I step out of my Belsize Park apartment at 11.30pm. It’s teeming down. The dappling sound on my umbrella forms a calming hum. My Crombie keeps me warm as there is only a fortnight to Christmas and the breeze is particularly biting. Within seconds of hitting the pavement, the trusty black cab pulls up in front of me. I get in and the driver presents me with an envelope. It has my name on it telling me to open it immediately. It has been closed with a tamper-proof sealant. The cab remains stationary as I examine the contents. Inside is a letter and another envelope. The letter tells me the destination to tell the cabbie. The second unopened envelope has my name on it and tells me to open it once I have alighted the taxi and it has disappeared from view. I tell him the destination. It is somewhere remote about 45 minutes out of the city. I tell him I’ll double the fare if he can get me there by midnight. The cabbie has The Knowledge but even this place is unfamiliar. I plug myself into my Minidisc, close my eyes and wait for the cabbie to tell me we have arrived.

On arriving I sign the Cabcharge with the bonus mentioned. The cab speeds away. I look around and I can’t see a single building. The only thing I can see is the relentless rain hitting the ground and the road I was on leading into a dense forest. I open the envelope. In it is a hand drawn map with directions. Walk 100m down the road from the drop-off point until you reach a crossroads. Turn left and follow that road for 500m passing the fallen oak, then… A bunch of directions and 15 minutes jogging in my Oliver Sweeney’s later, I arrive at an inconspicous gate. I press the 3rd buzzer as the last direction requests. I wait and momentarily the rain abates.

Two flashlights appear in the distance and close in on me. Two security guards armed with Rottweilers approach the gate. Name?

Allen, Russell. They’re expecting me. One security guard reviews the clipboard, nods, the other opens the gate. I walk with them down the path for a minute. I try to make chit-chat but they ignore it. I keep a good distance from the Rotties as they look brutal. We arrive at their little outpost and they point to the modified golf buggy. Drive that to the end of the path and park near the other cars. Enter the open door, go to the first floor and enter the first room on the left marked ‘Ballroom’. They retire to their shed. One of the Rottweilers barks as I get behind the wheel of the cart. I still can’t see where I am going. I am still surrounded by blackness. I follow the path for 5 minutes and there it is. A stately home, mostly in the dark, a few lights are on. Very Wayne Manor-esque in the night I become startled by a huge rumble in the distance. From behind the stately home, a helicopter appears above the roof, ascends further skyward, spins on its axis and flys in the distance.

Am I Going The Right Way, Big Man?

I see the other cars, park up and enter via the open door. There is a shield marking the year 1783. The door was probably worth more than my entire apartment. I wonder who I can fence it too. I walk up the grand staircase. It had 48 stairs. How many buildings require 48 stairs to go up one floor? Old ones I guessed. I finally arrive at my destination. I open the door of the ballroom and about two dozen people are flitting about looking industrious.

Allen! You’re here sooner than we expected. Get that coat off and come into the den. I do exactly as instructed. I skim past bankers all processing spreadsheets and disagreeing about content. I’m shown into the den. In it is a laptop and a light. So, Allen, the Global Head of Healthcare dropped his fuckin computer out of his helicopter. We announce in 6 hours and his entire announcement speech is gone. Call on any of the plebs out there to get the right numbers to you. Come to me if there are any discrepancies. It has to be perfect. Better than perfect. It’s got to sing.

Erm…the whole speech. Can’t we call up an old version on documentum? Doesn’t Atkins normally deal with this?

The VP comes right up to my face and punches me square in the gut. I double over. What the fuck, Allen? Stand firm. We’ve chosen you. The Head never uses Documentum. He’s an arrogant cunt that way. Atkins was fired yesterday. He was making inapporopriate phone calls to his girlfriend about this project. Do you want me to read you the transcripts? The MD likes you and thinks you have some kind of flair. I don’t agree. I fuckin hate you. But I want my bonus. So write the fuckin piece.

As I’m still doubled over slightly, he knuckles the back of my head like a donkey punch. I hate fuckin public school boys. Old Etonians are the lowest of the low. That includes Wills and Harry. And do it quickly, I want to review in two hours. Give it back to you with lots of biro through it, you rewrite, I review again, you finalise and the boss will review over breakfast

I’m in branding. I write for Associates and maybe the odd VP if necessary but this is …

Before I finish the sentence he elbows me in the eye. Fortunately, his suit uses a nice worsted material that slightly cushions the blow but I flinch and grimace. Fuckin write it. If it’ll make you feel better, the boss has approved a bonus if you do a blinder. He walks out of the room and closes the door behind him. I shake off the blow and get to my seat. My head is blank but also travelling at a million miles an hour. Normally at times like this I’d retire to the bathroom, crack one out of the old fella and bingo, it’s time to rock n roll. However, I can’t leave the room. Intense pressure makes me a bit horny, I undo my fly and proceed to crack one out, as I may get caught I cum in about 30 seconds. I catch most of it in my hand. I stagger over to the bookshelf and pick a book that no-one would read. An old volume of ‘A Description of Heliscopes’ by Robert Hooke seems a fine choice. I wipe my hand on a page somewhere towards the end of the book. I stagger over to the bar fridge and pull out 3 cans of Red Bull. I gun them one after the other. I stick my finger into a big baggie and dab twice.

Within an hour I present my draft. I pass a mirror on the way and my shiner is already puffing out good and proper. As the VP reviews I try to chat to some familiar faces. They say ‘Hello’ but they act as if death is around the corner and talking to me is a sure way to accelerate their path. The VP approaches me. Looks like the Head was right. You do have a flair. I’m not changing any of it. Lucky for you cunt, otherwise you’d be stuck in there for a few more hours. … Can you smell cum? Today, was the culmination of 6 months work. 42 people from our bank, another two teams from other banks, the boards of the two merger companies involved and their legal teams. I ensure that everything goes smoothly so I stick around for the press conference. The boss asks me if I’ve been in a fight and tells me to stay out of sight. My piece lasts 6 minutes at the most. All that effort for a little announcement. It makes me think that anyone could have done it but they chose me.

That morning in December, Glaxo Wellcome and Smithkline Beecham officially announced their merger. The merged entity was valued 118billion quid. It became the largest healthcare company in the world and the merger was the largest in UK history. I received a six figure bonus that I mostly spent on holidays, drugs and women. Because of consolidation, approximately 12,000 people worldwide lost their jobs in tranches of 1,000 over the course of the following year. Many more jobs were lost through contractors losing a GSK contract. It is also thought that a bottleneck in drug supply caused by the merger could have contributed to the deaths of thousands. Did I care? Did I fuck…