Earth to McKelvey. Earth to McKelvey. Has anyone seen my esteemed editor lately? OK, I know this intro has been well worn over the past decade but this time it really is urgent.
He was actually last seen in Soho bouncing off the pavement after copious bottles of rosé with my contact, Capability Dickie (the hairy-arsed printer turned marketing guru has had a major rebrand due to the fact he is now landscaping his palatial estate near Exeter, complete with freshwater swimming lake).
Anyway, while Capability managed to get back to Devon with seemingly little effort, my esteemed editor couldn’t even find Victoria Station, let alone the South Coast and is still “at large”, quite literally.
I’ve checked the hospitals, nothing; the police stations, nada; Battersea Dogs’ Home, zilch. He has vanished into thin air (oh the irony).
Of course, I could normally rely on his long-suffering missus to root him out but she now lives under the mantra “Behind every great woman you’ll often find a man… but if you ignore him for long enough, he usually goes away.”
Unfortunately, for once, I actually really need to speak to him and sharpish.
You see, ever since I started to give glowing coverage to certain “customer engagement agencies” (or whatever they want to be called this month), my stock has been rising.
In fact, I’m now so gushing that I have not one, not two, but a threesome of invites to next week’s Cannes Lions International Festival of Creativity.
I simply can’t wait to be lauded like royalty, wined and dined by the finest minds of adland and then end up bouncing off the pavements on La Croisette after copious bottles of rosé. God only knows what will happen if I ever make it to the Gutter Bar.
The real problem, however, is that I can’t go until my boss signs off the flight and hotel, and that is about as likely as him being compos mentis enough to make it back to the Decision Marketing Nerve Centre.
Mind you, if I do eventually track him down, I am going to despatch him to Exeter and throw him head first in that bloody freshwater swimming lake; surely that will sober him up, won’t it?
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