Being Dave Knockles

8 Feb

My friends, my life is a bit like Cheryl Cole. It looks amazing from a distance, but when you get up close you realise it’s pretty fucking mental.

So, ‘Being Dave Knockles’ is my chance to give you that close-up view of the ups, downs and further downs of my life as a Marketing Director.

See how insanely busy I am? I am walking, making a game-changing telephonicular call AND pulling a compact, carry-on size suitcase.

Today was just another example of why my professional existence can sometimes seem amazing.

I was at my desk right on the nose of 10.30am, because I believe fundamentally that the early bird catches the worm. I don’t pause for the usual cups of tea, paper-shuffling and checking of Facebook – I dive fist-first into the mound of shit, war, pain and dead things that is my in tray.

(You might think you have an in tray, but you do not. I have an in tray. I have an in tray that looks like Beirut, an abatoir, a crack den, the Death Star and the Battle of the cunting Somme all rolled into one. My in tray would make you shit your trousers so hard they’d turn into fucking bloomers.)

Because of this in tray, I have become the best delegator in the business. Better than Ian ‘The Delegatatron’ Clanks. Better than anyone. Especially you.

Today, I delegated at a speed previously uncharted because I had to. My in tray looked like a fucking operating theatre after surgery to separate conjoined pyschopathic cows with violent dysentery performed by a doctor with Parkinson’s and a blunt scythe for a scalpel. Still, within half an hour, I was isolated in my office, computer off, blinds down, door shut, thinking. I like a very deep think from about 11am until lunch. So I took off my shoes, lay on my sofa closed my eyes and had a really, really good think.

My thinking was disturbed by a call from my advertising agency.

‘Have you approved the ads yet? We’re right on deadline,’ they said. As usual.

I lay the ads in question out before me. I perused them with the eye of a professional who has critically assessed literally millions of ads. I considered the visuals, the choice of words, the typeface, the positioning of every element, the idea behind each ad, the effectiveness with which the brand essence is communicated.

‘Fucking shit,’ I said after a minute or two or ten. ‘Total piss. Make the headlines more ‘Phoooom!’ and get bigger bristolas in the visuals. My target audience is birds. Birds like birds with big bristolas. I’ve done the research.’

They made the usual complaints about looming deadlines and me having had the ads on my desk for a month, but by that time I was onto the next professional issue bleeping on my radar: lunch.

I grabbed a couple of the girls from the marketing team (if you’ve got minions with you, it counts as a meeting and you can claim it) and we were soon having a very wide-ranging discussion on all things marketing while getting through a mixed grill combo with lamb legs, a cow burrito and an uberburger at Rashid’s Special Foods. Well, I was. The girls had…whatever. They left after a couple of minutes, so I dunno.

Upon my return to the office, I noticed that my in tray – so pristine when I left it – was now looking like Charles Manson, Fred West and Jackson Pollock had been expressing themselves very expansively using the medium of sewage.

It was time to get the management magic out. I gathered all the work, and my team, and together we worked through that mound of molten hate and pain until it was beaten, crying and begging to be allowed to die.

(Well, apparently. Once I’d dished out the work, obviously I legged it to beat the traffic, so I got a call at about 11pm to say it was all done. I mean, I didn’t answer the call. It was 11pm, for fuck’s sake! I was well into my fourth bottle of claret by then.)

So, as you can see, life for Dave Knockles might seem all fun and glamour. But it’s mostly muck, bullets, tears, pain, warfare and hand-to-hand combat against an entire army of fuck, ouch and balls.

I am Dave Knockles. And I live to work (except on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Golf, innit.)

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3 Responses to “Being Dave Knockles”

  1. Katie February 8, 2011 at 5:44 pm #

    What’s your handicap, Dave?

  2. daveknockles February 9, 2011 at 4:57 pm #

    If I’m on my game, I play off about a 75. If I’m off my game, it’s about a 52.

    Unless you were hoping for an a joke based on a handicap pun, in which case, my handicap is my weakness for lapdancers and an allergy to non-alcoholic liquids.

  3. Katie February 9, 2011 at 7:28 pm #

    Of course, I was hoping for a joke (other than funny numbers)!

    Here’s one my mother told me: Are you playing golf? No, I’m still having sex.

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