Wednesday, 19 January 2011

Spam emails

From Finance:

Afternoon,

As you are hopefully aware there has been an increase in the amount of VAT we all pay on most goods and services from 17.5 % to 20%.

Couple of points to bear in mind that affect day to day life here.
If setting up a new client you need to select the new VAT rate, same goes for suppliers. Expenses, please remember that all expenses need to be supported by a VAT receipt (if a vatable good or service) and not the credit card slip. We cannot claim the VAT (if applicable) without one. For those managing staff entertaining budgets this is particularly important as you don't want to lose 20% of your budget to the tax man. It's worth noting (and please don't shoot the messenger as these are HMRC rules), receipts for more than £250 need the VAT amount detailed, if it isn't the VAT cannot be claimed. Some retailers etc are good at this however, others are not, so it's worth checking the bill and if the VAT's not detailed request a full VAT receipt.
Any queries please ask.

Thanks
G***

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From the MD:

And more broadly speaking, the Coalition fascists are forcing a rise in all living costs on all of us decent, hard-working families. I am genuinely considering extending my meat-based diet to include Spam as a meal option (it will be like being a permanent guest at B****' house).


Comrade L*****
General Secretary - Politburo

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From B****:

For a while I couldn't afford Spam and had to resort to the Poundland equivalent, Spaz. Fortunately I discovered a hidden job number recently, entitled 'L*****'s portion of pork'. Now I buy Espammé from Waitrose and expense it.

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From Finance:

Don't worry, the eagle eyes of finance spotted this a while ago and have actually been deducting this off of B****' salary.

Friday, 7 January 2011

Greetings from Chicago

So my New Year's Eve went as follows...

A girl that I had met in a bar invited me to Hearts -

'It's the hottest new club in town. We're staying a hotel on Lakeshore, come up to the room and we'll go out with my friends.'

I was expecting a bunch of friendly mid westerners, so imagine my surprise when I opened the door c. 10pm to a wall of smoke, booze, techno music and a guy called brad who had squeezed his 6ft 6in frame into a chalk-stripe ill fitting suit.

'Awfully pleased to make your acquaintance old chap.'

I ventured, a little put off by his pro wrestler stature and scarred face. Always better to ham it up a bit, I find, in these situations.

'Sup. You must be the limey, come on in and met the girls.'

It transpired that the 'girls' were in fact his employees, who he sends to private parties to undress and do spectacular things with water bottles and cucumbers. They were all quite preoccupied with getting ready, but Mishka kindly tried to involve me in proceedings by asking me to check whether her nipples were visible through her top (which didn't need trousers / skirt to go with it apparently). She asked me to let her know should they pop out at all later. She likes to grind, you see. Grinding is the American version of dancing, which I think I unknowingly attempted a few times at Leeds University Coc Soc. A man stealthily approaches a girl on the dance-floor from behind, she then backs into you and put your hand on her thigh. If you move your hand down, they like you, if they move it up, they don't. I pointed out that either way you're copping a feel, which gave them pause for thought. I wasn't a natural, as most of you will now I see dancing as confrontation: a battle of gurning, athleticism and rhythm which requires a face off of some description. Intimacy can only follow when you've vanquished your opponent. I did show them the lawn-mower, sprinkler, shopping trolley, drying your back with a towel, dealing the cards and reversing the truck, but I think the dance-floor is one of those environments that will expose cultural differences rather than reconcile them. Anyway, a good night. Suffice it to say I think I have made some friends for life.

Since then I have been seeing quite a lot of a particular girl who has a dog called Barry. I called him Berry for three days before realizing that was an accent thing. Barry is special because he thinks he is human - i.e. allowed to get into bed with me and lick my face. This takes some getting used to but I had to draw the line when I was woken the other day by a dog's tongue lapping my buttocks. There have been a few epic parties, including an extraordinary night in which we ended up in a millionaire's penthouse. I ran around the place screaming every time I entered a new room, each surpassing the last in terms of opulence and vulgarity. Made friends with a couple of homies who are taking me to a secret Wu Tang Clan gig on Saturday in the South Side. Luckily I'm quite ghetto so I should fit in. In fact I've been practicing my walk with a slightly affected limp by walking around the city listening to Kanye (ChicagoLad). The briefcase doesn't really go with the look but I'm working on it. The most terrifying thing about walking round the tundra that is Chicago is not the biting cold or slippy patches but the random clumps of ice that fall out of the sky - I think it's something to do with air conditioning on the tall buildings. They helpfully warn you with massive signs saying 'Caution! Falling ice.' But they aren't that helpful because ice is invisible against a white sky and I'd rather get hit on the crown than the nose when looking up to watch for it.

There is an extraordinary amount of interest here for the Royal Wedding. So much so that I've decided to capitalize on it and put on a party on the big day with a mate who is a barkeep at a three story arty hotspot called The English. My plan is to position myself as Prince William and audition the part of Kate to girls in the agency. I will give roles to various people within the agency - Archbishop of Canterbury, Page, Flower Girl etc. Only problem is the time difference but I'll see if can shut down the agency for the day. Got to reach for the stars.

Thanks to those of you who are staying in touch - always good to hear from you. What news from London? Is N**** P***** still taken? Is H**** a changed man?

Lots of love

B*****
xoxo

P.S. Work is going well, too.