Jack Roberts interview with Peter Jones and Imran Hakim

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Story
Art by Steph von Reiswitz

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to14 year-olds. I get thousands of emails every
month from under 18s: ‘I’ve heard that you used
to dream about being an entrepreneur and having
your own business when you were sitting at your
dad’s desk at seven. I have the same dream. I’m
only eight.’ It’s amazing. These people are all
aware – they send letters in. ‘Can I have a
photograph?’ ‘Can I have a picture?’ We’ve had
requests from primary schools – we sent 20
photographs so they could put them up in their
classrooms for motivational reasons.”
Jones opened his entrepreneurial account by
starting his own tennis academy at the age of 16.
At 17 he set up a successful computer business; at
19, he bought himself the car of his dreams – an
Audi 80 Sport; and at 20 he bought his first house.
Then he realised that he would make more
money renting it, so moved back in with his
parents. The progression was relentless – until he
reached the age of 29. Complacency set in and he
forgot to take out credit insurance; when his
clients went bust, his business folded.
“I basically lost everything. My marriage [to
childhood sweetheart Caroline] was falling apart.
It was just a lot of naivety and personal mistakes
on my behalf. When you have people coming
around to take your cars away – I had a nice BMW
and a Porsche, and a nice four bedroom house,
which was pretty smart – and you have to move
out, go through a separation and divorce with two
kids, all simultaneous… it’s not easy.”
After moving back in with his parents, Jones
went to work for Siemens. Within 12 months he
was running their UK operation, and in 1999 he
left to set up a mobile phone reselling company,
Phones International, with capital raised from his
earnings. The new company blasted him into the
economic stratosphere; having forecast an
aggressive target of £2 million in their first year,
Phones International generated £13.9 million, and
Jones has never looked back. After consolidating
his success, his work on Dragons’ Den brought
him to public attention. Naturally, as an
entrepreneur, he’s decided to transform that
attention into his own television company.
“If you look at what we’ve done on the
television side of things it’s very clear, especially
to people in the industry, that this isn’t about
Peter Jones appearing on a television programme.
It’s about me building and scaling a business.”
Jones employs super-publicist Max Clifford to
handle his image now (The Daily Mirror
newspaper’s 3AM girls have branded him an
“ultrapreneur heart-throb” – a sure sign), and
counts Pop Idol’s Simon Cowell as a friend and
business associate. It seems there is very little he
can’t acquire, yet he primarily sees himself as a
facilitator for others.
“I would like to be remembered as a person
who made dreams reality. Not just for myself, but
also for the people I came into contact with on
my TV shows. How else would they have had that
opportunity? Everybody’s happy: I’m making
money on my investment, they’re making money,
and they can change their lives.”
But he makes more than everyone else. Doesn’t
that lead to resentment?
“If there has been resentment to my success it’s
gone unnoticed, because I simply wouldn’t care. I
am positive there are people out there who are
jealous, just as there are people out there who are
jealous that they’re not as good looking as Robbie
Williams and can’t sing like him. There are people
out there who can’t be creative and create their
own businesses like Peter Jones. Do I care about
that end of the spectrum? No, not a jot, and I
don’t give it any thought at all.”
For Jones, such scepticism is part of an old
British cultural order, an order that’s rapidly being
eroded by the aspirations of a new, less apologetic
generation.
“In the UK what we do is put people on a
pedestal, and once they’re there, we try to find
reasons to take them off. But I think that’s
changing; we’ve seen it in music – recently we’ve
seen Take That come back, prove how popular
they are, and I think you’re starting to see it in
business. People want to be like an Alan Sugar,
like a Donald Trump, they want to be like – God
forbid – me. That following is there. There’s no
doubt in my mind: I can see it, I can feel it.” JR
IMRAN HAKIM:
PLAYBOY RISING
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As Imran Hakim peers into the screen of his
desktop computer, his face twists with a
look of surprise bordering on horror.
“343 new emails. 343!”
Sharply put together in a black shirt and dark
chocolate suit, the young entrepreneur resembles
a British-Indian Al Pacino – all brooding eyebrows
and regal assertions. He takes a moment to
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compose himself before diving in, firing emails,
taking calls on his mobile, and throwing out
commands on the office speakerphone.
An emerging business empire is being vertically
controlled from this makeshift office, situated on
the top floor of a cluttered Bolton warehouse.
“Man, my brain is so slow right now.”
Imran is used to overwork, and loves to be
challenged, but today the exhaustion is selfinflicted.
Last night he was down in London for a
dinner date with a dentist. Since his appearance
on the TV show Dragons’ Den, where he secured
£140,000 investment from Peter Jones and Theo
Paphitis, the girls have been swarming over him –
FT journos, BBC staff, you name it.
The London date went well – very well indeed –
but his Ferrari broke down, and he had to catch
the train to Manchester at 6am. Now he’s running
on a single cup of coffee and an hour’s sleep.
“Why don’t you take this weekend off? Catch up
on sleep.”
“You joking? Weekends are the best time to
work. That’s when everyone else stops.”
Imran hands me a brown teddy bear, plucked
from a wall-mounted shelf.
This is iTeddy, the golden ticket.
‘iTeddy’ is a soft toy with a personal media
player in its stomach; it has a dopey smile and
paws that beckon to embrace. The product is
pitched at kids under the age of ten as a “cuddly
companion for learning and fun,” and offers the
opportunity to download cartoon, music, and
audiobook files from a pay website.
It’s iTunes meets the Care Bears meets cold
dollars; iTeddy is going to make its creator very
rich indeed, although he says that isn’t the
motivation.
“Business is a game. The money is a nice side
effect of that game.”
I hold the bear in my hands, and prod away at
the buttons on its stomach, struggling to make
sense of the user interface on its belly-monitor.
Meanwhile, Imran makes a call to Soobs, an
assistant who is doing sourcing work in China.
“Up until now, I’d be the one running around
over there. Now, I tell him what to do, he runs
around, and I can stay here and carry on with the
business,” he explains.
The first call is abortive, so Imran dials again.
He shouts to make himself understood over the
crackling line.
“SOOBS? You were telling me about how the
DRM10 will be compatible with the SD slot…”
“Yes, SD and onboard… but I told him we
weren’t too bothered… I found an article on the
internet last night that we can use new software
that’s called STK4.”
“Do we have to pay any royalties for that?”
The two of them continue like this for a while,
grizzling over the price of electronic components.
“Listen Soobs – regardless of anything, we can’t
miss the delivery schedule. That’s the single most
important thing.”
“Definitely.”
“Cool. Soobs, did you eat Pizza Hut again
today?”
“Standard, innit?”
Ever since the Dragons’ Den entrepreneurs
bought a 40% stake in his iTeddy venture, Imran
has been locked into a punishing pre-release
schedule, scaling the product – and its website –
for a mass launch in July.
Apart from rolling out the product itself, the
marketing is also crucial. To that end, Imran is
preparing to roll out his ‘iTeddy Kids Club’
promotion in schools across the country. His
younger sister, a teacher, advised him primary
schools were always on the lookout for new
lesson plans.
“The purpose is to create interest within your
core ‘user group,’ the one to tens. It’s about
message reinforcement. Parents see iTeddy on TV,
their kids read about it in school, then they see
iTeddy in the catalogue when they go to Argos.
‘Great, let’s buy it.’ You see how many angles you
can find to reinforce that ‘learning, creative, fun,
child-specific’ idea, and just keep plugging away.”
Imran’s schoolteacher friend Abida has been
helping him with a pilot scheme, doing some
informal research at his old primary, The Valley
Community School (formerly Wolfenden and
Chalfont Community School). We head over to
meet her.
Inside the school’s staff room, we meet Imran’s
old class teacher Mrs Hale. She pulls out a picture
of Imran as a little boy, riding a donkey on
Blackpool beach.
“I always knew he’d be successful in business.
Imran knew what he wanted, and he’d go all out
to get it, organise people. He wouldn’t be easily
distracted. Children these days are easily
distracted, easily led; they get everything they
want, when they want it.”
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The school kids are on their lunch break, so
Abida leads us to sit down on the little chairs in
her classroom. The impromptu iTeddy focus
group session has caught the kids’ imaginations,
and they’ve come back with a million ideas: an
iTeddy story competition (“iTeddy goes to space!
iTeddy meets a monster”); an iTeddy car;
geography (“Where in the world is iTeddy?”);
iTeddy outfits; iTeddy gadgets; iTeddy teaches the
world’s religions…
“There’s definitely a lot of downwards
opportunity there,” says Imran, “but let’s make
this very defined.”
Imran is very good at narrowing conversations
down like this, sorting through messy ideas to
extract a simple economic purpose.
The school bell rings. On their way back into
class, a group of kids swarm around Imran.
“Dragons’ Den!”
“iTeddddddddy!”
And then a kid so wide-eyed he looks ready to
soil himself.
“Draaaagons’ Den iTeddddddy Dragons’ Den!”
“All the children watch the show you know,”
says Abida.
Before we leave, we pay a quick visit to the
office of the school’s headmistress, Gwen Acton,
who also used to teach Imran. She beams with
pride as she talks to her former pupil, grown up
and now rapidly ascending to Bolton royalty
status. Imran is to business what Amir Khan is to
boxing: good looking, self-effacing, proud of his
school, proud of his hometown, proud of his
immigrant heritage – in short, a role model.
“Back when I taught him, I told him what to do,
but even then he had all the answers,” she says,
“…and I have to tell you, Imran, the kids were so
impressed when they saw your silver Ferrari.”
On our way out, we walk past a framed picture
of a Chinese kid posing in front of a line of
national flags with a slogan beneath it: “Learning
knows no boundaries.” Neither does business,
it seems, although no one seems too bothered
when confronted by Imran’s considerable
chutzpah in person. I think back to something he
told me earlier in the day:
“To further my interests, I’ve had to sell myself.
Selling is core to any entrepreneur: you’ve got to
sell yourself constantly.”
There’s no doubting Imran has a talent.
Back at Imran’s office, a local businessman
has been waiting outside to pitch his
investment idea. The pitcher is in his 50s;
he has a fleshy face, a brown corduroy suit, and
the demeanour of a particularly flustered
chemistry teacher. The general impression is of
Richard Nixon’s nicer, less successful brother. He
shakes Imran’s hand.
“Hello! Appreciate meeting a celebrity!”
He takes a seat on Imran’s low couch to deliver
the pitch; Imran, 29, remains on his raised swivel
chair, looking down at the middle-aged man.
The proposal is a special power socket for NHS
hospitals, to help them comply with new safety
regulations.
“We’re short of capital, and a bit of marketing
know how.”
“Have you had a look at the market potential
of this?”

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“Yes, it’s massive.”
“What’s massive?”
“There’s 800 hospitals – if you took just 5% of
hospitals available, there’s probably in excess of £3
million turnover.”
Imran quizzes him on some technical points
and the copyright issues.
“How much money do you need?”
“We’re looking for about £25,000.”
“What would you do with that money?”
“Well we want to put so much into staff, and
we’d spend £10,000 or £12,000 on a brochure…”
“Wait. You want to spend ten thousand pounds
on a brochure? You could put together a little
presentation pack with CDs, everything designed
and ready to present to the hospitals, and it
shouldn’t cost you more than a grand. Not twelve
thousand.”
“Well, I’ve learned something today!”
After some amiable chat, Imran cuts to the
chase.
“I’m sorry I can’t do more with it at this
moment in time, but if you leave it with me, I’ll
make sure the right people look at it.”
He says he’ll put the idea forward to people at
the Bolton Business Awards, who are putting on a
live Dragons’ Den style event. This leaves Nixon’s
brother looking half crestfallen, half insanely
optimistic – as if he’s just received a large wedgie.
“Great. But we’re not desperate you know – I’ve
put £14,000 into the business, to start it up, see,”
he says.
“I think if nothing else, what you might lack in
resources right now, your enthusiasm will more
than carry it through.”
And goodnight.
Every day Imran receives approaches from
similarly hopeful entrepreneurs, sweaty hustlers
with money in their eyes, and – worst of all – an
endless supply of hope.
“The more you speak to people these days, the
more you hear them talk about an idea they have.
Everybody’s got an idea, they’ve seen people
invest in simple ideas on TV. There’s much more
knowledge about patents, about routes to
market.”
The reality is that while ‘anyone can do it,’ not
everyone can. Right now, Imran feels too guilty to
turn the hopefuls down – he was there not so
long ago – but there will surely come a time when
he’s forced to cut the little leaguers adrift. He has
new ambitions now: iTeddy cracking Europe, the
United States, new ventures, bigger fish, bigger
markets.
Imran takes a moment to reflect on the latest
pitching entrepreneur.
“It’s an okay idea, IF he’s done his research.”
He doesn’t want to discourage, and will pass on
some contacts, but the market is limited, the
quoted cost of manufacture too high, and – most
importantly – the proposal doesn’t excite him.
Imran leans back in his swivel chair and stretches
both hands behind the back of his head.
“So yeah. Interesting, but not interesting
enough.” JR
“There are people out there who can’t be
creative and create their own businesses
like Peter Jones. Do I care about that
end of the spectrum? No, not a jot”