As I have already come to understand in my brief PR career, press releases are generally made up of lies, damned lies and PR statistics. There are three main units of measurement: Olympic-sized swimming pools, circuits of the world, and trips to the moon (and back).

These are useful to roll out in the absence of any real numbers. So sausages girdle the globe and 50-metre pools are full to the brim with beer, lard, custard and Christmas pudding mix. I mean, who's going to check whether M&S really does sell enough bras to reach to the moon and back as it claimed this week?

"It's a complete load of cock and Bolland, darling," says Karoline (with a K) in one of her hands-on training sessions. "But because the comprehensive generation is too stupid to understand what anything means aren't you? the only way to get in the papers is with equally stupid similes." (The poor dear hasn't grasped that the 'generation' she refers to doesn't read the papers.)

Another thing that adds to my creeping realisation that nothing is actually true any more (which started with the formation of the coalition and is only heightened by the I'm A Celebrity line-up), is the Guardian's bold statement that the Wirral beats London hands-down as a restaurant mecca. I ask around the agency to see if anyone has ever been. No luck.

Even Carole, the chippy token northerner of the team, believes the Greater Liverpool area is a no-go area, food-wise. So when a Scouser calls up, at that very moment, and says he needs help with his food business, we all wet ourselves. "We're not interested," shouts Karoline (with a K), getting overexcited. "He says his name's Clarke and he's from Tesco," adds the receptionist. "Oh, sorry, he must have put the phone down. "

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