As Easy as Falling off a Cliff

01-01-2009

Iâm sorry. What was I saying? Itâs just that itâs been one of those years when you come out the end wondering which direction you were facing when you went into it. Thereâs probably some appropriate Dickensian turn of phrase for it, but I just canât bring it to mind.

I mean; can you remember what you were doing last January? All that talk still of expansion and âcontinuing market developmentâ â but its like the waistbands that you get on M&S jeans; youâre doing fine âtil the day your denims end up round your knees and your arse is hanging out in the north wind. Much like 2008. Donât you think?

Anyway, here we are, all ready for a fresh start. Sales directors up and down the country have spent the past couple of weeks seeking wisdom in the bottom of single malt, so hereâs a few more ideas for all you dynamic sales-types out there:

Itâs hardly believable that the Minersâ Strike was a quarter of a century ago. Yes, this bright-eyed babe of 2009 will see the twenty-fifth anniversary of Thatcher and her demon-spawn attack dog McGregor destroying the UKâs industrial base (believing that the financial sector was all we needed to guarantee a place in heaven). But we forget what benefits such destruction brought. Mines and factories up and down the country re-opened as Heritage Experiences, though usually without the noise, smell or industrial output.

Of course, itâs important that themed events reflect the current zeitgeist, so hereâs an opportunity to reignite the flagging fire of the reality genre as well as giving ordinary folk the chance to look inside the madcap mind of the financial sector. In the original Bedlam, paying visitors walked among the drooling lunatics living there, being entertained by their foolish antics. Anyone who didnât come up to snuff was poked with a stick and told to liven up their act a bit. Now we have the same opportunity in financial districts throughout the UK. Trading floors will be refurbished, with appropriate lighting â gold and crystal chandeliers, disco mirror balls and lots of colour-changing LEDs around the desks conveying the essence of the working conditions of the poor blighters who worked there. âRetiredâ traders will be seen capering at their desks, making âdealsâ â though for the safety of the public, the phones and computers wouldnât actually be connected to anything, obviously. Sticks will be issued with entry tickets.

Mega shopping centres will be re-badged as Zombie Theme Parks. Theyâll be refurbished with flickering fluorescent tubes and those special fittings that switch off one at a time behind you as youâre running down a corridor. Visitors will find their own way into the Centre, usually through an unlocked service door around the back of the building, then have to fend off attacks from killer zombies lying in wait for them in specially zoned areas of the malls. Zombies will be played by out-of-work shop staff, who probably wonât notice ..... (enter cheap shot at minimum-waged staff here)

And in a last-ditch desperate attempt to save Woolworths (once described by Nanci Griffith as smelling like pop corn and chewing gum rubbed around on the bottom of a leather-soled show) the worldâs output of LED lighting is diverted to the production of cheap plastic torches and flashing birthday badges. But itâs a forlorn endeavour and Woolworths will go on to become the latest go-to Experience of the burgeoning High Street Retail Heritage industry.

The important thing to remember, boys and girls, as you wake up each morning with a scream on your lips, is that dinosaurs may be extinct but they still pull in the tourist dollar.

A final thought for you: if you see an impoverished city trader shuffling along the pavement in his threadbare Armani suit, please donât pass by on the other side. Walk up to him, with your hands outstretched, crying: âLOOK! HEREâS ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE BASTARDS WHOâS BROUGHT THIS COUNTRY TO ITS KNEES.â

Happy New Year.