Thus will begin my journey to France

At work today there was little time to think about my imminent journey to the continent. My main priority was to get another mailshot out so that there should be no fall in the number of sales leads coming in over the next few weeks. Thus in the morning I drafted a sales letter, decided on the accompanying literature, and liaised with IT on the database to be used.

Helping me from the IT department was Wang Huai Yi, known ubiquitously as “Wang”, one of our Chinese staff (we have several Chinese staff due to “exchanges” with our manufacturing partners. From mainland China, they describe themselves as “pure” Chinese. “We are very proud of our black hair” Wang once said to me with grave seriousness).

Wang is aged twenty-two, and is energetic, lively and exuberant. Nothing is too much trouble for him, a virtue that I exploit to the full, loading him with tasks that have little to do with IT. His sister in China “owns” a factory and has become extremely wealthy. In the Wang-senior house in Shanghai they have employees to do the domestic work, but when I once referred to these as “servants” Wang became seriously alarmed, exclaiming "Don't say that... don't say that!" – as if I had denounced him as a class enemy.

Wang is very pro-Western, except when it comes to the subject of America. Even the most innocent remark about America fills him with self-righteous anger and leads to him damning America and the Americans in a way that is almost comical. I point out that there are over two million Chinese-Americans, but he dismisses these as not being “pure” Chinese. I once suggested he ought to go to America before making any judgments but he hysterically proclaimed that he would never go there. He is convinced that North Korea is going to launch nuclear weapons against the western hemisphere (and Japan, another country he loathes), leaving China as the only superpower.

Once the database problems had been sorted out I proceeded to the actual fulfilment of the mailshot. None of my usual assistants were available, so I had to commandeer one of the warehouse operatives. There was some difficulty in doing this, as they were short-staffed in Despatch, but eventually I was allocated Tony Rudd.

Tony Rudd is a young warehouse operative, very hard-working but also mischievous (reviled throughout the company for his so-called practical jokes that most people don’t find very funny). Aged about twenty, he was in the Army before joining the company. Small, with a wiry build, he is quite strong and often staggers around the warehouse carrying loads clearly in violation of the Health and Safety guidelines. He is someone who tries hard to be popular, without much success. He talks non-stop, so when he came upstairs to help me I took care to locate him at a desk some distance from my own.

I equipped Tony with thousands of sales letters, leaflets and envelopes, told him how I wanted the job done, and left him to it. At that point I felt I could begin to relax, occupying myself with answering e-mails and talking to my neighbour, occasionally wandering over to him and asking “How are you getting on?”

In the afternoon there was a call from Alan Nixon and he talked at length about the problems he was having with his court case (“It's absolutely horrendous” he said several times, “…it's a disaster, it’s a complete disaster...”). I agreed with him that it was a very difficult situation, eventually managing to bring the call to an end.

At 5 o'clock, leaving a little early, I will go down the iron staircase to Goods In, and out to the car park. Thus will begin my journey to France.