Mixed Lot

I am inspired to speculate on the events surrounding the discovery of the Mary Celeste on the 4th of December 1872. It may be that those on board the intact and seemingly seaworthy yet abandoned merchant ship had jumped overboard in a kind of mass suicide pact. Or they may have steered course a little too close to the Bermuda Triangle. Or they may have been eaten by the Kraken. However, whatever caused the mysterious disappearance of all on board will never be known for certain. Similarly, I am not sure that we will ever know where all of our customers were yesterday, although my guess is that it was something to do with the Easter holidays (Lord forgive me for saying but isn't it about time we got over that particular death - it was a long long time ago, after all).

Holidays and half-terms are not good for us and so we try to avoid them. Yesterday, however, we collided spectacularly, like Princess Diana in a tunnel. Talking of the Royal Family, I am not too happy about the forthcoming nuptials either because it will yet again interfere with trade. It's all very well getting excited about a transfer-printed mug imported from China bearing the words 'In Celebration of the Woyal Redding' but who is going to pay for it all? No one will be visiting antique fairs and auctions because the wretched ceremony will be beamed live on the BBC. Still, I suppose it will serve to reassure American tourists that at £20, a 1977 Silver Jubilee coin is a bargain...

Birds Eye exports to the Far East are non-existent. I know this because of the Thai girl who works at a local delicatessen/cafe that I frequent in central Norwich. Whilst serving me the other day she asked if I would like to try her noodles. Of course, I do like to nosh a noodle or two but commented that next time she would capture my trade more readily if she were to serve fish fingers.

'What fish fingers?' she asked.

'They are a breaded fish' I replied

'Nooooooo' she smiled, thinking I was joking 'you make fool of me!'

'No, I am serious, we English love fish fingers!'

'Nooooooo' she laughed 'fish not have fingers!'

'They are not fish fingers they are fish fingers!'

'Nooooooo' she said again.

'They are made by Bird's Eye'

'Nooooooo' she laughed again 'nobody eats bird's eyes - you make me smile!'

So, one of my tasks for today is to take her in a pack.

That Norwich has such a rich history dating back more than a thousand years is something that we all value and, in my opinion, has always been and continues to be enhanced by those settling here from far away. Once upon a time the Saxons and the Vikings. Later the Huguenots and the Flemish. And today from all over the globe. It'll help our DNA too - we don't want to become like our country cousins; all cross-eyed and six-fingered.

Last night was spent drowning our sorrows in The Doghouse (not that we sobbed for long - it was our first ever beating and you just have to take something like that on the chin - it was one battle, not the whole war). Seven of us around the table and as usual the conversation ebbed and flowed. Of course we covered the usual subjects - corporate strategy, human resources, planning and implementation - before agreeing that everything could be solved with another round. And then another. We even started a drinks kitty - proposed, and seconded before being put into action by The Union.

The Union consists of three members of my team. Their strength in advocacy is considerable in that whilst they are a numerical minority (more of my people are outside of The Union than inside) they make up three-quarters of The Quadrophonics (the fourth member of that particular group being yours truly). Confused? This often leads to delicate industrial relations - not easy when the vast majority of people within the inner-circle are socialists. To make matters worse, they were re-enforced last night by a good friend of ours who, despite graduating in politics, determined to remain of Marxist persuasion. I am not quite sure how someone can be educated to degree level and be a socialist but there it is. You would think that at some point during three years of cognitive development the penny would drop and they would abandon the principle in favour of something more sensible. I hope one day to found a charitable trust, dedicated to the salvation of those afflicted with this 20th Century Curse.

It's easy to spot a socialist because they only come in two guises:

1) Sub-human underclass/scrounger - claims Housing Benefit to pay for fags and ASDA vodka: likes to watch Jeremy Kyle most mornings (except for signing-on day): and thinks it's good parenting to pierce their three-month old baby girl's lobes with Argos earrings.

2) Lovely nice financially secure middle-class people - make regular donations to worthy causes: drink large glasses of pinot grigio: wear Karen Millen.

These two 'classes' of socialists are so far apart it makes me giggle. Because look closely enough and you will discover they make for uncomfortable bedfellows. Lovely nice socialists are happy to pay taxes to support the welfare of those less fortunate but there is absolutely no chance of them inviting Johnny UB40 round for supper. The dining tables of Cringleford and Eaton are not open to the social underclasses of Mile Cross and Lakenham. Duck with plum jus can never be preceded by Pot Noodle as a starter.

And so as the evening came to a close there was just time for one last volley of cannon fire from the lefties - at my recent posting re 'precision bombing the Germans'. Evidence of a mind prone to national elitism and the expense of others they argued. Not at all I countered. And then, just as the red flag was in the ascendancy it fell dramatically as one of the Marxist brethren shouted 'Yeah, but I don't like the fucking Algerians'

It's amazing how the veneer of socialist respectability can be lost in an alcoholic haze...