The Breakfast Show

I glare balefully at my “Breakfast Bundle”. It had seemed such a good idea at eleven thirty last night when I was offered it on arrival, cornflakes and milk, a croissant, an orange juice, perfect, just the thing for a 5:30am start. The reality, however, isn’t quite living up to expectations. A soggy limp piece of pastry about the size of my little finger, no butter just a tiny pot of jam, a plastic tub of unidentifiable cereal with UHT milk, and a small carton of orange juice. The only thing remotely palatable is the orange juice. I crack open the top and take a swig. No, not even the orange juice. I set it down on the side next to the rest of the abandoned “Breakfast Bundle”, take a last glance around the clean but spartan room that reminds me of a Swiss prison cell (no idea why, I’ve never seen a Swiss prison cell), and head for the door, the corridor, the stairs, and finally the cool crisp damp morning air of the car park.

I love very early mornings, although ironically I really hate getting up early, which means I rarely get to see them. There’s a stillness and a sense that you’re all alone and getting a head start on the slumbering world that I find invigorating. I make my way to the fly splattered Fiesta Zetec, plip the central locking, dump my bag in the boot and drop into the driving seat. 30 seconds later I’m nosing out of the car park and urging the sat nav to get a fix so I know which way takes me to the motorway. John Cleese is as sleepy as me so I take a guess and swing right, out onto the main road, and call up all of my trusty Fords rampant 96 horsepowers, I’ll soon find out if I’m wrong. Two minutes later I spot a sign telling me to take the next left for the motorway, at that very moment John Cleese bursts into life “take the left left in 300 yards” he intones. Perhaps he saw the sign too.

I love motorways when they’re quiet, almost as much as I hate them when they’re busy. Hence the five o’clock kick off this morning. The Fiesta is far from the fastest car I’ve ever driven, but it settles into a comfortable 80+mph cruise and is recording 40mpg on the trip computer, figures I’ll hopefully be living with for the next 300 miles and four hours. As the sun rises and the countryside flicks by I ruminate on the past week and the reason for my double length of the country trek.

With the pressures of the new job on both time and energy, to my shame The Boychild hadn’t visited Croker Towers for almost a year. I’d (we’d) been to see him of course, but that’s never the same. So with school holidays looming The Blonde and I had managed to synchronise holidays and the school timetable and arrange to pick him up and run him back for a few days R&R chez moi.

We’d combined the run to get him with a visit to Bristol where we’d stayed in the excellent Bristol Hotel and spent a pleasant day catching up with an old friend of The Blonde for lunch and exploring the dockside. What they’ve created is very impressive, most cities with a river running through talk of regenerated docklands, vibrant cafe culture and living the urban dream, but in Bristol there’s a real sense that they’ve actually achieved it. The Blonde and I liked it there very much. That evening we dined in the excellent restaurant of the hotel, had a good nights sleep and then hit the road again. Boychild duly collected it was a late evening run back home sharing the driving.

Rekindling fatherhood each time The Boychild arrives is never easy. Each visit brings fresh challenges. In the early days he’d awake late at night crying hysterically for his mother until the early hours, refusing to be placated until he wore himself out, only to awake the following morning to a frazzled me without a care in the world. Once we were over that hurdle we went through the needing to be constantly stimulated and entertained stage, every activity spurned within half an hour in a constant quest for fresh endeavours.

Now we’ve hit teenage years he’s better able to keep himself amused, but the new challenge is connecting with him at all, as everything becomes “boring” and all he really wants to do is to immerse himself in Facespace and Mybook. I have to tempt him outside into the fresh air with a combination of blackmail and bribery. The first couple of days he was down it was abundantly clear he wanted to be anywhere but, counting off the hours till he could return home. Heartbreaking. Half way through the week, aided and abetted in no small part by The Blonde and her sons The Two Non Blondes, we had a bit of a breakthrough and fun was clearly seen to be being had. We even coaxed him into a long walk home after a fun afternoon out, a new world record in Boychild mileage.

The Blonde couldn’t make the return trip due to other commitments, hence my late evening run and overnight in the Swiss Travelprison, and my painfully early start.

It was paying off though, fiesty Fiesta hoovering up the motorway network as the traffic slowly begins to build. I just had to get through the madly busy sections before 8am and I’d be home dry. I keep the pressure on, dodging down lane three past dawdling middle lane hoggers, signalling left and cutting back into the empty lane one immediately ahead of them, they never get the message though.

Just as it seems that I’m through the worst and about to enter the last easy couple of hours disaster strikes, an overturned lorry on my side 100 miles hence. Only one lane open according to the traffic news, police on the scene, recovery in progress. Time to start thumbing through the options in my mind, ease off and hope it clears or keep the speed up and hope to get in among the inevitable traffic queue before it gets too long? Stick with the motorway and inevitable delay or try and cut off round hoping the time lost in diversion will be less than the time stuck? I keep the speed up, getting closer and closer, playing exit roulette. Do I swing off at the next one or hope to make it further down the far more direct and faster motorway before taking another exit?

I try and figure exactly where it is and how long the queue is by the traffic reports, one more junction, one more junction. I’m bearing down fast, maybe 30 miles away, when the news comes through, obstruction removed, three lanes open again, traffic moving but still big delays. Good work guys! I stick with it a bit further, services coming up, I must be nearly on it but is it clear yet? The radio has gone very quiet on the subject.

I take the slip road up to the roundabout and off into the services for a comfort stop, a break and a think. I don’t have to rejoin here, I can take a different route off the roundabout and attempt to head round it. My GPS has a route block avoidance program, I can use that. But am I going to drive miles at low speed to miss something that isn’t there? Decisions decisions. As I leave the services I spy a couple of big screens showing the Highways Agencies web site detailing all hold ups. I check the motorway I’m on, no delays. Decision made I’m back in the car, round the roundabout and straight down the sliproad and back up to speed. For about three minutes until it all comes to a complete standstill. Bugger. Wrong choice.

I stop start crawl for forty five minutes, cursing the Highways Agencies and their stupid map all the way. Traffic reports are filtering through again, apparently there’s a hold up about where I am. Really? Eventually I break through and the rest of the trip proves uneventful. I slide the Fiesta back onto the drive next to my pretty little MX5 and climb out. Job done till next time, now for a proper breakfast…

Contestant ready!?

Remember Gladiators? Brilliant series screened in the early ’90s and more recently re-created on Sky although I understand without the same level of success. For those that haven’t seen it, it was an adversarial game show where members of the public went up against The Gladiators in various battles such as trying to swing via ropes from one platform to another whilst the gladiator tried to intercept and then bring them down. At the end of the show their score was transposed into a head start time in a race against a Gladiator around an indoor assault course, finishing with the dreaded Travelator, which was basically an inclined treadmill like a down escalator without steps which they had to run up. This took real determination as it was running at some speed and they had to outpace it to the top, whilst of course being chased (or chasing) a Gladiator.

Well the last six weeks has felt a little like that Travelator as I’ve raced like mad to try and learn the many and manifold procedures and systems without tripping and falling, sliding straight back down to the bottom again. And in truth that I don’t feel like I’m off it yet, but as things start to come together I’m able to run a little less hard and still feel like I’m making progress.

I’ve also managed a few days off for a mini-break with The Blonde. And boy, did I need them. A couple of nights away at a very lovely hotel by the coast was just what was needed to recharge the batteries, fall back and re-group. I didn’t realise just how very tired I was till I stopped (I think even The Blonde was surprised) but I felt absolutely drained. Fortunately the weather was perfect, strong winds and persistent rain curbed even The Blondes penchant for walking miles and miles, substituting instead a session in the wonderful spa facilities where the welcoming embrace of a heated pool and a wonderful jacuzzi helped sooth shattered mind.

We came home refreshed and renewed and I returned to the metaphorical treadmill reinvigorated.

In truth, car sales isn ‘t that hard. The challenge has been learning a completely new job whilst being thrown in at the deep end to just get on with it, which can be a stressful approach. In particular there seems to be no instructional process, it’s simply a case of muddling through and relying on colleagues for help and guidance which has, I fear, been frustrating for all at times.

So how’s it going? Well, I’m shifting a few cars, both new and used. And I think that once I get properly up to speed it’ll be ok. Whether I see myself doing it for another twenty years is another matter, but for the moment it’s a job and it’s an income and right now that’s paramount.

What I do need to try and do however is up the pressure on the writing side of things. And with that in mind I’ve been in touch with The Editor again to push on with the big test review I’m supposed to be writing. Like everything it’s proving not to be without it’s challenges. But that’s life and yet again we muddle through.

Muddling through, it seems to be the watchword for the moment…

Gran Turismo

The lights turn green and I floor it down the empty dual carriageway ahead of me. It’s been a while since I’ve driven anything truly quick I mused as the car lunges off the line to a healthy bark from the engine behind me. German engineering is quite special, and this was a special car, I’d been itching to have a go in it ever since it quietly appeared in part exchange one day.

As the turbo kicks in and the growl turns swiftly from an angry snarl through a lusty roar to a banzai howl I reach forward and nudge the sequential shift semi automatic forward. A brief pause as second gear engages and another jolt of power flings the car forward, engine back in the meat of the turbo boost zone.

Moments later the engine crescendos toward the rev limiter and I dial in third, the rear tyres bite again. I find myself grinning inanely as, barely abated, the eager engine powers its way through third before the speed limit and my necessity for a driving licence see me backing off, clicking into fifth and easing the speed back down.

20 minutes later I’m on the drive at Blonde Towers showing it off to an amused Blonde.

It’s still been a while since I’ve driven anything truly quick, but just for a second there as I clipped 45mph down that dual carriageway the little Smart felt like it was doing 150 at least. An epic car and one that makes me grin every time I drive it (and when I park it sideways on my drive). I’ve managed to commandeer it for three days so far, time to think of another good excuse for the sales manager, see if I can stretch it out to a week.

If ever you get the chance to drive one, do. They really are great fun!

Buried in paperwork

I drive off the forecourt in my brand spanking new company car, head still swimming. Three (official) days in and it’s paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. With no admin staff the sales guys get to do it all, ordering, invoicing, banking, organising work, organising PDI’s, tracking cars in the system, organising finance, organising insurance (necessary to tax the vehicle), organising the tax, organising the warranty, organising the delivery, organising organising organising. By the time each deal is done there’s a paperwork file half an inch thick. And that’s assuming it’s a straightforward deal. Add in the scrappage scheme or mobility, throw in a part exchange (or two!) or a personal plate, and double that file size.

I’m under the wing of Justin, a genuinely nice guy of about my age, and he’s talking me through the process of each stage of each deal he currently has running. And there are over twenty of them at differing stages. Technically he’s a car salesman. In reality he’s a master strategist.

For the first two days it’s just a blur, none of it makes any coherent sense, and I’m starting to wonder whether I’ve not bitten off more than I can chew here. Selling the cars doesn’t frighten me, it’ll take some getting used to but it’s within range. But the paperwork…

By day three I’m starting to recognise vague shapes in the dense fog of admin. Not enough to be clear, but at least the odd familiar landmark. Maybe there’s hope yet. Maybe.

Overall though I’m happy. My first impressions that it’s a friendly place and nice people to work with seem to be ringing true. It’s interesting and challenging, and I get to be around cars all day (the novelty of that will fade in time no doubt).

I also had the deep joy of hearing the Sales Manager take a call from a recruitment agency, telling them that the vacant position had now been filled so sorry, don’t require his services this time. “Yeah, filled by someone you couldn’t even be bothered to reply to” I think to myself, it was the agent that didn’t return my email. “Dipped out there didn’t you Sunshine?”

And the new company car’s pretty cool. A sporty Fiesta Zetec as promised, it’s a mid range five door with most of the important bells and whistles. I’ve got alloy wheels and remote locking, electric windows, MP3 connection, ambient “Submarine” lighting, trip computer and the all important air conditioning. And it drives brilliantly. Up on tiptoes where the Polite Hatchback drove four square on the ground it feels alive and eager, fun to punt along. Best of all of course, it’s free.

Not that I’ve driven it far. Work is ten minutes from home, fifteen if the traffic is heavy. The Blonde and I took it for a bit of a run the first night I had it, doubling the mileage to 40, other than that my short commute is as far as it’s gone.

All in all, life and work are good. As it happens I feel that I’ve landed on my feet with this job really, it’s the right environment for where I’m at personally right now and I hope things will continue to pan out as they are doing.

Just got to get my head around that paperwork…

Hi ho, hi ho…

Nearly five months after being made redundant I’m finally about to be back in the proverbial saddle. The new job starts Monday, but in agreement with the sales manager I’m starting tomorrow (Friday) morning unpaid and getting stuck in.

I’ve spent today getting everything totally up to date at home, and tonight in the company of a few cheeky vodkas and this blog, reading each and every post in order, charting my progress up to this point. It’s been quite a journey so far.

And now it’s time for bed. I’ve got work in the morning!

Glittering prize.

The pendulum of the wall clock in my study swings gently back and forth with mesmerising regularity as the second-hand of my watch sweeps slowly round the dial. This is the bit I hate, its the waiting game again. I’ve done all I can, got to the final interview stage, and now it’s just a case of sitting back and waiting for the opportunity to play my final hand and hope it’s a grand slam.

Monday morning, The Blonde is back at work spreading good and worthy deeds about the populace, and I’m kicking about at home wondering how best to spend my day. I have a moody poke through the job sites but my heart isn’t really in it. I need to know where I stand with this one before I can put my all back into the slog of hunting down and applying for more positions.

I pick through a few favourite web sites distractedly and have a read of a couple of forums. One has a For Sale section and there’s something I spotted a few weeks ago that I’d have snapped up in a heartbeat had I the funds. It’s not cheap, but even if it were I couldn’t buy at the moment, I’ve a complete embargo on on all unnecessary expense and I’ve stuck with it rigidly. Income still isn’t matching outgoings, the last thing I need to do is add to the financial drain. I keep going back and looking at it though, it’s a glittering prize for the moment I regain employment.

The car is washed, the house clean and tidy, the grass cut, and I sit and wonder what to do with my day. A long walk, I feel, may be the answer. Then an afternoon with a good book, in the garden if it warms up a bit.

I close down the Internet, determined not to waste the day staring at the screen, and wander off to burn through another day just waiting…

Once more unto the breach.

Back from our weekend away, a very generous and thoughtful birthday gift from The Blonde, bless her. A trip to Bath, a city of great beauty, warmth, culture and class, much like The Blonde herself in fact. We spent a long lazy lovely day exploring the city, picnicking by the river, taking in the sights and sounds and even a tiny bit of very high level window shopping. I’d have to land one heck of a job before I could see myself returning for the Patek Philippe Calatrava 5296G wrist watch or the Bang and Olufsen Beolab 5 speaker system, but it was nice to dream for a while, and one should never ever say never. I returned replete and rested and ready to launch once more into fray of job searching.

It’s been four months now and as the days begin to shorten with the onset of Autumn and we drift into September I feel a strong sense that I’ve had my lazy summer in the sun and feel a real need to get back into employment and generate some real income. I’m also well aware that I’ve let my eye off the ball over the last week or two. I felt so confident about the Mercedes position. The interview just felt so very positive and being asked to progress to the final stage before they’d even finished interviewing gave me a sense that we were merely into final formalities. I still don’t know whether I got the on line psychometric test so very wrong, or whether in fact it was simply a case of being narrowly pipped to the post. Needless to say my request for feedback has been met with silence, which is disappointing if unsurprising.

And so it’s with all of this in mind that I set forth with renewed vigour in my quest. We’re not beaten yet.

My first focus is of course the Ford position. I liked the set up there very much, and the benefit of locality and therefore avoidance of two hours a day commuting is clearly appealing in terms of quality of life. I’m guessing the Sales Manager should be back in office today, and a call mid morning (I don’t want to leap on him the moment he arrives for work for a variety of obvious reasons) is very much in order.

In the meantime a quick job search throws up a car supermarket sales position (specifically requests previous motor trade experience and not terribly appealing as I’d imagine it’s more about processing units than actual selling) and a local vacancy for a Sales Negotiator for a local estate agency (part of a large chain). Neither job makes my heart zing with joy but this is all about landing an income now, I can think about hunting down something specific once I’m back in the proverbial saddle.

With that firmly in mind I fish out a couple of CV’s, draw the computer keyboard toward me, and set to.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more…

The weekend.

The Journalist has been in touch again with a specific task for me so it looks as though at long last I may actually have a commission other than my usual monthly column! Only 200 words though, it’s a filler for an article, but you know what they say about tiny acorns.

I give the matter some thought over the rest of the morning and then set to, crafting a clever and concise rhetoric. I then leave it for an hour and come back to it, I can always spot where it could be improved when I do this and sure enough I spot a couple of areas in need of tidying. Finally when I feel I’ve nailed it to the very best of my ability I copy it to an email and send it to him.

Half an hour later a reply. He thinks it’s excellent, but unfortunately I’ve completely misinterpreted one single piece of information of the original instruction which makes the whole thing completely redundant. Oops! I re-read his original email, he’s quite right, a classic case of adding two and two together and coming up with five. I write back apologising and promise to re-write it.

I find the writing is a piece of cake, it’s formulating the idea in a (hopefully) interesting and concise way that I struggle with. Staring at a keyboard never helps so I go outside and clean the Polite Hatchback whilst letting ideas tumble through my head. By the time I’ve got as far as cleaning the alloy wheels I’m pretty much there in concept, and as I chamois the paintwork I believe I have the detail.

I put the cleaning gear away and head back to my keyboard. Half an hour later I’ve got it down but as ever it’s about twice as long as it wants to be. I spend the next hour pruning and honing until I’ve shrunk it to the required level without losing the context. I’d like to leave it an hour again at this point but I want to get it back up to them today and time is running out. I’m pretty satisfied with it actually so I copy it to another email and fire it up the line.

Tens minute later a reply, he’s really pleased with it and it’s going in the mag. Phew! Job done. I reply thanking him and letting him know I’m eager to have a go at anything else he has in the future and shut down my PC. No idea what I’ll earn from that, not a lot I suppose, but it doesn’t matter. It’s a job well done and in a timely fashion and it could lead to more things, we shall see.

With the Bank Holiday weekend looming I’ve a date with The Blonde, she’s taking me away as a birthday treat. The Polite Hatchack is cleaned, loaded, and fuelled and I’m good to go. So I’m afraid, dear reader, with The Blog now live there’ll be no updates for a day or two.

But next week we shall hit the ground running together. We’ve Ford to tackle head on and the whole job seeking merry go round to leap aboard again.

In the meantime, have a great weekend!

Vorsprung Durch Email.

My passion for Audi had carried me as far as a contact and an email address. It was time to work that passion up some more. This was going to be no ordinary “I don’t suppose you’d happen to…” email to be met by an equally ordinary “sorry, nothing doing” reply. I’d been given a small lever and by thunder I was going to lean on it, see if I couldn’t prise open a gap big enough to fit into.

Back home I made myself some lunch and mulled over the form the email was to take, working out how best to word and phrase it. I had to avoid looking like I was begging for a job, keep it professional, but it had to be shot through with the message that here was someone with four rings running through him, someone who could take the Audi baton and run with it, someone who they needed every bit as much as I needed them.

I washed up, headed to my study, pulled the keyboard toward me and began to write.

The trick was not to bore the poor woman to tears so that she simply scanned across the rest of the mail after the first couple of sentences, I needed to catch her attention, draw her in.

I started with a quick idea of what I was about, a very brief history of my career summary, then went on to my love of Audi cars, the fact I’d personally chosen them myself for the last ten years, then finished up with the current situation and hopefully imparted the feeling that they could really use a guy like me.

Half an hour later a reply pinged back thanking me for my interest but stating that they were only looking for a salesman for one of their dealerships, and previous motor-trade experience was an essential requirement.

Not good enough.

I bent to my keyboard again, “suggesting”, as politely as possible, that this was bunkum. What they really wanted was someone with a proven track record of successful customer handling and the ability to enthuse about the brand with real belief. It was my last chance and I put my all behind it.

After re-reading and fine tuning until I was happy I’d made my point as nicely yet as strongly and positively as possible I was about to hit send when I noticed that her original email was copied to what I presumed were the sales managers of the groups dealerships. Hmmm… there’s a potential audience here. I pressed “reply to all” instead, lets spread the word.

The email whirred away into the ether and I sat back, arms folded. This was my final shot, all or nothing.

Another thirty minutes passed and then with a soft double tone the reply dropped into my email in box.

You are certainly persistent!
John Finch, Sales Manager at Universal Audi, will invite you to an interview shortly, over to you to convince him, good luck!

Result!!

Now that’s how to sell.

Vorsprung Durch Tequnik.

The weekend rolls around again. The Blonde has taken her boys on some mad activity adventure holiday where they get to go sailing and canoeing, climb hills, ford streams, abseil down cliffs, scramble over rocks, trek through forests and generally get dirty, muddy, bashed, bruised and bloodied. I was invited but I think when I asked how many stars the hotel was The Blonde realised that perhaps it wasn’t quite my thing. (I think they’re probably sleeping in mud huts or something).

So she’s left me to my own devices and headed off for the desolate wilderness of Wales, leaving me to contemplate life, the universe, and everything.

It’s hard to believe we’re halfway through August already and harder still to believe that I’ve been looking for work for a quarter of a year now. The routine of office life seems a distant memory and much as I enjoyed what I did I’m surprised how little I miss it. I’ve a strong sense of “been there, done that now” and I’m happier than I expected to leave it all behind and forge a new path. Just need to try and make a bit more progress on the forging.

Talking of which…

At the end of last week I spotted another job! Fast becoming a rare sighting I leapt on this one immediately. Estate agency again, senior negotiator for a firm in a town an easy half hour from home. I donned the suit and tie, crafted a letter to go with the CV and struck out expectantly.

The shop was located in busy pedestrianised high street and was a bright modern fit-out, plenty of light ash and pastel shades as is the norm these days. I was greeted by a nice lady who happily turned out to be the manager, bingo! I explained the purpose of my visit and handed over the envelope containing the necessary. She seemed happy to chat and we had a brief but positive discussion about my previous employ and the reason for me job seeking. She was appropriately sympathetic at the news of my redundancy and even went so far as to enquire whether I might be available for interview in a couple of days? I assured her I would make myself available any time to suit and we shook hands cordially as I took my leave.

That went well I mused as I walked back through the precinct to the car park where the Polite Hatchback waited. Politely.

As I eased out through the traffic I had an idea. Nearby in this town was the Audi garage where I’d sourced a couple of my company cars in the past. I love Audis, I had four of them in a row over the last ten years, a couple of fast turbocharged A3 hatchbacks, and latterly a beautiful A4 Cabriolet with a few nice toys and finished in a stunning midnight blue metallic. I loved that car and was very sorry to see it go when eventually I was taxed out of it by our good leader “Prudence” Brown. Odd, he seems to have dropped that particular nomenclature of late…

When it was announced I was being made redundant one of the first things I did was write to every Audi dealership within range. The idea of surrounding myself in Vorsprung Durch Tequnik every day was an attractive one, and the idea of another Audi company car hardly a turn off either. Needless to say my enquiries had been met by silence, but I decided it wouldn’t hurt to call in whilst I was in the area, see the chap that sold me my cars, and gently put the feelers out.

I swung onto the forecourt and immediately it brought back memories of happier times. Since I was a schoolboy obsessed with cars I’d always wanted a new registration on the day it came out, I used to look out for them on August 1st (as was the plate year change back then) to see if I could spot any lucky owners. Six years ago when I ordered that cabriolet I fulfilled a lifetimes ambition of my very own convertible (that took some negotiating on its own to get past the board), and I’d decided to delay taking delivery until 1st March for the sake of that excitable car obsessed schoolboy that still lurks within me. The salesman had picked me up in a huge limo like Audi A8 first thing, and by ten o’clock we’d done the handover and I had pulled off the forecourt with the roof down, new plate on the new day. I wonder if any schoolboys noticed it?

Entering the showroom there was no sign of my old friend who’d sold me my dream, and when I asked at reception I was told that he’d retired last year and she went to find someone to look after me. I loitered next to a Meteor Grey metallic Audi TT Roadster in the centre of the showroom. Roof down displaying its soft supple Chennai brown thick stitched Impulse leather I was reminded exactly what it was about Audi that made me go gooey. The shape and form and the sheer attention to detail alights my passion for absolute precision and engineering perfection that also stokes my love of fine Swiss mechanical watches. Even the aroma has a flavour all Audi’s own, and yes, even that is carefully engineered.

A young chap came out and asked if he could help and I explained that sadly I wasn’t there to buy a car today and explained my position. He was most helpful and informed me that, as they are part of a group, recruitment was all dealt with centrally now. I asked if he could furnish me with a name and a contact email address. He disappeared for a moment and came back with a business card for the person in question. Yes, an in! I thanked him profusely, shook his hand, and bid him good day.

Reluctantly tearing myself away from that TT I headed home. I was already formulating in my mind the email I’d write, I was going for this one all guns blazing.