Gone baby gone

Um, hello there, faithful readers. This is Mr Rumpus. I'm terribly sorry to say that for the second time in less than a month, Tin has gone... how would one put it... off the reservation? It's unclear at this point whether it's a furlough or gardening leave, a sabbatical or a prolonged comfort break. All I know is that I haven't been able to raise him for over two weeks now and I'm getting increasingly concerned about his mental state.

Goodness knows he's not always the most reliable of fellows but underneath it all Tin does have a good heart, and I fear that the turbulence of the current disastrous market conditions in the newsletter business may have tipped him dangerously over the edge into mania. I'm sure there were three or four unopened bottles of Drambuie in the Welsh Dresser before he vanished and now I can't seem to find them. Oh Lord, I hope he hasn't done anything foolish, such as reneging on his commitment to increasing efficiencies or signing off on a reduced pension package ahead of his planned early retirement. That would never do. 

Will he ever return?

Have you seen Tin?

Um ... hello there. It's Mr Rumpus here. I was just wondering: has anyone seen Tin? It's been a few days now and I'm starting to get a little worried. I know that he's an adult now and can obviously look after himself, but a phone call would be nice, just to let me know that he's safe and that he's doing OK.

 

The irony, of course, is that there are now quite a few companies who seem to have rapidly come round to Tin's groundbreaking ideas about newsletter production, newsletter efficiencies and newsletter streamlining... it would be nice to share a laugh about these Jonathan-come-latelys over a warming glass of Drambuie back at the Blottcave.

So. Tin. If you're reading this... please come home. I miss you.

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