As a requirements engineer I spend a lot of my time helping or teaching other people to do their requirements better. I get to see plenty of problems and technical solutions, but it's hard to know what it actually feels like on the other side.
So it was with some excitement that I realized I was going to experience that rare thing for an engineer, the Requirements Engineering process from the client's point of view.
Now, it might seem terribly simple just to write down a list of what one wants for one's own loft. In fact it seems about the simplest case possible: I am writing my own requirements, and I am the only user. What could be easier? I am the owner, the client, the author of the requirements, and the sole person who the builder would have to please. Or was I?
The simple-looking case perhaps does not look quite so simple any more.
Requirements
I contacted an architect, Anna, the wife of a friend of a friend (is networking always like this?). Anxious about the cost, I obtained a rough figure. It didn't seem too much; I am not sure I allowed myself to realize it was only for the initial fact-finding meeting. Anna turned up, all smiles, with her boss who was, I think, entirely unnecessary and turned out to be sitting in the background entirely at my expense.
We went through several iterations of discussion about what it was we wanted - the user requirements, I suppose - and it came down to more space, more space, and more space, with a few tightly-worded constraints such as affordable, and quick, and easy, and free of regulatory hassle, and not too disruptive.
The architect, moving smoothly between business objectives and system specification, pointed out that not much could be done without proper drawings so we took a deep breath and commissioned a full set of plans of the house as it was. Anna came back with the beautiful plans, and some pen and ink sketches of what she might do to provide more space.
Design
The two feasible options - aha, architectural design already - were a garden room and a loft space. They were about the same size and, very probably, price, though no-one except the client - me - seemed very interested in this fact. I realized that it was easily the most important parameter, as I didn’t want to draw a lot of pretty plans which I could never realize. We talked about both options and thought hard about what they would mean for our lifestyle. Both seemed very desirable, but not at the same time.
Anna went off and drew proposed plans including both options. The house looked wonderful. My wife looked at the garden room, saw it would change her favourite view from the dining table, and said no, at least not for now. So the loft it was, as far as the two principal stakeholders were concerned.
Would it be feasible with the council? Anna looked serious, and we were into the regulatory labyrinth. We applied for that most British of bureaucratic documents, a certificate that planning consent was not required. In other words, I had to apply and pay the council to tell me that I did not have to apply to the council for permission. The only thing they asked was about the chimneys, which I truthfully said I had no intention of altering. An officer with the personal warmth of a Belsen wardress came and stood in my garden and asked what I planned to do. I said I'd move the stuff in the loft to a shed. She looked even sharper and said where would it go, and I pointed to the bottom of the garden. That's lucky, she said, as if it was within 5 metres of the house I'd have to include it in the allowed volume. I made a mental note never to say anything to any council official without my solicitor's approval, and the certificate arrived. Anna now broke the bad news that she must have known all along, namely that the council would need engineering calculations for the strength of the loft floor. The engineer astonished me by proposing a fixed-price job, and came to see the loft. The floor would need to be supported by steel beams. I said I didn't want to have to replace the existing ceilings, could he work round them. He said he would work out something, and it was a pity things had to be so strong nowadays. He was very friendly so I suppressed my alarm and waited. His plans arrived, utterly incomprehensible, with a note from Anna that she didn't like them. There would be three steels, they would be above the existing loft floor; everything was fine except the standing height would be only a fraction over six feet. She promised to speak to the engineer. A week or two later a second complete set of calculations for a different floor. He said he couldn't do anything else as a beam couldn't run through a chimney. It was still hopeless. I said why don't we just demolish the chimney, then, and Anna said fine. Anna copied to me her furious letter to the engineer, who to my utter amazement agreed to produce a sketch of a new design and a third set of calculations, for free. This time there were two enormous steels, three small steels suspended partly below them between the rafters, and a forest of joists between the steels. It was complicated, obviously expensive, and would clearly work. We had performed a classic iteration between the user requirements, the system requirements, and the design. Tall guests would get to be able to stand up, the ceilings could stay in place, and it was just the chimney's bad luck to be in the way. I wrote out what seemed an enormous cheque to Anna's boss, and another of at least predictable size to the engineer, together with a thankyou letter. We sent the whole packet of drawings and calculations to building control, with yet another cheque, were acknowledged promptly, and then received a list of innocuous-looking questions, without which we were warned the application would fail. As it turned out, and despite my best efforts, we never did answer all of them. Invitation to Tender, Statement of Work I decided that I could manage the tendering process and the system specifications on my own, with Anna checking them for me. At her suggestion I deemed that the standard small works contract terms and conditions would apply even though we wouldn't bother to include it - another wonderfully British compromise. I wrote thirty-one requirements in the SoW for the builder - he eventually added two of his own - and put some general conditions about payment, throwing rubbish, and tidying up every evening into the ITT. Anna said I could put in a small penalty clause - £100 per week for lateness - and in time-honoured fashion I took what I thought the job would take, two months, made it three just in case and said the penalty would apply after that. I looked at three builders; one decided it was too far and pulled out; one was efficient but seemed unfriendly, and the third, run by two brothers Ian and Colin, got the job. A fourth local firm applied a little too late, after seeing the planning application at the council. The price on seeing the full plans was 40% higher than the builder's original vague (marketing) estimate. We trimmed this down to 25% but it bounced back again. Implementation Ian was a polite, honest, and remarkably attentive builder, and did everything he could to ensure the work went ahead smoothly. Of course he had other jobs on the boil at the same time, but some work got done virtually every day. At the job's peak there were five men in and on the roof. Ian worked as foreman and carpenter; Colin as electrician and labourer; James as youngest and strongest was lifter, fetcher, sweeper and dogsbody: the job he hated most was going to Sainsbury's to buy the men's lunch; Merton came for a few days to do the plastering, quite expertly; Paul did the plumbing and helped with bricklaying and labouring; and we also saw a brickie, a roofer and a couple of assistants at times. Ian proposed several small design changes which made the loft simpler and better for no extra cost. The job overshot by three weeks, mostly because the wrong windows were delivered - twice; the right windows had to be rejected, again twice, for being so ill-fitting. Embarrassingly, this was the British joinery firm showing its view of quality. The Danish Velux windows arrived on time and fitted perfectly. The Italian spiral staircase was ordered early for fear of August holiday closure: it too arrived and worked perfectly, though it caused Ian days of difficulty as the engineer and the architect between them had not allowed enough space for it, and it consisted, he claimed, of 960 separate components. Acceptance The penalty clause fell by the wayside when Ian pointed out there were several - to my mind - quite trivial 'extras' which, as he had not mentioned them during the monthly stage payments, I had merrily assumed would not be charged for, but he thought were straight contract changes and therefore could not fit in the schedule - or the budget. I insisted on some improvements to the paintwork, the smoothness of the floor, the jointing of the woodwork, and the fitting of the stair; and had some cracked slates and guttering replaced. Ian got a final enormous cheque, and I made the discovery that a modest 10% budget overrun feels very uncomfortable when you aren't expecting it. We all had a glass of Cava in the loft, the baby had a trial ride in the swing, and Paul took photographs of the genuine smiles of the stakeholders. The building controller appeared by magic, made a few cheerful remarks which demonstrated that he did not understand the fire access, and vanished. The same day the skies from our windows lightened for the first time in three months as the scaffolding disappeared. Project History Report I had no trouble with any item I had taken care to specify. None of the extras, in retrospect, seem unreasonable; all were necessary; and none could have been identified in advance except for the moving of the TV antenna from the chimney which, of course, I had not expected to have to demolish. The only serious delay was caused by the company supplying the windows; the roofer was only available at weekends, but the job slipped very little. All the agencies and professionals involved did their jobs well, and even Ian the builder said the requirements were unusually accurate. I emerged only slightly bruised; I am quite sure the experience would have been much more painful without so much care on the detailed requirements. © Ian Alexander,
November 1999