Back in the 70’s I was sales manager in a company owned by a lovely Jewish ‘geezer’ from the East End of London, who would always see his salesmen off the premises with a …   ”Be lucky!”

Now I’m not sure that I believe in ‘luck’, but he did have something; for you could be the keenest salesman in the world, but in my line of business, unless you were in the right place at the right time, your chances of making a living were somewhat limited.

Now you remember that I told you about my inauspicious start as a sales representative, and that my very first sales call led to my very first order: well that was also my first experience, in a small way, of ‘being in the right place at the right time’.

It’s strange, but I have found that just when you feel that fate has given you a kick in the nuts, something often pops up to put a smile back on your face: like the time I was working the ‘salesman’s graveyard’ in the arsehole of industrial West London back in the early 1960’s; when as ‘fate’ or ‘luck’ would have it I had my first experience, in a BIG way, of ‘being in the right place at the right time’: for little did I know that as I plodded around those grimy rain soaked factory estates looking for some office that was short of a filing cabinet or two, just around the corner was a new office building that needed hundreds of the bloody things, and winging it’s way across the Atlantic was an order that would have me grinning from ear to ear for quite some time.

To cut a long story short, the company for which I was working was given the contract to furnish the UK headquarters of a major US corporation located on my lousy territory, not because of my negotiating skills (sadly lacking at that stage in my career) nor because of my super smooth sales technique (never did know what that meant), but simply because some ‘good ol’ boy’ back in the States always bought their stuff.

I did bugger all except pick up a commission cheque which more than doubled my income for the next year.

Over the years my career saw more ups and downs than a whore’s drawers: and business, in later years,very often depended upon hard days spent at the best restaurants, and ‘who you knew’ rather than ‘what you knew’, but more often than not I was ‘in the right place’. Perhaps it was instinct ? … or maybe it was ? …

…    Well, who knows ?

So ‘Hooray’ Harry is all over the papers again after being pictured out clubbing in Calgary, where he is supposed to be on a military training course.

Now take a closer look at the photographs and you will see that … it’s NOT him !

I may be putting my freedom or even my life in danger, but I must reveal the astonishing secret that the young man in the pictures is …  a ‘LOOKALIKE’ !

Yes, just like in the movie … ‘I Was Monty’s Double’ … the British Army has substituted an actor for the ‘ginger spare’, to fool people into thinking that he is in Canada, when all the time they have him hidden in a secret night club bunker in the American controlled ‘Green Zone’ of Baghdad. The bunker has been decked out to look like ‘Boujis’ so that the poor lad will feel at home.

Remember that mystery CIA flight from the US base at Mildenhall ? Well that wasn’t anyting to do with ‘extraordinary rendition’. It was our ‘piss artist’ of a prince being smuggled out of the country.  

I understand from my source at Buckingham Palace, that a thirty days (the time required to qualify for the Iraq medal) supply of ‘Cristal’ champagne and ‘Crack Baby’ cocktails has been flown in by an aircraft of the ‘Queen’s Flight’, … and … that ‘er Maj’ has agreed to pick up the drinks tab, but only if her grandson …

…  tells that bloody ghastly Chelsy gel to sod orf !  

Are you a nervous traveller ?

Do you always read the emergency instructions and watch the safety demonstration on board an aircraft ? You know, the one where they tell you that your lifejacket is under the seat, (Has anyone ever checked that it’s there?) and then show you how easy it is to put it on.

I must admit that I have never taken much notice of these demonstrations until recently, when my wife and I were told that we had to attend ‘lifeboat drill’ shortly after boarding our cruise ship.

The alarm sounded and we grabbed our lifejackets and proceeded to our lifeboat station, which strangely enough was not on deck near a lifeboat, but in a crowded bar where members of the crew were checking that everyone was present. These crew members were not brawny seamen, but size ‘0’ young ladies from the entertainment staff who proceeded to shout at us … “this strap goes here … and around … and under here … and over like this” … I was waiting for … “and then shove the end up your arse” … when I noticed the bemused look on most of my fellow passengers faces.

The ship’s lifejackets were not of the inflatable type, but rather bulky solid things which you had to pull apart and then pull over your head. My wife much appreciated my assistance when I knocked off her glasses and poked her in the eye.

Around me, most people were struggling with the hooks, ties and straps, but I did notice a few cocky bastards strutting about all neatly bundled up in orange as if waiting for the cry to … “Abandon ship !”

The practice seemed to take longer than it took for the ‘Titanic’ to sink, so I was a bit nervous as I stood there looking a tangled mess, with my little emergency light hanging loose, and my whistle dangling, as I wondered as to the whereabouts of my lifeboat. I watched as a young lady held her nose and demonstrated the correct way to jump into the sea. Blimey ! Perhaps there weren’t any lifeboats !

Eventually we were dismissed and we trooped off back to our cabins dragging our lifejackets behind us, and praying that no one would shout …

…   “Iceberg off the starboard bow !”