Glitter Balls

Attending this week the Annual Congress of The Glitter, Gaudy Paper and Bauble Manufacturers, I could detect a distinct air of expectancy mingling with the cigar smoke and alcohol fumes. One could almost hear the rubbing of gleeful palms and over-enthusiastic handshaking of the delegates as they busily self-congratulated each other over quotas reached, profits predicted and margins stretched during the run-up to Xmas.

I was due to be the last speaker of the night - the graveyard delegate who would be battling to be heard over the din of smashing glasses and sirens.

Tonight though, was to be different. Tonight, I had been shoved up to the top of the bill due to an unfortunate incident involving my Boss, who was to be the main after-dinner speaker and a small bag of sample baubles which he had accidentally left on the drivers seat of his Porsche earlier that morning.

I decided to throw away my own painstakingly prepared speech, and go for the laughs with an off-the-shoulder, off-the-cuff, straight for the throat address, kindly donated by my now-indisposed CEO. I hadn't had time to read the eight pages, but my colleague told me it was a cracker.

A hand-bell rang, and the Master of Ceremonies raised his white-gloved hand for silence. A small nod from him brought me to the podium to face the motley red faces and varicosed noses of the Captains of the Tinsel Industry.

I was sure I could detect a small ripple of mirth weaving it's way through the front few tables, but put it down to my own paranoid nervousness and dismissed it.

The speech started well; my Boss's undoubted wit shining through, with knowledgeable winks to various Industry Heavyweights, and congratulations to various brown-nosed Sales Reps who had hit their Xmas targets by August. The middle section was hard going, with some serious side-swipes at bitter rivals, and a pointed poke at the Office of Fair Trading for their not-insignificant investigation into the fire hazards of cheap tree decorations, most of which made up the vast profits of our firm.

The final paragraph my Boss had written concerning his wife sleeping with his Junior Partner proved a little more difficult to handle; also the spy cameras he had had installed in his master bedroom, and the very theatrical PowerPoint presentation of the resulting pictures seemed a little harsh for an Xmas speech.

Still, everyone seemed to be laughing.

I, for one, was amazed at the quality one can achieve from such little tiny digital cameras.

Mrs. Mounter from Personnel told me I really should consider waxing though.

Sergei.