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Tuesday, 2 August 2011

Ian, Geoff here. It’s in the bag, when you land get your arse over to Heathrow, we’re flying all the way to Grand Cayman and there’s a big pot of gold at the other end with the words “Dollars, Truffles, Fanny” written on the side in great big gold fucking letters. We might even have time to get ourselves barred from the business class lounge again before our flight if you hurry. See you soon mate.

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From: Iain Shaft (
To: Geoff Hunt (

Geoff! Great news, we were getting ready to sell your shares off to the Chinese. So glad I don’t have to now, I know it’s old fashioned but I just don’t trust foreigners with money. Can’t wait to get down to business and start working with you, but more to the point I can’t wait to get involved in a bit of that famous banter. Dad used to tell me what you guys got up to after work when I was a kid, it was kind of his version of a bed time story. Such an inspiration, I wouldn’t be where I am today without it. Danny will pick you up from the airport, you’ll love him, cut from the same cloth as you guys. He just got back from doing a deal in Rio, apparently he went skinny dipping on Copacabana Beach at 4 in the morning, got arrested for taking a shit in a bin. Classic.

See you soon,


Iain Shaft
Shaft Futures
From: Geoff Hunt (
To: Iain Shaft (

Iain, Geoff here. I haven’t got time to fill you in on the details, but me and Swanton need to take up those directorships rather sooner than we had previously planned. It seems the UK is no longer open for business for Geoff and Ian. If we fly over tonight can you start setting things up? And while you’re at it, put a few bottles of Perrier-Jouet on ice and tell your team to take the day off tomorrow, the Shaft boys are having a reunion!

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Ian, Geoff here. I do remember him, Marko I think his name was, looks a bit like a giant plastic mannequin of Ross Kemp that’s melted? That night was both the first and last time I ever saw a man drink 24 cans of Red Bull and then punch himself in the head hard enough to put himself in a coma for three weeks. Top lad. I’ve just spoken to John Holt, apparently the rozzers found a collection of smut on Cleese’s computer that would make Gary Glitter blush. I’m not sure the Lunsbury is safe, apparently that Polish girl on reception got arrested this morning, you know the one you knocked up? She was there that day when I snorted a shot of Bailey’s and started giving out Andy Coulson’s mobile number at the bar, I think they might be trying to put something else together to pin on me. I’m going to get in touch with your namesake and see if I can sort out an exit strategy, I’ll be in touch. Oh, and it sounds like MDMA you bought. Enjoy your flight.

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