Trade

Oh there he is with his big glow on the big UK title, over there with the CEO of Nestlé sitting there all shiny bald heads & dandruffed Italian suits.
Fuck! Sidle over, er, sir - he knows me - we made a podcast once, it wasn't that great, the eyes are wary - potential time waster.
"Got 5 for a pod chief?" I ask.
"Er' yes, FT now, have you seen Jofrain, the press officer? He has the schedule ok?"
"Sure thing. Thanks," i say moving off into the pack of hacks standing around with their various devices, hackin...mostly a frumpily dressed buncha freaks who had little understanding of the heavy financial & strategic plays that were their common subjects. It was a fraud really.

Oh & at the end of the lawn the CNN piece with a board member talking about the convergence of food & pharma - that'd be phood - & the likely shareprice effect of a 5bn euro investment in a research institute that may inevitably churn out exactly zero products unless ENORME % points of the population can awake from a nutritional slumber & realise that humble ol food, or better foods, can keep them outta hospitals. & debt.

"Jofrain?"
"Er, ha, yes? Er, Keith, yes, what would you like?"
Gotta love the Swiss. The Swiss PR. Thick, black-framed, DKNY mild prescription glasses; moussed side-part; alabaster, moisturised, acned face; classic, dark grey english wool suit with a thick pin, Nestlé clipboard, pad, pen.
"Can I get 5 with Paul? Got 90 minutes to get a pod up..." Jofrain looks to his folder. "Mmmmm...schedule's loking quite full you know today Keith..." "I have two questions Jofrain...seriously...5 minutes max." I look pleading and desperate & try to throw a little rugged Han Solo-ness in there too, like, 'you can say no Jof but you know, & i know, & Paul knows, that everyone will benefit if we get this thing happening." Even if it's not really true & last time I missed crucial questions due to a lack of research. It's all about the sell. Innit?

Lamely i hold the Marantz podcast recorder above my head in my right hand, admiring its serious professional look. Jofrain smiles & glances at it too. "You have questions?" he asks. "There are many important journalists here today." Incredulous: "What & I'm not?"
Jofrain looks at his schedule again, adjusting his DKNYs a little. "Follow me." "Good lad," I mutter, following, suddenly, desperately, trying to narrow in on some questions that won't bore the CEO of the world's biggest food enterprise...



Comments

  1. Missed an ampersand in the first sentence, son, and another later on. An accomplished food-geek rant. I think you may have invented a genre.

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