WHEN Sean Drumm left the Patrician College in Finglas at 16, his family gently nudged him into a butcher’s apprenticeship with his uncle — for his own good. “Day-dreaming was what I was best at in school,” he said. “I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box.”

It was 1979 and jobs of any sort were hard to come by, but as soon as he had finished his apprenticeship he left. The following years saw him work as a hospital porter and then manager of a windscreen repair business while DJing at night clubs.

In 1988, he headed for England. “I didn’t want to be an old DJ hanging around the clubs and I didn’t know what to do so I went to London.” There, he took a job as a salesman for Blanco, a high-end kitchen sink maker.

It was his first inadvertent step on the road to entrepreneurial success. Drumm stayed with Blanco for six years before handing in his notice so he could return to Ireland where he had a good job lined up, but his boss’s reaction shocked him. “My resignation turned into a row. They had had plans for me. My boss, who was quite volatile, threw me out of the office.”

Drumm was sitting in a coffee shop across the road in Brent Cross shopping centre when the managing director’s secretary found him and persuaded him to go back for a chat. The result was his appointment as Blanco’s first distributor in Ireland.

“Adrienne (his girlfriend) was not best pleased, but she came around to the idea perhaps because she figured I would stick with it if it was our own business.”

Back in Dublin, Drumm had “no immediate income, IR£1,200 (about €1,500) to buy a van, a number of samples and a mobile phone the size of a small suitcase”.

He had put aside no money while in England. “I had a great time living for the moment.”

So it was back to DJing — this time doing in-store promotions in a Crazy Prices supermarket while juggling business calls on his mobile. He would break off in mid-discussion to announce: “Don’t forget shoppers, we have special prices on roast chickens today.”

Adrienne’s salary kept the couple going until things began to take off. Drumm’s first sale was the cheapest product he had, a set of pillar taps for IR£17.50. “With that, I knew I was on my way.”

From a one-room basement office on Dominick Street in Dublin’s north inner city with no staff, the company now employs eight staff and has 12,000 sq ft of premises in Dublin 12. Meanwhile, Adrienne is now his wife and has her hands full taking care of their three children — although she often pitches in at the showroom too.

Turnover is about €4m, business is growing by about 30% a year and gross profit margins are about 28% on average.

Drumm still sells taps, but top-of-the-range cookers, fridge-freezers and extractor hoods are what bring in most of the money. And if celebrities want to shop in private, the showroom is opened after hours just for them. “They can spend about €60,000 to €70,000 at a time on a kitchen. We’re the posh stuff.”

Not that Drumm will ever get complacent. “When I came back to Ireland, I could not believe the prices being asked for kitchen goods. Stainless steel chimney hoods were selling for IR£500 here when they should have been IR£300.”

He picked off competitors by judicious undercutting. When it comes to staff, however, he believes in paying well, and handing out profit share and bonuses. “I know what it is like not to have money and to work in a place that is autocratic,” he said.

His worst experience was when a customer he had considered a friend reneged on payment. The firm almost went bust. Drumm’s solution was to go to his supplier, tell them what had happened and beg for leeway. Happily, they co-operated and gave him some time.

“I’ve been extremely lucky,” he said. “I’ve done some very stupid things and made many mistakes.”

Foolish decisions have included taking on debt without any consultation and doing things the company could not afford. He says he has learnt his lesson and now takes advice before plunging ahead. “Good financial controls and advice are essential,” he said.

A strength of the business is the staff, and turnover is very low. “They are superb, though I never tell them that. They tell me they enjoy it here. If we have a row, we give out and then forget about it. It’s not life and death, it’s only ovens.”

Rose Costello