Regular readers will be fully aware of my clear-cut confusion over those chaps in the City. You know, the fuckwit bankers and investment knuckleheads playing and hard and fast with our cash while at the same time being brilliant upstanding professional financial gurus prepared to fund many a boozy event and providing a pool of intellect with which to pack the boards of any organisation we may chair.
One thing they do do well is slick marketing and the brolly sector can learn a lot from the experts in this. Recently it was reported in London's evening rag Lowering the Journalistic Standard, that times were so hard at the Swiss giant Umbrella Banking Services (UBS) that they had been forced to use a lower grade of toilet paper in the staff lavs. This news was seized upon by brolly sector wonga wizards CCLA Unconfidential whose head of tapping-up-other-firms'- clients, Canadrew Gobinson, sent a cheeky missive to UBS umbrella clients offering his firm's services and enclosing a sheet of toilet tissue.
Not surprisingly, UBS have gone onstanc (got their cantons in a twist) but they haven't exactly been shy about aggressive marketing in the past and he who lives by the sword, single-plys by it as well.
This is a fantastic idea and I will be using it to try and poach some of Hubert's deluded membership at NCVO. They will all be receiving a piece of crisp Bogg roll later this week. Unused, naturally - I don't want to be accused of running a smear campaign.
Elsewhere, BUBB has been busy positioning itself on all of the big issues of the election. We have been wiping the arses of ALL the major parties and this week is the turn of Vince Cable. Vince is of course the greatest economic expert in the history of ever largely by virtue of never having had to actually do anything other than talk a good game. He correctly predicted the South Sea Bubble and the Wall Street Crash as early as last week. And in a hung parliament he who controls the cable has a very big advantage.
However, I would like to take this opportunity to distance myself from THE big talking point and election battleground right now. Just because I bumped into Dave Cameron (my local MP) and his delightful wife Samantha in Lidl the other week, rumours have quickly surfaced about my role in her pregnancy. All nonsense of course. If people are really looking for someone making an early bid to assume Cameron's position then surely Boris is a more likely candidate than me for many reasons.
Seriously, I do believe Dave is the father. Apparently he rang Gordon last night and repeatedly shouted: "Gordon, your time is up. Soon I'll be THE DADDY." And he has been bragging to his old Etonian chums about Samantha being "up the Bullingdon" with a "ciabatta in the aga". While Dave has done his bit to prove that not everything in Britain is broken and he still has plenty of blue lead in his pencil, there are strong reasons to believe that it was actually Lord Ashcroft who funded the lavish meal and champagne that led to the conception.
I am not at all sure of the suitability of Dave for PM now. You can't run a country on four hours sleep. We tried that experiment in the 80s and look what happened. Although if Cameron is thinking of taking some paternity leave and they need a temp, I am more than prepared to offer my services as an intern. Or maybe Dave is going to be one of these trendy full-time Dads you read about and lead Britain on a freelance basis.
One other rumour I would like to put to bed is that I have been molesting Lord Bladderwreck's sheep in Blacbury. What do they think I am, some sort of Cymru stereotype? Barkles did eat one the other week but other than that I have had nothing to do with them.
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