Coventry's economy still turns on making things and moving them. The city that built Britain's motor industry now hosts Jaguar Land Rover's engineering base at Whitley, the Manufacturing Technology Centre at Ansty Park, and several hundred smaller firms in the tiers beneath them — machining, tooling, fabrication, coatings, logistics, testing. Most of those firms are between ten and seventy-five people, which is precisely the size where the admin burden becomes visible but hiring a systems person cannot yet be justified.
The pattern we see repeatedly in supply-chain businesses is not a technology problem. It is that the same order exists in four places — the email it arrived in, the spreadsheet someone keys it into, the accounts package, and the customer's own portal that a member of staff logs into separately. Nobody designed that. It accumulated, one customer requirement at a time, and the cost of it is measured in a person's afternoon rather than a line on the P&L.
The second pattern is paperwork that exists purely to satisfy somebody else. Certificates of conformity, material traceability, inspection records, supplier questionnaires, audit evidence. It is genuinely necessary and genuinely repetitive, which makes it some of the most rewarding work to automate — the rules are already written down, because a customer wrote them.
Coventry also has two universities on its doorstep and a steady supply of technical graduates, which changes the calculation on building something bespoke rather than renting it. If you own the system, you can hire locally to look after it. If you rent it per seat, you are paying for it whether the seats are filled or not.