Follow Geoff on Twitter

Sunday, 21 March 2010

Ian, Geoff here. Just got back from Paris, had a bloody shambles of a weekend, and I do mean in a good way. Marsh got us some tickets for the rugby, so we drove up there in George Bumford's Veyron, sold the tickets for five times what they were worth to some Oxbridge tosswipes on the Champs Elysees and spunked all the euros on ropey hookers, top end blow and enough champagne to drown a giraffe. Top fucking banter mate, you should have seen the look on Cleese's face when me and Bumford whipped out our todgers and doused his feet in hot piss while he was trying to get reception on his iPhone outside Notre Dame. Not to mention the look on that gendarme's face after Bumford broke his nose. Honestly, if you thought Cleese was a racist wait till you go out drinking with George, he makes Bernard Manning look like a Guardian-reading lefty. Speaking of the Guardian, one of their hacks has been sniffing around trying to dig up some dirt on what happened when Shaft went up its own tits last year. Whatever you do, don't tell anyone about that night at the casino. What happened there stays between you, me, and Robert Peston. He's certainly not going to say anything, his career's going down the Gary Glitter if anyone finds out about that midget that ruined him with the strap-on. Anyway I won't be in the office tomorrow because I've got to pick up Bumford's car from the garage, he let me drive on the way back when we got to the Alps and I had a bit of a mishap involving 12 shots of Jagermeister, a hairpin bend and a stray dog. We tried to scrape it all out of the radiator grill but there was just too much. See you on Tuesday.

Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld

Monday, 8 March 2010

Geoff, Ian here.
  Right, David Ballcott asked me to have a word after your little 'performance' down at the Kaufleuten Lounge last night. The staff were threatening to call the police. It cost us a pretty penny to get them to calm down and they'll be cleaning that stuff off the walls for weeks.
  Tony Marsh might be an arse gumming tosser, but the arse he gums is that of your ex-wife (and that is literally true; we all saw his Powerpoint malfunction at the shareholders meeting). You need to take a good firm grip of your balls, along with the front part of your gooch and a bit of cock, stand up straight, drink a good single malt whiskey, possibly a Laphroaig, possibly a Glenfiddich, look yourself square in the face, in a mirror, and get the hell over it.
  Tony may have stolen your wife and posted pictures of him rear-ending her all over the company Bebo account (that'll be Cleese again...). He may have, occasionally, put sleeping pills in the brandy and paid prostitutes to piss on you. Hey, he may even have sometimes tried to push you out of a moving car on the way back from an all day team building exercise in Kent.

But that, my friend, is the Marshster. He isn't going to change for you, or for anyone else. He's a mate, and a bloody good mate at that. So, pack up your fanny in your old kit bag, put your tits back on the hanger, and we'll see you at the Kronenhall at 8.

Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld

Tuesday, 2 March 2010

Ian, Geoff here. No fucking idea what your last email said, my BlackBerry keeps translating everything into German. That prick Cleese dropped it in my pint the other night at the pub after I asked him if his iPhone had an app for grooming 7 year old boys. He didn't manage to bring over any China either, although he did give me this plant food stuff all the kids are using back in Blighty (he'd know wouldn't he...), apparently it's completely legal. All I know is I had a couple of lines and it was the first time in seven years that I've found my wife attractive. Just a shame she left me for that arse gumming tosser Tony Marsh. Mind you I'd been drinking absinthe since breakfast, I couldn't get a hard-on for toffee, tried to shake one out but it was like giving CPR to a baked bean.

Anyway I'm glad you're finally here, it's all go on the AIG-Prudential double ended finance dildo and they want us to act as a middle man. You'll need to use your contacts over in Shanghai to make sure we don't end up bleeding from both holes. Oh and if anyone asks why that Lithuanian cleaner's got a black eye, just tell them she got her head trapped in the lift. She can barely speak a word of English, let alone German, and I made up some bullshit about my Russian mafia contacts who know where her family lives. Honestly, these Eastern Europeans may be cheap but they've got a lot to learn about how a service economy works. Squash on Thursday?

Von meinem drahtlosen BlackBerry®-Handheld gesendet.

Monday, 1 March 2010

Geoff, Ian here,
That Dejan's a good lad. I didn't know you were allowed to carry automatic weapons here, he let me hold it. Well, he made me put it in my bag when the police stopped us. Good lad. The UBS boys were on the plane on the way over, they say when Credit Suisse get here we should be swimming in the white stuff. Apparently they've been paid in truffle oil, sock garters and coke since '08.
I heard Paul Cleese went clean since he was in the slammer? I frankly don't give a shit whether he's fiddling kids or expenses but I do hope he hasn't lost his taste for Chateau Lafite and some frankly appalling racist banter. I've got some more photos hanging around on my hard drive that we can whip out if he's prannying around saying he's off the talcum. I know why Cameron's so fucking eager to get him on side, Cleese has got a video of him dressed up as Thomas the Tank Engine with his todger sellotaped to his wrist, singing along to Keane at the last Bullingdon reunion.
Jenny won't be arriving for a few months. In an... administrative error she thought we were moving to Swaziland, rather than Switzerland and she's shipped the kids and all our stuff over there. I'm getting some shut eye and a bottle of brandy in before the big meet and greet. See you in the A.M.

Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld

Thursday, 18 February 2010

Ian, it's Geoff. I can't pick you up from the airport tomorrow so I'm sending my driver Dejan to come and get you. He's Serbian, there's loads of the fuckers here, the Swiss hate them but Dejan's a top bloke. He's got some cracking stories about what he used to get up to in the 90s, he'll get you up to the office before you can say "wanted in The Hague". You're arriving at a good time actually, the city council's just pulled down the minaret opposite the office so we've now got an uninterrupted view of the park where all the students sunbathe topless in the summer. Hans in Acquisitions said he used to practically wank himself dry every lunch time staring out that window before they built the mosque. Unfortunately it's still pretty fucking cold here at the moment, though I find a couple of whiskeys before I leave the flat in the morning keeps me warm enough to survive the walk to the car. Can't get any decent chang out here though, the drones in the office are all a bit straight for my liking. Still, Paul Cleese should shake them up a bit when he flies out. Can't believe he's out on probation already, I guess his Tory friends must be pulling strings for him, and they're not even in power yet! Still, it was only kiddy photos he was in for, it's not like it's rape or anything. Which reminds me, are Jenny and the kids going to be moving over here or did you black them up and offload them in Haiti? The only reason I ask is that Janice Borowski is in Zurich now along with that other kid of yours that Jenny doesn't know about. He's got your eyes you know. One lazy, the other one vacant. Anyway we'll catch up tomorrow, I trust there weren't any problems with that passport Israeli Dan sorted out for you..?

Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld

Friday, 12 February 2010

Geoff, Ian here,
  better be quick, I'm borrowing one of the U.N. Blackberries (they've got the Bold 9700 Smartphone - swanky cunts). OK, turns out the NHS had invested their pensions in Shaft (on cross-eyed Phil's advice, of course) so when I fucked off with what I thought was several million pounds of big-titted nurse milk, I actually ended up with a fiver's worth of rotten tumour-juice, if you catch my fucking drift. Anguilla's governor got a dick up his nose when he smelt the money-fail, so I had to get off the island quicker than you can say 'mounting coke debts'.
  Only problem was, no cashish. Met a lovely bloke named Angelino, from Florida, here on business, told me he'd get me to Orlando if I helped him on a bit of import-export. Next thing you know, I'm in Port-au-Prince, driving a bus full of kids to the port. Seemed like an innocent bit of cash in hand to me, but then I got hauled in by the police on trumped up charges. Let me tell you Geoff, the Haitians are an ugly people, especially when they have 'proof' that you are planning to 'take their children out of the country and sell them for sex all over the southern states of America'. An ugly people I tell you...

Basically, I'll be in Zurich next week, I just might have a different name.

Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld

Wednesday, 10 February 2010

Ian, Geoff here. Or should I say guten tag, mein Fuhrer! That's right mate I am back in business, the Germans have scraped together the bits of turd left over at Shaft and pushed them back up their arse, I've just been brought in on a consultancy basis over here in Zurich. The good times are back, did you see old Eyebrows announcing 0.1% growth in the last quarter? They obviously haven't seen the balance on my account over in the Caymans. I'm telling you, this recession is the best thing that's ever happened to me, I'm pissing money out of my arse like a Bangladeshi child with three days to live. After the divorce I got into property - repossessions, house auctions, that kind of thing. The tears on a newly homeless single mother's face taste all the sweeter when you've just tucked a cheque for ten times what she'll earn in a year into your back pocket. And believe me I've tasted them, cornered her after the auction, gave her a twenty and what do you know, I'm pumping the chud into her head like it's a fucking balloon. Would've got the daughters involved but they really were quite ugly. Anyway what have you been doing with yourself since you jumped ship and fucked off to Anguilla with those NHS pension funds? That'll teach them to get the private sector involved! I reckon there's a twat-shaped desk with your name on it here if you want it, there's serious fucking shekels to be made here, or whatever Monopoly money it is they have in cheesy cuckoo cock land. If you thought we had it soft touch in London, wait till you see what arse fuckery we can get away with here! I've got deals on the go with people so shady even the fucking Chinese wouldn't trade with them. Drop us an email anyway, I'm in Lugano this weekend but I'm on the BlackBerry.

Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld