“Parkinson wants to see you, Mark,” said Mary at reception as I arrived for work on a bright morning in late November.

“God,” I thought, “Obviously some disaster has happened and will set the tone in the office for the entire week.”

I went up to Graham Parkinson’s office on the top floor (well sixth floor is the top floor in our office) and knocked on the Managing Director’s door. His secretary ushered me in and I faced him at his large desk covered with fabric samples, papers and files. He threw a shirt across to me and said, “You think that looks like part of our Spring men’s collection then?”

It was really a rhetorical question as the cheap looking shirt, while being a similar design to the main part of our Spring collection, was a very inferior fabric.

“Is someone trying to copy us,” I asked?

“No,” he said, ”That is a sample from the first batch from our Thai suppliers. Either they have got the specifications completely wrong or they are trying to screw us and I’m not sure which. The new ranges launch in twelve weeks, they are featured in our catalogues and in our window display material and these stupid cunts have fucked up the order.”

My job was marketing, and I was Assistant Marketing Manager for this very large men’s retail organisation in the U.K. We purchased product from all over the Third world for a pittance, hiked the price by 3,000% sold what we could, then half priced it to make 1,500% in the sales and the punters snapped it up. All the products bore our name and most was made for us by suppliers from Thailand to Vietnam to Mauritius and many places beyond. Mr. Parkinson here did most of the overseas trips himself and organised the contracts. I had a very strong feeling that he had contacts for many other things too in these countries. He was about 5 feet 10 inches tall, ages 47, slightly balding and was a husband and the father to three children. I presume he took full advantage of the Thai women when in Bangkok. I therefore waited for him to tell me he was going to have to make a special trip.

“You’ll have to go and sort it out,” he spluttered.

“Me,” I replied with a slightly squeaky voice?

“Yes. The financial people are due next Monday and if I’m off sorting out problems it won’t give a good impression,” he said. “Philip is on holiday this week (my boss) and I can’t spare the Commercial Director so it looks like it’s you. If this line fails, your arse will be on the line anyway so I can’t think of anyone with more interest in getting it sorted than you.”

That was true.

“I believe you’ve had a couple of holidays out there too so you at least know a bit about the geography,” he continued. “I want you to take Sean and Robert from Production, and Rebecca from Finance. I can’t spare anyone higher than her due to this visit next week.”

My mind went into overdrive then depression. I had been there before, three times actually. I loved it and I had had many enjoyable times both in Bangkok and Pattaya. No one in the company knew I was gay as far as I was aware and I lived a pretty straight life, going out with the guys