As you know, dear readers, I do like to get out and about to bring you the best industry gossip money can buy. So, over the past couple of weeks I have been checking my emails and letterbox for an invite to the DMA Summer Lunch, which took place yesterday at the Kensington Roof Gardens – with flamingos and everything.
Alas, nothing. That’s right folks, no invite. Can you believe it? Do they not know who I am?
To be fair, they do, and that’s probably why. Guess my performance last year in the toilets didn’t go unnoticed. (Note to self: lay on the charm more to that lovely Chris Combemale. And I thought he was after me too.)
Luckily, the IDM don’t really know who I am yet, so, when it came to the late Derek Holder’s memorial, I managed to sneak in unnoticed. Just imagine, the great and good of the DM industry, and little ol’ Busty.
Even luckier, I can spot a millionaire from 30 paces – in this industry they are usually the only ones looking tanned and relaxed – so was soon chatting up former AIS chief John Ingall, who now lives on Corsica.
He was telling me all about the gorgeous Stuart Archibald, who I was pleased to hear is on very good form over in Sydney. We miss you Stu, when are you coming back over to Blighty? The owners of his old haunt Little Italy in Soho also want to know when he’s back – their profits have taken a massive hit since he moved out of London.
Apparently John has just converted an old mill on Corsica and now has loads of spare bedrooms. Guess where I’m going for my summer hols?
I then bumped into former Partners and Engine Group boss Phil Andrews, who was looking good. There’s nothing like a few million in the bank to boost your attractiveness. And now he’s got a couple more kids by his new missus, it must be about time he ‘traded up’ to a younger model again… believe me, I’ll be more than willing to get down on all fours for access to his bank account.
Anyway, I worked the room for most of the afternoon – one after another the old lags took a pop at me. Drayton Bird seemed particularly smitten. Alas, I know he hasn’t got any money, having been married more times than Henry VIII. He’s still working so I guess the maintenance demands continue to flood in, quicker than the junk mail floods out of his agency.
Then again, he didn’t hang around for long. Must have been something to do with the fact that all they were serving was orange juice or a cup of tea. Not an alcoholic drink in sight – what would Derek have said to that, I wonder?
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