Without making any efforts in that direction, I now know all about a certain telecom firm’s future business plans. My neighbours are working from home, loudly, with their kitchen windows open.
I want to scream: ‘I can’t turn my ears off, and I don’t have a mute function!’ Call me old-fashioned, but if they continue to corporate grandstand at the tops of their voices during laptop conference calls without specifically telling me that everything I’m hearing is off the record, then I’m treating them as primary source material.
‘Guys, that’s confidential. Our ears only,’ one of them keeps shouting through her kitchen window. Why not close the window, as a first step to keeping this company’s logistical secrets secret?
Instead of that, she later came out of her kitchen and sat herself down at the table on her patio to conduct a three-hour conference call with assorted executives, including the CEO of her company, barking about £30 million black holes in revenue and all manner of corporate lawks-a-mercy.
There is only one rule to my spending: I won’t buy products from China.
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