Woke up this morning to beautiful Italian sunshine. Lots of messages on the work mobile saying there's some kind of client crisis back home.
Breakfast. Croissants and coffee. Cheeky dollop of strawberry jam on the pastry.
More email messages from work. The back office staff are getting twitchy, saying several of our big clients have had a PR disaster and that they're snowed under with requests for information from the press.
Back to bed for an hour and then I think a walk in the Tuscan hills and we might hit a cafe for lunch. Nice bottle of white and a pasta something.
I'm starting to regret saying the entire board and all of the senior management could all go on holiday at the same time. It sounds like things back home are getting pretty hectic and the account execs are struggling to cover for them.
Lunch was good though. Had my picture taken with a pretty Italian waitress!
OK, I'm going to have to phone the office. Wife not pleased.
Christ, they're panicking back home. The campaign we're running has caused a huge PR disaster and most of our clients have had their offices smashed by chavs on the rampage. I'm sure the execs can cope though - they've got interns to help.
Organised a day trip to Rome. Should help get me back in the wife's good books after that waitress photo.
The police have been in touch. Large groups of youths are gathering to go and smash up our clients' head offices. They say our recent campaigns might be the cause.
Call Marketing Week. Tell them the ad campaigns won't change and I've got no plans to come home.
I'm going to have to fly home. Wife furious.
Sod it, if I'm having my holiday ruined then the rest of the board can jolly well come home too. Set up a board meeting for a few days' time. No sense in rushing.
George (our FD) has decided to come back too. In an unrelated crisis, apparently the agency might be bankrupt. If that's true, then to be honest I'm not sure he should have gone on holiday in the first place.
Open the emergency scenario plans and set up a meeting for tomorrow morning back home. 9.00am. Damned if I'll go in early - I'm supposed to be on holiday.
Head of our London office tells the press we should change our campaign in the light of all the violence. Floppy, blonde haired, attention seeking pillock. Never liked him anyway. I'll cut his budget when I get home, that'll teach him.
Quite a few clients are talking to the press, saying the whole board shouldn't all be on holiday at the same time, it's all our fault and they're seriously thinking about re-pitching their accounts. This could be a problem.
It'll be fine. Few handshakes, some free press inserts and a couple of good dinners (on the client's expense account, obviously) will smooth things over.
Late supper and a good bottle of wine. Feel better. At least advertising's not that important in the grand scheme of things. It's not like I'm running the country