Martin Harbottle's Appreciation of Time by Dominic Utton Page B

right now. It seems my scoop has eased the heat on him a little. Sales were up on Sunday, every news channel and Monday paper followed our lead, and for the first time in months, people stopped talking about us as a scandal-hit rag, or a shamed tabloid, or a crumbling empire, and remembered what it is we actually do. And that made everyone happy.
    So Goebbels has gone all sweet for me. It seems I can do no wrong in the misty eyes of the deranged old psychopath. He even wants to take me out to lunch. (I say lunch – there’s unlikely to be any actual eating involved. In the best Fleet Street traditions that men like Goebbels were spawned from, ‘lunch’ means ‘pub’. And only women and children eat in pubs, right?)
    Goebbels taking out a junior showbiz writer for lunch? It’s unprecedented. It’s unheard of. It’s, frankly, unbelievable. It’s about as predictable as a civil war in North Africa, about as rare as a pan-Mediterranean protest. And it’s certainly as exciting as both. (Well, for me, anyway.)
    I’ll let you know what he says. I’ll let you know what comes of it all. But in the meantime, stay tuned – and hey! Don’t get so down on yourself! So my train was nine minutes late home tonight: that’s better than the 18 minutes it was delayed yesterday, right? That’s twice as good.
    Au revoir !
    Dan
    From: [email protected]
    To: [email protected]
    Re: 20.50 Premier Westward Railways train from London Paddington to Oxford, July 27.
    Dear Dan
    Many thanks for your letter and thank you for your encouraging words. Although your service on July 27 was unfortunately a victim of an incident involving the disturbance of a badger sett in the Taplow area, it is reassuring to know that it has not put you off continuing to use Premier Westward.
    Best
    Martin
‌ Letter 18
    From: [email protected]
    To: [email protected]
    Re: 21.18 Premier Westward Railways train from London Paddington to Oxford, August 3. Amount of my day wasted: 14 minutes. Fellow sufferers: Corporate Dungeon Master.
    Dear Martin
    What about you, big man? Are you well? Are you good? (Don’t you just hate it when you ask someone how they are and they reply ‘good’? I’m not asking after your moral health. I don’t care if you’re good or bad. Or even, as Corporate Dungeon Master’s little on-screen alter-ego would appear to be, ‘Chaotic Neutral’. I was enquiring about your physical and mental wellbeing. Are you well? Or unwell?)
    I hope you’re well. Both physically and mentally. I hope you’re in a better state (physically, mentally and most likely morally) than the company you’re supposed to be running, at least.
    As for me, I’m OK, thank you. You know, mustn’t grumble. Work is still going well, at least. I’m still the news desk’s golden child. Did you see the paper on Sunday? Three bylined pieces! (Plus all my usual guff, the stuff that doesn’t get my name attached to it, the titbits and teasers and gossipy asides.) Goebbels is still smiling at me. Creepy though that is.
    And there’s the England match to look forward to. I’ll be working Saturday afternoon of course, but I’ll have the radio on. The first England match of the season. Against the European champions, too. How will our plucky lads fare against the continental pass masters? How will our gritty determination play out against their silky skills? All eyes will be on Jamie Best. All of England will be looking towards the troubled young striker and sometime soft-toy kleptomaniac…
    I, personally, cannot wait. It will be a match to savour, one way or the other. Will you be there? In your box at Wembley, quaffing Chianti and eyeing up the prawn sandwiches? Of course you will. England expects!
    But, you know, it’s not all wine and roses, is it? Nothing ever is. What’s that we were saying about Pyrrhic victories? Work, for example, is going well – but it’s coming at a cost, of course.
    I hate to keep