When I look back on work at Slightly Foxed,
I won’t think of bringing all those books, boxed,
Up the stairs, nor of the phone ringing
All morning and leaflets in The Week bringing
More, and more, and still more requests for subs,
Trials, mugs, and cheeky calls for duds.
I’ll have lost my delicate grasp of when an NY is an NY,
And of how many labels to print when people panic-buy
Too many mugs and tea towels.
I’ll think, instead, of arriving each day
To a wagging spaniel, whose barking gives way
To a gentle snoring, his face pressed into a cushion.
I’ll remember the coffee, the proofing, and the woman
Who had Anna talk through all the colours of the covers of the SFEs.
I’ll remember how Jennie got the phone with such ease,
I’ll remember the newsletters and Famous People’s Pigs,
The view from Dickinson and the new Hoxton Square digs.
Most of all, though, I’ll think of how lovely it was
To work with everyone at Slightly Foxed,
And how beautiful the books were, when they weren’t boxed.
So I’ll know where to come once Glasgow is done,
If I have no job and no home.
Even if there’s no work, I’ll think of the Fox,
I’ll know where to come for a cardboard box,
A glimpse of Chudleigh’s white forelock
And a good cup of coffee in Hoxton.
Galen was one of our interns and we liked him so much we wanted him to become permanently foxed, but sadly for us, life has taken him to Glasgow, from whence we’re still trying to tempt him back.