I was called into a high powered business meeting at the last minute. There were elephants in the room, strategy and synergy, thinking outside the box, things of this nature. Don’t you worry about breakfast, Ben, let me worry about breakfast. You just get those figures down to Marjory by end of play or we’re all in the quicksand without a rowboat, no doubts about that. It’s a dog-stab-dog-in-the-back-and-eat-dog world out there Ben, it’s lonely at the top and Marjory is breathing down our necks like some fire-breathing, back-of-the-neck obsessed dragon from hell. If we don’t get those figures to her by sundown, there’ll be heck to pay. And this bank doesn’t accept IOU’s Ben, they laugh in your face and eat your trouser and send you out of there like a red bottomed baboon clutching an impotent IOU like a sad, dead dog, stabbed in the back and half eaten. Marjory’s making a batch of hot hellfire oaty cakes, and I’m gonna have to get out the napkins and chow down with lava in my mouth and satanic crumbs falling of my chin like a shower of smouldering dandruff. I’m ready for it, but are you? Get the team together for a last sing-song about the good times and drink expensive single malt in thick heavy tumblers. It’s all over Ben, Marjory’s got us by the shortest and most very curly, and she’s squeezing us until we spill out like toothpaste on a threadbare blue dressing gown. Just saying goodbye to the bricks, mortar, aloe veras and copper piping before the Last Post plays. I’m going out Ben, I may be some time.
That’s where I was, Ben. That’s where I was.