Of course, I used to love this period when I was still at the top of my game. Who wouldn’t? I got to spend time bragging about some monumental deal that I had executed and people actually listened, or at least pretended to.
And when I won, I could always count on being cock of the walk and have rivals begrudgingly buy me some fine whisky and drink to my honour.
Back then, though, it was all about time efficiency, keeping meetings with journalists as short but as thorough as possible. We certainly had plenty of spare time, but it was time we pretended to devote to our clients.
So imagine my surprise when one of my chums was telling me this week about trying to organise a three hour meeting with none other than this esteemed magazine!
Now, I like a good chinwag as much as the next man, but spending hours on end with some of my old banking pals leaves even my nerves frayed. So I can certainly imagine how the poor journalists will be feeling by the end of their marathon. Drink will probably be the recovery method of choice, as it usually is for me. Good luck all!