Today is a very exciting day at Liz Fraser HQ.
I'm heading off to That There London to meet some Venture Capitalists, about Headcase.
Personally I'd be more into Adventure Capitalists, which sounds more zingy and as if there might be a Bungee Jump thrown in there somewhere, but I'll take whatever I can get.
I've never met a venture capitalist before.
I'm not sure what they look like.
Are they shiny? Do they have teeth? Can their handshake break a swan's arm?
If I don't do the right 'hello' eye-contact thing, will they take their capital and venture it somewhere else?
Do they smell of success?
How will I know what success smells like?
What if don't know what success smells like, and accidentally walk into the room that smells of doom and overdrafts?
What if I sneeze and snot lands on my pitch and they decide they can't invest in anyone who snots on a pitch?
What if I need to do an elevator pitch, and they only have stairs?
If I don't know the answer to a really tricky business question, like, "What is your business about'", can I call a friend?
Do I have time to go to Harvard and take an MBA before lunchtime?
I'll be fine. I feel pretty ready. All the vital things are in place;
- jacket with minimal unidentified splurges; check
- white shirt, to make me look semi professional and maybe a little bit sexy, but not so as to invite immediate capitalistic impregnation or to suggest that I think wearing a slightly sexy, semi-professional white shirt is the ONLY thing that's going to get me the dosh; check
- Converse; check
- lucky pitching pants; check
- sense of panic; check
- far too much caffeine; check
- check; check.
All I need now is . . . to write the pitch.
Pfff. Details, details!
I GOT THIS.
Now if I can just work out what 'this' is....
Cross some fingers and legs for me please, as I venture forth to the Capital, to do the business of doing business.
So far it feels really father nice.