Busty gives Darby a helping hand

You know, I’m so dedicated to my fans that I’m actually filing this week’s column from holiday. Not that I’ve seen a lot of the outside yet…my old flame Tarquin Farquhar (Farquhar by name, dirty Farquhar by nature) has been keeping me more than busy. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the 25cm-long pacu fish either, but the 25cm Tarquers has certainly been on show a lot.
Talking of big dicks, there were plenty on display at former Campaign hack Ian Darby’s leaving do last week. Unfortunately Danny ‘rogering’ Rogers was a no show, which is a shame because I’ve heard so much about his manhood that I was hoping to test it out.
Still, the Blue Posts was heaving. Admittedly not from people coming to say goodbye to Ian, just bright young things out for a Friday night piss-up, although he did get a good showing eventually. I thought I’d even caught his old pal Jeremy Lee having a weep in the corner until I realised he’d just been stung for a round of drinks after the not-so-generous Haymarket bar tab had run out.
I even managed to have a flirt with Gary ‘the hair’ Sharpen, who I have to say is looking even more hirsute these days. While men of a certain age are checking out the price of Regaine (sorry to hear it didn’t work for you, Jezza), Gary’s locks are flowing halfway down his back, Samson stylee.
And it seems his powers show no sign of waning as it was “Gazza wot won it” when he was temping at Proximity during the John Lewis CRM pitch, apparently. Mind you, Gary was telling me how he doesn’t bother much being a creative director now he’s got his Cocktail Lovers’ empire.
Anyway, I did eventually get to the bottom of why Ian was chucking it in – he claimed all the fun has gone out of being a Campaign journo so he’s going to try his hand at freelancing. Might well catch him wearing a B&Q orange apron soon then.
Still, if he does need a hand financially, I might just be able to help him, as this week my inbox has been groaning under the weight of really friendly emails from Nigeria.
According to a man called Emeka Kelvin, “the FedEx courier delivery company of Nigeria has received a parcel containing an ATM MasterCard valued at $2.5m”. All I have to do is hand over my bank details, address and phone number and the lovely Mr Kelvin is going to send it to me.
I’m hoping Ian doesn’t mind but I’ve given them his details so we can split the proceeds. Surely $1.25m should ease the pain of no more free posh agency lunches…?

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