Tuesday, 1 April 2008

Back home

Well that didn’t last long. I tried Monaco for about two months and I was bored out of my mind. The casinos might be rammed full of the beautiful people from Eastern Europe but give me a proper night out at Players in Hale Barns any day of the week.

I’ve patched it up with Mrs C as well. Which is a relief, we had a proper sit down and cleared the air.

I promised to stop dipping my pen in the company ink. She told me if I even thought about such dalliances again she’d super glue my pecker to my upper thigh. I think she means it as well. I like a deal like that: win, win.

Between me, you and the gatepost I think she saw what divorce did to her old school pal Heather Mills, when she was ranting like a lunatic on the Six O Clock news having got a great deal less than the £125million she hoped for. Frankly, she never had a leg to stand on.

Back in blighty, I’m diversifying like there’s no tomorrow. The whole interweb stuff is looking after itself, especially with all the spam email we’re churning out. The ads for blue pills and “male enhancement” are going down a storm, we’re getting a 0.00001 per cent return rate, which given the amount we churn out is an unbelievable performance.

We had to sell off the clever techy stuff. Made a killing on that, started getting bad vibes about the back office, systems solutions architecture gubbins we were going to do with Northern Rock, so we sold it to these semi-autistic techies from Leeds that didn’t ask the right questions about our “vendor due diligence”. Not my problem now.

I had a lucky escape over all that business with the Nintendo Wii’s we found when that boat beached off Dorset. I had them in a lock up in Oldham and shifted most of them, but this bloke who worked for me (not me) took everyone’s money even when we’d run out of stock. I tell you honestly, I’m the victim here too.

Remember those banks that used to fall over themselves to lend to me? All gone. All of them. I’ve even been turned down by the Icelandics. How bad is that? In fact, the last thing Kaupthing did before they cut the phones off in their Manchester office was to say “Nei” to my scheme at Media City for a themed hotel. It was going to be a recreation of Upper Street in Islington, as part of the attraction for all the BBC types: estate agents, art galleries, cafés and Albanian beggars. Surely there’s a few boys out there who think it’s worth a cheeky half mill?

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