by Henry VIII attends a professional networking evening and discovers that ambition now travels with a laminated badge and considerably worse wine
I once held court attended by every ambitious man in England, each hoping for a word, a title, a modest grant of land. The networking event gave me a name badge, a glass of warm white wine, and considerably less land on offer.
The Name Badge
I wrote my name and occupation on a small sticker, comedian and former monarch, a combination that drew genuine curiosity from several attendees who assumed, reasonably, that this was some kind of branding exercise rather than a factual biography, and I spent a good portion of the evening clarifying the distinction with mixed success.
The Elevator Pitch
Dev had coached me beforehand on delivering a thirty second summary of myself, a discipline I found considerably harder than any actual royal proclamation, having spent most of my original reign being introduced at length by others rather than condensing my own considerable achievements into anything resembling brevity.
The Business Card Exchange
A genuine ritual unfolded around the exchange of small paper cards printed with names, titles, and contact details, a formalised courtesy I found considerably more efficient than the elaborate letters of introduction once required to arrange even a modest diplomatic meeting, and I left the evening with a small stack I fully intend to organise properly, eventually.
The Circulating Conversations
Conversations lasted precisely as long as both parties judged useful before a polite, practised pivot toward someone new, a social choreography I recognised instantly from certain court gatherings of my own, where usefulness, however politely disguised, always quietly governed who spoke to whom and for how long.
The Follow Up
I received, within two days, four connection requests on an application Dev insisted I download specifically for this purpose, each accompanied by a message referencing our brief conversation with a warmth I suspect was at least partially professional courtesy rather than genuine personal enthusiasm, though I chose, on balance, to accept it gracefully regardless.
The Verdict
I left with three genuine leads for future gigs, a stack of business cards I have already half lost, and a renewed appreciation for how little the underlying mechanics of ambition have actually changed across five centuries. I once built entire alliances through careful court diplomacy. I now build them through warm wine and a laminated badge, and I find the modern version, if I am honest, considerably less likely to end in an actual execution.
The Follow Through
I left with three genuine leads and a stack of cards I have already half lost. I once built alliances through careful court diplomacy. I now build them through warm wine and a laminated badge, and find the modern version considerably less likely to end in an actual execution.
Warm wine, it turns out, opens more doors than I expected. Warm wine and a laminated badge belong somewhere near my six wives, diplomatically speaking. Further reading on the wider chaos of modern Britain: the original account of my own return to Britain, the proper London pub where history finally sat down for a pint, Harlan Coben being formally ordered to stop writing.
