Why is this drunk old man shouting at me?
There’s a breed of PR folk, nearly all men, who have been doing their thing since the 60s. The 1860s.
They remember the good old days when hacks were available to take dictation over very long lunches at a variety of grand clubs. Back to the office? It’s barely 5pm!
What’s wrong with these young hacks, they wonder. Don’t they know who I am?
No. They do not.
In fact, there is a chance they find you boorish.
A bit too keen to tell a story that goes on for Five Hours about a guy who was City Editor in the 70s. The 1870s.
I sympathise with both sides. To the flaks, I say, bring your game a bit more up to date. Be ambitious. Shoot for 1985.
To the young hacks I say, these fellas really do know stuff. You just have to get to know them well enough to tell them to shut up when they are being boring and bring them back to the thing that might be a story.
And make sure they pay for the drinks. Always.
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