A few weeks back I flew out to Amsterdam to see Aston Villa play.

This trip started out just like any other… Left early, drove down to Luton, parked up, no drama. The train to the airport was on time. Flight got delayed a bit, but EasyJet did alright – kept us informed and it wasn’t long before we were up in the air. We landed, jumped straight on a train into the city, checked into the hotel, and went out for some decent food and a pint or two. It all just… worked. Like it should…  The next day, I headed off to Rotterdam. We got there in plenty of time, picked up the wristbands and soaked up the atmosphere.  Then we hit “the final mile”.

We got to the stadium station at about 7:15pm. Kick-off wasn’t until 9, so we thought we’d stroll in, grab a drink, maybe find our seats early and take it all in. What actually happened? Absolute chaos. As soon as we got off the train, it was like walking into confusion. Before we knew it, we were being kettled into a fenced-off holding area just outside the ground. Thousands of us crammed in shoulder to shoulder, penned in like cattle. No toilets. No water. No shade. And worst of all – no information. Not a single person there to explain what was going on or why we weren’t being let into the stadium. And the longer we stood there, the more frustrating it got – not just because of the wait, but because of the silence.

The stadium was literally a few hundred metres away. We could see it. Hear the build-up. Smell the food stalls. But we couldn’t move. By the time kick-off came, we were still stuck outside – hot, frustrated, and totally in the dark. People were getting agitated. There were families with little kids, older fans with walking sticks – nobody knew why we were being held, how long for, or if we were even going to get in. And I’ll be honest – if I’d known I was going to be stood in a pen for nearly three hours, packed in like that, standing up on my not-so-young knees with no clue what was going on… I probably wouldn’t have gone. 

And the maddest part? Everything else had gone so well. Flights, trains, hotels, wristbands – all smooth. The only bit that fell apart? The last 500 metres. That final mile.

And it made me think about what we do in freight. We can move goods from China to the UK with our eyes shut. Cross oceans, land at the right port, clear customs… But if that final leg – getting it from the warehouse to the customer’s door – falls apart, that’s the bit they remember. They don’t care how many containers got shifted on time. They care that their stuff turned up late. Or didn’t turn up at all. Or worse – that no one picked up the phone to explain what was going on.

Because here’s the thing… People can live with problems. Delays happen. Roads close. Stuff gets stuck. It’s not ideal, but it’s life. What they can’t live with is silence. Not knowing. Being left in the dark. That’s what turns a slight delay into a proper complaint. So if you’re in the game – whether it’s freight, customer service, deliveries, whatever – don’t fall at the final mile.

And if things do go wrong, don’t just say nothing and hope it blows over. Pick up the phone. Send the email. Say something. People remember the end of the journey more than the start – so make sure you finish strong. Or at the very least, don’t leave them stuck outside the stadium, wondering what the hell’s going on.