RIP me.
I write this newsletter from the ceiling, where my soul currently resides after leaving my body. As you read these words, imagine the background noise to be one long continuous scream: my own. For I have already reached peak cringe of 2023, and it’s only one week in.
Let me explain. This week I was invited to a press launch, which I can’t say too much about because it’s under embargo until next Wednesday (journo speak for not allowed to write about it). But what I can say is that it was coffee-related, which is always a winner in my books.
Given the secrecy, I’m not quite sure what to expect when I rock up to the Soho venue on a gloomy Thursday afternoon, ready for my one-on-one coffee session . A nice bloke with a beard welcomes me in – I vaguely hear him say his name, something generic like Tom – and I assume he must be a coffee PR, because there are always thousands of friendly PRs at events like this.
As Tom looks on, I inelegantly divest myself of various scarves and tote bags, telling him in boring detail about the fact my magazine team has just moved offices so I have loads of extra stuff to carry. I assume this will be terrifically relatable to him because obviously he works in an office too, and can understand how irritating it is when you get a new desk chair that isn’t the right height etc.
Then we start a half-hour coffee workshop, and he sits next to me at the bar while we chat to the barista about the new top secret launch (it’s very good by the way). I go a bit hysterical during a tasting, saying mad things like ‘it tastes a bit coffee-y’ and doing vocal impressions to illustrate the feeling when bitter coffee hits the back of your throat - a bit like a cat coughing up a hair ball.
At one point I notice Emma Willis has arrived in the building and is looking at her phone near the door. I wonder if she is doing some kind of celebrity ambassador link-up with the brand - how cool!
Then I start to tell Tom all about how actually, I used to be a barista myself, and share hilarious anecdotes of working in the Costa Coffee in WH Smith Cardiff, as well as an independent café above an opticians when I was 17. He was probably doing a similar kind of crappy job when he was a teenager, so I’m sure he will find this very amusing.
I am as a kite on caffeine by the time I say goodbye to my new best friend Tom, and jitter out into the streets of Soho with a jolly wave back to the crew. Job done!
The next day, I get an email from the brand’s PR. It is a press release for the new launch, and includes pictures and quotes from the celebrity ambassador – Matt Willis from Busted.
Of course, Tom is actually Matt Willis from Busted.
At the age I was working in a café above the opticians, he was releasing number one singles and playing sold out concerts. He has won I’m A Celebrity…, been in EastEnders, married one of the UK’s most famous TV presenters.
My whole body shrivels as I realise that I inadvertently spent half an hour telling this man about my preferred brand of oat milk and doing impressions of vomiting cats in his face. I TOLD HIM ABOUT MY DESK CHAIR.
Then I do the only appropriate thing: stand up, walk to the corner, put my scarf over my entire head and scream. I’m still there now.
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There is literally no takeout to this story, but I hope it makes you laugh during the most depressing month of the year.