Wednesday, 15 February 2012
My life is like a box of chocolates. If that box of chocolates is fucking busy.
Oh, my fellow marketing professionals. My friends, my allies, my contemporaries.
My life at the moment. You should see it. As a Geordie friend of mine says, 'It's all over town like a mad dog's shite.'
(You don't often credit the Geordie people with wit. Or taste. Or erudition. Or anything except borderline barbarian sensibilities, but on this occasion, you have to say they did well by coining that phrase.)
In short, I've been busier than a dog with several penises. A French dog with several penises. No...a French dog with several penises and a diagnosed sex addiction, plus objectively good looks and a very palpable je ne sais quoi that really gives French lady dogs a right wide-on.
Yes. I've been busier than that.
Obviously, I'm one of marketing's leading lights and a professional fucking powerhouse, so this hasn't even caused me to wake suddenly and explosively in the night with a sense of oppressive, all-encompassing dread and a very pressing need to shit buckets and buckets of worryingly soupy feculence. I haven't been doing that at all, no way, fuck you, jog on, fuck off, what, me, no way, fucking help me I'm dying, get lost, fuck off.
I'm just keeping you up to speed.
For an example of the crazy rollercoaster death slide clusterfuck monster truck mindbang that is my life at the moment, let me describe yesterday.
Breakfast meeting with the agency. One-to-one with agency principles. Croissants. Summit-style talks. Big decisions. Discussion. Debate. Stalemates. Stale croissants. New croissants. And a bit of bacon. And something nice like ooh I dunno Haribo or something. More coffee. Quick dump. More coffee. Agreements. Handshakes. Next meeting. Planners. Shit. Slides. Many slides. More slides. Venn diagrams. Lunch. Please, lunch. PLEASE. Lunch. Slides. More slides. Confusion. Tears. Balled fists under the desk. Stupid Dave stupid Dave stupid Dave. School memories. Dave can't do sums. Gathering crowds of clever boys. Stupid Dave stupid Dave stupid Dave. More slides. Make it end make it end make it end. It ends. Next meeting. Creatives. Ads. Words. Pictures. Change words. Change pictures. Tears. Not mine. Awesome power. Swelling trouser. Feel my ads. Price flash. Offer flash. Let's make these babies work harder. Next meeting. Drinks with different agency. Hushed offers. Silent agreements. More drinks. Less silent agreements. More drinks. Very loud agreement to give them some work fuck it why not I'll change everything you do anyway guffaws guffaws the corporate guffaw I fucking love it. Next meeting. Motivational dinner with team. Stand. Power speech. Fall a bit. Sit down. Power speech. Motivate. Drive. Vision. Bottom line. Numbers. Together. No 'i' in team but there is in pint so fucking get them in you pointless cunts. End of motivational dinner. Alone with thoughts. And bill. Leave restaurant. Running. Chased. Violence. Swollen face. Alleyway. Next meeting. Delilaz. Private booth with new girls Bebo, Flakette, Apple-Nike (pronounced Apple-Ny-keee). Home. Bed. Nearly. Close enough.
See? It's like that every fucking day. But it won't stop me achieving. Last quarter's results from my marketing campaigns? LESS THAN NEGLIGIBLE DOWNTURN IN SALES. I will never be stopped.
Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!