Normally conferences are quite fun. But at the moment, everyone's too nervous to enjoy them.

Some brief respite from my new business woes this week; I spent a day at an industry conference, where I was on the panel for one of the debates. And if I don't tell you which one, or what the topic was, don't worry - you're not missing anything exciting. Suffice to say it wasn't about the wisdom of launching entirely new product lines in the middle of the worst recession since the war, or I might have been a bit conflicted.

Generally speaking I quite like going to conferences. I was talking to my friend at the weekend and she couldn't believe how much these things cost. 'Isn't it a complete waste of money to be spending that much on a jolly when there's a recession on?' she asked, in her inimitable bull-in-a-china-shop way. Admittedly this one was free, because I was speaking, But even if they're not, I figure that it doesn't take much to make it worth your while - just one piece of new work generally covers it, and if you choose the right conference, and play your cards right, that's the least you should come away with. That said, I must admit that I've rationalised my conference-going a bit this year - the ones that only fall into the 'potentially useful' category have been binned altogether (judging by the numbers at this latest bash, lots of people had made a similar calculation about this one).

Still, it's not just that. It's also the opportunity to go and moan with lots of other like-minded moaners. Unlike most of my friends, the people at this conference aren't likely to be bored senseless talking about whatever random aspect of my business I'm preoccupied with at the time; in fact, they're quite likely to be worrying about the same issues. And there's also a political element to these things: if you're there looking confident and talking a good game, people assume you're going strong; if you don't show up at all, people immediately start speculating about why not. I'd condemn this scurrilous and malicious rumour-mongering out of hand, were it not for the fact that I'm as bad as anyone for it.

Panel discussions generally hold no fear for me these days; I've done a few now (I'm sure it's largely because they panic about having no girls on the panel) and they're generally a piece of cake - you don't actually end up speaking that much, so all you need is a few half-formed thoughts and soundbites. And to be honest, I always figured nobody ever really listens to you anyway. My theory was that the vast majority of people go to these debates because it makes them feel virtuous - and then all the real work gets done after the conference proper finishes and the drinks come out.

But this time was very different. Afterwards, while I was sipping a large glass of wine, a woman came over and started haranguing me about one of the points I'd made. 'I don't think you've really thought that through,' she told me, and proceeded to explain exactly what I should have said. As it happens, she was absolutely right - I'd made it up on the spot - but I still think it's a bit rude to come and tell me as much. Besides, her point was equally stupid, which ultimately meant I was forced to waste half an hour of prime networking time rowing with her about it.

Afterwards I realised something; there was an air of nervousness around at the conference that I've never noticed before. In the old days, everyone had a bit of a swagger; now, people are desperately looking for answers, or in some cases, trying to work out what question they should be asking. That's why they've suddenly started listening to these things. So I suppose that's one upside of the recessions: at least conference panel discussions might get a bit less vapid. Assuming there are still people around to listen to them, that is.

When you’re running out of cash, you really need to be very friendly with your bank manager.

I spent Monday morning working out my new business’s current burn rate (i.e. how long it will take to eat all up my cash). Not the cheeriest way to start a week, but there was an important point behind it: I needed to know how long I could realistically put off the decision about whether to pull the plug. The thing is I’m still completely torn – I went home on Friday convinced it was worth persevering, and by Sunday night had gone entirely the other way. So basically I wanted to work out how long I’ve got to prevaricate.

The answer, as it turns out, is about five months (on the most pessimistic view). But really, the main thing I concluded from the exercise was that if I wait until it gets anywhere near that stage, I’m just being a total wimp.

I also decided to bite the bullet and have a chat with my bank manager. Now I really like my bank manager. He’s efficient, he’s straightforward, and he knows his stuff. But I really didn’t want to tell him. As soon as you start talking about overdrafts and additional financing, you can almost hear the internal alarm bells going off in his head. I imagine some great big flashing red light back at HQ, with besuited minions sliding down poles to print off copies of our latest accounts and start chewing their pencils suspiciously. Just asking for a meeting is bad enough, because let’s face it – if you’re asking to see the bank manager rather than the other way round, they pretty much know it’s because you want more money off them.

But again, it seemed unavoidable. Extended overdrafts, loans, invoice discounting… I need to know whether I can get my hands on extra cash should I decide to keep going – and if so how and when. I’ve also been contemplating the possibility of spinning the new bit out as a separate entity, to make sure it doesn’t affect the rest of the business; admittedly this would be difficult in practical terms, given that they share loads of the same resources (like office space, stationery, IT systems, and, not insignificantly, me) but it might be a possible compromise solution. So I needed to know how that might work money-wise.

Unfortunately, you don’t need me to tell you that bank managers aren’t what they used to be. I’m with [a state-supported bank], and I’ve never had a moment’s trouble with them, even in the last year – they know exactly how we work and what they’re into, so they’re very comfortable with it. But as soon as I started talking about new ventures and extra facilities and so on, I could see him getting visibly nervous. Sure, the bank will insist publicly that it’s going to play ball and lend more to small businesses. But it’s pretty obvious to me that the message coming down from on high is: don’t take any unnecessary risks. Squeezing more cash out of him will be like getting blood out of a stone.

I know I said that I don’t generally take too much notice of other people’s opinions when it comes to decisions like this. But the bank manager’s different. Because a business lives or dies on the strength of its bank balance, he becomes a bit like a sports referee (at least in theory): his decision is final, regardless of whether it’s right or wrong. So our meeting didn’t exactly leave me brimming with optimism...

This week proved how hard it is to get decent, informed, impartial advice on any kind of business decision.

As you’d expect, I’ve spent most of this week mulling what to do about the new business. And because I’m still quite torn, I’ve been doing what I always do: trying to get advice from other people. However, because it’s such a sensitive subject, that’s easier said than done. I can’t really speak to external people or current clients about it, because it would undermine confidence in the whole thing. My entrepreneur friends tend to be too bullish. And it’s hard to speak to internal people, because they’ll inevitably have some kind of personal agenda. In fact that’s true of almost anyone you talk to, I suppose.

Clearly the person who ought to have the best idea of how it's doing is Ace, the guy who’s running it for me. But he obviously has a fairly major vested interest in maintaining the status quo – he’s hardly going to tell me I should can the entire thing and put him out of a job (turkeys don’t vote for Christmas, after all). I took him for a drink this week to try and tease a bit of honest feedback out of him on how things were going, but he was pretty cagey. I tried to hint - without actually saying as much - that there’d always be a job here for him whatever happens, but I didn’t really get anywhere. Apart from anything else it’s a question of pride: he doesn’t want to admit defeat. (His view, for what it’s worth, is that we need to hang on in there until the market picks up a bit - all very well, but in the meantime he and it are eating up my cash.)

I also tried to gauge the thoughts of Mammon, who as my top sales guy, should really be my sounding board for all things new business-related. But I can’t help feeling he’s still a bit territorial about the whole thing. In a bizarre twist, he and Ace appear to have got over their mutual distaste and become as thick as thieves – so I was nervous that either anything we said would get straight back to Ace, or that Mammon would still see it as a chance to reclaim his spot as the undisputed alpha male of the sales jungle.

Then I considered running it past my HR lady so we could ponder the people implications, before remembering that she’s slightly barking and would probably spontaneously combust with panic.

In fact, I got so desperate at one point that I even tried to raise the topic with my mother. But she was plainly bored to tears by the entire thing, and after a few minutes of sympathetic noises deftly steered the conversation back to the latest developments on Coronation Street.

My usual go-to person in these instances is a guy I used to work with yonks ago, who acts as a kind of unofficial adviser to the business. But one of the things I like best about him is that he never really tells me what to do; he just talks through the problem, helps me figure out what’s important, and tells me to trust my instincts. Unfortunately in this case my instincts can’t make their mind up (do instincts have minds?), so I wasn’t really any better off.

I suppose that ultimately, there’s only one thing that has no agenda and will always tell you the unvarnished truth: the numbers. And unfortunately, it’s the numbers that aren’t looking too pretty.

secretdiary@managementtoday.com

At the start of the year, I figured this could be a great time for a new venture. Now I'm not so sure.

Generally speaking, I'm an optimistic kind of girl. I think you have to be in this line of work. So when at the start of the year I was trying to decide whether to plough ahead with my new venture, I took the view that although things were tough, there must be a good opportunity for people with the nerve - and the cash - to invest. Figuring I had both, I decided to take the plunge. But as we approach the end of the year, I'm starting to wonder whether I was a bit too bullish...

I must admit, I thought back in January that things would look a lot more positive by now. My feeling was that all this recession hysteria was a bit over-blown - ok, so the first half of the year was always going to be a bit horrid, but I figured that by the end of the year the economy would be picking up again and everyone would be starting to think about cashing in on the recovery (which would leave early movers like me sitting pretty). Unfortunately, it hasn't really worked out like that. Things are just as slow now as they were earlier in the year. And the difference is, people now seem a lot less optimistic about what the recovery will look like, so they're even more cautious about spending money. I'm still feeling confident - but if buyers aren't, that doesn't really count for much, does it?

Maybe the new business has more fundamental problems. But either way, the fact is that it still isn’t making enough money. So now I have to decide what to do about it. I’m reasonably confident that if I was to spend a bit more time on it, I could help Ace (my new sales guy) get it moving a bit faster. But is it really the best use of my time? Does it actually make more sense to focus all my energy on the core business (which is doing ok, but not brilliantly), because I know for a fact that the model works? Or is there such a big upside to the new venture that it’s worth a punt? To be honest, having tested the water, I’m less convinced of that now.

Obviously the nuclear option – canning the whole thing – would be difficult and upsetting for all concerned, including me. But as I’ve said before, I’m not proud: I think that knowing when to get out of something is just as important for an entrepreneur as knowing when to get into it. Besides, the situation has changed since the start of the year (and therefore so have the odds). Calling it quits now isn’t necessarily an admission that the original decision was wrong.

Either way I need to do it soon. I live in constant fear of becoming one of these tragic people who spends so much time weighing up every possible point of view that they find it impossible to actually commit to anything. I've got a friend like that – whenever we meet up, she works herself up into a frenzy trying to decide whether sushi, a salad, or a full-on lard-fest curry is most in keeping with her current state of mental health (and if she's like that with her dinner, I dread to think what she's like at work). There's nothing more dangerous to an entrepreneur than analysis paralysis. Do it or don't do it, but either way get on with it.