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.

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