My mate Tom lives the life of a 90s PR. Those halcyon days when journalists had time to lunch with you at the restaurant responsible for underwriting your mortgage.
In reality, me and Tom (or Tom and I, as he will no doubt correct me) were just starting out in our PR and marketing careers back then, and all we knew of this glitzy lifestyle was Patsy and Edina’s version.
Still, Tom continues to embrace the Absolutely Fabulous notion that PR is glam. His house is equipped with a mahogany drinks cabinet and he always greets you with a ‘filthy fizz’ in a ridiculous champagne saucer. The fizz is usually accompanied by a new and searing insult.
“Are you really wearing those pedal pushers with those cankles, darling?”; or “What’s with the Croydon facelift?”; or “Did you wake up in 1992 this morning?”