Karoline (with a K) loves a great big crisis.
It means she can double our hourly charge-out rates, swan around like a proper 'consultant' and get the rest of us to do the actual work. So she's bitterly disappointed that none of our clients were knocking out dioxin-enriched quiche this Christmas.
There were still some 'issues' to deal with, though, which meant I could escape the family 'fun' and get back to London.
So, thanks to my efforts - and a lot of shameless flirting with semi-pissed hacks - the stories you didn't see this holiday season include: the top chef's Christmas puddings poisoned by a jealous rival (think short, ginger, unpleasant); definitive scientific proof that increased sausage consumption causes impotence among middle- aged men - "a touch of the six-thirties, darling?" as Miranda said to latest squeeze Julian; and the multiple buying director caught in rather fetching Santa bondage gear during a raid on a Leeds massage parlour.
The real crisis here, though is that the bar next door, and our favourite afternoon drinking den, Flacks (home of the legendary PR Tuesday night Kandipants club) has suddenly closed. Our accounts dept refused to accept any more of their receipts on our expenses claims. Where are we going to go for "short-notice client meetings" now?
The bright spot so far? Apparently there's going to be a Best April Fool's Story category in the Gramias this year, so we've already started work on preparing a winner. The next pop phenomenon will be another in the current line of employment-themed acts (The Priests, The Fisherman's Friends, etc).
Yes, we're going to launch The Grocers. Clarke A on lead vocals, Philips and Bolland on guitars, Brasher on bass, and Clarke P knocking seven bells out of a drum kit (Marks to dep on Fairtrade bongos if he's busy).
It's going to be an entertaining 2011.
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It means she can double our hourly charge-out rates, swan around like a proper 'consultant' and get the rest of us to do the actual work. So she's bitterly disappointed that none of our clients were knocking out dioxin-enriched quiche this Christmas.
There were still some 'issues' to deal with, though, which meant I could escape the family 'fun' and get back to London.
So, thanks to my efforts - and a lot of shameless flirting with semi-pissed hacks - the stories you didn't see this holiday season include: the top chef's Christmas puddings poisoned by a jealous rival (think short, ginger, unpleasant); definitive scientific proof that increased sausage consumption causes impotence among middle- aged men - "a touch of the six-thirties, darling?" as Miranda said to latest squeeze Julian; and the multiple buying director caught in rather fetching Santa bondage gear during a raid on a Leeds massage parlour.
The real crisis here, though is that the bar next door, and our favourite afternoon drinking den, Flacks (home of the legendary PR Tuesday night Kandipants club) has suddenly closed. Our accounts dept refused to accept any more of their receipts on our expenses claims. Where are we going to go for "short-notice client meetings" now?
The bright spot so far? Apparently there's going to be a Best April Fool's Story category in the Gramias this year, so we've already started work on preparing a winner. The next pop phenomenon will be another in the current line of employment-themed acts (The Priests, The Fisherman's Friends, etc).
Yes, we're going to launch The Grocers. Clarke A on lead vocals, Philips and Bolland on guitars, Brasher on bass, and Clarke P knocking seven bells out of a drum kit (Marks to dep on Fairtrade bongos if he's busy).
It's going to be an entertaining 2011.
More from this column
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