A Day In The Knockles

27 Jan

Some people say to me, ‘Dave – what’s the most memorable peak of all the many memorable peaks of your career?’

Well, if my career has had peaks, it must also have had troughs. And Dave Knockles does not do troughs. Troughs are for losers, cuntbungs and farm animals. No – there have been no downs in my professional life. Just one, long level of success. A plateau if you will. Yes – my career has been one very long plateau. And I can’t think of a prouder statement than that.

However, if I had to choose one single highlight, it would have to be the day I won Marketing Professional of the Year at the Consumer Durables, Plastics, Electricals and Miscellaneous Retail FMCG Awards. It was a day I will remember for ever, now that I have pieced together what happened from other people’s recollections.

Look at this dick-bottle. He's at the top, sure. But it's only down from there. Follow the example of my career, pal! There are no downs when you're on a plateau!

It all started when I met a bloke called Phil in a boozer. I was doing my legendary impression of Michael Heseltine (I put a mop on my head and clutch my chest) and he thought it was really funny, or told me to fuck off, or punched me, or whatever, and we got talking.

Turns out he was on the judging panel of the newly-formed CDPEMFMCG Awards, or the CDPEMFMCGies, as they were known for the two years they ran. He told me that they were definitely not screamingly desperate for entries in order for the thing to even get off the ground, but that if I fancied entering, he could make sure ‘the right people take a very long and considered look,’ at my entry, so long as I paid my entry fees.

I assumed by this – AND I STILL ASSUME TO THIS DAY – that Phil simply meant that the judging process would be as fair for me as everyone else. Right? Good.

Next day, I was signing off a cheque for £13,500 and sending it off, my heart fluttering with a hopeful and giddy joy. (Normally, this would preface the onset of a) a minor stroke, or b) a bout of volcanic flatulence, but neither happened, so it must have been actual, genuine excitement.)

When the day of the ceremony came, I and the other 25 eager attendees entered the 400-seat ballroom of a very nice London hotel (which has since taken out an injunction against anyone mentioning the awards and their name in the same sentence). The host, a popular TV comedian (similar injunction to the hotel) took us through the ceremony.

One by one, the winners rose to claim their prizes, cheered on by the ever more exultant smattering. I could barely contain my excitement when it was time to announce Marketing Professional of the Year. I gripped the tablecloth with both hands. (Though I had had a lot of wine. And scotch. And scotch and wine and vodka and something blue and scotch and wine and scotch.) “There are no gold or silver awards in this category,” proclaimed the host. Brilliant! Nobody was going to beat me!

The next words I heard filled me with intense and dizzying pleasure.”The bronze award goes to David Knockles for his work on the Show Your Tits To A Fireman PR campaign!”

After that, I celebrated as a true champion should: without compromise.

Sometimes, I sit back in my executive leather seat and remember that night. (Well, I remember what people told me happened that night.) And I think, ‘You know what, Dave Knockles? You’re not so bad, baby. You’re not so bad.’ And then I usually fall asleep, and have a dream about a very small but very malevolent octopus putting its suckers on my face. Which has nothing to do with awards, but always seems to follow when I think about them.

So, there you are. Pride. Joy. An award. And that fucking octopus. Nobody ever said success was a simple tune to play.

I am Dave Knockles. And I am an award-winner!


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