payment page. On the opposite side, a good number of them haven’t got a Facebook page at all.

The moral is ready to be home delivered: new technologies are there, but the human brain and a fine instinct are not an optional app. Business is – and will remain – business.

Don't forget the high street. Photograph: Getty Images

Sara Perria is the Assistant Editor for Banking and Payments, VRL Financial News

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In the 1980s, I went to a rally where Labour Party speakers shared the stage with men in balaclavas

The links between the Labour left and Irish republicanism are worth investigating.

A spat between Jeremy Corbyn’s henchfolk and Conor McGinn, the MP for St Helens North, caught my ear the other evening. McGinn was a guest on BBC Radio 4’s Westminster Hour, and he obligingly revisited the brouhaha for the listeners at home. Apparently, following an interview in May, in which McGinn called for Corbyn to “reach out beyond his comfort zone”, he was first threatened obliquely with the sack, then asked for a retraction (which he refused to give) and finally learned – from someone in the whips’ office – that his party leader was considering phoning up McGinn’s father to whip the errant whipper-in into line. On the programme, McGinn said: “The modus operandi that he [Corbyn] and the people around him were trying to do [sic], involving my family, was to isolate and ostracise me from them and from the community I am very proud to come from – which is an Irish nationalist community in south Armagh.”

Needless to say, the Labour leader’s office has continued to deny any such thing, but while we may nurture some suspicions about his behaviour, McGinn was also indulging in a little airbrushing when he described south Armagh as an “Irish ­nationalist community”. In the most recent elections, Newry and Armagh returned three Sinn Fein members to the Northern Ireland Assembly (as against one Social Democratic and Labour Party member) and one Sinn Fein MP to Westminster. When I last looked, Sinn Fein was still a republican, rather than a nationalist, party – something that McGinn should only be too well aware of, as the paternal hand that was putatively to have been lain on him belongs to Pat McGinn, the former Sinn Fein mayor of Newry and Armagh.

According to the Irish News, a “close friend” of the McGinns poured this cold water on the mini-conflagration: “Anybody who knows the McGinn family knows that Pat is very proud of Conor and that they remain very close.” The friend went on to opine: “He [Pat McGinn] found the whole notion of Corbyn phoning him totally ridiculous – as if Pat is going to criticise his son to save Jeremy Corbyn’s face. They would laugh about it were it not so sinister.”

“Sinister” does seem the mot juste. McGinn, Jr grew up in Bessbrook during the Troubles. I visited the village in the early 1990s on assignment. The skies were full of the chattering of British army Chinooks, and there were fake road signs in the hedgerows bearing pictograms of rifles and captioned: “Sniper at work”. South Armagh had been known for years as “bandit country”. There were army watchtowers standing sentinel in the dinky, green fields and checkpoints everywhere, manned by some of the thousands of the troops who had been deployed to fight what was, in effect, a low-level counter-insurgency war. Nationalist community, my foot.

What lies beneath the Corbyn-McGinn spat is the queered problematics of the ­relationship between the far left wing of the Labour Party and physical-force Irish republicanism. I also recall, during the hunger strikes of the early 1980s, going to a “Smash the H-Blocks” rally in Kilburn, north London, at which Labour Party speakers shared the stage with representatives from Sinn Fein, some of whom wore balaclavas and dark glasses to evade the telephoto lenses of the Met’s anti-terrorist squad.

The shape-shifting relationship between the “political wing” of the IRA and the men with sniper rifles in the south Armagh bocage was always of the essence of the conflict, allowing both sides a convenient fiction around which to posture publicly and privately negotiate. In choosing to appear on platforms with people who might or might not be terrorists, Labour leftists also sprinkled a little of their stardust on themselves: the “stardust” being the implication that they, too, under the right circumstances, might be capable of violence in pursuit of their political ends.

On the far right of British politics, Her Majesty’s Government and its apparatus are referred to derisively as “state”. There were various attempts in the 1970s and 1980s by far-right groupuscules to link up with the Ulster Freedom Fighters and other loyalist paramilitary organisations in their battle against “state”. All foundered on the obvious incompetence of the fascists. The situation on the far left was different. The socialist credentials of Sinn Fein/IRA were too threadbare for genuine expressions of solidarity, but there was a sort of tacit confidence-and-supply arrangement between these factions. The Labour far left provided the republicans with the confidence that, should an appropriately radical government be elected to Westminster, “state” would withdraw from Northern Ireland. What the republicans did for the mainland militants was to cloak them in their penumbra of darkness: without needing to call down on themselves the armed might of “state”, they could imply that they were willing to take it on, should the opportunity arise.

I don’t for a second believe that Corbyn was summoning up these ghosts of the insurrectionary dead when he either did or did not threaten to phone McGinn, Sr. But his supporters need to ask themselves what they’re getting into. Their leader, if he was to have remained true to the positions that he has espoused over many years, should have refused to sit as privy counsellor upon assuming his party office, and refused all the other mummery associated with the monarchical “state”. That he didn’t do so was surely a strategic decision. Such a position would make him utterly unelectable.

The snipers may not be at work in south Armagh just now – but there are rifles out there that could yet be dug up. I wouldn’t be surprised if some in Sinn Fein knew where they are, but one thing’s for certain: Corbyn hasn’t got a clue, bloody or otherwise. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser