Initially I worked as a librarian, but after relocating from London to Nottingham, a friend and neighbour, Bev Wener, who had moved into market research recruitment, persistently told me I’d be perfect for it. I resisted at first, forgetting I’d once been a participant in a dessert focus group, where I’d enthusiastically over-shared my opinions — a sign, perhaps, of things to come.
Eventually, largely thanks to Bev’s encouragement (and being broke), I contacted QRS, her agency. By chance, they were running a training day, and on a whim — and a sick day — I went. That day, 4th November 1984, changed my life. I met Marilyn, who needed a lift home from the training and lived nearby. That lift turned into a 34-year business partnership and a lifelong friendship. We became each other’s lifeline in a job full of unpredictability.
At first, we handled simple projects: tea drinkers, Basildon Bond writing paper buyers. It was all very manual — clipboards, catalogue cards, and door-to-door recruitment. Bev and our supervisor Pat offered us great support. In those days, recruitment was often about stopping strangers on the street or knocking on doors — not something you’d get away with today.
The projects were endlessly varied and often bizarre: aftershave, mayonnaise, fishing gear, and even a secret chocolate launch (Cadbury’s Spira). We once recruited for a group hidden behind a false wall for a Woman’s Realm ad. We worked in homes, hotels, and viewing studios, and sometimes found ourselves caught up in strange moments — like a respondent urinating on my sofa or researchers throwing tantrums over crisps.
Tech slowly reshaped the work. I embraced it (eventually), while Marilyn resisted, earning the affectionate nickname “The Luddite.” We moved from handwritten notes to PCs, then to online screeners and databases. But some things never changed: the unpredictable nature of the job, the quirks of respondents, and the challenge of hitting quota.
We built a client base through word of mouth, often receiving calls from people who’d simply “heard of us.” Working with agencies like Abbott Mead Vickers and BMP was a joy — they valued recruiters, treated us well, and hosted fabulous parties where stories (and wine) flowed freely (and a recruiter and a planner enjoyed some “afternoon delight” in the fax room…..). One memorable moment was my daughter mishearing “AMV” as “Albert Needs Knickers” — a family legend.
In 1998, Drusilla Gabbott sparked debate by writing about the difference between repeat respondents and actual corruption in recruitment. Shortly after, her colleague Deirdre Cordwell commissioned us to recruit a project under the guise of butter buyers but specifically sought experienced focus group participants. The resulting research, presented at the 1999 MRS conference as “Do We Assume Too Much?”, challenged the industry norm that repeat respondents were problematic, suggesting instead that they could enrich group discussions.
Despite the humour, we also faced serious challenges. In 1997, a proposed national respondent database threatened independent recruiters. I founded FAIR — Freelance and Independent Recruiters — and, alongside others, successfully campaigned against it.
At a 2013 event, I challenged the lack of recruiter representation on a working party. That conversation led to my participation in the creation of the Recruiter Accreditation Scheme. I became its first certified recruiter, passing with distinction — twice. It was a career-defining moment. In recognition of my work, the MRS made me a Certified Member.
I also served on the committee of the Insight Consultants Group (ICG), which became another professional home. It’s a place of mutual support, collaboration, and shared values — one of the reasons I’ve stayed in the industry so long.
Some moments have left a deep personal mark. One respondent, a young Indian woman, once cried at my kitchen table. She told me it was the first time anyone had ever asked her opinion. It reminded me that our work can give people voice and dignity, not just data.
Then came the pandemic. I was about to send reminders for face-to-face groups when lockdown hit. That same night, I hosted my first Zoom group. It was a seismic shift. My local, Midlands-based model suddenly didn’t make sense. Clients preferred national online groups, and my workload dropped dramatically.
But slowly, things have picked up. Face-to-face groups have returned. I’ve even handed out cash in envelopes again — very nostalgic. That said, the inconsistency of online incentive payments remains frustrating. There’s a need for more fairness and industry-wide standards.
Forty years since that first training day, I’m still here. Still recruiting. Still believing in the power of a good group. The industry has changed dramatically — from handwritten notes to digital quotas, from teabag buyers to GDPR-compliant NDAs. But what hasn’t changed is the importance of listening.
What we do matters. We include people. We ask them to share. We give them space to be heard — whether it’s about chocolate or direct debits. It’s been a career full of oddities, laughter, frustration, and pride. And I’m so grateful for it all.
Just don’t ask me to recruit a group of Basildon Bond users!