Twenty-two of us.
Zero cowboys.
Vulcan started with one van and a rule its founder still enforces personally: do the job like your own mum's watching from the kitchen doorway. She sometimes is — she runs dispatch on Tuesdays.
Built like
a fire brigade.
Marco Vulcan — yes, real surname, the business plan wrote itself — spent a decade watching good trades get squeezed into bad work by worse scheduling. Vulcan runs on the opposite system: fewer jobs per van per day, stocked vans checked nightly, and crews paid salaries, not piece rates.
Slow is smooth, smooth is fast: the crew that isn't racing to the next ticket does this one right, and the guarantee costs us almost nothing to honour. That's the whole trick. It took one page of a business plan and thirteen years of doing it.
Names on
the vans.
Marco Vulcan
Founder. Still takes the Friday night shift, still checks every van's stock list, still unbeatable at finding a stopcock.
Wes Adeyemi
Owns the 2 a.m. tickets. Has fixed a boiler during a power cut by headlamp while the customer's toddler supervised.
Renata Kowalska
Labels fuse boards like a librarian. Her certification photos get compliments, which she considers entirely normal.
Painted on the
workshop wall.
Salaries, not piece rates
Nobody here earns more by rushing your job. Radical, apparently.
Vans stocked nightly
91% of jobs fixed first visit because the part was already on the shelf behind the driver.
Say the cheap thing first
If a £12 washer solves it, that's the quote. The expensive version has to earn its way onto the ticket.
Photos or it didn't happen
Every ticket carries before-and-after photos. Good for you, good for insurance, good discipline for us.