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“Parkinson wants to see you, Mark,” said Mary at reception as I arrived for work on a bright morning in late November. “God,” I thought, “Obviously some disaster has happened and will set the tone in the office for the entire week.” I went up to Graham Parkinson’s office on the top floor (well sixth floor is the top floor in our office) and knocked on the Managing Director’s door. His secretary ushered me in and I faced him at his large desk covered with fabric samples, papers and files. He threw a shirt across to me and said, “You think that looks like part of our Spring men’s collection then?” It was really a rhetorical question as the cheap looking shirt, while being a similar design to the main part of our Spring collection, was a very inferior fabric. “Is someone trying to copy us,” I asked? “No,” he said, ”That is a sample from the first batch from our Thai suppliers. Either they have got the specifications completely wrong or they are trying to screw us and I’m not sure which. The new ranges launch in twelve weeks, they are featured in our catalogues and in our window display material and these stupid cunts have fucked up the order.” My job was marketing, and I was Assistant Marketing Manager for this very large men’s retail organisation in the U.K. We purchased product from all over the Third world for a pittance, hiked the price by 3,000% sold what we …

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