Here in London’s busy West End, thoughts are turning to the Olympics and how an agency like P&F, held together with string, booze and chutzpah at the best of times, will cope with three weeks of utter disruption.
“We will learn from the grocery industry,” proclaims Karoline (with a K) cryptically. We imagine this means billing our suppliers for any lost income and putting our prices up before offering an Olympic discount, until Karoline outlines her plan to keep the wheels of Puffery going by chaining us to our desks from 10pm and 6am.
This provokes what business historians (and leading thinkers like George Galloway) may come to call the PR Spring. It takes a lot to provoke an uprising of the downtrodden, and PR people are used to being ruled by fear, but the notion that we may have to work during prime drinking and dancing time tips us over the edge.
There then follows a stand-off by the samples cupboard during which Anastasia (Nervosa, boo and goose hitherto unaligned) threatens to misfile some press cuttings. It is over as soon as it began, with Miranda negotiating a ceasefire rather more successfully than Kofi Annan, built around the prospect of working from home. So we will be able to spend our days ogling Tom Daley and assorted posh-totty rowers after all.
As the Welsh crusade against plastic bags continues, it leaves our pro-choice campaign (‘Plastic Makes Perfect’) looking distinctly soggy. Our bag client threatens to use his own product to end it all, but as we can’t find any in the office he has to make do with a Tesco eco-sack. “Every Little Helps,” Karoline offers, trying to diffuse another crisis. “Flimsy on all counts,” I mutter.