My second-strongest memory is the sheer stomach-churning horror of frozen sprouts. The smell, the taste, the texture all beyond foul. And now the entire British crop has been deep-frozen.
"Can we make a virtue out of this?" asks our client from Now Brassicas! (the promotional group we set up a couple of years ago). "Only by dumping them in the North Sea," is our unhelpful reply.
Still in the world of vegetables, did you see last week's front cover? So where did Albert Bloody Bartlett (as I gather they are known throughout Scotland) get the inspiration for that then? I'm expecting a big hamper of festive spuds in compensation.
Either that, or a voucher for what, according to the Sun, is Britain's favourite pressie this year, a Christmas boob job. Not that I'm lacking in that department, but to get ahead in PR a girl has to stand out from the crowd. Literally if needs be. Look what it's done for Karoline (with a K)!
Actually, there's a complete lack of gifts from our clients so far. No booze, no sides of salmon. But the main reason why the Christmas spirit has yet to kick in at P&F is because we've all been out flogging the guts out of 'traditional' Christmas markets across the land for our new German client Weihnachtsmarktschwindel.
There's a limit to the amount of stale gingerbread, acrid glühwein and badly fretsawn toys that this girl can stand, but apparently not one for the great British public. However, if Fritz strikes up one more oompah rendition of Silent Night I'll be ramming my frozen sprouts down his tuba.
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