The day I had on Tuesday beggars belief.
There is a brand (that I don’t work on) that needed a little extra help, and so I had been conscripted (entirely against my very busy will) to get involved in trying to sort that out by the redoubtable Fearless Leader. So I ended up agreeing to lead an all-day workshop (one of my most dreaded words, with a reality even more terrifying than the word can suggest) in Paris, with our French agency – who proved themselves to be an absolutely staggering display of indifference as an art form.
I won’t itemise the specifics of what made that workshop such a fucking awful day: certainly it wasn’t helped by the glassy-eyed spectatorship of the people who should have been participating, rather than observing – but suffice to say that I have made a vow before God and Fearless Leader, that I shall never lead a workshop on a brand that I don’t work on, ever again.
The only two good things about are that it is over, and that it confirmed the absolute correctness of my hatred of the French.
