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Saturday 19th August 2000 THE MEETING

1542 Hrs

THE MEETING

Dad should be French. He gives up too easily. He spends too much time feeling sorry for himself, and not enough time doing anything useful. He woke me up early this morning at 10am to tell me that he was calling a critical family meeting this afternoon (secret from Mom of course) at 1 o’clock, because he had something very important to discuss with all of the family. Dad of course didn’t really have the authority to call meetings about my business but I thought I would indulge him; he might surprise me and have something useful to say.

“Last night I learnt new information which caused me to shit my pants”. Well done Dad, what a great way to start a business conference, I should use that line when I’m in Parliament in a few years. He went on to explain to Miller, Clint and Curly what the late Bertie and Antony had told me and him before they killed each other last night (basically that the pub makes fuck all money).

“I’ve got enough dough to keep this place running for roughly a month. If it isn’t making any money by the end of that period, then we’re fucked. We’re gonna lose the business, we’re gonna lose the roof over our heads and I’m gonna lose….well we’re all going to lose our shot at the good life. What I want from you lot are ideas to get the punters and the money rolling in”

I tried to tell Dad that he was worrying for no reason, that I had a Masterplan but he wasn’t having any of it. He said that he wanted us all to go off and have a good, long, hard think. He has called another meeting (yet again he stressed, no word to Mom about it) for 3 o’clock tomorrow, where he wants to hear what we have come up with. He said he will be picking only one idea and then we all must concentrate our combined efforts on it. Well if it makes the Umpa Loompas feel like they are contributing, then I suppose it will make for a happier chocolate factory, but I’m sure everyone will see that I am the big Willy Wonka here!

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