conversations with former mentors

back when i was a youthful 22-year-old, my mentor was the silver fox. oh how i loved him. quirky. northern. a shock of grey hair. a devout david bowie fan. an irreverent wit. a suicical smoker. an utter cheapskate with terrible dress sense. five years have passed since i flew the coop. and i barely hear from him these days.. until today....

silver fox: leave young M.A. alone!!! he lives the life of riley here, unstressed, laidback, surrounded by adoring young women. don't listen to his moaning. he's a picture of health, mental and physical, he goes to the gym twice a day, cycles home every night and plays rugby union at weekends.
FKJ: well i think he should move to rome. london is an awful place. come on. he can still do everything he does there from here. and the lovely sea breeze will do him the world good. there are NO adoring women in london. it's a nest of vipers. they are all stressed. overweight and hysterical. here he has his lovely flav that will treat him like a king and give him good copy to edit.
silver fox: you're just trying to make me jealous, to retrospectively justify the transfer of your affections from me to him with some spurious health reasons
FKJ: do i need to remind you that you picked la KOLLEWE over ME. to
this day i lament your taste in women..
silver fox: do i need to remind you that a) you were always number one and still are b) i plucked you from impending Commoditiesdom and winged you to the land of sun and pasta c) i have to put up with fraher flaunting your adoration of him d) it's lonely at the top*********************

so here is to you silver fox. and to the next time i hear from you. 3 years from now when i try and poach another one of your editors.