S04E03: Crisis Management
Right, focus. This is one Samsonite wheeled rucksack containing a rapid response escape kit comprising cotton briefs, five of; hiking socks, ten of; two pairs of strong trousers; three polo shirts; one NatWest Bank baseball cap, plus Aviator sunglasses to obscure the face, a wallet containing £500 in cash, a Sketchers sports shoe, two of; one map of the United Kingdom, one AA hotel guide 2022; and a 2003 Nokia phone.
Also in there, a tuck-box laden with enough rations for two people for one day, or one person for two days, or four people for half a day, or Nick Ferrari, between meals. Strange name, because quick he ain't. In it are two tangerines, two mini packs of Mini Cheddars, four Pepperamis, two Blue Ribbon wafers, two packets of cereal, a Frostie / Sugar Puff mix in both, lots of sugar and carbs, high-end crisp bag, family size, Sweet Chilli Pepper and Barbecue, one of each, Honey Roast Crunch, two bags of sugary snacks, Revels, Maltesers, tin of nuts, tin of nuts, two tracker bars, two bottles of Evian, and two packets of breath mints.
Two of everything. It's like the Noah's Ark of snacks. And the Ark, of course, was also an emergency measure to ensure the survival of the human race. Although if they only had two of each animal, you'd get a lot of inbreeding. Maybe that's what a camel is, just a fucked-up horse.
You'll notice the tuck-box doesn't contain anything fresh, which is where tinned food comes into its own, because Spam will keep indefinitely. And if you're hungry and you have an open fire, a Fray Bentos meat pie in a tin is not to be sniffed at, and I do mean that literally. An SAS veteran told me if they have to lie undetected in a ditch, they can't prepare food and they can't get up to go to the toilet, which is why tinned meat pies are a godsend, because you can eat them for a week and you will not go to the toilet.
That's my escape bag packed. Why do I need to leave in a hurry? I don't. But I've learned that a friend of mine has just been cancelled, bringing the total to five this year. And if I ever end up at the crosshairs of the new Vegetarian Stasi, I want to be able to get out of dodge pronto, locked and loaded. Not that I would, as it sounds.
I have a reputation as clean as a hanky dabbed in Dettol. But you just don't know these days. If you're a man who's not in a recognised minority group, twenty percent Scottish doesn't cut it, because they were never colonised. Because they're just hard. Any other minority generally will suffice, a friend of mine did his ancestry and found out he was 10% Albanian, and when he was sacked he argued it was racist, but it wasn't. I think he was just nicking stuff, he worked in Currys, which was the Apple store of its day.
Sorry about the tone of the podcast earlier! I've just had a three-hour nap, a shower, and I am tip-top and ready to go. Just listened back to what I was mumbling about, and a serious point was being made. Very often, these are people who, through no fault of their own, are unused to functioning among ordinary people, and aren't equipped with the skills to rebuild a life away from the gilded world of celebrity. It's like releasing a poodle into the wild.
Sure, it'll hold its own for a while, probably beg for scraps outside an M&S Food Hall, but before long, the bigger, tougher dogs will eat it. And the same applies to broadcasters, once they're shorn of celebrity status, how do they cope as a civilian?
Can you imagine Fiona Bruce pulling cash from a wallet? Could you imagine Lucy Worsley sitting on the pavement in Manchester on a Saturday night? I can't have that happen to me, which is why at the top of this episode you heard me preparing a case of essentials so that at the drop of a hat I can flee knowing I have everything from warm clothes to toiletries, because I forgot to mention I also have a big warm coat, a Canada Goose. And I know the animal rights people will come after me with that, but I agree with killing animals for warmth. That's what they're for, and I think Audible will agree with that. But I'll have to check.
Overkill, you might think so, but I'm a great believer in preparing for the worst. This used to be a strong room that I asked the builders to design and build when I first moved in. I was quite paranoid at the time, I had a minor dispute with some Irish tradesmen over my refusal to pay the full amount they were owed. I said, you agreed to tarmac the whole drive. They said, no, we agreed to go up to the back of the shed.
I said, that's not what we agreed at all and, nothing against you personally, but I won't be paying you for the agreed amount. And I said I would pay them seventy percent of the agreed fee to account for their failure to tarmac around the back, which was what, as I said, we originally agreed.
Also in there, a tuck-box laden with enough rations for two people for one day, or one person for two days, or four people for half a day, or Nick Ferrari, between meals. Strange name, because quick he ain't. In it are two tangerines, two mini packs of Mini Cheddars, four Pepperamis, two Blue Ribbon wafers, two packets of cereal, a Frostie / Sugar Puff mix in both, lots of sugar and carbs, high-end crisp bag, family size, Sweet Chilli Pepper and Barbecue, one of each, Honey Roast Crunch, two bags of sugary snacks, Revels, Maltesers, tin of nuts, tin of nuts, two tracker bars, two bottles of Evian, and two packets of breath mints.
Two of everything. It's like the Noah's Ark of snacks. And the Ark, of course, was also an emergency measure to ensure the survival of the human race. Although if they only had two of each animal, you'd get a lot of inbreeding. Maybe that's what a camel is, just a fucked-up horse.
You'll notice the tuck-box doesn't contain anything fresh, which is where tinned food comes into its own, because Spam will keep indefinitely. And if you're hungry and you have an open fire, a Fray Bentos meat pie in a tin is not to be sniffed at, and I do mean that literally. An SAS veteran told me if they have to lie undetected in a ditch, they can't prepare food and they can't get up to go to the toilet, which is why tinned meat pies are a godsend, because you can eat them for a week and you will not go to the toilet.
That's my escape bag packed. Why do I need to leave in a hurry? I don't. But I've learned that a friend of mine has just been cancelled, bringing the total to five this year. And if I ever end up at the crosshairs of the new Vegetarian Stasi, I want to be able to get out of dodge pronto, locked and loaded. Not that I would, as it sounds.
I have a reputation as clean as a hanky dabbed in Dettol. But you just don't know these days. If you're a man who's not in a recognised minority group, twenty percent Scottish doesn't cut it, because they were never colonised. Because they're just hard. Any other minority generally will suffice, a friend of mine did his ancestry and found out he was 10% Albanian, and when he was sacked he argued it was racist, but it wasn't. I think he was just nicking stuff, he worked in Currys, which was the Apple store of its day.
Right. Erm... What's next? An address book. You can hear the rustle of paper, I'm working off a checklist given to me by a crisis management consultancy who advise clients how to prepare for what they call 'reputational attack', it sounds like a John Grisham book. I'd read that. It should be in here somewhere...
My address book should be in my desk drawer. There it is! Right. Now. The advice from the crisis team is to compile a list of twelve trusted friends, or 'apostles', as they call it, who, like Jesus' colleagues, would deal with any clear and present danger. Of course, the apostles were a first-line defence to neutralise and incapacitate any Jesus-based threat, but even that only works to a point. In the end, the Apostles failed, didn't they? Jesus died in his underpants with a hat on, if we're being honest.
My address book should be in my desk drawer. There it is! Right. Now. The advice from the crisis team is to compile a list of twelve trusted friends, or 'apostles', as they call it, who, like Jesus' colleagues, would deal with any clear and present danger. Of course, the apostles were a first-line defence to neutralise and incapacitate any Jesus-based threat, but even that only works to a point. In the end, the Apostles failed, didn't they? Jesus died in his underpants with a hat on, if we're being honest.
Is this it? This is a user manual for CX-9-2000. I've no idea what this is. Made in Chinese Taipei ... by Manzatron. Absolutely no idea, it doesn't even have any pictures. Might as well bin that, pop it in the fire. Ah, there we are, I've got the address book. Great. I need to whittle down my friends to the top 12 that I can absolutely trust.
I've made a start. So far, I've got Eamon Holmes. And er... that's it. Yes. Yeah, I might come back to that. I'm sorry if I sound a bit discombobulated, it's all very sudden but this is a developing situation with details unconfirmed. From what I can gather, a friend of mine has been accused of sordid activity and has quickly been pilloried by the local community and has already been suspended by his employer. A well-known manufacturer of baked goods, which I won't name, but suffice to say his behaviour was not 'exceedingly good'.
I'm sure it's something and nothing, and and I'm not just saying that because he knows me well and has already texted to say, "I know I can rely on your support, Alan. We've all done things we're not proud of". And I'm sure it wasn't even intended as a threat. I mean, some people just write in block capitals because they don't know how to toggle back to lowercase. My assistant, Lynn, for example, been writing in capitals since 2016 for that very reason.
So, I'm not speaking under any kind of duress. I just happen to think there are question marks over the allegations. I found out the news from a trusted source who happens to be on the WhatsApp group of guys from the local rackets club, we call ourselves the Badmington Bad Boys. More about them later. He simply said, "It is with profound regret that I have to inform you, Gregory Horwich has been arrested following an accusation of sexual misconduct".
And the participants on the chat reacted with a full range of emotions from lols to 'nonce' to well-known emojis, including frozen smile, a single tear, and the sad one, looking down as if to say, "Gregory, Gregory, Gregory, you have let us all down with your sexual misconduct, you silly boy!". But as I say, I was deeply saddened to hear he was being fingered by the law. Unfortunate phrase, because it's not the Gregory I know.
As for the incident, I don't want to wallow in the grubby details, but suffice to say, he runs a scout group, took some lads on a camping weekend, and, well, he was found drunk in a sleeping bag without clothes on. On his own, I should add. Yes, it was a shared tent with a dozen boys, but he was slumped equidistant from the scouts in a foetal position that semi-circled the tent pole, which in a bell tent is probably more accurately described as the central support caber.
His pyjama top was found in the sleeping bag, although his pyjama bottoms were found in a field. He says they must have blown there, but they were folded quite neatly. For all the he-said-she-said, or rather he-said-he-said, because it's scouts and there are no girls allowed, I'm not convinced we should rush to judgement. Yes, he liked to drink. They found two empty bottles of Harvey's Bristol cream clanking around the bottom of his sleeping bag. Still, the evidence is circumstantial, and people shouldn't jump to conclusions.
And, I'm not just saying that because of any veiled threat.
I've made a start. So far, I've got Eamon Holmes. And er... that's it. Yes. Yeah, I might come back to that. I'm sorry if I sound a bit discombobulated, it's all very sudden but this is a developing situation with details unconfirmed. From what I can gather, a friend of mine has been accused of sordid activity and has quickly been pilloried by the local community and has already been suspended by his employer. A well-known manufacturer of baked goods, which I won't name, but suffice to say his behaviour was not 'exceedingly good'.
I'm sure it's something and nothing, and and I'm not just saying that because he knows me well and has already texted to say, "I know I can rely on your support, Alan. We've all done things we're not proud of". And I'm sure it wasn't even intended as a threat. I mean, some people just write in block capitals because they don't know how to toggle back to lowercase. My assistant, Lynn, for example, been writing in capitals since 2016 for that very reason.
So, I'm not speaking under any kind of duress. I just happen to think there are question marks over the allegations. I found out the news from a trusted source who happens to be on the WhatsApp group of guys from the local rackets club, we call ourselves the Badmington Bad Boys. More about them later. He simply said, "It is with profound regret that I have to inform you, Gregory Horwich has been arrested following an accusation of sexual misconduct".
And the participants on the chat reacted with a full range of emotions from lols to 'nonce' to well-known emojis, including frozen smile, a single tear, and the sad one, looking down as if to say, "Gregory, Gregory, Gregory, you have let us all down with your sexual misconduct, you silly boy!". But as I say, I was deeply saddened to hear he was being fingered by the law. Unfortunate phrase, because it's not the Gregory I know.
As for the incident, I don't want to wallow in the grubby details, but suffice to say, he runs a scout group, took some lads on a camping weekend, and, well, he was found drunk in a sleeping bag without clothes on. On his own, I should add. Yes, it was a shared tent with a dozen boys, but he was slumped equidistant from the scouts in a foetal position that semi-circled the tent pole, which in a bell tent is probably more accurately described as the central support caber.
His pyjama top was found in the sleeping bag, although his pyjama bottoms were found in a field. He says they must have blown there, but they were folded quite neatly. For all the he-said-she-said, or rather he-said-he-said, because it's scouts and there are no girls allowed, I'm not convinced we should rush to judgement. Yes, he liked to drink. They found two empty bottles of Harvey's Bristol cream clanking around the bottom of his sleeping bag. Still, the evidence is circumstantial, and people shouldn't jump to conclusions.
And, I'm not just saying that because of any veiled threat.
[baroque background music]
Come one and all to Langley Farm for the return of Norfolk's biggest public fire. Now in its fifth year, the Langley Fire has helped hundreds of East Anglians dispose of unwanted items in a setting that's more forgiving and more fun than a council-run recycling centre.
If you're tired of officious men in high-vis jackets and prefer the company of men in jumpers, simply call or visit the farm shop to arrange your easy-to-book ten-minute slot away from prying eyes. Garden waste, unwanted documents, plastic trash, old meat, sofas or bin bags you don't want to look in. If it can burn, we'll burn it.
Tea and white toast included.
I feel a bit better. I've had something to eat. I've got to be honest, though, the whole thing has... It spooked me. When it happens to someone in your orbit, you do start to fret. And what if the finger's pointed at me? What if I've done something that could be misconstrued? Because cancellation is everywhere. You have to be alive to the prevailing norms, good name for a folk band, if they're all called Norman.
There are things I've done that I wouldn't do anymore. I've wolf-whistled at women, I'm sure I have. In the late '70s, I was driving an MG, I had a velvet jacket. It would have been weird not to wolf-whistle. Anyway, it's all about context. That's what a friend of mine told me, and he used to direct Casualty.
Would I send a kiss to someone I was texting in a business capacity? Again, context. I would do to a florist, male or female. But would I, for example, send a kiss to a franchised Land Rover Jaguar dealer? Well, that would depend. If the dealer perhaps wore slip-ons and a polo neck, yeah, kiss away. But, if he's the type who comes out of the service bay in a boiler suit, then a kiss is ill-advised.
But the modern world is rife, I think, with potential pitfalls. In a professional context, you might find a female colleague attractive, but you have to talk round it. You cannot say, "You look nice in that dress". You can say, "Where did you get that dress? I'm thinking of getting one for my wife". "Where did you get that haircut? I'm thinking of getting one for my wife". I just say, I like your hat or your shoes, if they're normal shoes. If they're a stiletto, I wouldn't say anything.
So, yeah, stick to a hat or shoes, pretty safe. Anything in between is a potential booby trap, which in the old days would be a funny way to describe cleavage. But again, all in the past now, all that fun and games. Career-wise, a misstep can be fatal. No one's saying public figures should be able to behave with impunity, but cut us a bit of slack. We're trying to entertain you!
I mean, can you imagine Sunday night, live at the London Palladium, being presented by Polly Toynbee? The flip side of that is, do I want to see Paddy McGuinness, for example, writing a column in The Guardian about the Covid enquiry? [Yorkshire accent] Covid enquiry! Sorry, I've been drinking because I'm scared. That's good strong wine.
But the modern world is rife, I think, with potential pitfalls. In a professional context, you might find a female colleague attractive, but you have to talk round it. You cannot say, "You look nice in that dress". You can say, "Where did you get that dress? I'm thinking of getting one for my wife". "Where did you get that haircut? I'm thinking of getting one for my wife". I just say, I like your hat or your shoes, if they're normal shoes. If they're a stiletto, I wouldn't say anything.
So, yeah, stick to a hat or shoes, pretty safe. Anything in between is a potential booby trap, which in the old days would be a funny way to describe cleavage. But again, all in the past now, all that fun and games. Career-wise, a misstep can be fatal. No one's saying public figures should be able to behave with impunity, but cut us a bit of slack. We're trying to entertain you!
I mean, can you imagine Sunday night, live at the London Palladium, being presented by Polly Toynbee? The flip side of that is, do I want to see Paddy McGuinness, for example, writing a column in The Guardian about the Covid enquiry? [Yorkshire accent] Covid enquiry! Sorry, I've been drinking because I'm scared. That's good strong wine.
[slightly slurred] You're listen to Audible?
[theme music sting]
Sorry about the tone of the podcast earlier! I've just had a three-hour nap, a shower, and I am tip-top and ready to go. Just listened back to what I was mumbling about, and a serious point was being made. Very often, these are people who, through no fault of their own, are unused to functioning among ordinary people, and aren't equipped with the skills to rebuild a life away from the gilded world of celebrity. It's like releasing a poodle into the wild.
Sure, it'll hold its own for a while, probably beg for scraps outside an M&S Food Hall, but before long, the bigger, tougher dogs will eat it. And the same applies to broadcasters, once they're shorn of celebrity status, how do they cope as a civilian?
Can you imagine Fiona Bruce pulling cash from a wallet? Could you imagine Lucy Worsley sitting on the pavement in Manchester on a Saturday night? I can't have that happen to me, which is why at the top of this episode you heard me preparing a case of essentials so that at the drop of a hat I can flee knowing I have everything from warm clothes to toiletries, because I forgot to mention I also have a big warm coat, a Canada Goose. And I know the animal rights people will come after me with that, but I agree with killing animals for warmth. That's what they're for, and I think Audible will agree with that. But I'll have to check.
Actually, I need my spare wash bag. Where's the... Where's the wash bag? Rosa!
[Rosa, off] "Mister Partridge?".
Rosa, where's my spare wash bag?
"Huh?".
The tartan one.
"Huh?".
The tartan one.
"Ummmm...".
It says, "We Wash You a Happy Hogmanay from all at Baxter's Soup".
"Um, in the bathroom, in the vanity".
Great. And men don't call the base of the unit a vanity, we call them a wash stand or bathroom cabinet.
"Are you going somewhere?".
Hopefully not.
"So why are you packing ruckbag?".
I just want to be ready. If I ever need to... Ruckpack? Ruckbag? It's rucksack or backpack!
"In the Philippines … we would hide ourselves …" (any help deciphering this would be welcome in the comments)
[flatly] Gosh, that's terrible. When you put the case away, can you make sure you push it to the back of the cupboard or the door doesn't close?
"So why are you packing ruckbag?".
I just want to be ready. If I ever need to... Ruckpack? Ruckbag? It's rucksack or backpack!
"In the Philippines … we would hide ourselves …" (any help deciphering this would be welcome in the comments)
[flatly] Gosh, that's terrible. When you put the case away, can you make sure you push it to the back of the cupboard or the door doesn't close?
Rosa's a good little worker, but I do wish she wouldn't chat. I recently saw her looking at photos of her family and made the error of feigning interest only to be subjected to a machine-gunning of basic information about her relatives. And while, of course, I want her to feel welcome and happy here, I cannot be talking to my staff about their family. My assistant suggested I amend Rosa's terms of employment to say no photographs of family to be shown in the house, and simply ask Rosa to reacquaint herself with the documents. So I did, and today she's slightly subdued, which is great.
As for the bag I'm packing, what is it? Well, it's a cancel bag, containing some basic essentials so that in five minutes flat, I can escape the prying eyes of the public and find somewhere to lie low until the initial furore blows over and I can start to rebuild.
[beeps of a keypad door lock]
Overkill, you might think so, but I'm a great believer in preparing for the worst. This used to be a strong room that I asked the builders to design and build when I first moved in. I was quite paranoid at the time, I had a minor dispute with some Irish tradesmen over my refusal to pay the full amount they were owed. I said, you agreed to tarmac the whole drive. They said, no, we agreed to go up to the back of the shed.
I said, that's not what we agreed at all and, nothing against you personally, but I won't be paying you for the agreed amount. And I said I would pay them seventy percent of the agreed fee to account for their failure to tarmac around the back, which was what, as I said, we originally agreed.
But they did take it personally, and as they walked off, one of them said, this isn't the end of this. Or, you know, "Dis is not de end o' dis". I said, do I look like I'm bothered? And I didn't, but I was, I was very bothered. Bothered enough to spend Saturday behind the sofa with a crossword book and some sandwiches. I looked at myself and I thought, you can do better than this!
So I built what some people called a panic room, and believe me, panic is the last word I'd associate with it. As long as you're drilled to drop everything and you know your roots, you just leave what you're doing and calmly file to the hidden door, punch in the code and you're in. So if there is an attack, I can bolt there and hide for several days.
Once you're in, you've got a stack of mags, three beanbags, squash ball for squeezing, and it's got Bluetooth for hooking up your phone, so you can play your music and drown out the sound of them trying to manipulate you into opening the door, you know, threatening to hang your cats.
So I built what some people called a panic room, and believe me, panic is the last word I'd associate with it. As long as you're drilled to drop everything and you know your roots, you just leave what you're doing and calmly file to the hidden door, punch in the code and you're in. So if there is an attack, I can bolt there and hide for several days.
Once you're in, you've got a stack of mags, three beanbags, squash ball for squeezing, and it's got Bluetooth for hooking up your phone, so you can play your music and drown out the sound of them trying to manipulate you into opening the door, you know, threatening to hang your cats.
This is now a boiler room, but this is where we'd have two Tupperware tubs for toilet. That's all you need. Vitamin C tablets to prevent scurvy. Travel Scrabble, Travel Backgammon. Some good chunky books, everything from the D-Day landings to the hunt for Osama bin Laden. There's something for everyone. And then someone told me that my cleaner would need access to the room, meaning the intruders could just wait for Rosa to come and make her open the door.
So, you know, she's not going to stand up against any kind of enhanced interrogation, or big Irish fellas. So, ultimately, my strong room is now decommissioned, and I use it to store summer garden furniture in the winter months, a cardboard box with my granddad's old clothes. Sometimes I come in here, sit in one of the garden chairs, take out my granddad's cap and have a bit of a cry. But anyway, that's the mindset behind the crisis bag.
So, you know, she's not going to stand up against any kind of enhanced interrogation, or big Irish fellas. So, ultimately, my strong room is now decommissioned, and I use it to store summer garden furniture in the winter months, a cardboard box with my granddad's old clothes. Sometimes I come in here, sit in one of the garden chairs, take out my granddad's cap and have a bit of a cry. But anyway, that's the mindset behind the crisis bag.
[theme music sting]
Sometimes all you need is a cup of tea, you know, a couple of biccies, and a bit of a chinwag with a really good lawyer. I already feel better about things because I am prepared. And by the way, everyone in the public eye should have a crisis management plan, a short, medium and long-term strategy to minimise the damage to one's reputation and to gradually de-cancel one's self.
It's a road map by which a cancelled public figure can plot a way back into the public's affection. And I don't think I'm breaking anyone's confidence to say it's been successfully used by celebrities, including Peter Bax-[beep], Mike [beep], the late, great Lady Alice [beep], Sir Richard [beep], and Brian [beep], not the historical one, but the one who was in the television series.
And, of course, Sir Philip Schofield. And it works, for most people. The company I'm working with are the best in the business, certainly in the North Norfolk region. Lazarus Crisis Communications are the backstreet abortionists of professional indiscretion. If you ever make a mistake, you want to get rid of the problem, call Harvey Griggs at Lazarus. Harvey is laser-focused on helping companies and private individuals to clear up if they face public opprobrium.
He personally advised several Post Office executives on how to minimise fallout over the Horizon scandal by advising them to respond to any questions likely to get a meaningful answer by simply saying, "I do not recall". And what that is is a lie that you can't disprove. And I know the guys at the Post Office are delighted because although they are collective liars, they are Teflon-coated, and that's what they wanted.
The guy knows his onions, having been cancelled himself several years ago. A former wealth manager for high net-worth individuals. Love saying that. Very well respected around town, he sadly lost his job after being caught short in the town centre, relieving himself on a wall. That turned out to have been one side of a cenotaph.
He was charged with a public order offence and never worked in private finance again. Instead, he began to devise a point-by-point plan to prevent others, other cancellees, from suffering in the way that he did. In the event of being cancelled, he suggests an action plan for the short, medium and long term.
The first 24-hours are crucial. While some PR experts suggest getting ahead of the story and communicating fast and early, Griggs takes a different view and advises clients to effectively run away, saying they can't throw mud at you if you're not in range. Hard to argue! Which is where the escape bag comes in, grab it and get the hell out of town. I now retain a small holiday rental in Broadstairs where I can lie low.
A costly outlay, but I like to know it's there. I can remain by the coast undetected for up to three weeks. In that time, I'll refrain from shaving, so that eyewitnesses will either resemble a sort of a Captain Birdseye seaman - sorry for saying semen, seafarer - or will report that I just look dishevelled and upset by the allegations, teasing out some much-needed pity.
Stage two is the medium term. For the next three to six months, I'll avoid all media work and instead potter around the seaside town, leading a humble, simple life, as if my media career is the last thing on my mind. My hair will be longer, and if possible, as I say, I'll be bearded, a million miles from the slick media operator people know today, and cutting an altogether more contrite figure. I'll be seen mucking in at a jumble sale or helping to tow someone from a muddy ditch. Small acts of philanthropy that my team will spread via social media.
Over the twelve months, I'll tiptoe back into the public eye and maybe start to guest appear on podcasts where I can bare my soul and show a more sensitive, even humble, side, e.g. Corden. I'll seek to present or produce a documentary tracking my journey of redemption, or I'll ask if I can present Countryfile, because people who present Countryfile usually get a good rap. By all accounts, John Craven can be very tricky, but because he interviews farmers on Sunday nights, people like him.
Before long, I'll have effectively de-cancelled myself and the whole sorry affair will be a thing of the past.
And, of course, Sir Philip Schofield. And it works, for most people. The company I'm working with are the best in the business, certainly in the North Norfolk region. Lazarus Crisis Communications are the backstreet abortionists of professional indiscretion. If you ever make a mistake, you want to get rid of the problem, call Harvey Griggs at Lazarus. Harvey is laser-focused on helping companies and private individuals to clear up if they face public opprobrium.
He personally advised several Post Office executives on how to minimise fallout over the Horizon scandal by advising them to respond to any questions likely to get a meaningful answer by simply saying, "I do not recall". And what that is is a lie that you can't disprove. And I know the guys at the Post Office are delighted because although they are collective liars, they are Teflon-coated, and that's what they wanted.
The guy knows his onions, having been cancelled himself several years ago. A former wealth manager for high net-worth individuals. Love saying that. Very well respected around town, he sadly lost his job after being caught short in the town centre, relieving himself on a wall. That turned out to have been one side of a cenotaph.
He was charged with a public order offence and never worked in private finance again. Instead, he began to devise a point-by-point plan to prevent others, other cancellees, from suffering in the way that he did. In the event of being cancelled, he suggests an action plan for the short, medium and long term.
The first 24-hours are crucial. While some PR experts suggest getting ahead of the story and communicating fast and early, Griggs takes a different view and advises clients to effectively run away, saying they can't throw mud at you if you're not in range. Hard to argue! Which is where the escape bag comes in, grab it and get the hell out of town. I now retain a small holiday rental in Broadstairs where I can lie low.
A costly outlay, but I like to know it's there. I can remain by the coast undetected for up to three weeks. In that time, I'll refrain from shaving, so that eyewitnesses will either resemble a sort of a Captain Birdseye seaman - sorry for saying semen, seafarer - or will report that I just look dishevelled and upset by the allegations, teasing out some much-needed pity.
Stage two is the medium term. For the next three to six months, I'll avoid all media work and instead potter around the seaside town, leading a humble, simple life, as if my media career is the last thing on my mind. My hair will be longer, and if possible, as I say, I'll be bearded, a million miles from the slick media operator people know today, and cutting an altogether more contrite figure. I'll be seen mucking in at a jumble sale or helping to tow someone from a muddy ditch. Small acts of philanthropy that my team will spread via social media.
Over the twelve months, I'll tiptoe back into the public eye and maybe start to guest appear on podcasts where I can bare my soul and show a more sensitive, even humble, side, e.g. Corden. I'll seek to present or produce a documentary tracking my journey of redemption, or I'll ask if I can present Countryfile, because people who present Countryfile usually get a good rap. By all accounts, John Craven can be very tricky, but because he interviews farmers on Sunday nights, people like him.
Before long, I'll have effectively de-cancelled myself and the whole sorry affair will be a thing of the past.
What did my friend do with those scouts? I don't particularly want to know. And and by the way, it's by no means cut and dried. Yes, he acted unwisely, but does that mean he deserves to be crucified? I've been at pains to point out that while he fell below the standards expected from the scouting movement, he's not actually been charged with any offence.
[phone vibrates]
Okay. I've just been told he's been charged with six counts of sexual assault. Well, if that's the case, I wash my hands of him. I want no truck with that at all. That's not clumsy, I mean, if it is clumsy, he must be the clumsiest man who ever lived.
[typing into phone] Gregory, Gregory, Gregory, you have let us all down and our association must draw to a close from here on, silly boy.
[typing into phone] Gregory, Gregory, Gregory, you have let us all down and our association must draw to a close from here on, silly boy.
And if he does want to bring me down by dishing dirt on me, I'll take my chances. In fact, I'll tell you right now, take away his power. He happens to have photographic proof of an error of judgement that I made in 2016 that caused some minor consternation, so I'll just come out and say what it was. It was a stag do for a friend that required attendees to come in fancy dress as a woman. I wasn't aware that it was International Women's Day and I accidentally dressed as a buxom female complete with long blonde wig, high heels and large plastic breasts.
It was a vulgar depiction of womanhood and wrong of me to do that on such a sensitive day in the female calendar. In hindsight, I could have chosen a more tasteful costume while still looking feminine, a smaller B-cup prosthetic bust, perhaps a small necklace and a light cashmere cardigan with blouse. Karen Millen does some very stylish stuff.
I'd probably select a more natural lipstick and just a sensible bob. Thank you for allowing me to say that.
It was a vulgar depiction of womanhood and wrong of me to do that on such a sensitive day in the female calendar. In hindsight, I could have chosen a more tasteful costume while still looking feminine, a smaller B-cup prosthetic bust, perhaps a small necklace and a light cashmere cardigan with blouse. Karen Millen does some very stylish stuff.
I'd probably select a more natural lipstick and just a sensible bob. Thank you for allowing me to say that.
[closing theme music]
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