It’s Tuesday, 3rd September 2013. The morning after the transfer window has closed. David Moyes is sat at his desk reading a tabloid when his door bursts open, Ed Woodward comes bounding in, jumps on Moyes’ desk and starts gyrating his hips whilst smacking his own backside.
Ed Woodward: Who’s your daddy!? Who’s your daddy, Dave? Who’s your daddy!?
[David Moyes remains seated with a puzzled look on his face]
David Moyes: Morning Ed. Are you feeling alright?
[Ed Woodward jumps off the desk and throws himself into a chair opposite David Moyes]
EW: Oh, I’m sorry about that Dave but I’m still buzzing from last night. I’m completely knackered because I had to stay up well past bedtime but I haven’t experienced a rush like that since we wrapped up the deal with DHL.
DM: You feel you’re getting into your new role, then?
EW: Oh yes! I know a few people doubted my credentials but I think it was humble pie for breakfast for them after my performance last night.
[David Moyes hurriedly folds up the newspaper he was reading and throws it into his desk drawer]
DM: You enjoyed the cut and thrust of the transfer window, then?
EW: Absolutely Dave! When can we do it again?
DM: Well, the window opens again in January.
EW: Awesome! But I don’t think we’ll be quite as busy in January, will we?
[Moyes stares at Woodward in disbelief for a brief moment before gathering himself again]
DM: Well, there are one or two situations I’m monitoring but we’ve got a few months before we need to concern ourselves with that. I’ve been thinking though… perhaps next time we should get our business done a bit earlier in the window rather than leave it until the last minute? Everyone will be expecting us to wait until the last minute so it will completely throw everyone if we go in early.
EW: I like the way you think Dave… keep one step ahead of the competition and all that but I don’t know… wheeling and dealing against the clock was rather exhilarating.
DM: But wasn’t your mother worried when you got home so late?
EW: Well… yes, she did ring me a couple of times to inquire as to my whereabouts.
DM: Well, there you go then. There’s really no need to do all this stuff at the very last minute. If it makes you feel better about it, I’ll have all the clocks in the building put forward by six hours so you’ll think the deadline is getting close.
EW: [Smiling like a loon] Brilliant!
DM: Ok. That’s sorted then. Now if you’ll excuse me Ed, I have to get on with some paperwork.
EW: Of course Dave. I know you’re busy. I’ve got to speak to a supplier about some Fellaini wigs for the Megastore, anyway. We have no business calling ourselves a football club if we don’t cash in on that barnet if you ask me. Would you like me to bring you one up when they arrive?
DM: I don’t think so, thanks. Catch you later Ed.
[David Moyes waits until Woodward leaves the room before calling his secretary]
DM: Hi. Have the 2014 calendars arrived for the offices yet? They have? Ok. Can you do me a favour and rip out the first two weeks in every one of them? We’re starting 2014 and the 15th January. Don’t ask, long story.