Change seems to be in the air. Ant & Dec are out at Morrisons, while liver, e-fags and protein powder have muscled their way into the nation’s inflation-monitoring shopping basket. I was trying to imagine the unlikely scenario of someone vaping while chewing their way through a protein powdered liver lunch when I walk in on Karoline (with a K), doing exactly that at her desk. “I’m communing with the common man,” she barks, digging into some sweet potato and melon, while spraying flecks of liver on to the document in front of her. “I’m being empathetic, but it tastes disgusting. Do real people live like this?”
K has a fairly tenuous grip on the real world, living, like most PRs who are any good, in a London bubble of expensive personal grooming services, premium booze and pop-up restaurants/boutiques/galleries. She probably doesn’t realise that out in the provinces people are still wolfing down gammon joints (also new in the basket), possibly decorated with pineapple rings. And we are also, as a nation, single-handedly destroying the Amazon rainforest by eating enormous quantities of corned beef. Actually, this is the patently nonsensical claim of the hitherto unknown Dutch-based forestry pressure group Fern. Nobody in the UK has eaten any corned beef for about 20 years.
The now liver-spattered document on K’s desk is a proposal to make the most of this rare burst of publicity. “We mustn’t disappoint Fern,” she says, “by proving them to be deluded fools. Instead, let’s seize the initiative and launch an expensive but well-funded generic campaign to get the nation off liver and into corned beef. It’s the food of the gods,” she contends, unconvincingly.