There are few things the Scots hold so dear as their beloved Irn-Bru, that iconic - even ironic - soft drink of sticky golden lusciousness.
Aside from the fact that it’s a hangover cure par excellence, Irn-Bru’s popularity can largely be put down to a series of genius advertising campaigns generated by Edinburgh’s Leith Agency.
Noting how the agency’s creative minds had turned the… ahem… tasty beverage into a Scottish national treasure, Burness’s quick-witted chairman Philip Rodney entrusted Leith with the firm’s own rebranding.
The results were overwhelming - among the firm’s own staff, that is. When a Leith animation unveiling the brand was shown to the troops, Rodney reports that several had to leave the room in floods of tears. Clearly Burness staffers aren’t “made from girders”.
Quite what the effect on the public at large will be is not clear, but reports are reaching Tulkinghorn Towers of mass sobbing on the streets of Edinburgh. Tears of joy? Or laughter?
“My old man’s a dustman, he wears a dustman’s hat, he wears gor-blimey trousers and he lives in a council flat.” Indeed. But while Tulkinghorn usully shudders at the very thought of mixing with the lower orders, deep respect is currently emanating from the great man in the general direction of Janet Hood’s father.
Hood, you will recall, is head of legal at the Scottish arm of the British Institute of Innkeeping. She was also a former glittering star of The Lawyer Hot 100.
Not only is she an expert on all things booze-related, but her dad was a former in-house lawyer who turned himself into a liquor licensing law consultant.
Thing is, he liked to keep quiet about it. According to Hood, Hood Senior used to tell people down the pub he was a binman, because revealing his true profession would usually result in them either moaning or asking him foradvice.
Tulkinghorn often employed the same strategy as a cub reporter. But then, it’s important to have an excuse for rummaging through other people’s bins. Just ask Benjy.
Has the stress of setting up his own employment boutique sent former Field Fisher Waterhouse partner Simeon Spencer barking mad?
In a bizarre email sent out last week, Spencer described how his new firm Spencer Lufia had been forced to instal a new telephone system, but not as a result of human error.
Instead, in scenes reminiscent of the Stephen King horror Cujo (had it been set on the fifth floor of an office block in Leicester Square) he claimed it was the result of “canine intervention”.
“The dog ate our telephone system,” Spencer exclaimed in his email. “Please accept this note as confirmation that, due to unforeseen canine intervention, we have been forced to change our telephone system and have therefore given Spencer Lufia a new telephone system to replace the one he was previously attending school with.”
Still, if Spencer’s new firm doesn’t take off, he could always pursue an alternative career penning Christmas cracker jokes.
He signs off with this pearl: “Hedgehogs - why don’t they just share?”
Tulkinghorn was touched by the sweet innocence of the press release trumpeting a £20m deal that landed on his lap last week from TLT Solicitors. Or, to be more accurate, the eternally hopeful voicemail from the firm’s press officer on following up the story: “…may be a front page for Monday.”