The Eagle has Landed

So, anyway, the outcome.

I've been putting off this post, just because it isn't pretty. Some of those who may know poor old Max might even have heard a different story to this one. It's not an easy tale to tell.

Guardian Wealth Management. Ferraris and speedboats. Frankfurt.

It's weird you know, I should have seen the signs. It all started with a road trip to Amsterdam. Now amusing as this may sound the grinding poverty of my time in Germany was interspersed with sparkling interludes of barely believable glamour; impressive sounding episodes of sun, sea, surf, sand and celebrity hobnobbing.

Well not interspersed. The only real occasion was the annual company conference in Nice, which was mostly spent dressed in a full suit in a sweltering hotel meeting room, trying to keep my eyes open and wishing I was walking up and down the (not at all sandy) beach staring at topless old ladies. The hotel allowed us to park the company DB9 on the red carpet outside, because it made it appear as if James Bond was staying rather than, in keeping with the reality of the driver's identity, an ex-copper who had got rich pressure selling dodgy pension products.

The high point of that trip for me was spending the entire final evening seeking out and speaking to, variously, a pacifist, a TV body language expert, a polar explorer and of course the wacky memory guy. I'm pretty sure the idea wan't solely to network with the celebrity speakers, but I figured it would make a better story. Plus I really didn't trust myself not grab one of the journalists present by the lapels and scream at them "Don't you realise???? This is all a sham!!! It's a scam!! a scam!! Tell the world!!!"

Amsterdam was not in this league. It was a 4 hour each way trip in the back of an extremely uncomfortable BMW full of cocks, sandwiched by group humiliation for a day by the king cock they had recently put in charge of Europe. What a cock. A very wealthy cock, mind.

When I got back I discovered that my £1000 retainer had now become a measley £600 due to the fact they wanted to recoup still more of their expenses. That photocopier was ruining my life. I called the finance team in disbelief and fury and explained in no uncertain terms what, in an ideal world, they could do with their expenses. I know this sounds a bit OTT, but I was really under rather a lot of pressure at the time. They weren't happy about that. I had to call back and apologise.

The next week King Cock came to visit, and the first thing he did was fire me. He said that it was nothing against me, he knew I was a good guy and was happy to write me a reference, etc etc. When I pointed out to him that that he had never even spoken to me before and I was fully aware that everything he had just said was facile bullshit, he just smiled. He'd probably experienced this before too, although perhaps not expressed with such wit and vim. Well I like to think.

This kind of outcome was becoming something of a habit. And I was running out of leeway....