Tuesday, March 29, 2005

In a parallel universe not so far away

I used to write about the Little Publishing Company on the Hill. It’s where I spent nearly four years goofing around with a little gang of twenty something post graduates; Lizard, Ravey Davey, Catherine, Chuckles and Joella. I keep in touch with Chuckles, and Joella although that’s through her blog. Despite the passing years, I’ve learnt that Joella and I still have but one thing in common; we are both utterly indifferent to each others’ interests. She can’t be arsed with football, and I’m not bothered about Women’s issues. It’s probably why we got on. I remember her, the gang, our antics and our traumas with huge fondness. It was nearly ten years ago.

The Little Publishing Company on the Hill was a local company with local people having big international successes. Its success attracted a big ugly Dutch corporate who bought the place out, made its millionaire founder more of a millionaire and rolled in some big ugly corporate executives to run the place. The old directors; chancers, charlatans and lunatics the lot of them, were eventually run out of town. The corporate bled the place dry and closed it down.

The other day I was being harangued by a salesman who was trying to get me to spend £5,000 advertising on a website they hadn’t launched, couldn’t show me and had no marketing materials to support. I Googled my old boss’ name to see if I could find out what she’d up to… and whether she still had translucent skin and wears clashing primary colours in animal prints.

It didn’t take long to find her. She’s started up an event management company with most of the directors from the old charabanc. I looked up their website, and it turns out they’ve moved back into the Offices on the Hill. The circle is complete… perhaps somewhere there’s a next generation Ruffles mucking around writing inappropriate stories about staff members and trying to break email records.


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