fish face

That’s a tired little face.

I’ve got used to the wrinkles, I call them laughter lines because I’m vain enough not to want to want people to think that a passing rhino slept on my face. Besides the puffiness of the bags under my eyes works in my favour, a natural balancing effect.

The company I work for is a publishing company and PR agency, and a large part of my life is involved with our own PR. That is entertaining the poor devils who apparently seem to think we know what we are doing and provide us with the money to do it. Actually that’s unfair, we’re good and we give a damn, every single person who works in that company will go the extra yard…in my case the extra gin & tonic. It’s something that’s just evolved, I seem to have a knack for it, even if that knack often simply comprises staying conscious long enough to pay the bill.

We work in the shipping industry and most of our clients are – well, it’s like an old boy s club, you know, one of those dreadful stone age industries full of moustaches and secret handshakes, entourages, dull ties and nepotism. It’s also full of Scandinavians, Greeks and Japanese, who like to visit London and enjoy them selves on a rather grand scale.

Today, for lunch it was the Danes, our Viking friends, who appear to think it’s quite suitable to drink eight pints of Guinness from midday to three, although I’m guessing, just guessing mind, that they are fast asleep in their hotel rooms by now.

It’s not that I had any intention of keeping up with them you know, but you have to at least show willing even if a few of mine ended up in the potted plant in the corner.

So I’m sorry, if when I returned to the office and you were the recipient of an email, it seemed a little dull witted.

As we say were I come from, “I’m goosed”.