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e Squared Page 27

by Matt Beaumont


  Guantànamo wasn’t so bad, to be fair. The Marines were treading very carefully because they didn’t know which way things were going to fall with Obama’s inauguration. I wasn’t in solitary and I had access to a TV and ping-pong. I was offered endless cups of tea and, being the only Jew in the compound, they even laid on a kosher menu for me! They were so sweet (and, I have to confess, pin-up sexy) that I couldn’t bring myself to tell them that, actually, I could have murdered a bacon sandwich.

  It was only a week, but I made some good friends in there. I’ll definitely stay in touch with Ma’an. He’s been waterboarded three times and confessed to lord knows what atrocities, but he still doesn’t know what he’s in for. Obviously we didn’t see eye-to-eye on matters geopolitical and he wasn’t very comfortable with my sexuality, but it turned out we’re both mad Liza Minnelli fans. He’s actually seen Stepping Out more times than I have! It’s incredible how song and dance can bring people together. Maybe there’s a lesson there—or at least an ABBA-based musical!

  So what’s been happening to the creative department? I need some gossip. You know how airports bore me!

  Don

  Sent from my BlackBerry

  From: Susi Judge-Davis-Gaultier

  To: All Staff

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 09.48

  Subject: Interns?

  Any interns free to create a “Welcome Home” banner to hang in reception? Paint, sequins and fabric will be supplied.

  From: Sally Wilton

  To: David Crutton

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 09.53

  Subject: Neil Godley

  I’ve just heard from his lawyer and he’s prepared to do a deal. No lawsuit against the agency or any individual employees, if we meet certain conditions. They are, in brief:1. Full reinstatement of employment

  2. With a 50% salary increase

  3. And a 25% increase in cubicle volume

  4. Employment on same terms for Nigel Godley (his brother, recently made redundant by Miller Shanks)

  5. Unconditional public apology

  6. Imposition of strict three-strikes regime for late delivery of time sheets

  7. Immediate severance of contract with XL Security

  8. In-house multi-denominational chapel4

  9. Ovaltine to be made available in beverage machines

  Let me know how you wish to proceed.

  From: Bill Geddes

  To: Donald Gold

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 10.07

  Subject: Re: Welcome to freedom!

  It’s more than just gossip, actually. It’s proper news. Harvey Harvey is dead. His body was found in a river in Nigeria. God knows what he was doing there. He disappeared last week and no one bothered to ask why or where. It’s cast a bit of a pall over the place.

  There’s more. Last night Liam jumped off Waterloo Bridge. Correction: he dived (back, one and a half somersaults, pike—it would have got him at least a 37 in competition. See it for yourself on YouTube). Turns out he came seventh in the National Juniors when he was 14. He kept that one quiet.

  Today’s tabloids are full of it. Check the link below for the most entertaining view, though you might want to have several large pinches of salt at the ready.

  Oh, and Milton finally jumped from the 5th.

  Sadly, he bounced.

  Say hello to Kaz. I don’t think I’m her most favorite person right now, but give her a hug from me anyway. And see you soon!

  Bill

  dailymail.co.uk/news

  Why did he bother?

  By Richard Littlejohn, the calm

  voice of common sense

  Here’s a tale of selfless bravery to warm the cockles on a cold winter morn. A man dives into the freezing River Thames to save another. Liam O’Keefe is a bona fide hero. Well, isn’t he?

  Er, not sure about that. For a start, the drowning man was trying to kill himself, and he was making an excellent job of it too, by all accounts. I bet thanks weren’t on his mind when the river police fished him out. But the bigger question is should decent, law-abiding British taxpayers thank O’Keefe?

  The suicidal non-swimmer goes by the name of Zlatan Kovaćević. You don’t need a degree in Serbo-Croat to work out that Zlatan Kovaćević translates as Asylum Seeker.

  In an age when you can’t drive six feet down the M25 without running over a squeegee-wielding Slav, should we be grateful that this “hero” jumped to the rescue of a Serbian welfare scrounger?

  No, if O‘Keefe had let Kovaćević join the rest of the bottom feeders in the Thames Estuary, he’d have been doing us all a favor. But clearly he suffers from the fashionable delusion that everyone—including paedophiles, social workers and so-called “asylum seekers”—has a right to life. He will probably get a medal from Gordon Brown and his washed-up excuse for a government, but he gets no praise from me. You don’t need a degree in Gaelic to work out that Liam O’Keefe translates as Bog-Irish Prat.

  From: Donald Gold

  To: Bill Geddes

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 10.12

  Subject: Re: Welcome to freedom!

  Wow! The Hard Man of the Balkans suicidal? That’s hard to credit. And the Lard Arse of the Peat Bogs an aquatic hero? Even harder!

  Sent from my BlackBerry

  From: Bill Geddes

  To: Donald Gold

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 10.16

  Subject: Re: Welcome to freedom!

  I told you, several pinches of salt required. Liam was the one attempting suicide—the world’s most graceful death leap, an easy gold in the National Suicide Championships. Zlatan jumped in to save him. Turned out he couldn’t swim though, and Liam had to keep him afloat till the police launch arrived.

  All the papers got it wrong, though only Littlejohn, the hysterical voice of reactionary ignorance, managed to give it a racial angle. Just goes to show there’s only one thing less reliable than an adman and that’s a hack. Still, if the spin turns our mate into a national hero, then who are we to complain?

  From: Lorraine Pallister

  To: Bill Geddes

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 10.17

  Subject: Re:

  Hi Bill,

  I’m still at the hospital. Our Hero is doing OK. I don’t think they’ll need to keep him in tonight. Mind you, I kind of hope they do, because there’s a guy lurking outside the ward. I suspect he has Turkish mates round the corner who’ll descend on Liam the moment he leaves. Out of the bloody frying pan...

  Anyway, at least he’s still alive. Maybe if they discharge Zlatan at the same time, I can hire him as a bodyguard. He has a murderous look about him.

  Bye for now,Lorraine

  Sent from my iPhone

  From: Bill Geddes

  To: Lorraine Pallister

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 10.25

  Subject: Re:

  I’m guessing the Turkish thing is about money. Can you find out how much and I’ll see what I can rustle up. By the way, the Turks aren’t his only problem. David Crutton is itching to stick him with the office thefts. I’m surprised the cops haven’t been to talk to him yet.

  Sorry to put a downer on things. But like you say, at least he’s alive. And you’re right about Zlatan. I saw him take down a coked-up pit bull with a single blow to the throat. He is very handy in a fight, so keep him sweet. And remind him that he owes his life to Liam. Just don’t let him see the Mail or else his murderous attentions will be focused entirely on Richard Littlejohn.

  Keep your spirits up and I’ll check in later.

  From: David Crutton

  To: Sally Wilton

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 10.32

  Subject: Re: Neil Godley

  Outrageous. He’s got us in a bad place though. Normally, I wouldn’t give an inch on this, but I don’t want to lose you in the fallout, Sally. You’re too valuable an asset to this company.

  With that in mind, I think we should agree to everything. Except the public apology. I don’t do those. And say no to the Ovaltine. T
hat’s just taking the piss.

  Moving on, when will O’Keefe be well enough to be questioned by the police? I want the maximum sentence for that bastard.

  From: Lorraine Pallister

  To: Bill Geddes

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 10.37

  Subject: Re:

  Don’t worry about Crutton. Dealing with him now.

  From: Lorraine Pallister

  To: David Crutton

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 10.59

  Subject: It’s been a while...

  Hi David. Back in the day I was a PA at Miller Shanks. I wonder if you remember me. Probably not. I don’t think you took much notice of anyone below account-director level.

  But I remember you. Very well. Very well indeed.

  I remember you at the 2000 Christmas party when you came back from Romania to dance the night away with your old pals.

  The time we had! More to the point, the time *you* had! Remember how you took a bunch of us up to the boardroom to help you hoover up the “sugar” that Vince Douglas had spilled on the table? You were definitely the best hooverer, an example to us all.

  Then I remember how you sent most of us out because you wanted a private board meeting with that honey-toned CEO from Miller Shanks Puerto Rico. She was old enough to be J-Lo’s mum, but let me tell you, if J-Lo looks that good at 50+, she’ll be doing ever so well.

  I’m not sure why you sent us out because the room had glass walls, didn’t it? We could see your meeting even if we couldn’t hear the important company business you were discussing. Maybe it was the language barrier, but it did appear you were having a mostly nonverbal discussion.

  Zoë Clarke was there too. Remember her? An excitable PA who used a lot of exclamation marks in her e-mails. A bit like this:“You know that disposable camera I got from Secret Santa??????!!!!!!!!!! I took loads of pics at the party!!!!!!!!!!!! Just got them back from the chemist!!!!!!!!!! They’re brilliant!!!!!!!!! Come and see!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

  Well, I did “come and see.” I think she missed her calling because her photos were superb, really artistic. She had pictures of everything. The hoovering, your mostly nonverbal discussion with the nice Puerto Rican lady, the bit afterward where you parked your dinner in Daniel Westbrooke’s desk drawer, the lot.

  Me and Zoë still see each other from time to time. It’s nice to get together and catch up, look at old photo albums, stuff like that. Maybe we should get together too. It would be great to reminisce about the old days. I could get Zoë to bring her photos. Or perhaps she could upload them onto Flickr so the whole world can enjoy them.

  Let me know if you’re interested.

  By the way, I used to go out with another old workmate, Liam O’Keefe. Even though we’re not an item any more, I still look out for him. You’ll be pleased to know that he’s doing well after his heroic ordeal last night. He should be as right as rain in a few days. He’d recover a lot quicker if he knew he wouldn’t be facing any stress when he gets out of hospital. Like the pressure of trying to find work in this terrible economic climate, and the worry that the police might want to question him about the theft of some silly paperclips.

  As a modern, caring boss, I’m sure you’ll be delighted to welcome him back to the office after a short recuperative break. Perhaps with a small raise to help him through the recession.

  Anyway, great catching up with you. And do get in touch if you want to do the Friends Reunited thing. Hey, maybe we could do a slide show!

  Best wishes,

  Lorraine Pallister

  Sent from my iPhone

  From: David Crutton

  To: Sally Wilton

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.03

  Subject: O’Keefe

  I’ve had a change of heart on this one. I don’t think we should press charges. What’s the point of sending him to prison where he’ll only mix with career criminals and emerge a hardened recidivist? We’d simply be handing society another problem it doesn’t need, wouldn’t we? It will better serve the greater good if we bring him back into the fold and help him through his issues with counseling. Call the police and let them know of our decision.

  From: David Crutton

  To: Dotty Podidra

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.05

  Subject: O’Keefe

  When Godley returns to work, remind me to e him re a raise for O’Keefe.

  From: Dotty Podidra

  To: David Crutton

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.06

  Subject: Re: O’Keefe

  Neil Godley’s coming back?! And Liam?!! OK!!!

  From: Janice Crutton

  To: David Crutton

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.15

  Subject: FYl...

  ... you have:

  Daughter 1 Status: very poorly

  Son 1 Status: missing

  (Just in case you give a damn.)

  From: David Crutton

  To: Dotty Podidra

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.16

  Subject:

  Did I not ask you first thing this morning to look for Noah?

  From: Dotty Podidra

  To: David Crutton

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.17

  Subject: Re:

  No, you didn’t.

  From: David Crutton

  To: Dotty Podidra

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.18

  Subject: Re:

  Did you by any chance look for him anyway?

  From: Dotty Podidra

  To: David Crutton

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.19

  Subject: Re:

  No. Sorry. Should I have?

  From: David Crutton

  To: Dotty Podidra

  Sent: 27 January 2009, 11.20

  Subject: Re:

  Yes! Do it now.

  blogass.co.uk

  Posted by Hornblower

  27/01/09, 11.29 GMT

  Crépuscule dans le Périgord Partie 83: le Dilemme

  Ah, Madame Fortune, quelle maîtresse volage elle est. Never let us try to second-guess her, for she will confound us at every turn.

  In my last post, I might have betrayed un gros chagrain. I had the unsettling intuition that I had reached le début de la fin. “Mais pas du tout!” Mme Fortune decreed. I had actually arrived at la fin de le début.

  Allow me to relate the latest twist in la fameuse vie de Hornblower:

  At dawn yesterday I was awoken not by le coq, but by a tumult at the door. Papin turfed me from le lit matrimonial with the gruff instruction to send whomever on their way. “Si c’est les flics, dis-leur que le garçon à dix-huit ans,” he added.

  But it wasn’t the police. It was what seemed to be the entire London communauté littéraire literally (ha!) camping on ma véranda. To what did I owe this invasion?

  I was rapidly informed that word of my modest blog has traveled far and wide; that, shockingly, ma célébrité est universelle! I was staggered. In all sincerity, I sought no spotlight for my rudimentary jottings. I honestly cared not a fig whether or not anyone read them. Despite my indifférence, however, it seems that my hastily scribbled musings on une vie plus simple have struck a chord and captured that elusive zeitgeist.

  And so there they were, gathered as Mme Fortune had ordered them, publishers from houses grand and small clamoring for mon autograph.

  But was this what I wanted? The question exercised me greatly as they trooped into my cuisine to vie for my hand and drink me out of café. Should I give up my hard-earned idyll in the balmy vales of Périgord for the whirligig of launch parties, book tours and Sunday supplement profiles?

 

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