When I first started working here and everyone spoke about ‘the Alliance’ I immediately thought Star Wars seeing men dressed as Storm Troopers, women with their hair coiled like Cumberland sausages in Princess Leya plaits, the force being with us, etc, all of which, I admit, is more than faintly ridiculous considering we’re based in Holborn, not in a galaxy on the other side of the solar system – other side of Southampton Row, more like it.
I confess, the fantasy is more appealing than the reality, so if you don’t want to learn the truth, look away now. It turns out the Alliance, according to our website is: 'a global alliance of ten UK publishers and their international partners who share a common vision of editorial excellence, original, diverse publishing, innovation in marketing and commercial success'. I thought it was just so we could just have better parties but it's obviously a lot more serious than that.
Damn it.
One of our 'international partners' appears to run their business out of a basement round the corner from where I live. I was trying to talk to him before he disappeared hoping we could bond over the postcode but I couldn't catch him. Instead I was confronted with a publisher who often comes into the office and to whom I lamely introduced myself saying: 'Hi, I’m Mr Ts Assistant,' in much the same way as I've spent my life saying that I'm someone's mother, someone's daughter, someone's wife.
‘Of course you are,' he replied, looking slightly startled, like you when accosted by a person on day release from the asylum who walks up and announces they are really the Archduke Ferdinand.
He backed off, and disappeared into the throng as I would I have done myself, but confronted with a room full of people that you don't know there is only one thing to do - drink and eat canapés, and a plate was wending its way towards me.
The thing about canapés is that they are supposed to be small, bite sized even, or at the very least two bite sized, preferably designed so that they don’t disintegrate the first time you touch them with your teeth so that you’re left holding the corner of a crumb with the rest of the canapé down the front of your cleavage. So out of the kitchen came these mammoth skewers with half the North Sea in batter threaded on to them which you could sell in a basket for £6.99 each if they came with chips, and impossible to eat without doing the mouth equivalent of the limbo dance, shimmying underneath them, bobbing up from behind, dodging to the side, and none of them elegant.
It seemed safer to stick to drink.
I spoke to another guy who looked pretty senior, not in years, I add (that would be me) but I suggested that he might be sufficiently up the hierarchy in his company to have a door that closes. In Pedantic we are divided into the have and have nots. The Indians of course just sit around on the open plains, dodging buffalo, motorcycle messengers and annoying phone calls from Reed Recruitment (can I just say that we're not, repeat NOT hiring though I appreciate the offer - when I tried a few days in accounts, I thought I was being paid by the hour to be dead).
He told me that ‘people who need doors that close, tend to have them'.
Ah, so that’s the explanation.
'No,' I choked in mid-sip of wine.
'Are you sure?'
'Isn't it Irina (door that closes)?'
'No, I think she's Health and Safety,'
'I know for a fact that I’m not the Fire Officer because I only work part time. What would you do if there was a fire and I wasn’t there to marshall you all to safety? (Now there's a thought.) Maybe it's Lynsey (open plains)?'
Lynsey shoots me an arrow of poisoned dismay which I recognise and accept as deserved as she sidles round behind a pillar - it's the party equivalent of a covered wagon.
'Yes, that’s a point,' says MD.
'Really MD, what more rubbishy responsibilities do you want me to give me around here?' I blurt, suddenly full of red wine courage. 'I tell you what, if I get to wear thigh boots and a peaked cap, then I’ll do it.'
'Oh and an axe, I definitely want an axe.'
'And you'll get first dibs on the firemen, said Alice.
'And you'll get first dibs on the firemen, said Alice.
On second thoughts, the MD didn't seem to think it was such a good idea after all.
Funny that.
