Jimon Iberico - Jim's Super Spanish Road Trip

[Jimmy Floyd]

Today I started in some fucking Catalan backwater hotel at 8.30am, with an instant coffee (made by pouring the pellets into existing hot water, apparently that's how they do it over here) and no breakfast because the only things available were coco pops or slimy 'cheese'. Me and the boss visited two customers in the morning. The boss said to me 'Make sure you do all the talking' as despite being a Spanish resident and having worked there on and off for 30 years, he doesn't speak a single word of it. So I began talking and each time I did, the boss would cut me off in his dogshit wide boy English. I have known for a long time that he does not listen to me but now I know that I am not special and he does not listen to anyone, not even his own customers. Little progress was made in either meeting. The boss's brand of east end sales patter has obviously got him so far in life but I am afraid the sun is setting on all that kind of thing, as the looks on our customers' faces foretold. The boss refers to our company's MD as a 'facts and figures man' in a tone that suggests he thinks this is a bad thing.

Next I had to call the day's third customer and tell him we wanted to come three hours earlier than advertised. He said sorry, it's impossible. The boss said 'Insist!' I did not insist, so we stuck to the original time. We then sit outside a pavement café in the middle of Barcelona for two hours, eating squid, until the guy is ready. The squid is 12 euros for six squid, fries and salad - this is not a tourist quarter. The boss goes on to explain to me that he has no real interest in the places he visits, he just wants to make money. 'Everywhere's the same, when you get down to it. I'm no tourist,' he says, which is apposite, because over his left shoulder I can see several spires of the Sagrada Fucking Familia looming over him like some sort of neo-gothic Ctuhlu.

Having seen the third guy, the boss walks out and says 'He's full of shit' (he was not full of shit). The next task, at 3pm, is to drive 300km from the centre of Barcelona all the way across the plains of Aragon to Zaragoza. This is the first time I have been in command of a left hand drive vehicle and driven on the right. A relatively straight road out of the city gives me a quick training course, but then an accident ahead means the satnav turns us around and takes us another way. I am calm about this, as I am about everything. The boss is not. Rapidly I discover he is of the genuine belief that his ten guineas worth of past trips, hazy brandy-stained memories and general bluster outweigh the might of a GPS navigation system operated via satellite, which, we must remember, is a complex technological object that humans have somehow fired into space, without consulting a single leather-jacket wearing salesman.

'This isn't the way!' the boss shouts, over and over again, as I embark on a route which, it turns out, is the way.

En route - which is mostly a two lane motorway involving three hours of overtaking fruit lorries and 'special convoys' while angry Seat drivers seethe into my rear view mirror - a Frenchman rings me. He had rung the office first, of course, but the useless fucks between them could not muster a single word of French and so one of them gave him my mobile number. We pulled over into a truck stop and I took the call. The Frenchman was angry because the useless fucks in the office had, in my absence, got his order wrong. I needed to take down the details and phone the office to set them right. By this point the boss had gone to buy some Haribo and my only pen had already exploded during the flight over and bled blue ink all over my pocket lining. I told the guy I would phone him back in two minutes. I quickly ran into the shop and, switching from French to Spanish, asked the attendant if I could borrow a pen. She pointed at a row of FC Barcelona and Real Madrid souvenir pens available for €2.50 each. I tried to banter her into a cheaper solution but none was forthcoming so I bought the Barça pen (perhaps their cut will get Ansu Fati his new contract) and went to make the rest of the calls.

On the way into Zaragoza I was so tired that I nearly drove into a truck. Once in Zaragoza we had to park in a tiny, unlit underground cavern. I had a meltdown while attempting to miss other cars, the boss basically hauled me out of the driver's seat and parked it himself. We went to reception to check in and he insisted, in English, that both our rooms be front-facing. I told her in Spanish that it didn't matter to me and if she could get one for the old man it might shut him up. She smiled. If I had been straight this could have been a good meet-cute (though I'm too old, fat and unattractive for her). I'm typing this on my phone in a hotel room. I'm meeting the boss for dinner in 30 minutes.

That was the first full day of a 6-day trip.

Travel.

[Pepe]

Sounds like a great time. Kiko was right all along.

[Giggles]

Seeing the world.

[Boydy]

:D

I feel sorry for you but I'm looking forward to the other days' accounts.

Is this the guy who gave you money before?

[Spikey M]

Today I started in some fucking Catalan backwater hotel at 8.30am, with an instant coffee (made by pouring the pellets into existing hot water, apparently that's how they do it over here) and no breakfast because the only things available were coco pops or slimy 'cheese'. Me and the boss visited two customers in the morning. The boss said to me 'Make sure you do all the talking' as despite being a Spanish resident and having worked there on and off for 30 years, he doesn't speak a single word of it. So I began talking and each time I did, the boss would cut me off in his dogshit wide boy English. I have known for a long time that he does not listen to me but now I know that I am not special and he does not listen to anyone, not even his own customers. Little progress was made in either meeting. The boss's brand of east end sales patter has obviously got him so far in life but I am afraid the sun is setting on all that kind of thing, as the looks on our customers' faces foretold. The boss refers to our company's MD as a 'facts and figures man' in a tone that suggests he thinks this is a bad thing.

Next I had to call the day's third customer and tell him we wanted to come three hours earlier than advertised. He said sorry, it's impossible. The boss said 'Insist!' I did not insist, so we stuck to the original time. We then sit outside a pavement café in the middle of Barcelona for two hours, eating squid, until the guy is ready. The squid is 12 euros for six squid, fries and salad - this is not a tourist quarter. The boss goes on to explain to me that he has no real interest in the places he visits, he just wants to make money. 'Everywhere's the same, when you get down to it. I'm no tourist,' he says, which is apposite, because over his left shoulder I can see several spires of the Sagrada Fucking Familia looming over him like some sort of neo-gothic Ctuhlu.

Having seen the third guy, the boss walks out and says 'He's full of shit' (he was not full of shit). The next task, at 3pm, is to drive 300km from the centre of Barcelona all the way across the plains of Aragon to Zaragoza. This is the first time I have been in command of a left hand drive vehicle and driven on the right. A relatively straight road out of the city gives me a quick training course, but then an accident ahead means the satnav turns us around and takes us another way. I am calm about this, as I am about everything. The boss is not. Rapidly I discover he is of the genuine belief that his ten guineas worth of past trips, hazy brandy-stained memories and general bluster outweigh the might of a GPS navigation system operated via satellite, which, we must remember, is a complex technological object that humans have somehow fired into space, without consulting a single leather-jacket wearing salesman.

'This isn't the way!' the boss shouts, over and over again, as I embark on a route which, it turns out, is the way.

En route - which is mostly a two lane motorway involving three hours of overtaking fruit lorries and 'special convoys' while angry Seat drivers seethe into my rear view mirror - a Frenchman rings me. He had rung the office first, of course, but the useless fucks between them could not muster a single word of French and so one of them gave him my mobile number. We pulled over into a truck stop and I took the call. The Frenchman was angry because the useless fucks in the office had, in my absence, got his order wrong. I needed to take down the details and phone the office to set them right. By this point the boss had gone to buy some Haribo and my only pen had already exploded during the flight over and bled blue ink all over my pocket lining. I told the guy I would phone him back in two minutes. I quickly ran into the shop and, switching from French to Spanish, asked the attendant if I could borrow a pen. She pointed at a row of FC Barcelona and Real Madrid souvenir pens available for €2.50 each. I tried to banter her into a cheaper solution but none was forthcoming so I bought the Barça pen (perhaps their cut will get Ansu Fati his new contract) and went to make the rest of the calls.

On the way into Zaragoza I was so tired that I nearly drove into a truck. Once in Zaragoza we had to park in a tiny, unlit underground cavern. I had a meltdown while attempting to miss other cars, the boss basically hauled me out of the driver's seat and parked it himself. We went to reception to check in and he insisted, in English, that both our rooms be front-facing. I told her in Spanish that it didn't matter to me and if she could get one for the old man it might shut him up. She smiled. If I had been straight this could have been a good meet-cute (though I'm too old, fat and unattractive for her). I'm typing this on my phone in a hotel room. I'm meeting the boss for dinner in 30 minutes.

That was the first full day of a 6-day trip.

Travel.

:D

Your bonus (presumably an extended pep-talk whilst sat an an even longer oak table?) had better be worth it?

[Shindig]

One squid at a time. It's not very often the pen becomes the story, too.

[Giggles]

Tomorrow try more cuffawing.

[Danny]

Tomorrow, get a Zaragoza pen.

[Jimmy Floyd]

I'm currently on 30 grand. If they're expecting me to do all this stuff in Paraguay etc that will probably need to treble.

[Pepe]

Your bonus had better be worth it?

He will be allowed to keep the pens.

[Ian]

Excellent. Full update every day and we'll be needing an update on how dinner went too.

This trip sounds like fucking hell if you're with this cunt the whole time.

[Lewis]

The boss said to me 'Make sure you do all the talking' as despite being a Spanish resident and having worked there on and off for 30 years, he doesn't speak a single word of it.

:cool:

[Smjffy]

From 'The Boy Who Was El Rey' to 'Botswana' to 'Travel'.

Jimmy's still got TMD in him. :cool:

[phonics]

Finding out I was on double what Jimmy is on has made me slightly regret quitting the job that made me miserable.

[Shindig]

Being the only fluent multilingual in that place is a bit of a red flag. Get out once your run out of stories, Jim.

[Giggles]

Is there nothing else going that you could get out of that kip to? Or to hold them to ransom at the very least.

[niko_cee]

Jimmy, can you livestream your day tomorrow?

[Sir Andy Mahowry]

Get the boss to sign up here, we need new blood.

[Jimmy Floyd]

Is there nothing else going that you could get out of that kip to? Or to hold them to ransom at the very least.

This is probably a 'test' for the next step up, but if the money's not right I'm done.

As for the boss, oh my lord. If I start speaking, he interrupts "Eh? Eh?" and then starts talking about something else. Then, when out for dinner tonight in some 1 euro per tapas dive, he says "What I've noticed about you is that you don't start conversations". He is the one who gave me money, yes, and also has batted off various attempts to move me in order to keep me working for him, so he must like me, but fucking hell.

[Jimmy Floyd]

Jimmy, can you livestream your day tomorrow?

If you like looking at the back of whichever lorries drive from Zaragoza to Madrid it will be must-watch TV.

[Luca]

That was an entertaining read. What’s the point of the trip, anyways? Showing face after the pandemic? Renegotiating deals?

[Jimmy Floyd]

Going through the motions because the people who run this company are 80+ and believe business can only be done face to face.

[Raoul Duke]

Can almost guarantee the plot twist and the guy speaks fluent Spanish and knows you've been coating him off to the swarthy receptionists for a week

[Kikó]

Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy, make a fucking thread man.

Sounds like an excellent trip. Agree with Pepe and Giggles.

[Adramelch]

which is mostly a two lane motorway involving three hours of overtaking fruit lorries and 'special convoys' while angry Seat drivers seethe into my rear view mirror.

I drove from Barcelona to Madrid in one go a few years back and that part rings so true.

If the day 1 story was that good, I can't wait for the days when you'll be in Andalucia.

[niko_cee]

Can almost guarantee the plot twist and the guy speaks fluent Spanish and knows you've been coating him off to the swarthy receptionists for a week

:D

Definitely thought this too.

[Shindig]

"You do all the talking." Dead giveaway. :D

[Giggles]

The worst part in it all for me is having to go for dinner with him when you've already spent the whole day with him. Even on a horrible work trip like that you need to be able to feel you're done for the day at finishing time.

[Jimmy Floyd]

Yep. There's about 2 hours of switching off time per day if I'm lucky. I spent mine wandering around Zaragoza and writing that paean which was quite cathartic tbh.

Oh yeah, and he also supports the driving Big Three:

- no seatbelt
- drink driving
- talk on phone while driving

He called me a 'wuss' for not wanting to do 2 and 3.

He just told me a story over breakfast: "I had a dream last night that I was having a poo, and pearls started coming out of my bum. Must be wisdom."

[Manc]

Expected in the office today and I've logged on and said it's slipped my mind. "Not to worry". One of my team is a PT/TT and she's fuming having crawled in for a 7am start in total darkness. Back to bed for me.

[Ian]

Don't suppose you could make the most of 1 and engineer a situation where he goes flying through the windscreen?

Also what was for breakfast today?

[Lofty]

This is excellent Jim, though I sympathise with your suffering the prose resulting from it is magnificent. By the end you'll have enough fodder for a Bill Bryson-esque treatise on the life of a travelling salesman in Europe, I'd buy it.

It is shit when you aren't left alone on these things, I had 6 weeks at training school in a hotel with an older bloke who was a nice fella but sometimes after dinner I just wanted to violently masturbate and watch Silent Witness in the aftermath, not have his particular brand of mild racism chirped at me for a further 3 hours before resuming early the next day. You shouldn't have put yourself down regarding the receptionist either, she wasn't your preferred flavour of course but I'm sure to her you seemed quite exotic with your fluent spanish and charm squeaking out from under your harried demeanour.

[Jimmy Floyd]

Breakfast in continental Europe is always the same: shit. They are in so many ways a vastly superior society to us, particularly due to being linguistically far less exposed to the tidal wave of balls that comes over from the United States. However, when it comes to breakfast, anything on a UK breakfast table is superior to anything on a Spanish one. Today I went for dry bread with jamon serrano.

[Baz]

https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BNDAzMTQ1NDcwOV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwMjU0ODUyMjE@._ V1_.jpg

[Ian]

Breakfast in continental Europe is always the same: shit. They are in so many ways a vastly superior society to us, particularly due to being linguistically far less exposed to the tidal wave of balls that comes over from the United States. However, when it comes to breakfast, anything on a UK breakfast table is superior to anything on a Spanish one. Today I went for dry bread with jamon serrano.

I'm surprised this arse you're lumbering with doesn't just go to The Red Lion (or whatever typically-named English pub is nearest) or would the cost of a fry up in such a place cut into his profits?

[Kikó]

Bring on day 2!

[SvN]

He's in Zaragoza, not Benidorm.

[Giggles]

The hot dog sausages for breakfast are always an odd one but about the best option. Not sure if that’s a thing outside the Slav end enough.

[Lofty]

Italian continental breakfast is alright if you aren't afraid of cold cuts. It's no fry up of course. Having seen what a shit show the operation is can you not negotiate more money when you succeed based on performance, sounds like it wouldn't be hard to improve.

More to the point with you language talents are there not cushier, better paid opportunities available? I was always lead to believe that when I was still excellent at languages at school (my Dad was shagging a french woman at the time so that seemingly improved my French by way of osmosis).

[Manc]

Alright, Igor.

[Spikey M]

Yep. There's about 2 hours of switching off time per day if I'm lucky. I spent mine wandering around Zaragoza and writing that paean which was quite cathartic tbh.

Oh yeah, and he also supports the driving Big Three:

- no seatbelt
- drink driving
- talk on phone while driving

He called me a 'wuss' for not wanting to do 2 and 3.

He just told me a story over breakfast: "I had a dream last night that I was having a poo, and pearls started coming out of my bum. Must be wisdom."

You say you want £90k per year for this? I can't help but feel you're still selling yourself short.

He's testing you, right? This can't actually be who he is.

[Yevrah]

Brilliant stuff. :D

I noticed it in the other thread and didn't comment, but do you not get expenses for this? If so, if a pen is needed in the course of business and it's two euros fifty, you buy it.

And you might want to consider switching or find some eligible bachelors. Your language skills will get you everywhere, no matter what you look like.

[Yevrah]

Oh and if you're the type who doesn't like to move jobs, I'd put my money on you running this company one day.

[Jimmy Floyd]

Brilliant stuff. :D

I noticed it in the other thread and didn't comment, but do you not get expenses for this? If so, if a pen is needed in the course of business and it's two euros fifty, you buy it.

And you might want to consider switching or find some eligible bachelors. Your language skills will get you everywhere, no matter what you look like.

I'm carrying a shit ton of petty cash around with me so not out of pocket.

[Ian]

And you might want to consider switching or find some eligible bachelors. Your language skills will get you everywhere, no matter what you look like.

The Relationships thread if Jimmy ends up with a Frenchman. :drool:

[Spikey M]

FRENCHman? How dare you? Jimmy would never.

[Ian]

When he tries to get Jimmy playing French cricket. :drool:

[Alex]

That really is very well written, Jim. I enjoyed that. You should aim for a long-form end product. It's got the makings of a cross between Hemingway and Hunter S. Thompson. Minus the bullfighting and the excessive drug consumption. Sort of a "Fear and Loathing in Continental Europe". :D

I look forward to further instalments!

[Lewis]

https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BNDAzMTQ1NDcwOV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwMjU0ODUyMjE@._ V1_.jpg

Steve Coogan's best character.

[igor_balis]

Alright, Igor.

Yea?

[Jimmy Floyd]

Igor writes about interesting events in an offhand way and gets a load of shit. I write about very mundane events in a certain way and get a thread broken off. Together we could rule the world.

[Boydy]

You should let him move in with you.

https://i2-prod.mylondon.news/incoming/article17090516.ece/ALTERNATES/s615/0_tv_peepshow.jpg

[Spikey M]

:D

[Kikó]

Who invited Phonics?
https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/2020-05/18/15/asset/e28e42b17c90/sub-buzz-10925-1589816616-10.jpg

[Ian]

You should let him move in with you.

https://i2-prod.mylondon.news/incoming/article17090516.ece/ALTERNATES/s615/0_tv_peepshow.jpg

:D

[SvN]

Fuck me Smiffy's just burst in.

https://i.imgur.com/r8er4jF.png

[Luca]

The lack of an update today is worrisome. Jim’s either drifted off to sleep on the road and been squished by a fruit lorry, or he’s mouthed off to another receptionist and this time gotten some poison in his pintxos.

[Jimmy Floyd]

This and all future updates are going to disappoint you because I wrote the first in a state of genuine naive bewonderment, but I guess I owe you one. I'm sorry for mixing my tenses but I'm thumbing this on a phone. The boss said eight thirty 'ishy ishy' for breakfast, I was there at that time and ate my dry bread and ham in silence until he arrived at nine. He sat at the next table to me - 'more space', he said, to push his croissant across the table and not eat it, not even one bite. Why does he do this? Who knows. He has a gut the size of Kent which means that seatbelts are not for him.

We got on the road and the boss was driving, which is great, because although it means we will no longer indicate when we change lanes, it also means he will no longer moan about my 'girly' driving. We got out of Zaragoza and quickly found our way onto some massive hell hole industrial estate. I gave the boss very precise directions but again he insisted on countering them with phrases like 'Nah, this isn't it' and 'I'm sure it was nearer the airport'. Eventually I am proved right and he says 'Told you it was here'. We go in and the guy has no idea who the fuck I am, even though he emails me every week. He knows the boss, of course, because east end charm. To get to the meeting room I have to move a pot plant across to hold a door for them.

The meeting is pointless and we fuck off to the next one. We are early so pull in at a truck stop to wait. For some reason the boss buys a box of grapes, eats two, and then doesn't touch them again (this is a theme in his food consumption). He tells me to call the office to sort something out. The guy in the office answers wearily and basically tells me to fuck off. While this is happening, an enormous truck pulls into the truck stop with a triple-decker transporter full of live, oinking pigs. The driver gets out and leaves his chorizo fodder to squeal in captivity while he has a smoke and, incredibly, also buys a box of grapes. Then it is time for us to go and see the next guy.

We do that and next up is a 300km drive to Madrid, and once again it is my turn to drive. This particular drive takes in some beautiful scenery in Aragon and La Mancha. We stop at another truck stop for lunch. My boss says 'I will never eat tortilla again. Nearly killed me once. Really.' He then orders tortilla for us both, but he doesn't touch his, so I suppose he kept his word. I have coffee and we leave, but he goes to the loo first, which proves a drawn-out affair. He emerges five minutes later saying "I only dropped my phone in the fucking khazi". Luckily, he says, this happened before pooing and not after. Reassured, we hit the road again.

At about 4pm we reached the outskirts of Madrid. It's a funny old place, sitting on a plateau sort of below the surrounding hills, so you can approach from any angle and see the whole city spread out for 50km in front of you. Of course, we are heading for a dogshit Ibis hotel 30km from the city centre. First, we have an appointment with a customer. We turn up at the door and the place is shut. We go next door for a coffee while we wait for them to come back from siesta. We finish the coffee and return to their door. Now they are back but the message comes down from upstairs that our man has no time to see us. Quickly it becomes apparent that we had no appointment at all, and the boss was chancing it. We send some catalogues upstairs and make for our hotel.

Once there, the boss checks in and again asks for a front-facing room. He is told that there are no front-facing rooms, only rooms that face left or right. He asks which side is best. She says there is no difference. I butt in with para mi no importa, los dos son iguales. She is less impressed than the receptionist in Zaragoza. The boss says right, ten minutes and I'll meet you down here for a bottle of wine. This becomes three bottles of wine (I only have about 1/4 of each bottle). Then the boss decides to drive us into Alcalá for dinner. I question this. He says oh, I got breathalysed in Marseille once, it's no big deal.

We eat pork on a roundabout. He tells me about my future. He says listen, you've got it made, at this company. You're a single man. They want you in South America. I say sure, but they'll have to pay me. He says you have to make sure you do it on your terms. I think about the pigs on the back of the lorry, squealing, and I think yeah, my terms.

[Shindig]

Any man that asks you about your future after 3 bottles of wine is probably planning on killing you.

[Kikó]

Pork on a roundabout. Oi oi.

https://api.curtisbrown.co.uk/media/6220/show/square

[Baz]

I quite like this guy.

Does he have a family?

[Jimmy Floyd]

The pig lorry:

https://i.ibb.co/ZcCv9y4/20211019-112110.jpg (https://ibb.co/6D5GQ69)

[Jimmy Floyd]

I quite like this guy.

Does he have a family?

Yep. Married a 16 year old girl when he was 24. Still together 50 years later. Loads of kids/grandkids.

[Ian]

My boss says 'I will never eat tortilla again. Nearly killed me once. Really.' He then orders tortilla for us both

:D

What a closing line too.

[randomlegend]

Boss guy being 74 is quite a surprise.

[Yevrah]

Is he actually in his 70s Jim? If so, why on earth is he still working?

[Yevrah]

Boss guy being 74 is quite a surprise.

Yeah, I had him down as a thirty-eight year old LAD.

Still, makes Jim's prospects even better.

[Jimmy Floyd]

He has given me different ages at different times, but my central estimate is 70-72.

Everyone at this company is either ancient or 30. There are three people aged 80+ who work full time.

[Luca]

We got out of Zaragoza and quickly found our way onto some massive hell hole industrial estate. I gave the boss very precise directions but again he insisted on countering them with phrases like 'Nah, this isn't it' and 'I'm sure it was nearer the airport'. Eventually I am proved right and he says 'Told you it was here'.

The meeting is pointless and we fuck off to the next one. We are early so pull in at a truck stop to wait. For some reason the boss buys a box of grapes, eats two, and then doesn't touch them again (this is a theme in his food consumption).

We stop at another truck stop for lunch. My boss says 'I will never eat tortilla again. Nearly killed me once. Really.' He then orders tortilla for us both, but he doesn't touch his, so I suppose he kept his word.

Once there, the boss checks in and again asks for a front-facing room. He is told that there are no front-facing rooms, only rooms that face left or right. He asks which side is best. She says there is no difference. I butt in with para mi no importa, los dos son iguales. She is less impressed than the receptionist in Zaragoza. The boss says right, ten minutes and I'll meet you down here for a bottle of wine. This becomes three bottles of wine (I only have about 1/4 of each bottle). Then the boss decides to drive us into Alcalá for dinner. I question this. He says oh, I got breathalysed in Marseille once, it's no big deal.

I was reasonably certain before this update that he's got a bizarre sense of humour and made it his mission to toy with you for a laugh all trip. I'm now dead certain.

[Sir Andy Mahowry]

The pig lorry:

https://i.ibb.co/ZcCv9y4/20211019-112110.jpg (https://ibb.co/6D5GQ69)

All that meat :drool:

[Luca]

It also wouldn’t shock me if this was all set up under the guise of testing you out for the South America gig.

[Pepe]

I don't think that kind of person does tests. It is all gut feelings.

[Mike]

As great a read as it is, I’m glad I’m not having to go through it. Good luck Jim.

[Spikey M]

This is nothing compared to the kidnapping experiences he'll have in Bolivia and Colombia. Or his prison sentence for smuggling back 60 kilo's of "table salt" in 8 suitcases.

[Shindig]

Suitcases he's only picking up because his octogenarian boss told him to.

"Relax, I've done this plenty of times. You do all the talking."

[Lofty]

Given the boss's age, girth and apparent diet how concerned are you he will keel over at any moment?

[Jimmy Floyd]

Could easily happen. He breathes like Darth Vader after a cross country race. Parking the car has him panting.

[Lofty]

Explains his disdain for seatbelts.

[Jimmy Floyd]

Today began on the east side of Madrid where we were due to meet Jorge and Jacobo, who together run our third biggest customer here. We turned up at their offices in an estate near the airport to find the office (capacity 50?) completely empty except for Jacobo sitting on his own downstairs and Jorge upstairs.

Now I normally deal with Jorge who is a solid straight-dealing kind of guy, polite and knows what he's doing. Jacobo turns out to be a somewhat different kettle of fish. While Jorge is a mid 40s, pullover-wearing vanilla man, Jacobo is probably 60, has the grey mop, crumpled jacket, shabby shirt, lined face, permanent fag on the go. He has an air of just having been sacked by Osasuna. He greets the boss with a hug, which is the first alarm bell.


'Just a small problem,' says Jacobo, who has a tone of perpetual sarcasm. The small problem turns out to be that they have been taken into receivership. All three of them agree that this won't be an issue, and we go around the corner for coffee (industrial estates in Spain have loads of cafes, restaurants etc). During the conversation Jacobo keeps turning to me and asking for my opinion, which I am really too junior to have. I get the feeling he is trying to get me to blurt something out which will embarrass the boss, so I stay schtum.

Eventually it turns out they are trying to get us to give them a load of stock to keep the business going. This isn't going to happen so we get in the car and leave their empty premises behind. Next stop is Getafe which is basically a giant industrial slum on the south side of Madrid. Here we are to meet Emiliano, our second biggest customer. The boss warns me, as we go in: Emiliano sacked his wife last month. I'm not sure if he means from the business or from wifehood.

As with all these places you just walk into their warehouse and ask the nearest toothless person where the boss man is. He points upstairs and that is where we go. The shop floor is insane, with all kinds of machining and sparks flying in different sections as well as the stock being housed there. Upstairs there is an office where I meet all my counterpart minions. Still no sign of Emiliano. We are shown through to an absurd inner office, which suddenly leaves the warehouse vibe behind and switches to wood panelling, leather furniture, mahogany desk - proper Bond villain. Emiliano has the slaphead geezer look, less like he has been sacked by Osasuna and more like he has been sacked by Cagliari.

Emiliano shows little interest in me, which suits me down to the ground. He shows us around his premises. It seems he has fingers in many pies. Then he says ok, enough, we're going for lunch, but before I can eat, I must drink. We go a few blocks away and go into some weird dive bar. The owner greets him by name. He asks for three small beers and receives three massive ones. He and the boss talk business. Emiliano's English is crap, so my participation is limited to some translation work. The guy puts tapas out but Emiliano and the boss don't touch them, so, despite being starving, I don't touch them either. After two of these beers, Emiliano says right, we're going for paella.

We drive ten minutes through Getafe to a special paella place. It's massive and completely empty. We go to a table at the back. Emiliano and the boss continue their repartie. A goat's cheese salad comes out, and then some croquettes. I explain what an ox is, despite not really knowing. Then the boss goes to the loo. Immediately Emiliano pounces. How old is the boss, he asks. What are his family like. Does he treat you well. I answer true/funny. Emiliano warms to me a bit. Then the boss comes back.

The waitress - petite, I'm guessing escaped Cuban - brings the paella. It is shit. Emiliano admits it. 'Nice bum', says the boss, of the waitress, as she turns away. 'Me too,' says Emiliano. I presume he means he agrees, and not that he also has one. Then he turns to me. Do you have a girlfriend, he asks, or a boyfriend. I say I have neither. Must one comment on a girl's bottom to prove one is straight? Maybe this is hispano life. Then he says that I should come and live in Madrid, as there are many beautiful South American immigrant women. I go along with it.

We drive Emiliano back and take a doggy bag of the remaining oxtail croquettes. We then have a six hour drive in front of us, from Madrid to the south coast. The first three hours are deathly dull and flat. Then it becomes gradually hillier. Then there are these beautiful green mountains, as I know from past visits to Andalucia. We hit Murcia and turn west towards Almeria.

Tonight we are staying at the boss's house. He bought it recently, for 90,000 euros. It is a beautiful three storey pad with a roof terrace, up in the hills. The village is immaculate. Clearly, the boss is going to retire here, or at least die remote working here. The streets are clean. It's gone 8pm. He shows me in. I have a gorgeous bedroom. He warns me not to poo in the upstairs toilet, but pissing is fine. I go downstairs and he pours me a glass of the local rosé.

There's a knock at the door. The boss opens it. 'HALLO!' comes the voice. This is the international clarion call of doom, the one sound you do not want to hear. It is the sound of Germans. These Germans are a boomer couple named Clemens and Renate. They are his new neighbours, and they are meeting him for the very first time. However, being German, it is not a meet and greet that they are interested in. Can ve see your vashing machine, asks Clemens. He is planning to do some of his own plumbing and so wants to see how it's done.

Once the Germans have gone we walk uphill to the only restaurant in town. It is shit. The boss eats prawns and I have ham, egg and chips. I pay with company money. The boss says: Emiliano was a bit fucking rude, wasn't he, asking if you have a girlfriend or a boyfriend. A bit fucking personal, eh? I'm not sure what kind of rude he means. He doesn't know. Nobody knows.

Then we return to the house. The boss offers me a glass of rosé before bed. While we drink it he calls his wife, back in England. His son (my age) is back home after ditching his second wife. He has a kid with each. Clearly this is stressful. They talk for a while. In the end she says how is your colleague finding it. Great, the boss, says. He's ensconced in your chair. I'll never get him out. At the end of the call he says bye, kid. He rings off and says you know, she's not such a bad old bird. Then he shows me a book he has about the mining history of the village. 400 pages of it. Photos from 1896. It's a great book. Well, I say, thank you for the hospitality. It's a pleasure, the boss says.

[Ian]

I preferred the line about explaining what an ox is before it's later clarified that the croquettes were oxtail.

I had this idea that you were trying to think of something to offer up conversationally and, in a panic, ended up on the taxonomy of bovines.

[Sir Andy Mahowry]

The bonding has started.

[Lewis]

The guy puts tapas out but Emiliano and the boss don't touch them, so, despite being starving, I don't touch them either.

Pathetic. No wonder your wages are so shit.

[Lofty]

I'm assuming you arent a 'confirmed bachelor' at your spot, Jim?

[Jimmy Floyd]

I preferred the line about explaining what an ox is before it's later clarified that the croquettes were oxtail.

I had this idea that you were trying to think of something to offer up conversationally and, in a panic, ended up on the taxonomy of bovines.

I twatted that out completely on the hoof (arf) to give you lot something to read at night, I'll admit Chekhov's Ox wasn't masterfully woven in.

[Jimmy Floyd]

I'm assuming you arent a 'confirmed bachelor' at your spot, Jim?

They know fuck all.

[Lofty]

Probably for the best given the medieval approach from the top brass.

[Shindig]

Yeah, this is a trip full of food being untouched. And leaving your place of business to talk about business like it's a front.

[Jimmy Floyd]

Probably for the best given the medieval approach from the top brass.

I don't know this for sure, but I'm probably not someone who comes across as a candidate. I like sport, have a dull tone, can't dance and dress like a square. This helps, and doesn't.

[Boydy]

A good few lols at that. I especially liked the line about Jacobo having "an air of just having been sacked by Osasuna". :D

You really need to write a book or something and stop wasting yourself selling tractor parts and touring Spanish industrial estates.

[Pepe]

Writers who just write are the biggest bores. Let the man live. The banality of his life is what makes his art.

[Shindig]

Yeah, most writers have to seek this stuff out. Jimmy lives it so he can properly vent.

[niko_cee]

I was going to suggest Life of a Salesman, but it's sufficiently hackneyed to have been done already.

La Vente et La Vie

No idea if that works, not to be confused with le vent.

[Manc]

Best installment to date.

[Yevrah]

It sounds like you’re warming to the boss Jim. And 90,000 Euros for a gorgeous three bed? I am so out of England when I retire.

[Spikey M]

This is what the Peep Show episode would have been if Mark didn't get the shits.

[John Arne]

Plot twist... Jimmy is the boss.

[Jimmy Floyd]

The fucking church bell woke me. This is the only day we started where we'd finish. The task was to visit our biggest customer. The boss squeezed the car out of the village and we headed for the hills. First we had to stop off in some other village for the boss to book his medical for a Spanish driving licence (he's old enough to need this). The sign said they are only open on Mondays and Wednesdays. He swore and said the fucking Spanish invented fucking red tape.

We went to a place called Olula del Rio. This is a one horse town, and that horse is the marble industry. There used to be 130 marble mines in the locale but Chinese intervention has reduced this to just eight. Still, mined marble is piled up in the valleys to be pulverised or taken off to port in lorries as marble dust. Everyone works in marble, whether directly, or, in the case of our biggest customer, providing parts for their machines.

Our customer is called Antonio. The boss says that Antonio is his great friend. When we arrive, I find this hard to believe, because the boss and Antonio find it impossible to communicate. Quickly I realise that my role today will be as a simultaneous translator. This might sound easy to those who don't know languages but believe me, it is fucking hard. If I don't spit something out quick enough the boss says FUCKING TRANSLATE WILL YOU.

We meet the rest of the company. There is his son, Antonio jr, who is, and I hate to say this, fucking useless, but a bit, well, yeah. There's Antonio sr's sister, who is a lesbian, and has a woman partner. She does not live with her partner, because that sort of thing is frowned upon down in these parts. So she 'sees' her partner, but lives, into her 50s now, with her parents.

Then there is a Dutch guy, who, like most Dutch guys, is a full of himself prick. Me, the boss, Antonio sr and the Dutch guy have a two hour meeting. This is productive but strange, as me and the Dutch guy take it in turns to act as translators between the big men, and are constantly one-upping and checking each other's translation. What a Dutchman is doing out here I have no idea, but there we are. By the end of the meeting, we have a soft agreement for an extra €30k of annual business, but my brain is frazzled.

After that it's lunchtime. The boss and I go, as do Antonio sr, Antonio jr, the Dutchman, and some fucking random English guy called Brian. Even now I don't know who the fuck Brian is. He came out of the lockup opposite and seemed to know our business. The old song Tim Vine used to do popped into my head: when you have lunch with your boss, everything's fine. When you have lunch with your customer, you buy him some wine. When Brian comes for lunch, alarm bells, alarm bells, alarm bells.

When we sat down, I became intensely anxious that I had sat in the wrong place, between Antonio sr and Brian. There was no real basis for this anxiety, it's just how I am. Still I was translating, constantly, or just conversing in Spanish with the Antonios or the Dutchman. My brain wanted to pack in. I have a bit of a problem with prolonged socialising with loads of people. In small groups I can go forever, but when there's loads of surrounding noise my brain wants to power off. Maybe it's my personal form of autism (we all have one). We ate clams, prawns, tuna, pork and black pudding.

By the end the Dutchman had started patronising me, and Brian was acting like I wasn't there. The only one I liked was Antonio jr, who was probably about 28-30 so basically in my age bracket. When Antonio sr went for a fag at the end, Antonio jr said to me: I wish my dad wouldn't chain smoke, I'm worried about him.

We gave Brian a lift back. All the way, he and the boss were talking in that way that British expats always talk. You know, just naming places. Have you been down to Mojacar? Yes, I know a guy there, Steven, he runs a bar and grill. It's just past La Bella Vista. La Bella Vista? Is that better than the place in Antas? Yeah, but it's not a patch on the bar in Las Aguilas where old Jerry Andrews drinks. If Franco was around now he would undoubtedly be experimenting with chemical weapons that would only gas the English. He could spray the fucker all the way down the Costa Calida in October and humanity would lose nothing. You could call it, I don't know, Sunburnika.

We get back to the boss's house and I'm working until 6.30 writing the preliminary report from the whole trip - by hand. Do they give me a laptop? Do they fuck. The boss helps me by belting out often contradictory commands in east end English. 'You'll have to tart this up on the page', he says. Little does he know. At one point I stop him. 50-70k of additional business, I say? Antonio only agreed to 30k. Just fucking write 50-70k, yells the boss. It's the only time he's got really mardy on the whole trip, and it's to protect his own lying and cheating.

Afterwards, conversation turns again to my future. He starts doing his mentor bit. He tells me all the pitfalls and sharks who will stand in my way. He says you're intelligent, you have a good personality. Your problem is you're not loud or outgoing enough. I know, I say. I'll just have to try doing it my way. What's your greatest fear, he says. Rejection, I say (because it is). He says you're in the wrong fucking job, then. I say I know I am.

[Shindig]

Soon all those lies will be yours.

[Ian]

What's your greatest fear, he says. Rejection, I say (because it is). He says you're in the wrong fucking job, then. I say I know I am.

:(

I probably share your 'personal form of autism' though.

[Kikó]

Brilliant, especially sunburnika.

[Lofty]

Rejection is quite a common fear, people just mask it. My grandad gave me that advice when I was a kid, most people aren't really confident they just wear a mask and pretend they are. It was quite the revelation coming from him, an ex pro footballer of high regard locally. Unfortunately despite it sounding like good advice I never really applied it as much as I should.

To quote Mark Corrigan 'The world is just people going into rooms and saying things.'

[Jimmy Floyd]

Without wishing to be a tease, there is going to be one final chapter in a couple of days (I fly back tonight) which you will not fucking believe. Stretching firmly into Igor territory, without the sex or debauchery.

[Kikó]

What a teaaer 🤤

[Shindig]

Jimmy is now more tractor than man.

[Lofty]

The boss could speak spanish all along.

[Boydy]

Boss has a secret Spanish family.

[randomlegend]

Boss man is Spanish

[randomlegend]

And gay.

[Spikey M]

Boss Man is just an idiot that managed to fail upwards because he knows the right people. He's Dido Harding.

[Shindig]

The real South America was the meals we left along the way.

[hfswjyr]

The Boss is dead isn't he?

[Pepe]

The oxtails came from an actual ox.

[igor_balis]

Boss man is Spanish

Ramón Trajillo, Los Gran Boss Man

[Jimmy Floyd]

The boss is grand. Just watched him blag us into the lounge at Barcelona airport.

The final instalment takes place mostly in the UK and is probably the most absurd thing that has ever happened to me.

[Ian]

The real South America was the meals we left along the way.

:D

[Jimmy Floyd]

The boss did a corking one of those today. Went up to a buffet thing where you take your own food, took a sardine wrap thing, brought it back to the table and said immediately: nah, don't like those, before pushing it aside.

It's a real talent.

[Lewis]

Without wishing to be a tease, there is going to be one final chapter in a couple of days (I fly back tonight) which you will not fucking believe. Stretching firmly into Igor territory, without the sex or debauchery.

He's been a lurker since the Old Board.

[Shindig]

"Harold Bishop, in the flesh."

[Lofty]

Did you shit in his upstairs toilet Jim?

[randomlegend]

He upper deckered him.

[Jimmy Floyd]

Did you shit in his upstairs toilet Jim?

Yep. Took the seat off first.

[Panda Bear]

HURRY UP JIMMY BUT MAKE SURE IT'S PERFECT

s

[Jimmy Floyd]

I'll try, but probably tomorrow. It's only just finished happening.

[Giggles]

Are you just out of the saddle?

[Boydy]

"Without wishing to be a tease..."

Proceeds to tease us for the rest of the day.

:moop:

[Giggles]

In fairness he did say in a couple of days.

[Shindig]

Do you have a long weekend to recover or back in on Monday?

[Ian]

"Without wishing to be a tease..."

Proceeds to tease us for the rest of the day.

:moop:

When I saw him as last poster earlier I got all excited but nothing.

A tease indeed.

[Spikey M]

Stretching firmly into Igor territory, without the sex or debauchery.

Both of those statements cannot be true at the same time, so I'm calling bullshit.

[Jimmy Floyd]

Are you just out of the saddle?

I got in at 21.30 tonight. Drove 389 km from Valencia to Barcelona this morning, then got a flight.

[Spikey M]

Whilst driving in your exhausted state did you "smash in" a single mother then flee the scene before her raging son could get his hands on you? Is that the Igor link?

[Shindig]

He started an album club with his boss.

[Giggles]

He’d have befriended the son and ended up on his table quiz team later that evening if that was the case.

[Adramelch]

As it turns out, that one client was indeed just sacked by Osasuna and they gave Jimmy the job.

[Jimmy Floyd]

As Friday was going along, I worried that I would have no fifth and final instalment with which to complete this thread. You see, things were still happening, but it was sort of a humdrum day. We headed up the coast from the Andalucian hills, first to Murcia, then past Alicante, and finally up to Valencia. We arrived at our next customer, which was the only really tough meeting we had. We were received warmly by the owner's niece, who had a kind of surfer girl vibe going on. As the boss said later, "she really rocked [his] boat". Then the owner himself, Juanjo, arrived, and Juanjo was not in a good mood. All our propositions to increase business were met by a garbled nononononono and then furious rants directed at me (the Spanish speaker) about why it wasn't going to happen.


I'm pretty good at Spanish, especially for an English person who has never lived there, but I am not native level and my weakness is this kind of 100mph ranting from older men with deep voices and accents, in this case the Valencian accent. Think a Spanish visitor talking to some bloke on an industrial estate in Walsall. Anyway, we closed the meeting, and then we went for lunch. Lunch was paella, by a street the best I have ever had. Juanjo's mood had turned jovial by this point, especially when the boss told him he was paying.


I should break off at this point to describe the way the boss talks to Spanish people, when I'm not translating. Not to put too fine a point on it, he goes full Schteve McClaren, and adopts a cod accent. The patented phrase "I theenk, I theenk" goes on the end of every sentence. Word order goes out the window. "This would be good for you" becomes "For you, thees ees gooood, yes?" Anyway, I digress.


We pack up there and head to the next place. They love me and keep asking how I'm so good at Spanish, so it's a real ego-tickler. We get to the hotel and it's absolutely pissing with rain. There is what looks like a paddle ball tournament going on in town, so the lobby is full of fit birds (for the boss's enjoyment) and boys (for mine). We have a couple of drinks and then the boss goes to bed. I stay up for a sandwich, but with the week nearly done, my energy completely spent, and only a yomp up to Barcelona airport on the agenda for Saturday, it's soon time to hit the sack. I get to my room and the phone clock says 22.06 (for some reason I remember this really clearly). My head hits the pillow and it's lights out.


This turns out to be a terrible, terrible mistake.


I wake up at seven, look at my phone, and see a missed call from an unknown number at 22.39 the previous night. Then I look at my whatsapp. 10 unread messages. Nothing unusual. Then I notice they are all from my mum, at 2am.


To cut a long story short, at 22.45 Spanish time (21.45 English time) on Friday night, Surrey Police smashed my front door down with a sledgehammer.

The sequence of events goes like this. At 6.30am on Sunday morning, I had had a company-paid for taxi come to my place to pick me up. As a result, my car remained in its usual place near my front door for the duration. This, by Thursday, had made one of my neighbours impossibly anxious. You see, this neighbour - a woman who lives across from me, and with whom I am on nodding and smiling terms but no more - is, it turns out, an incredibly keen tracker of my movements. She sees me through my kitchen window, and she hadn't seen me for days. She knows, she says, that when the car is here, I'm here - and when the car is gone, I'm gone. Largely she is correct in this assessment, but NOT when I am on a business trip.

She comes across and looks around the edge of the property. I live in a block of 4 flats, two ground floor and two first floor. I'm on the first floor, and I have a small outdoor patio/terrace which has doors and faces the kitchen. She sees - and this, in the rush for my 6.30am taxi on Sunday, was my fatal error - that I have left one of the kitchen windows open. This is not 'open' in a way that would be a security risk, as they don't open more than an inch or so, but the window is very slightly ajar. She crunches the numbers in her head. Window ajar, car hasn't moved for five days, I haven't seen him for five days. There is only one possible explanation: he is dead inside the flat.

She phones the police (I am not sure at what point this happened or how quickly they responded). SIX officers attend (bear in mind that normally you can't even get one of the buggers to respond to an actual crime). At this point things become fuzzy. I think it is the police who phone me. I am asleep in Valencia, so don't pick up. That's all there is - one missed call. There is a six minute gap between me missing the call, and the sledgehammer smashing my front door down.

The door has (had) a strong outer frame and then double glazing throughout the middle. They went straight through the glass, went upstairs, and found nothing but four empty rooms, a bit of unopened post, and some questionable taste in underwear hanging on my drying rack. Then they fucked off, leaving only a compliments slip (really) and about 2x2m of broken glass behind them. At some point during the night, they tracked down my old man and he confirmed where I was.

I then woke up in Valencia to find a whatsapp photo showing that my front door had been boarded up by a rapid secure company.

I phoned the people who boarded it up and they said well, we can take the board away, but there will be a charge. Then I phoned the police. I gave her the reference number and asked her what they were going to do about it. She gave me an email address for someone who does insurance at the police, but other than that I'm on my own. Ta love.

I then had to drive 389km to Barcelona, and get a flight back to London, with the boss (who found it a hoot for the 5 seconds he actually listened), sick to the fucking stomach.

My old man, being a legend, came over during the day and swept up the worst of the glass. The neighbour who did me in was apparently in tears about it. Her light has been off since I came back, so I haven't gone to see her, but I did buy her a bottle of rioja in duty free. Maybe instead of that I should phone the police and tell them to kick her fucking door down as well.

Amazingly, the lock still works, so I can sleep here tonight, but the back of the door/board is just a mass of broke glass clinging on for dear life. After the mental intensity of this week, this has been what the boss might call "the fucking icing on the fucking cake". You know what, though? It's life. Shit happens.

I get home tonight. I pick up my post. There is a letter from the police. Oh, wow, I think, they've actually written me a letter of apology already, or perhaps with some information about how to make them pay for it.

But no. I look closer, and the letter is not from Surrey Police. It's from Hampshire Police. Notice of intended prosecution. I did 81mph on the motorway ten days ago.

Surrey, Hampshire, Madrid, Barcelona, Andalucia, Aragon. Bring it, all of you. You cannot break me.

[Yevrah]

Fuck.Ing.Hell.

[Lofty]

:D

So when is your next trip to Spain?

[Giggles]

The speeding fine would have tipped me into a rampage.

[Lewis]

As if they do that based on some busybody tipping them off. :cab:

[Lofty]

The best bit is they do that based on some busy body tipping them off, yet my mate had someone attempt to break into his shed 4 days ago and leave their electronic tag behind in the process and the police still haven't bothered to collect it.

[Jimmy Floyd]

The big brain police work involved must have been astonishing. My car was literally sat right there, they could at least have broken into that first, looked at the various docs in there etc etc before the sledgehammer came out.

There seemed to be a presumption that I was definitely dead or at least missing.

[Boydy]

This is what you unfriendly southerners get for not talking to your neighbours.

[Ian]

Six policemen??? If they were all at your flat who was at home beating their wives? Madness.

[Sir Andy Mahowry]

What an ending.

Kiko was right all along.

[hfswjyr]

Superb.

You should go away more often.

[Pepe]

but I did buy her a bottle of rioja in duty free.

Why?

Unless you plan to use it to mash her head in. Then I totally understand.

[Mike]

I had high hopes about the paddle ballers but what an ending!

[Jimmy Floyd]

Why?

Unless you plan to use it to mash her head in. Then I totally understand.

To make her feel better about it, seeing as she was apparently in tears.

Is this how non-boring people live all the time? It's so tiring.

[Giggles]

To make her feel better about it, seeing as she was apparently in tears.

Is this how non-boring people live all the time? It's so tiring.

Make her feel better about it?

[Spikey M]

I'd have bought her a litre of petrol, a box of matches and delivered it through her letterbox.

[Jimmy Floyd]

Well, she was trying to do the right thing, in her head? Maybe I'll just drink it myself.

[Manc]

Phenomenal. Can't wait for the allez allez allez edition.

[Spikey M]

Well, she was trying to do the right thing, in her head? Maybe I'll just drink it myself.

Her intentions were good but unfortunately the outcome was less so. I would knock and thank her for her concern, but the inconvenience of having to replace my front door would probably remove any form of gift from the equation.

Although lessons can be the most valuable gifts, and she may have now learnt to mind her own business.

That said, keep the wine for when your downstairs neighbour has a fall and she ignores his change in schedule, leaving him alone to his fate.

[Lofty]

When Jim comes back from South America he will discover squatters have taken over his flat.

[Shindig]

Curtain twitchers are a menace. Next time add 'I'm on a business trip" to your voicemail, just to be safe. Actually, the way she reacted, she'll never twitch again.

[Jimmy Floyd]

The police made a follow up call and text at just gone 1am this morning asking me to confirm I was safe and well. The text began "Hi Jayden".

Starting to think I have entered some other dimension.

[Kikó]

This business trip was better than I ever imagined. Thanks Jayden blue shirt Floyd.

[Yevrah]

The police made a follow up call and text at just gone 1am this morning asking me to confirm I was safe and well. The text began "Hi Jayden".

Starting to think I have entered some other dimension.

Honestly, what in the actual fuck is going on? I think you may have done.

[Spikey M]

What is your new wage requirement for doing this again Jayden?

[Jimmy Floyd]

The best thing is I don't have any numbers/pay structure on the new gig yet, despite having verbally agreed to it. If the numbers are not to my satisfaction I will (actually) tell them to do one.

[Raoul Duke]

The police made a follow up call and text at just gone 1am this morning asking me to confirm I was safe and well. The text began "Hi Jayden".

Starting to think I have entered some other dimension.

I'm pretty sure this is a scene from an unreleased episode of Lost and you actually died in the plane crash and are in purgatory or something

[Ian]

I look forward to Jayden asking what the new terms actually are for South America and just being told he'll be "looked after" and not to worry about it.

[Giggles]

I suppose if you were lying in a heap you'd be glad she was a nose bag.

[igor_balis]

Outstanding.

[Ian]

It's been excellent and I look forward to the South America series.

[Lofty]

I look forward to Jayden asking what the new terms actually are for South America and just being told he'll be "looked after" and not to worry about it.

Jim Corrigan doesn't need mottos, Ian, he needs figures, data.

[Sir Andy Mahowry]

Jim Corrigan doesn't need mottos, Ian, he needs figures, data.

Jayden Corrigan.

[igor_balis]

I prefer Jayden Floyd as it's the most NFL name I've ever heard. There is an actual Jayden Corrigan though:

https://www.qrl.com.au/remote.axd?https://rugbyimages.statsperform.com/Player%20Bodyshots/114/2021/500057/_CORRIGAN%2CJ%20-%20Northern%20Pride%2C%20bodyshot.png?center=0.5%2 C0.5&preset=player-profile-large

Aussie rugby league player appaz

[Lewis]

'Northern Pride' as well. :happycry:

[Panda Bear]

jayden no

[Panda Bear]

I prefer Jayden Floyd as it's the most NFL name I've ever heard.you didn't hear it from me, but the most NFL name would be DeJayden Floyd Jr

[Ian]

These days I'd switch out that Jr. to III but otherwise you're about right.

[Panda Bear]

These days I'd switch out that Jr. to III but otherwise you're about right.You didn't hear it from us, though. We don't make those sort of comments.

[Jimmy Floyd]

My production company is pleased to announce, coming in December, a Christmas special: Jimbon et Fromage

[Giggles]

I’d say your skin is crawling at the very prospect.

[Shindig]

The height of French cuisine, purchased but not consumed.

[Ian]

:drool:

Christmas is saved.

[Lofty]

Is this a solo trip?

[Jimmy Floyd]

I’d say your skin is crawling at the very prospect.

At least I know how to fill out an expense form now.

[Boydy]

Think of the cheese and wine you can stock up on for Christmas though. :drool:

[Jimmy Floyd]

Is this a solo trip?

Me and the boss again. This time only a one-night stay so real Christmas special vibes.

[Kikó]

Step back Brydon/Coogan. JF is in town. 😎

[Raoul Duke]

Jimbeaujolais?

[Giggles]

He'll land back haw-hee-hawing.