Is this my destiny?

Boy, why did I decide to dress like Eminem today of all days?

Camera crews from rival stations are gathering outside the gates of TV Centre because Peter 'The Billionaire' Fincham has fallen on his sword and will be escorted out of the building by security at 4pm.

Fifi is nowhere to be seen, although a highly confidential email addressed to just a few key execs (like me) from Caroline Thomson says "she's safe - for now".

Down the road in West Kensington I hear a tearful Stephen Lambert is packing all of his Wife Swap awards into a cheap backpackers rucksack borrowed from a runner and making for his yacht off Le Cap d'Antibes.



All this just because of a dodgy trailer?

Cripes.

There's an old TV proverb that goes something like 'sniffing the right moment to pounce doth maketh the new controller of Corporation One'.

I lock the door to my office and get the Dark Lord up on speed dial.

"So..." I begin a little hesitantly, "is this my time? Is my destiny upon me already??"

Silence on the other end.

I get a bit more specific: "Should I be gathering my supporters around me? Mending bridges with my enemies?" Still nothing. Getting a bit frustrated, I continue: "Look, James. I suppose what I am trying to say is have I got a chance of making the shortlist to takeover the mothership: Corporation One?"

There's a long, long silence on the other end of the phone. "Hello?" I say in a bit of a nervy, girly voice. Then all of a sudden The Dark Lord breaks into a laugh. And doesn't stop. This cacophony of laughter nearly splits my eardrum. I've never, EVER heard such guffawing come down a phone line like this before.

Why do I even fucking bother with Herring sometimes?

I hang up and call my old boss Kevin Lygo - it goes straight to voicemail.

"Kev, hi, it's TVC. I wondered if you had some time next week for me to ask your advice on something über important....."