Matt's Blog

 

Here's Matt's frank and honest blog... 

Closing One Chapter, Opening Another

I was born on Bonfire Night in 1974, and 50 years later, on Bonfire Night 2024, I handed in my resignation at BPEC. Some people celebrate their 50th by buying a sports car or booking a cruise — I chose to light the fuse on a new chapter.

That decision didn’t come easily. The weeks leading up to it were filled with sleepless nights, weighing up the safe comfort of a steady salary and a role I enjoyed against the pull of building something of my own. In the end, the bigger risk felt like standing still.

Fast forward to 30 April 2025 — my final day at BPEC. After a decade with the organisation, I walked out for the last time as Head of Operations & Development. There were mixed emotions: pride in what I’d helped to build, gratitude for the people I’d worked alongside, but also the nerves that come with stepping into the unknown.

My journey with BPEC started back in 2015 as Development Manager, where I played a part in launching the End-point Assessment Organisation. In 2019 I moved into the Head of Operations & Development role, a position that gave me the chance to help shape services that regularly punched above their weight in the industry. Looking back, I’m proud that people often assumed BPEC was a much bigger organisation than it really is — proof of the impact we made as a small, dedicated team.

My final weeks were a blur of handovers, farewells, and reflection. We celebrated with a team get-together, food, and some very kind words. It was a reminder of how far we’d come together. But as the goodbyes wrapped up and the door closed behind me, I knew the real test was only just beginning.

 

Sleepless Nights, Part 2

The first round of sleepless nights came before I handed in my notice. The second round came after I’d actually left.

May 2025 arrived with no salary hitting the bank, no packed diary, and far too much time to think at 3 a.m. I’d gone from ten years of structure at BPEC to staring at a blank calendar and wondering if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.

The doubts were relentless: What if no one wants to work with me? What if I’ve misjudged the timing? What if I’ve walked away from security for nothing?

But then came the first “green shoots.” A phone call here, an enquiry there. A couple of small pieces of consultancy work landed on the desk. Nothing big, but enough to remind me that people valued my experience and there was space for what I had to offer.

It wasn’t a flood of work — not yet — but it was hope. And sometimes, in those early days, hope is enough to keep you moving.

Building Momentum (and Working Poolside)

By June, the “green shoots” had started to grow into something more solid. Work didn’t arrive all at once, but it built steadily — enough to keep me busy, and busy enough to start turning the corner from doubt to momentum.

The timing wasn’t perfect. I’d already booked a family holiday to Greece long before handing in my notice, and rather than sipping Mythos on the beach without a care in the world, I found myself glued to my laptop for chunks of it. Not quite the stress-free break I’d imagined, but the truth is, I was grateful the work was there at all.

That month also gave me the chance to focus on something I’d wanted to do for years but never had the headspace for: finishing the manuscript for my eBook, So, You Want to Run a Plumbing Business? It’s still forthcoming (watch this space), but carving out the time to get it across the line felt like another small victory — proof that this new chapter wasn’t just about client work, but also about building resources that could help others.

June taught me two things: first, that work has a way of finding you once you’re moving in the right direction; and second, that holidays as a business owner are rarely ever “off-grid.”

Chasing Bricks and Mortar

By July the consultancy work was flowing more steadily, but I knew I needed something bigger to anchor the long-term plan: premises. A physical space where learners could walk through the door, train, and be assessed.

So began the hunt. Industrial units, training spaces, classrooms — I viewed them all. Every time I thought I’d found “the one,” it slipped through my fingers, usually snapped up by more established businesses with deeper pockets or longer track records.

It was frustrating. I could picture the classrooms, the workshops, the learners — but without a set of keys in my hand, it was all still just theory. Another round of sleepless nights followed, filled with the usual doubts: Have I jumped too soon? Am I chasing something that isn’t there?

Looking back, that period was less about losing out on premises and more about building resilience. Each near-miss toughened me up and sharpened my vision of what I really needed. And when the right opportunity finally came along, I was more than ready to grab it.

Signing on the Dotted Line

August was when things finally started to move on the premises front — but not without another round of stress.

For weeks I’d been chasing units, and when one finally came up that ticked most of the boxes, I nearly missed out completely. Why? Because my email systems were at war. Gmail and Outlook weren’t talking to each other properly, messages weren’t sending, and I was left wondering why no one was getting back to me. Not exactly the slick impression you want to make when you’re trying to convince a landlord you’re serious.

Thankfully, I caught it just in time. By the end of August, I’d agreed a tenancy.

Here’s the thing though: the unit I went for is bigger, and more expensive than I’d originally planned. Logic said keep it small, keep it safe. But my gut said something else. My drive to bring a proper trade training hub to Rotherham tipped the balance. I signed the lease, fully aware it was a bigger risk than I’d first intended.

It was another gulp moment. Suddenly, the dream wasn’t just in my head or on a spreadsheet — it had walls, a roof, and monthly rent.

The Fit-Out Fiasco

By September, I was knee-deep in the reality of turning an empty unit into a training centre. That meant sleepless nights on several fronts — finance, workload, and, once again, those cursed emails.

I thought I’d been smart by sending the estate agent a detailed outline of what I planned to do with the unit before signing the lease. A classroom here, a workshop there, and all the bits needed to make it compliant and fit for purpose. With that box ticked, I pressed ahead, confident everyone was on the same page.

Except they weren’t.

When the landlord eventually saw my plans — via email, not face to face — his reply made my stomach drop: “I wish you’d mentioned all this before signing the lease.”

That was the moment I discovered the email had never actually been sent. Another casualty of the Gmail vs Outlook war that had already caused me grief. My heart absolutely sank. I’d already committed, and now it felt like I’d started off on the wrong foot.

And then there was the finance. I’d applied for a business loan with HSBC, having been crystal clear from the start that my accountant had advised me not to take on anything that required a personal guarantee. The process was lengthy — I had to pull together forecasts, plans, and more paperwork than I’d care to admit. Still, I convinced myself it was worthwhile. The bank said the loan was progressing, and crucially, that no personal guarantee would be needed.

That was enough for me to start planning how I’d use the money — fit-out works, equipment, marketing. I let myself breathe a little.

Then the paperwork landed. And there it was in black and white: I would need to give a personal guarantee after all. My heart sank for the second time that month. Back to square one.

Add to that the financial pressure of funding the fit-out myself, and my days quickly stretched into nights. I kept “office hours” for consultancy work, then spent weekends and evenings grafting in the unit. It was exhausting. I’d chosen this path, but it didn’t make the pressure any easier to carry.

As if the finance stress wasn’t enough, the fit-out brought its own headaches. Materials were more expensive than I’d remembered, and just as we’d got the studwork in for the training room, I spotted not one but two roof leaks, dripping right over the spot where the suspended ceiling is supposed to go. A delay to getting the work finished, eating into my short rent-free period, and yet another source of stress.

September was a month defined by sleepless nights — the kind where you lie awake doing mental spreadsheets at 2 a.m. and wondering if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.

But it wasn’t all bad news in September. I hosted my very first meeting at the new centre with a supportive contact, and that conversation could open the door to some exciting partnership work in the future. Just as importantly, family and friends have stepped up in a big way, giving their time, energy, and hard graft to help with the physical work. From shifting materials to picking up tools, their support has been invaluable, and when this business is a success, they’ll know they were a big part of making it happen!!