No FT, plenty of comment

It was good to see old colleagues at a get-together for ex-Financial Times journalists in London last night. A lot had retired but many have gone on to glittering careers - two to the House of Lords, one in Government, two on BBC news (constantly), two Fleet Street editors and one running the Confederation of British Industry.

The gathering was special for another reason. It's not often that you come across 150 journalists in a bar, buying their own drinks out of their own pockets with not an expenses receipt between them. How times have changed. "At least we were never taking money from the taxpayer," said an old colleague, reflecting on the MPs' expenses scandal.

I had a hot tip from one, confident in his insider-knowledge, that Ed Balls had definitely got the chancellor's job. And it may well have been true, but political events are moving so quickly and that was before we had the news of James Purnell's resignation. Purnell was the man being sounded out for Balls's job at Education. So Alistair Darling stays put for now and so does Balls, his ambition to run the Treasury as yet unrequited.

Balls wasn't there last night but I can never relate to him as a politico anyway. Instead I recall Ed as the centre forward who gave our old FT football team a bit of aggression up front. Ian Hargreaves, former editor of the Independent, was also there. Ian was a gritty midfielder, never afraid to bite a few ankles.

A lot of the chat was reminiscences and gossip - the stuff I miss most from my days on the paper. A few of my old colleagues liked to lunch in a certain style. David Churchill, former leisure industries correspondent, had his favourite tables at Orso's and Joe Allen's restaurants - indeed still does. One lunch time he arrived at Joe Allen's only to find that Joan Collins was sitting at his table. A word in the ear of management and she was summarily shifted elsewhere.

Bragging rights

Never boast about yourself, my mum always said. So I never did. Instead over the years I have polished my skills at self-deprecation to the stage where I believe my own press.

I write about the fish I lose. If I fall in the river everybody gets to know. I can't spell, can't remember things and sometimes forget before I get to the end of a sentence. I fluff my lines in a presentation and you have a big laugh at my expense.

So I stumble along as the little guy. I pack my job in and nothing bad happens. Quite the opposite; lots of good things happen. I launch my web site with no real business strategy and it brings in business. I start a blog and my web site visitor numbers really start to take off - 17,000 last month with more than 1,000 visitors a day for the first time on peak days. Thank you for looking in. Take note sponsors.

Then this week I get my copy of Human Resources Magazine and find that I have been ranked at number 10 in its Top 100 most influential people in HR list, and one of the five highest climbers. This in a year that I seemed to have done more fishing than writing. They sent me a little certificate. I haven't had a certificate since swimming for the school team at one of those cheapskate swimming galas where they couldn't run to a medal.

Oscar ceremony

Of course, if I hadn't made the list I would be saying: "What nonsense. Why is so-and-so not there?" I could give you many reasons why this listing doesn't matter or why it's undeserved but I'm not going to. Instead I'm going to do the Oscar ceremony thing and thank all those who voted for me.

The thing is, it's true what people say about work - a bit of recognition goes a long way. So if you are up there mum looking down, forgive the boasting.

I noticed that my old editor, Richard Lambert, now director general of the Confederation of British Industry is named at number 38. Now that isn't boasting anymore. It's gloating and unforgivable.

Fair boss

What I will say about Richard is that he was a fair boss. I remember the exchange we had at our first meeting when, as Deputy Editor, he was interviewing me for a job at the FT. He leaned back in his chair and asked:"Why should we employ you at the Financial Times?"

"I have no idea," I said. "But you asked me down here. I didn't apply for a job."

After that it was a sales talk. "You can do percentages," he said. "Yes," I lied. "Well that's all you need." It really was as simple as that.