Going Loco by Lynne Truss Read Free Book Online Page A

interested in anything when he needed to know. Tell him a fact at an inappropriate moment (when he wasn’t writing an article, or commissioning one) and he literally screwed up his face to prevent it getting in. He was a
tabula rasa
with a straining Filofax, and other people were the fools who stored primary material until he came along to nick it. Not that your help would earn you any loyalty from him, let alone thanks. You could help him a hundred times, and he’d stitch you up on the hundred and first. The curious thing was, when Jago looked in a mirror he saw George Washington.
    ‘So how big is this supplement in the Effort?’ Stefan sighed, playing with his specs in a professorial manner.
    ‘Twelve pages. Minus ads. That leaves room for about three articles and a dozen pics.’
    ‘Why do you think I’ll contribute to it?’
    ‘Um, because if you don’t, I’ll go straight to Laurie Spink?’
    Stefan smiled but didn’t reply. Laurie Spink made television programmes about genetics. He had a column in
The Times.
    ‘OK, forget that Spink blackmail thing, that was tacky. If you do this for me, Stefan, I promise never to tell Belinda how I know you’re not a natural blond. What more can I say? Copy is by next Friday. A thousand words on anything. Is there a gene for monstrous boobs? Could you look for it between now and next Friday? I’m only thinking of the picture desk.’
    ‘Do people actually read these supplements, Yago? I’m afraid I am a doubting Thomas.’
    ‘Well, I’m glad you asked that. Research shows that, yes,’ he screwed up his face, as if trying to remember the exact figure, ‘one million, two hundred and twelve people read these supplements.’
    ‘But really they’re thrown in the bin?’
    ‘In a New York second.’
    Stefan checked his watch and stood up. Jago took the hint. Besides, he’d arranged to call Laurie Spink in five minutes’ time. ‘I’ll be off,’ he offered. ‘So you’ll do it?’
    Stefan shrugged. ‘No. It’s not really me, I think.’
    ‘Of course it’s you!’
    ‘I’m not a writer, Yago.’
    ‘No problem, big guy. We’ll write it for you in the office. I’ll ghost you. Happens all the time.’
    ‘Monstrous boobs may be for some the cat’s pyjamas, but – no.’
    ‘Stefan, why are you doing this to me?’
    ‘Because it’s a free country.’ Stefan shrugged. ‘East is east and west is west. Genetics is not all beer and skittles.’
    Jago was confused, but more than that, he was hurt. Journalists always pout if you puncture their plan, even if they’ve only had the plan for the last ninety seconds.
    ‘Why do you call it copy?’ Stefan asked.
    Jago looked puzzled.
    ‘Call what copy?’
    ‘Copy. I mean, the writing is supposed to be one-off, I think?’
    ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far. This is journalism we’re talking about.’
    ‘I mean, would you ever say, “Gosh, hey, this is very original one-off copy”?’
    Jago had had enough. ‘If I ever said, “Gosh, hey,” at all, I’d lose my job, Stefan. As should you, I might add.’
    He strode out of the canteen, and extracted his mobile phone from an inside pocket. Stefan had just completely wasted his time. What a two-face! ‘Gosh, hey, this is very original one-off copy!’ he said, with Stefan’s careful accent. He couldn’t wait to get back to the office to try that one on the guys.
    Belinda spent the morning writing an imaginary riding-in-Ireland piece for Jago’s paper, and wondering what had happened to Neville. He was not his usual bouncy self. Even when the phone rang and it was her mother (eek!) there was only a twitch or scuttle from Los Rodentos. Someone phoned up to ask Belinda to appear on radio (she declined, but felt agitated); she remembered Stefan’s birthday was next week; the usual pressures most certainly applied. But no trampolining by small furry bodies. The rats were on a go-slow. Ever since she’d decided to hire Linda, she’d felt like the proverbial sinking