Fifty shades of madness…

July 5, 2012

I had to go into one of my old agencies the other day. Gervaise, who I think I may have mentioned, was having his leaving do, and had kindly invited me along. Now, advertising agencies often have quite messy leaving do’s, sometimes resulting in nights in the cell, or at the very least, a little collar-feeling by the Old Bill, as we used to say. Mind you, these days, they’d probably swipe you with a stick and end up in court themselves, but that’s another story.

But this one was strangely subdued. Bottles of perfectly good claret stood unopened and lonely, although the buffet went down a treat. the young seemed to enjoy themselves, as they do, but the old farts and liggers and hangers on like me, seemed to be in a collective mope.

‘What’s up?” I asked Gervaise after an hour or so.

‘It’s that bloody book,’ he finally replied, after considering the answer for a few minutes.

‘What book?’

‘Fifty bloody shades of bloody grey.’

‘Oh that,’ I said, using the stock response when you have no idea what someone is saying.

‘Yes, all the bloody Hers Indoors have been reading it and think now it’s their God-given right for the old man to give them one every bloody night instead of just on birthdays and anniversaries…’

I was gob-smacked, not to put too fine a point on it.

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