Thursday, June 24, 2010

“Can we get away with a fanny that big?”

Just to underline the fact that I don’t hate every publisher, I’ve ever worked for I thought I’d share a story from 20 years ago when a much-younger Tony Murray spent two years (1989-90) as photo editor of Mayfair. Back then Mayfair wasn’t the Paul Raymond-owned gash-fest it is now. It was owned, published and edited by Ken Bound, a former sub on the Daily Sketch.

It was Ken’s firm belief that Mayfair, far from being locked away in between tugs in a short-sighted man’s sock drawer, was actually the subject of lofty debate at the high tables of Oxford and Cambridge. Here, he believed, dons and visiting archbishops would frequently discuss the veracity of Mayfair’s World War I tales of derring-do and act with outrage should we mis-caption the wingspan of a Sopwith Cuckoo. The truth, I suspect, was very different.

Ken had a curious collection of aphorisms he used to apply to the subject of journalism – in particular The Three Things Which Don’t Sell magazines. On a quiet afternoon, looking for a little amusement, it was always tempting to insert an anecdote about dwarves into a piece of girl copy. Inevitably, Ken would turn up in the editorial office five minutes letter and say: “Tony, I have to tell you, there are Three Things That Don’t Sell Magazines. One is dwarves, another is barbed wire and the third is…well I forget the third.”

We never did find out the third.

It was a slightly surreal place, where you’d often find the editorial team clustered in the main office and looking up at a slide-projected image of that month’s proposed centrefold with Ken asking: “Well boys, can we get away with a fanny that big?”

My favourite story, though, perhaps took place at Christmas 1990 during the Mayfair party, which were always highly drunken affairs. We started at lunchtime in a wine bar in Holborn and, as this was the last Mayfair party (Ken having sold the mag to Paul Raymond for four million quid), we really went for it.

Sometime in the early evening we staggered back to the Mayfair office. Ken was particularly pissed and soon departed for his private flat on the top floor. The rest of us were left sitting in his office, where we soon spotted the only thing in the building left to drink – a hugely expensive bottle of champagne bought for Ken by the printers as a farewell gift. It took us all of five seconds to decide to drink it.

The next morning, hungover and very much the worse-for-wear, we trooped into the office. A slightly indignant Ken called us all together and said: “I’d just like to know who drank my bottle of Champagne last night…”
Quick as a flash, David Jeffs, the features editor, responded: “Eh, you did, Ken…”

And we got away with it.

The mendacious Mr Jeffs, by the way, is now an assistant editor on The People.

Cunt of the Week: Riddle Me This...

>It is often said that if you remember the early days of the Marketeer, then you never really knew where the sales department stashed their coke. This is a tale from those days.

An interesting counterpoint to the public humiliation that Alistair Sim has had to endure over the last 18 months is the vast number of people in the industry who Got Away With It, individuals who did similar or worse things to Mr Sim, but simply escaped vilification solely by virtue of not getting caught. One such individual is Robin Riddle, one time Northern Sales Rep for the Economist, a role he presumably fulfilled through either osmosis or telepathy as, despite sharing an office with him for some six months, I never actually saw him do anything at all.

One of the typically far-sighted and innovative moves made by the Carnyx Group during the brief period they genuinely had a presence in England was to arrange to reduce the overheads of its Manchester office by sharing a space with the Economist, which consisted entirely of the “Riddler”.

When I say reduce the overheads, what the ever-duplicitous Carnyx Group actually did was inflate the claimed rent and allocate a supposed portion of it to the Economist, a portion which actually pretty much covered the whole of the real rent.
Robin was bought into our one room office (on the third floor of a building on the corner of York Street and Fountain Street), on the condition that whatever happened in “Marketeer Mansions” stayed in “Marketeer Mansions”, However, the keen Carnyx-costcutters overlooked three vital facts about Robin:

a) He was a compulsive gossip, with very little to do
b) He organized the MPA lunches so a had a ready made audience of people to compulsively gossip to
c) He was a complete cunt

Far from keeping schtum about the goings-on in Marketeer Mansions – which at that point was a marginally less happy ships than one ferrying a dead Viking to his eternal reward - Robin used confidential information – sales data, internal squabbles etc–to persuade the many that that usually bodyswerved to avoid him to break the habit of a lifetime and spend more than 50 seconds listen to him pontificate. He was an Olympic class pontificator.

He then compounded this by getting involved with one of the Marketeer sales girls, whose main interest in Robin was promising sexual favours in return for him paying off her burgeoning credit card bills. Unfortunately, whilst her visa final demands were the exclusive province of the Riddler, her heart and sundry other organs were, largely, the exclusive province of another (married) man.

When, despite howls of protest from me and James O’Donnell, the Marketeer’s deputy editor and token grown-up, said sales girl and Romeo Riddler decided to move into together (said sales girl now having rent arrears as well as threats to her pets from Visa hitmen), it was obvious things were going to get worse. Much worse.

When the World’s Least Trustworthy Woman moves in with the World’s Most Paranoid Man, Dark Satanic Forces can take the day off, and put their feet up, secure in the knowledge that they are well surplus to requirements.

And so it came to pass that WLTW and WMPM were sharing an apartment, a bed, her bad debts and, most critically, a PC.

Said sales girl made the mistake of using the shared PC to arrange a hotel tryst with her One True Love of the Month, fatally neglecting to clear her in-box and sent box. The Riddler, of course, having found his previous fiancée in bed with another on at least one occasion, scrupulously checked WLTW’s email accounts on a daily basis. Hourly, if she was out.

On this occasion, the Riddler found details of hotel bookings, times, dates etc. Unsatisfied with merely being able to confront the visa-indebted vixen with his discovery, he stalked her all the way to Leeds on the day of the tryst.

Entering the hotel, he then knocked on the illicit couple’s door and pretended, in squeaky tones, to be housekeeping. Upon looking through the peephole, the coitus interuptees swiftly realized it was not an amusingly-voiced Malmaison manservant but rather a revenge-bent Riddler. Quite sensibly, they decided to remain on the reverse side of the door, until the Riddler began reeling off details of the married man’s home address, phone number, wife’s employment and, most chillingly, the name of the school where his kids went.

Understandably freaked out by the Riddler’s OCD stalkery, said married man did the dishonourable thing and promptly fled, leaving our tiny slip of a sales girl to tackle the disapproving-of-their-nobbin’ Robin alone. Hardly his finest hour – and you know who you are and I know you’ll read this.

Now the Riddler is hardly an impressive specimen of masculinity, but he was twice as tall as his petite ex-paramour to be. Such inequality, however, did not stop him from smashing her head into a wall and then spitting in her face. Nor was this the only time. After this he took to hanging around outside her apartment at night and repeating the process on more than one occasion. A nice guy. I wonder what his new colleagues at the Economist in North America would think should they ever find out…

An amusing aside on the whole Riddler affair and one which sums up the Walter Mitty-like nature of his existence… Early on in my acquaintance with him he started using an alias – “Robin James”. He explained to the bemused Marketeer crew that was this because his father had been a counter-terrorism operative working against the IRA and that he had been officially warned by the Secret Service that his distinctive surname made him a target for revenge attacks by disgruntled Irishmen.

The truth, like most things about the Riddler, was far more prosaic. His former fiancée, Jenny, had baulked at taking on his surname should they marry, feeling that “Jenny Riddle” sounded far too similar to a well-known urination euphemism – hence the name change. Upon finding this out we quizzed him as to why he hadn’t opted for “Taylor” rather than James. Although, we found this hilarious it rather predictably, like so many other things, went clear over Robin’s notoriously vacuous head.
If you would like to nominate a Cunt of the Week, please email me on tonymurray37@hotmail.com. Anyone, of course, who nominates me may well find themselves in this hallowed spot.

Who Gave Love a Bad Name?

Falling out of Love is never a pleasant process, especially if your former partner – or indeed partners – are determined to inflict every iota of added injury they possibly can, with the incentive of their own pecuniary interest very much to the fore.

Now, I am not referring to any of my ill-advised trysts of yesteryear, but rather to events of a more recent hue. Let me take you back – and please supply your own shimmery dissolve here – to the events of November 2008 and the court case that saw Alistair Sim, founder and managing director of Love Creative, take the stand in Stockport Magistrates’ Court and plead guilty to assault.

The gravity of the situation saw Sim (right) immediately quit his role, a decision announced in a statement by Dave Palmer, a fellow director of the agency, thusly: “We were aware that Alistair was having some personal problems, but the severity of the situation has meant that his position has become untenable at Love. It was Alistair’s decision to step down, and under the circumstances it was the right decision to make.

"Undoubtedly, this is an extremely traumatic time for Alistair and his family, and, although we cannot condone his actions in any way, we are very sympathetic to all involved. Alistair hasn’t been involved in the day-to-day running and strategic direction of client accounts for some time, and his departure, will have no impact in this area."

As it turned out, Palmer and his associates had a strange way of being “very sympathetic to all concerned”, but we’ll come back to that in due course. First let’s take a look at the court case itself, which saw both the chief reporter of the Manchester Evening News and, unusually, a photographer sat on the press benches. Now, whereas I can just believe that even the dwindling resources of the MEN might have stretched to providing a reporter for this case, I find it very hard to accept that their antennae were so finely tuned as to be aware of it. This does beg the question – “Who tipped them off?” With the obvious answer being – “Whoever had the most to gain.”

Draw your own conclusions, sympathetically, of course. Or perhaps ask Phil Skegg (left), who has several mates who are journos on the MEN, sufficiently close mates to reveal the contents of the article prior to its publication. Skegg was one of the few, including Sim, his immediate family, his estranged partner and Palmer, to know the scheduling and details of the case. It is possible that the hearing was picked up solely on the basis of the court listings, but it is unlikely.

Farewell to the Dream Team
Sim’s departure from the business was immediate and abrupt, although there was a tacit understanding that he might return once everything blew over. The unwritten nature of this agreement was one that was to prove costly to Sim over the next 18 months. It wasn’t only Sim that suffered though, Love itself has become a shadow of the once-all-conquering mini-creative behemoth, which won the admiration (albeit grudgingly) of even rival agencies. Surprisingly, though, its reputation has suffered considerably less than that of Mr Sim.

Since Alistair’s departure at the end of 2008, at least 14 members of staff have quit the company (for completists that’s Richard Hall, Cheryl Borkin, Adam Rix, Simon Griffin, Rory Sutherland, Leanda Falcon, Jonny Whiteoak, Jono Brain, Ben Taylor, Adam Forthergill, Shelley Wood, Harinder Bajwa and Gre Hale). This follows on from the six who left in the three months prior to his departure (Jonathan Rigby, Andy O'Dwyer, Alison Johnson, Jon Hatton, Frank Carolan and Rob Brearley).

Add into this the earlier departure of co-founder Dave Simpson and Matt Beardsell to launch Music in January 2008 and it brings the total no of departures (including Sim himself and the company’s first ever redundancies) since Love moved from Tib Street to High Street in 2006 to a whopping 24. (To put this into perspective, rival NW design outfit, True North, lost four members of staff during the same period. True North employs 16, Love fluctuates around 30, so even doubling the TN figure to take account for this still sees Love losing three times as many staff).

Essentially, of the Dream Team that built Love’s reputation during its first eight years of existence, only Phil Skegg (now chairman) and Dave Palmer (executive creative director) remain. The relative youth and inexperience of the Dream Team’s replacements has been reflected in the agency’s lacklustre performance in terms of new business and awards, sectors where they were once unassailable, at least in NW terms.

Awards and New Business Wasteland
Where, at one time, the agency took the chairman’s award at the Roses, regularly picked up Design Week awards and pretty much swept the board at Fresh, 2009 was a disaster for the agency – nothing at all in Design Week, a couple of bronzes and silvers at the Roses and just two awards at Fresh – down from 14 the previous year. It was, without a doubt, the company’s worst ever year for awards.
2010 is shaping up to be a little better with a bronze in low budget, and a gold for illustration at the Roses – neither in categories the agency will be rejoicing over. Obviously, they’re not advertising with the Carnyx group as much as they used to.

A lean time for awards then, though it’s a comparatively rosy result compared to the company’s new business performance. Unlike a lot of other NW design companies – True North, Dinosaur, The Chase etc – Love has always been primarily project-oriented. This was fine when Sim was constantly shovelling in new business, but once the pipeline was cut, the agency faced a huge problem in meeting its considerable overheads. The problem has been compounded by the loss of work from Microsoft, the Student Travel Association, All About Food (the parent company of Nandos’ source of sauces) and its removal from the BBC roster.

The agency may also be regretting the largesse that saw it give away accounts to breakaway start-up, Music, including work for Manchester City, the Manchester International Festival, Christian Aid and the furniture manufacturer, Allermuir. It’s not all bad news though as chairman Skegg is believed to maintain an interest in the start-up, a lifeboat in waiting the cynical might say.

In truth the agency is now completely reliant on work from just two clients – Sony and Umbro, although the margins on the latter are believed to be particularly low. Some reports even suggest that Paul Chorlton, the company’s financial director, personally bailed out the business with his own funds and money from Life PR, the Ducie Street-based business he is part owner of.

It’s not all been gloom for Love though. Back in January 2009, Sarah Murray joined the company as head of new business and, just six months later, presumably after a record-breaking whirlwind romance, she was married (above) to Stephen Corlett, one of the senior marketing team at Umbro. With Corlett (Mr) now believed to be heading off to the States, it might be time for other NW design consultancies to send their most comely single account directors Cheadlewards.

The Shafting Begins
Perhaps the company’s failures on the staff and client retention, awards and new business fronts may be explained away by the fact that the attention of its remaining directors was elsewhere – largely on shafting its former MD. Much of the creativity and innovation of Messrs Skegg, Chorlton and Palmer, since November 2008, has gone into ensuring that Sim received the minimum possible payout for his shareholding in the business he built.

Under the auspices of its three directors, Love delayed posting its 2009 accounts for as long as possible. When they eventually submitted them they recorded £255k of accrued/deferred income in comparison to just £80k in the previous year (the majority of it, apparently, down to their nuptial connections at Umbro). In effect, the company deliberately held back on registering accrued income until after a compulsory sales transfer notice was served on Sim in August 2009. This allowed them to post a big loss and considerably undervalue the company.

Despite his resignation – and largely because of the outstanding issue regarding the shares – Sim had remained a director of Love until April 2009. Without his consent, however, the remaining directors had cancelled the shareholders’ dividends as of January 2009, effectively stripping Sim and his family of any income at all. So much for being “sympathetic” to all involved.

These January moves also saw the remaining management of Love renege on earlier promises that Sim would have the option of returning to the business and taking up a role in one of the company’s subsidiaries – either Toy or Make. It also saw the company officially decline to pay Sim any notice pay, potentially resulting in financial disaster for its ex-MD.

This was a very different picture to that painted by those same directors when the MEN initially broke the story back in November 2008. Back then, the directors, all mock sympathy and concern, had turned up at Sim’s house with promises to make sure he and his kids didn’t suffer, telling him he could keep his shares and that they’d carry on paying him till it all blew over.

Nothing was put in writing about this meeting but I, like a number of other figures in the industry, was in regular contact with Sim at the time and was well aware of what he had been promised and his expectation to eventually return to the business.

Dismissal Missives
Sim’s first inkling that these promises were unlikely to be kept came in a series of letters from Paul Chorlton, Love’s financial director, demanding his “official” resignation and cutting his notice period from six months to three. When Sim queried this and referred to the earlier agreement, he received a letter, just before Christmas 2008, announcing Love was initiating a dismissal procedure against him. He was eventually sacked in January 2009. At the same time the company suspended the shareholders’ dividends, whilst increasing the salaries of the remaining directors as “compensation”.

No transfer of shares was initiated until August 2009 when Sim’s 33% share in the business he had spent eight years building was valued at just £240 – largely due to the financial chicanery of FD Chorlton and co. To this day, Sim has no idea who has taken over his stake in the business and those details have yet to be recorded at Companies House, although this is a legal requirement in such a transaction. Sim still retains his original share certificate which he has understandably declined to return.

The low valuation put on the business by the triumvirate of remaining directors in August 2009 is quite at odds with the picture they painted in April of that year, when they were in negotiations with Hasgrove (parent company of the Chase, Amaze et al) about selling the business. Then they produced figures showing that Love was making £15k profit a month and valued the business at some £2 million. In the end, the deal foundered when Palmer unilaterally stopped attending meetings with Hasgrove and announced, without putting it to a vote with the other shareholders, that the deal was off.

Love for Sale
The negotiations between Love and Hasgrove were proceeding even as Sim finalized his own deal to join The Chase as business development director, a move that was announced at the end of May 2009. Had the Hasgrove/Love deal gone through, it would have seen Sim reunited with the team he had largely built up and, perhaps, resulted in a financial and creative renaissance for Love. Sadly, it was not to be.

On the brink of a financial crisis, Sim had little alternative but to rescind his resignation and take his former company to an employment tribunal for unfair dismissal. It is here that the waters become very muddied indeed. As part of the proceedings, Sim maintained that he had long understood – ever since the November 2008 meeting – that the directors had assured his eventual return to the business. Although many ex and current members of staff at Love also recall just such assurances about Sim’s future being made to them, the directors felt free to tell the court that this was not the case. I’m sure there’s a legal term for this.

Neither did the tribunal take into account the fact that Chris Conlan, Love’s new MD, had emailed Sim, prior to his own elevation, and told him: “All our clients and staff are supporting you and are sure you will bounce back from this.”

Chorlton (right, sans foil), Skegg and Palmer even went as far as to bring back short-lived joint MD Richard Hall (sacked several months earlier for trying to install an entirely inappropriate “Hitlerite” regime at Love’s High St offices) to ‘stick the boot’ into Sim.

Bizarrely, the legal discussion moved from whether Sim actually had brought Love into disrepute to whether he could have done by staying. It could well be argued that a truer picture would have been that, in fact, it was Sim’s departure that ultimately led to a number of staff decamping, creative standards falling and clients moving their business elsewhere.

The company offered little evidence that any client made representations about potentially moving their business in the light of Sim’s actions, but still ruled they might have done had he stayed. The one area focussed on by the tribunal was the negative publicity generated by the press coverage of Sim’s trial and sentencing.

It is impossible not to wonder if the tribunal would have been quite so sympathetic to Love had they known the role of at least two of the directors in orchestrating that negative press coverage. As well as flagging up the original court case, both the MEN and, resulting in a rare trip South of the Border, even the Drum were briefed to attend the two tribunals. How-do, which had been far more impartial in its coverage, received no such briefing.

Despite reports from normally reliable media sources and The Drum, Love did not get it all it own way, with the tribunal ruling that the company should indeed have honoured Sim’s notice payments, amounting to some 50k. To date, they have still singularly failed to meet this obligation, even six months on from the tribunal.

The End of the Affair...
Unfortunately for Sim, his months of unemployment and continuing financial commitments to his family, left him without the funds to take the matter further and challenge the valuation presented by his former colleagues Nor could he afford to take issue with the unilateral share transfer.

Following the tribunal, the information provided by Love’s financial director ensured that the company was deemed insolvent by its auditors. In order to maintain this fiction, the deferred amounts in the end-of-year accounts were continually pushed back, first to September then finally into October. Technically, during this period, the company should have gone into administration. The pressures of maintaining this distorted picture of the business and of rewriting history around the promises made to Sim prior to his resignation proved too much for some members of staff.

In the end, after eight years building the business and several months in the wilderness, Sim received nothing at from Love, whilst people who had contributed far less gave themselves pay rises and continued to kick him when he was very much down. Ultimately, it was not Sim who brought Love into disrepute.

This article is obviously one-sided, something for which I make no apology. The coverage to date – with the honourable exception of how-do, which has demonstrated a fair degree of impartiality – has been equally one-sided, albeit skewed entirely in favour of Love. This was epitomised by the ever-gutless Drum, who have seemed almost entirely in the pocket of Love – going as far at one point as to run an on-line poll asking: “Should Alastair Sim ever be allowed to work in the industry again?” They then compounded the offence by sending Alistair a whiny e-mail complaining that he had given How-do an exclusive interview but had declined to speak to them. Now why do you think that was you cottage industry clowns?

Some 18 months on from the assault that Sim himself has called his “Bonfire of the Vanities” moment, we are left with two damaged brands. Sim’s own brand, once highly-regarded in the North West and beyond, has suffered as a result of one moment of madness. The Love brand, itself, has been undermined by 18 months of mendacity, duplicity, greed, schadenfreude, incompetence, egotism and short-sightedness.

I know which one is most likely to recover.

You Get The Trade Press You Deserve

Distracted, as I have been, by watching two UK-based millionaires warn orphans, pensioners and nurses of the need to tighten their belts, this new instalment of my blog has been a little delayed – plus one of the articles proved to be something of a marathon undertaking (see "Who Gave Love a Bad Name?").

A number of people have emailed me and asked me why I have suddenly decided to write a blog, particularly one which covers some issues which are well over a decade old. The simple answer is that I felt the time was right. There have been a number of things I’ve been mulling over for some time that I felt ought to be expressed. This is not, as one correspondent suggested, a valedictory move on my part. Far from it.

One issue that has particularly prompted me to take to bloggery is how tame the regional marketing communications trade press has become. True the Drum has always been gutless and simply regurgitated press releases in the hope of wooing advertisers, whilst burying bad news – particularly in Scotland – for fear of the companies concerned retaliating by not supporting one of its 115 going-to-the-well-way-too-often credibility-free awards schemes. This is a problem that is writ large on its website.

On a side note, one thing that does amuse me nowadays is how the Drum has now taken to commenting on national and international issues, such as the BP oil leak, World Cup scandals and ipad sales. They really must learn to be more discerning about where they cut and paste from.

Whilst it’s almost quite endearing that the Carynx munchkins (pictured left) seriously seem to believe they have something of value to add on issues where they are transparently out of their depths, it is also kind of pathetic. It reminds me of left-at-home kids parading around in their parent’s outsized clothing, whilst haphazardly applying mascara and rouge to their pre-pubescent features – bizarre, inappropriate, wrong and more than faintly ludicrous. Best stick to exhaustive plugs for their struggling awards events and kowtowing to Propaganda, I suggest.

To return to my original theme, in an industry where smoke and mirrors are fitted as standard it is important to have a cynical and informed trade press, whether that be in a print format or online. Even how-do, much as I love it and continue to support it, is falling short in that direction.

A prime example of that is Love Creative (see again "Who Gave Love a Bad Name?") and its fortunes over the last 18 months. This is a story that has been bubbling under for a while, with the agency palpably cruising on its past glories and being sustained by a firmly fixed “emperor’s new clothes” mentality on the part of industry commentators – at least until now.

For proprietors concerned that printing adverse comments or not publishing every press release they receive will alienate potential advertisers or sponsors, I would say this – the ultimate prize in this sector is recruitment. To succeed in recruitment you have to be read not just by those desperately seeking jobs – usually the lowest priority for recruiters to access – but those that are wooed onto your pages by items of interest and then stumble across a job opportunity they can’t resist.

Ultimately, the publication or website that secures the most readers, the most word-of-mouth appreciation and the most off-diary/non-PR stories will triumph. Advertisers and sponsors will follow the readers, but the readers won’t follow anything that is awash with transparent PR guff and obviously skewed self-penned travesties of the truth – and yes, SASS, I am thinking about you metamorphosing into Mosquito.

The Drum and How-Do reported SASS’ MD, Jo Sass (above) in early March as saying she wanted to replace “"a traditional agency model that had started to feel outmoded and clunky with a more focused unit that was streamlined, nimble and responsive." Blimey that’s a relief – for a minute there I thought it was more to do with SASS’ insolvency hearing that took place two weeks later.

When your readership is as cynical as the marketing communications industry, you put your credibility on the line when you tacitly endorse stories that are transparently untrue by publishing them unchecked and unchallenged.

Every industry gets the trade press it deserves. The regional marcomms sector has obviously done something spectacularly bad to merit the services of the Drum. I just hope how-do rises to the challenge of providing an informed, irreverent and inspiring alternative. Go on, Mr J, you know you want to.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Libels and Reflections...

Welcome back regular readers, friends, acquaintances, victims and legal representatives with a G1 postcode. Although initially considering last week’s offering as a one-off purgative affair – think proud toddler brandishing a potty – such was the response, I thought I’d do it again. Regardless.

Joey Deaconland
One of the first things I noticed after spending a few weeks in Hong Kong is the sheer number of spazzers, wheelchair jockeys and menks that jostle for space on the island’s packed pavements – we don’t have sidewalks here, thank fuck.
At first, I thought this phenomenon was possibly caused by the toxic fumes wafting in across the bay from Guangdong, the province responsible for 98.3% of the world’s crap Christmas presents. Either that, I speculated, or it was a result of the lingering legacy of British cuisine, with the populace still scoffing pies, chips and Jaffa Cakes 13 years after, fixed grins in place, they were handed back to the TLC of the PRC.
Alas, I think the answer lies elsewhere and not in the superfluity of Hong Kong’s differently-abled. I think it’s more to do with me. Having spent the last five years living on the Chinese mainland, where the Single Child Policy is still very much in force, my perception of the normal ratio of society has been somewhat skewed. In China, where your child is considered cerebrally challenged if it’s not great at quadratics and is still only a Grade III piano player at the age of seven, what chance for those with cerebral palsy? Or a hump?
At my charitable best, I hope these choices are made in utero, but I fear the reality is far worse. If Beijing, Shanghai and Shenzhen are kept flid-free by pre-natal testing, I can’t help but wonder what happens in the clinic-free rural areas where the majority of the population still lives.
Unless, of course, all offspring judged sub-standard are put on a bus to Hong Kong. I kind of hope so.

Fox con?
To balance the books and in the interest of future visa renewability, I better say some nice things about the PRC, but don’t worry there’ll be some jokes about the Carnyx group and a Cunt of the Week coming along soon.
Much has been made of late about the 12 suicides at Foxconn this year, one of the major suppliers of Apple components. In a week when Apple overtook Microsoft as the world’s largest technology company, I can’t help but wonder if there hasn’t been a little “dark-ops” from Bill Gates and co involved in stirring the pot.
Now, I’m not suggesting the men from Microsoft are emerging from the shadows in the Foxconn plant in Longhua in Southern China and whispering: “Don’t you miss your mother?” or “Your girlfriend’s been taking it up the bum from migrant workers whilst you’ve been making iPad Micro-SIM card trays…”, but let’s put this into a little perspective.
We’re not talking about Gregg’s on Quay St here. We’re talking about a company that employs 450,000 people – making them about the same size as Sheffield. The average suicide rate per year in Sheffield is 38 (http://www.sheffield.nhs.uk/consultations/resources/mentalhealthstrategy2008v2.pdf). So, if you live in Sheffield you are three times more likely to die by your own hand than if you work for Foxconn. And you have to live in Sheffield – even if not for long.
Incidentally, modes of suicide in the PRC are quite different from those in the UK. Whereas as in the UK taking a Mach III to a convenient artery or going a Paracetomol too far seem the exit routes of choice, in China they largely opt for jumping off stuff. That’s all very well in Tier One cities where there are plenty of potentially lethal lofty edifices to launch yourself off, but I do worry about those in the more rural areas. Here rickety, one-storey structures are more de rigueur. You’d have to throw yourself off them five or six times before you could even be sure of breaking so much as an ankle. For the few tall buildings around, there’s probably a queue.

Tales from the (water) closet
I had several happy months whilst working for the Carnyx group, the cottage industry behind The Drum and the ailing Roses Awards. Unfortunately I was actually employed there for two and a half years. Many memories of particularly arrant stupidity, naiveté or vituperativeness on the parts of the management there stay with me even ten years on. I’d like to share one of my favourites.
A few weeks after Larry, Jim and I foolishly jumped ship from Adline and took the Carnyx muckle, it was announced that Diane Young was taking over as managing director of the company. Suffice to say the surrounding streets did not suffer a dancing room shortage. Had it been announced earlier, I doubt we would have ever left Adline, well not for the Carnyx Group.
We feared the worst and, to be fair to Di, for once she didn’t disappoint. She bought all her previous experience as a junior NHS administrator to bear on her new role.
During one visit to the Glasgow HQ, I noticed one of the innovative changes she had introduced. Whereas at one time the staff WCs had been regularly supplied with toilet roll, Di decreed that from now on all stocks must be kept in her office. We naturally assumed leaky bottom problems.
Whilst I was there, one junior member of the editorial team noticed the roll in the gent’s had been exhausted. Buttocks clenched, he gingerly approached Di’s office and asked for a replacement. “What have you done with the old one?” she demanded with her characteristic lack of humour or irony.
I think it is fair to say that without Di’s stewardship, the company wouldn’t be where it is today.
As we’re on the subject of the Carnyx Group - Drum re-tweeters do us all a favour miss out the middle man and just say: “Hurrah, some undiscerning twat printed my press release at last!”

Cunt of the Week
I’d like to thank the people who emailed or tweeted me about cunts I neglected to mention in the first instalment of this blog. Indeed so much material came flooding in and so many memories were stirred, that I’ve decided to make this a regular feature.
This week I’d like to celebrate the pure vulvanity of Lee Newton,
managing director of ETP, one-time owners of Adline.
Lee and his then business partner, Terry Moutter, became part of the Wilmington family when the group bailed out the financially-incompetent ETP. I remember one Wilmington director gleefully recalling teasing Terry and Lee by asking what all the bracketed figures on their balance sheets meant.
I first met the two at the Wilmington Christmas Party in 1993. The two came dressed as SS Officers. This went down a storm with the group’s chief executive, the decidedly Jewish Brian Gilbert. How he laughed.
Through various machinations, Terry left and Adline became accountable to Essex-boy Lee. In the summer of 1999, Lee introduced his master stroke – a recruitment magazine aimed at travelling salesman and distributed through garages. Unfortunately, despite spending a fortune on radio and outdoor advertising and on printing hundreds and thousands of copies, it foundered – largely because they forgot to sign distribution contracts with any garages. Doh!
With the brackets returning to the balance sheets, the squeeze was on – particularly at Adline. We were doing quite well at the time and in expansive mode – Cream Awards, Synergy etc – but now we were bailing this fuckwit out.
It was soon after this, that all the senior people at Adline – except Debbie Brown – quit to set up the Carnyx-backed Marketeer. This was a major humiliation for Lee –brackets back on his balance sheet and now the only Wilmington MD ever to see a whole senior team decamp as a protest against his ineptitude.
I think it’s fair to say he went mental - demanding the return of databases we didn’t have or want and seeking injunctions against actions that had never been planned, until he get reined in by Nick Miller, the far more grown-up Wilmington overall MD.
Inevitably, that was not to be the end of it. Months later we met at some event in Manchester, maybe the Roses. Tensions had been simmering all evening and didn’t get better as the evening went on. I was knocking back the Chardonnay, Lee was on the Rosé (which was another reason I thought he was a cunt).
Predictably, at the end of the evening, we were on something of a collision course and eventually launched into a dialogue of positively Wildean proportions in the bar of the Palace Hotel.
Me: I bet they all think you’re a cunt at Wilmington because we all left.

Lee: No, they think I’m great. They think you’re a cunt.

Me: Nah, they think you’re a cunt.

Lee: You’re the cunt.

Me: Nah, senior team all leaving. They definitely think you’re a cunt.

The badinage continued in a similarly urbane style for several minutes. Until…

Lee: You’re the cunt and I’ve got to go to bed now as I have to drive to Dartford early in the morning for a group board meeting. That’s how important I am.

Big mistake.
It’s now about 2am. I reckon he has to leave 8am at latest to drive to Dartford for midday. I leave it till about 4.30 am and then call the Palace reception from my mobile.

Me: Hi. Can you put me through to Lee Newton’s room?

Palace Reception: Certainly sir. Putting you through.

Lee: (sleepily) Hello?

Me: They do think you’re a cunt (click)

Get back to sleep after that, you cunt, I thought. In my defence, he had tried to sue me four months previously
About a year later, Lee was bizarrely - and briefly - made overall Wilmington MD and managed to take the company’s share price to its lowest ever level. He never could get the hang of those brackets.

Four (fuck’s sake)square
MSN I took to enthusiastically, Facebook I love, Twitter I gradually became convinced by, but Foursquare…surely the most pointless offering ever from Silly-cunt Valley?
Win badges by telling you’re mates where you are? Unlock your ‘Adventurer’ title by increasing the frequency of your log-ins? It’s like the scouts, but even shitterer. Any hackers out there please hack this system and make GPS log-ins automatic instead of discretionary. How I’d laugh when some poor twat unwittingly informs all his mates that he is now “The Mayor of Big Maurice’s Gentlemen Only Prostate Massage Centre”…

Thursday, May 20, 2010

All the things I've done


Nick Creed
All the charisma of a sea of stagnant piss.
Diane Young
The reason DNA testing was invented.
Peter Booth and Martin Howley
Made my life miserable at secondary school, but was sort of buffered by the fore-knowledge that the rest of their lives would involve them dispensing fries and assiduously seeking out sachets of tartar sauce. Which it did.
Gordon Young
Actually lovable muppet, spends his entire life in fear of his missus. Possibly asexual (him not her – which may explain a lot).
Billy Anderson
A cunt’s cunt. Tricked his way into my home in Manc. Waited till I went out then rifled through all my possessions. Truth came out when he commented on my liking for Hawaiian shirts – buried at the back of a wardrobe. Later claimed I offered him coke. Truth is Billy, if I’d had coke I’d have snorted before you arrived, I would never have offered it you because I thought you were a grade “A” cunt. You sold nowt during your brief time at the Drum, as a former bankrupt. I dare say you have sold fuck all ever since whilst you’ve been at GMG. Look up cunt on wikipedia and you get gps direction to Billy’s house. Possibly the person I dislike the most. A cunt.
Shafat Ali
Battling with depression and big financial problems, I limped into Asian Sound Radio in 2002 and then got systematically ripped off. I met some lovely people there – Shujat and Younis (possibly one of the nicest guys I know). If Shafat comes across your personal horizon, write off any money you expect to make and prepare for defaults. A crook
Niall Boyle
When I firs came to China, I ended up sharing an apartment with Niall. He was twice the size of me and took to bullying and intimidating me. What he never knew was that me and Mary, my partner, at the time, used to regularly stick his tootbrush and that of his, underage, partners up each other’s arses. Hope you are reading this Niall.You take care now.
Mike McCormack
McCormack so much wanted to be Ray Sale, when Ray died he failed the audition.Big style.
Ted Walmsley
Dull cunt, staying awake in the self-regarding presence of this Daily Telegraph rep was above and beyond work requirements. Don’t know what he’s doing now. Suspect not much.
Adam Godley
Possibly clinically insane. A teacher at Aihua who claimed to be able to tell the future. Hr couldn’t. He got sacked.unexpectedly. Recently voted by DC, Fin and me as Aihua’s worst ever teacher. Including the paedophile. Bet he didn’t see that coming.
Niall Kennedy
Degree from Balliol, made pregnant women cry and smelt like a rogered skunk. Epic cunt.
Lloyd Anderson
Teacher at Aihua. Snogged Chinese girls when they were passed out. Candidate for involuntary euthanasia.
Dr C
Mad bad, Dr C, deeply-flawed but deeply loved by equally deeply flawed me. I’d trust him totally with regard to anything and hope he feels the same way about me.
Finlay Beaton
An amazing person, he exudes a degree of good will and trust around himself to an extent I doubt he really knows. We don’t always see eye-to-eye, but he’s one of the few people who makes it feel like that’s my fault. Which I kind of like. Diamond geezer.
John Mckeown
An old friend. Would love to see him. Smart beyond his years and has the inner tranquillity I spend my life craving.
Claire Haigh/Shaw
An old friend from school. Me and the missus met her a Xmas and the years fell away. Very fond of her and glad we are back in touch.
Nick Jaspan
Nick bought me back into journalism. One of the smartest and most genuine guys I know. Whatever he does with how-do, I owe him and I hope we will always be mates.
Paul Caroll
Not everyone’s favourite but one of mine,. PR consultancies across the region can breathe easily with Paul in semi-retirement, but should he change his mind you’ve had it. Maybe worth subbing his Saga holidays cruises and annual stipend to the bowling green.
Graeme Wood
Few people, save from Terry Savage, inspire a desire in me to spontaneously hug, but Graeme does. Graeme is smart, genuine and great company. Four minutes to the end of the world? I’d have a beer with Graeme – and not just because he’d insist on paying.
Mel Harding
One of the funniest and kindest people I know. Took pity on me when I was deeply in the shit. Never forgotten.
Mike Barrington
A friend and mentor who has watched me fuck up more time than I know and still bought me pizza. One day I’d like to be that smart. And have a house in NZ/
Debbie Brown
Of all the people I never had sex with, Debbie Brown is the one I love the most. She was a phenomenon. The biggest mistake I made was stopping working with her. The biggest mistake we both made was not trying to buy the business off Wilmington who are, were and always will be a directionless bunch of chancers.
Rob Rea
An old uni mate and somebody else I should tell how much I appreciate him. He helped me out in the bad times and was never judgemental. You know what., Rob, I owe you a dinner and a half.
Ken Tod
Ten times nicer than me and almost as bright. I have his dalek
Duncan Slater
Smart as fuck. One day he and I will write the new “Dad’s Army, Maybe
Nigel Hughes
Again someone I have long valued, but maybe never told.
Pete Johnson
The sight pf Pete at the HD awards was enough to make the trip worthwhile,