I had exactly one conversation with my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s when I worked at Stuff magazine. Lord Michael Heseltine, former Deputy Prime Minister and owner of the most impressive eyebrows and flowing locks combo in politics, also founded Haymarket. He swung in my direction during the company’s lavish summer party and began to grill me on the internet and publishing. 

Here was an opportunity to impress the owner of the company but over his shoulder I could see a table full of cakes. I had been trying to reach it but now Hezza, delivering a stentorian oratory on the future of publishing was blocking my path. As I stammered out some sounds of agreement, my brain was focused on far more pressing issues: the really nice chocolate biscuit things were almost all gone. 

Half-cut and fully starving, I could think of nothing but scrabbling up some of those sweet treats into my slathering maw. The arrival of a middle manager with some obsequious observations to share with Tarzan was welcome and I slipped off to feast on baked goods bought on Heseltine’s dollar. I had scuppered the opportunity to impress the big boss for a brief encounter with some macaroons. 

While I could blame mistakes in my career on my own misjudgements, I prefer to point the finger at patisserie and the machinations of McVities. It’s easier that way. 

Want to option this as part of an Iron Lady-style biopic? You may require the assistance of a mental health professional.