Tuesday, 31 July 2007

The man on the telly?

Right, I’m asking you lot advice for a change. I don’t make mistakes. Well, apart from that dodgy internet dog food business we floated on AIM, tried to buy back, then ended up breaking it up and using the cash shell to reverse in a luxury car hire business this fat lad from Wrexham reckoned he could franchise. It went bust and he legged it with the cash. He was last seen selling watches on the beach at Puerto Banus. We’re all allowed one mistake and I took my eye off the ball.

No, the question a shy and retiring entrepreneur from the right side of Cheshire wants to know is this: should I take the opportunity to raise my profile even more and get my handsome face on the telly? I’ve come close a few times. I did the pilot for Dragon’s Den, took their half baked advice, ignored it, but left the dragons begging me to let them buy into RC Solutions, I’ve had them all after me since. That Theo Paphitis even invited me down to Millwall for some jellied eels and lavish hospitality. Very nice it was too, certainly a different kind of day out from the time I went there with XXXX XXXX and his mates from XXXXXXXXX. What a day. You wouldn’t believe he was a XXXX partner with XXXXXXX now. A bit too violent, even for my liking. (Blanked out on advice of the lawyers).

Anyway, I did screen tests for this Channel 4 thing where I had to hang out with a load of poor people for a bit, give them some advice on how to sort themselves out and chuck a few grand at them. To be fair, the bird from the production company was quite tasty, but I bottled it at the last minute. You know me, I like to give money to charity on the quiet, nothing flash, just a few coins in the right places. Much as the old ego said – “Roger, do it, Roger do it,” just as it does every time I send my bank in Guernsey a few more millions, the head said “Don’t”. There are too many bodies buried out there. It could have ended up costing me ten million squids. Easy.

Now I’ve been asked by ITN Productions if I’d like to be profiled for a series called Britain’s Richest Men on the Discovery Channel, which will be watched by pretty much nobody, but that won’t matter to the missus. She’ll be happy enough inviting them into our lovely home, getting our interior designer Dawn Ward to blather on about how much she spent and what great taste she’s got, and all that sort of caper. Then just as Mrs C did when Cheshire Life came round, when she bought a copy for all 246 of her closest personal friends, it has a limited view. She’s already planning on a getting it on DVD and having a party at our place. I think she’s already booked Charlie Wolmersley to supply the pinot grigio. None of the people that matter to me will be any the wiser.

Does it sound like a plan?

Wednesday, 11 July 2007

Everything's gone green

This green agenda is really getting my goat. No, not the eco warrior stuff, I’ve said my piece on that, there’s money to be made and I intend to make it. No, the green with envy stuff that starts with committees in parliament grilling the private equity boys and ends with some scrote scraping his keys down the side of Mrs Cashman’s Mercedes SLR outside our favourite new restaurant, London Road in Alderley Edge.
It’s high time the people in this country stopped taxing
entrepreneurs altogether. Instead of taking OUR money from OUR pockets, the government should be thanking us for employing people and for spending so much money in the economy. I reckon I must spend at least £2m a year on ‘stuff’ – that’s £350,000
a year in VAT straight to the government to go and waste on the National Health Service.
I refuse to get involved in a discussion with these nasty, bitter, hateful people who sleep under the blanket of the nanny state – that I provide – then have the temerity to question the means by which I provide it. I’d rather they just said "thank you" and went on their way.
Moving on, who says you can’t make money out of restaurants? Tim Bacon now has the best part of 20 million big ones after
flipping The Living Room. Quality. My mate Paul Heathcote is now chasing the same dream and splashing the dosh on some new scran houses as well. I told him ages ago to ditch all that poncey stuff and pile on the quality northern grub. He’s certainly taken my advice with London Road, which is just what me and the boys want from our nose bag providers: it’s done out in classy beige, glass and chrome with some hanging lamps. The food was ace as well.
The golf day season is upon us. I never miss Captain’s Day at Mere, though it won’t ever be the same again without Bernard Manning (RIP). The big man was never a racist, one year at Mere he picked an Asian lad out of the crowd and ripped into him for being a graphic designer. Why would be do that if he was racist?
No such jesting at the Hurstwood golf bash, just some proper Lancashire backslapping from Stephen "Ashy" Ashworth and the property boys. But it was either incredibly brave, or very stupid,
to put new Bentleys just to the side of the 18th hole at Worsley Park. I am reliably informed that was the reason why Dominic "swing low" Fussell left his clubs in the car this year.
Finally, I tucked my head round the door at Spinningfields for some bash organised by Andy "Spin" Spinoza – you’d think he’d have shook that barrow boy accent off by now – featuring that shrieker out of M-People, the one with the voice like a fork on a plate. Not a bad little do, but you get all sorts of herberts at these things, where you mix business with the trendies. Armani suits and ironic Northern Quarter-wear cheek by jowl is never a good mix. They look scruffy and the air is just too thick with envy. Muppets