Jeff's Nightly Tours
I've thought of a lucrative little earner that will also keep me out of the pubs on those evenings when I'm in Glasgow: tours of our H.Q. at Pacific Quay. It came to me this evening when I found myself walking around the building with my wife's parents. They'd been so keen for a glimpse behind the scenes that they were prepared to venture out on a rainy night and subject themselves to the scrutiny of our security staff. I tell you, it's like down at that reception desk.
It was all going so well until my Father-in-Law was almost squeezed to a pulp by the sliding glass barriers. That only happens when someone tries to exit at the same time as someone else is trying to enter. We've lost some good people that way. No names, but maybe that's why Pudsey has been missing since November.
But it was strange walking around my workplace with family members. They seemed, somehow, out of context. A bit like meeting your parish priest in a night-club...only more unusual. Of course I had to be on my best behaviour, knowing that everything I said and did might form the basis of a lengthy phone conversation with Mrs Z. So I showed them the drama studio, the back of Bryan Burnett's head and pointed out David Robertson in the newsroom. We then retired to the rooftop restaurant for a natter.
It was all very pleasant but as I waved them goodbye I got to thinking about the money-spinning possibilities of these night-time tours. Would anyone be prepared to pay good money to have me guide them around a series of empty offices?
Not for personal gain, you understand, but for Children In Need. Ach, maybe not. I once offered my services as a public speaker on the same basis and had no takers. In fact, I now have to pay people to be allowed to talk to them.
If only Pudsey was still around. He'd have all the answers.
