“Titus Livius Patavinus (or simply Livy) was a Roman historian. He wrote a monumental history of Rome and the Roman people – Ab Urbe Condita Libri (Books from the Foundation of the City) – covering the period from the earliest legends of Rome before the traditional foundation in 753 BC through the reign of Augustus in Livy’s own lifetime.”
If Livy had written a press release concerning the dry matter of financial results, he might have done it in the manner displayed below. We’ll never know as he died in the 1st century AD.
My task from now on will be to trace the financial results for the period ended 30 June 2018 and of an independent firm, governed by chosen officers and subject not to the caprice of individual men and women, but to the overriding authority of law.
In a state where the greatest anxiety prevailed, in consequence of the very critical situation in which the financial struggle stood, and where all events, prosperous or adverse, were attributed to the interposition of the gods, accounts of many prodigies were received; that the home of the CIO in Shoreditch, and that of an office at Croydon, had been struck by lightning. The people of Croydon were no less terrified by two snakes gliding into the temple of Jupiter by the very doors. A Transport for London worker was seen to do a good job. At Islington a pig with two heads had been littered, and a lamb yeaned which was both male and female. Good customer service was seen in a shop in London. A copious perspiration was said to have exuded from the altar of Neptune, in Piccadilly Circus.
The consuls were directed to expiate these prodigies with victims of the larger sort, and to make a supplication for one day. These things were executed according to a decree of the board of directors.
Despite these trepidations, all our employees, fought for brilliant financial results, whatever their rank, or whether part time or full time, the CFO Julie Jessop with special distinction. Our CFO and her troops had alienated themselves in the course of many internal and petty business-like struggles; yet in the latest battle for profit they were resolved to regain their favour and admiration, and overcome the loss of £6.3 million compared to the last quarter.
When the hostile and rival firms faced one another at an unbelievably tedious conference, the enemies showed no sign of weakness or lack of confidence, as they were convinced that our CEO and his employees meant business no more than on the previous occasion.
Every member of staff, roused to fury by the enemies’ insults, and their own commanders’ judicious procrastination, entered the fight with a keener appetite for a healthy EBITDA than in any previous campaign.
Our rivals were given no time even to deploy, before our staff were upon them. Little use was made of missile weapons, flutes of champagne or snide remarks; they were got rid of as mere incumbrances in the first swift rush.
The conduct of the finance department was a thing to envy and admire: one of them, Bob Butterworth, who had been team leader three years before, was heading an attack on a massed formation of the enemy, when a big CFO, a powerful and practised exponent of jargon and dull platitudes, came at him through the press. Butterworth was not aware of his danger in time, and the CFO stabbed him through the heart as he had also suffered quite enough from Butterworth’s inane commentary and pathetic responses. The wound was mortal, and when the blade was withdrawn, he was dead.
It was only one man down, but it had its effect upon both armies; our troops would, indeed, have given ground at that point, had not Jessop leapt astride her colleague’s body and passionately appealed to them. Covering herself with her shield, “What of your oath?” she cried. “Was it as beaten staff members that you swore to leave the field? Are you more afraid of a cowardly enemy than of Mars and Jupiter by whose names you swore? I swore no oath; but I will either return victorious or die fighting here, by your side.”
No more was said; our gallant heroine pressed forward with levelled notebook and mobile phone, carried the whole line with her, and, in that quarter of the field, saved the day.
It was a resounding victory for our financial strategy, but the death of one man of such distinction overshadowed the general rejoicing. The board of directors decreed an official Triumph, and Jessop, replied to the board that if a company could celebrate a profit increase of 2% compared to the first half of 2017 without one of its commanders, she would have no hesitation in allowing it to do so in recognition of its magnificent services; but she personally, since her department was in mourning for the death of Butterworth, would be unable to accept a laurel and pay rise, which was blighted both by a company-wide and a private sorrow.
The remainder of the year was undisturbed by dissension or interdepartmental conflict. This event happened at a place called London, in the twelfth year of the reign of our CEO, and that is all I have to say on the matter.