No Such Thing as Bad Publicity

The article in the local paper takes the wind out of my sails; instead of the heroic rescue angle, it suggests the travel club might be a danger to people’s health.

‘The owners refused to comment,’ I read out to Josie, ‘but the questions remain, did they put their customers within arm’s reach of known international criminals? Did they persuade customers to party like youngsters with no thought of the consequences? The answer to both these questions seems to be a resounding “guilty as charged”.’

‘That’s garbage, no one will believe that,’ says Josie.

The article then goes on to ridicule the photographs that the customers have given to the journalist and promises more online.

I can’t stop myself and we head to the website where the main picture is a clip from the only Granny-Oke gig I did.

We’re doing ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’ and the subline is, ‘we recommend they go – now’. We get off the website.

It gets worse, I start to feel as if I’m on Ice Road Truckers with a forty-tonne articulated lorry skidding towards a crevasse – the local radio station announces that it has an interview with the journalist and a phone-in about ‘growing old disgracefully’.

I don’t know whether I should warn people that their trust has been abused. I feel as if I’ve let Charlie down and am just glad he’s mid-air by now. I hold my head in my hands and cannot bear to answer the phone when it rings. Josie picks it up, nods a few times, and then with the receiver held in the crook of her neck, she taps out a website address and turns her screen to me.

I go over and look at what she’s showing me. The response is unbelievable.

‘Condescending prick,’ sums up the outpouring from people furious about the article.

‘So Jagger has to stop touring? Attenborough stop travelling the world?’ asks one contributor.

‘What have you ever done with your life?’ asks another.

‘This man is a complete liar. We had a brilliant time on that cruise and told him so. How do we report him?’ says one Mercurian.

The site is on fire, so by the time the radio interview starts, there are people outside the station protesting over the reporting, the ageism and the closure of the local swimming pool, although I’m not sure how they managed to justify riding this wave.

I’m already finding the coverage completely unbelievable when we get a call from Ladies At Lunch, a national TV programme. They want me to talk about reliving my youth and making a business helping others to do the same.

I have difficulty saying no to anyone, many women do and we end up promising away every ounce of our spare time and energy, but I really don’t want to do this. Would Charlie give away this much free publicity? What if I’m rubbish on TV and it ends up being a disaster? How could it when we’re not doing anything wrong? Why on earth did I think I could run a business in the first place?

ARGH – WHY DON’T THEY ALL JUST GO AWAY?

I’m beating myself up when Alan calls me to reassure me that he didn’t badmouth the travel club in any of his interviews, he’d never do that.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Now do you fancy saying that on national TV?’

And that’s how my ex-husband became a national advocate of the Mercury Travel Club. He was fabulous.

‘So give me a list of the things you’d like me to give up,’ he says to one interviewer and then, ‘What date exactly do you plan to stop enjoying yourself?’ to another.

He tells everyone how the team from Mercury saved his life, getting to him before anyone else noticed that he’d fallen in the crowd. It was a good move: having the guy who went on holiday and had a heart attack while enjoying himself was a far more powerful advertisement than I could ever have been. The show was overwhelmed with tweets supporting him as well as a few saucy ones asking for his number. He loved every minute.

Later we even get an apology from the journalist bowing to ‘people power’ and some free Christmas advertising as recompense. There’s a surge of protest bookings; customers telling everyone that they’re not too old to live life to the full and wanting us to help them.

Mercury Travel Club has a lot to live up to.

‘Don’t get trampled by a stampede of wildebeest,’ I tell Charlie when he calls to say they all arrived safely.

‘Oh I don’t know,’ he replies, ‘at this rate we’d just be keeping up the reputation we’re building. Come to Mercury and live life on the edge. You know what we say, the chaos comes free.’

‘I think a reputation for injuring our customers might work against us,’ I say.

‘Don’t worry I’ll bring everyone back, in one piece, with no scandal, no airlifts and no diamond smugglers. Just good wine, majestic wildlife and African skies as you promised.’

‘Sounds perfect,’ I reply. I wish I’d gone on that trip.

I settle into a few days of quiet but solid work, making the most of the past few days but trying not to stoke it any further. I leave the phone on answer-machine mode, calling customers back immediately but ignoring any journalist requests. After a fortnight the news is old and I stop getting calls. I let my guard down and as sure as a dog will always find a bone, one of them gets through to me.

‘Ms Shepherd? I’m Sarah from Business Today.’

‘Sorry, wrong person,’ I panic, ‘we’re not doing any more interviews.’

‘Oh, I didn’t want an interview,’ she says, ‘it’s about the Entrepreneur of the Year awards, could I speak to Ms Shepherd?’

I ascertain that she’s not giving me an award; she just wants me to sponsor them.

‘Sponsor them? What do you mean? I want to win one, when are they?’ I ask.

‘The closing date is tomorrow and we already have so many entries, I doubt you’ll have time to do yourselves justice whereas sponsoring the evening...’ she continues.

I’m not listening any more. Whatever can be said about me – and there are many things, I know – no one can say that I shirk from a challenge. Deadline, schmeadline.

I get her to send me the details and keep hitting refresh until they come through. This is how I’ll make it up to Charlie. I’ll work all night to put in an outstanding entry for the Mercury Travel Club and ensure our spot on the stage next month. I flick to the bottom of the email to find out who’s hosting, hoping to discover that we’ll be photographed with Mr Necker Island himself. I feel slight disappointment when I spot that it’s the business editor and not my hero handing out the gongs on the night. Oh well, I’ll get to him one day.

That evening I puzzle over the application. Having never done one before, I have no idea what to write. If only Peter were here, he’d know. I think about calling him but I want to do this on my own. The questions are very open:

Despite these answers being the truth, I don’t think they’re quite what they’re looking for. I remember Peter saying that our business plan was pretty good so I dig that out and start drafting some sensible answers. It takes all evening but before the midnight hour, I have something I think Charlie would happy with too. I press the send button with scornful satisfaction: ‘Who won’t make the deadline – eh?’

These awards are what I’ve been waiting for all year and I’d forgotten all about them. If we hadn’t achieved such notoriety, the paper wouldn’t have thought to contact us, so I guess old Oscar Wilde was right – there are worse things than being talked about.