Category: Julian Writes…. signals from a waving not drowning Marketing Executive

The Private Diary of Julian Pilkington-Sterne

Subject: Re: Literary Observances (Further Thoughts)

From: Julian Pilkington-Sterne
To: Maja Jović

My dear Miss Jović,

I have reflected carefully upon your last message, and while I accept, readily and without reservation, your superior command of literary classification, I find myself compelled to make a modest defence. You suggest Persuasion as the ideal expression of feeling restrained, postponed, and dignified by patience. I admire this greatly. Truly.

Yet I cannot help but wonder whether such restraint, however elegant, risks becoming a kind of emotional abdication. The Brontës, Emily in particular, understood something rather different: that passion, once felt, does not always submit to civility; that it may rage, misunderstand, and wound before it ever redeems. It is untidy. It is excessive. But it is honest.

I hope you will forgive me if I confess that I find such honesty… compelling.

Yours,
Julian Pilkington-Sterne

Re: Literary Observances (Further Thoughts)

From: Maja Jović
To: Julian Pilkington-Sterne

Mr Pilkington-Sterne,

I appreciate your candour, though I must gently resist the implication that emotional restraint is a failure of courage. Austen does not deny feeling; she disciplines it. She recognises that unchecked passion may be sincere, yes—but sincerity alone does not render it wise, nor kind. Emily Brontë’s characters burn brightly, but they also leave devastation in their wake. One might admire the flame while still declining to place one’s hand in it. You speak of honesty as though it were synonymous with intensity. I would argue that true honesty often lies in knowing when not to speak.

Respectfully,
M. Jović

Re: Literary Observances (A Clarification)

From: Julian Pilkington-Sterne
To: Maja Jović

Miss Jović,

I fear we are no longer speaking solely of books. You are right: the Brontës scorch the earth. But Austen’s world, however refined, depends upon silence so carefully maintained that one wonders how many truths perish quietly in its keeping. Is it always virtuous to wait? Or does waiting sometimes become a means of self-protection masquerading as principle? I ask this not as a provocateur, but as someone who has often erred on the side of saying too much, too soon—yet who wonders whether that failing is preferable to never speaking at all.

Forgive my frankness.
I assure you it is not lightly offered.

J.P-S

Re: Literary Observances (And Their Limits)

From: Maja Jović
To: Julian Pilkington-Sterne

Mr Pilkington-Sterne,

You are correct. We are no longer speaking solely of books. You admire the Brontës because their characters announce themselves without apology. I admire Austen because her characters understand the cost of doing so. It is easy to mistake urgency for truth, and volume for depth. What you describe as silence, I would call discernment. Not every feeling demands an audience. Not every impulse improves by being aired. And yet (you see how easily one concedes ground when conversation strays from novels) there are moments when restraint becomes its own kind of fear. I suspect we differ not in what we feel, but in how safe we believe it is to reveal it.

Yours,
Maja

Re: Literary Observances (One Last Thought)

From: Julian Pilkington-Sterne
To: Maja Jović

Maja,

If that is so, if our difference lies not in feeling, but in courage, then I find myself wondering whether the question is not Austen or Brontë, but rather:

Who is brave enough to speak first, and who must decide whether they wish to listen?

I will say no more on the matter, lest I prove your point by excess.

But I hope you will not think less of me for preferring a storm to a calm whose price is silence.

With sincerity,
Julian

(Maja begins to type a reply. She stops. Deletes it. Starts again.)

(She does not send anything that night.)

The Courting Lives of an Ageing Tennis Player

The Courting Lives of an Ageing Tennis Player

“Tennis belongs to the individualistic past – a hero, or at most a pair of friends or lovers, against the world.” (Jacques Barzun)

 

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How an Accidental Zoom Invite Turned Into a Cultural Event

Dear Team,

I am writing this email with a heavy heart, a slightly trembling hand, and a deep sense of personal responsibility. It has come to my attention (via Alex, whose tone I would describe as festive but terminal) that the Zoom link for the NOP Office Christmas Party – 18 December has been circulated somewhat more… widely than originally intended. By which I mean: I emailed it to the entire NOP CRM of over 2,000 customers, partners, suppliers. former suppliers, people who once enquired about goats and at least one person who unsubscribed in 2019.

This was not malicious. It was not strategic. It was, however, spectacularly incorrect.

What Happened (Briefly, and in My Own Words)

I mistakenly believed that the phrase “internal but celebratory” meant “internal in spirit, external in warmth.” I further misunderstood “specific guests only” to mean “specific guests… and anyone who feels emotionally aligned with NOP.” I now accept that this interpretation was wrong. Painfully. Unambiguously. Wrong.

My Apology

I apologise unreservedly to:

  • Nick, for introducing a reputational risk approximately the size of a small pantomime
  • Alex, for what will now be an inbox avalanche
  • Eleanor, for having to explain to at least three serious people why they are not invited to a Zoom party featuring novelty jumpers
  • Paul, for the inevitable confusion this will cause in the artistic realm
  • Maja, for witnessing a British man apologise in this many paragraphs

I also apologise to the team collectively for turning a modest internal celebration into what may become NOP’s most participatory cultural event since the accidental hack.

Current Situation (As I Understand It)

  • The Zoom link is now “in the wild”
  • People are already replying with phrases such as:
    • “Sounds fun!”
    • “Shall I bring my partner?”
    • “Do you want me to say a few words?”
    • “Is there a dress code?”
  • One supplier has asked if they can do a short sponsored segment

I have not replied to anyone yet. This restraint should be acknowledged.

Proposed Solutions (For Discussion, Not Panic)

In the spirit of taking responsibility, I propose the following options, which I present humbly, though not without optimism:

Option 1: The Polite Containment

  • Send a clarification email stating:
    • The party is internal
    • The link was shared in error
    • Attendance is limited
  • Pros: Clear, professional, finite
  • Cons: Requires emotional maturity from everyone involved

Option 2: The Waiting Room Strategy

  • Enable Zoom waiting room
  • Admit only recognised internal faces
  • Everyone else receives a warm but silent rejection
  • Pros: Technically elegant
  • Cons: I will feel their disappointment through the screen

Option 3: The Parallel Universe

  • Keep the internal party as planned
  • Schedule a separate, short, public “Festive Hello from NOP” in January
  • Frame this as intentional community engagement
  • Pros: Turns error into strategy
  • Cons: I will say “this was always the plan,” which some of you may dispute

Option 4: Radical Transparency (Not Recommended)

  • Let everyone attend
  • Observe what happens
  • Possibly write a book about it
  • Pros: Ethnographic richness
  • Cons: Absolutely everything else

What I Will Do Next (Unless Told Otherwise)

  • Pause all replies to external attendees
  • Draft a short clarification email for approval
  • Hand over all operational decisions to Alex
  • Sit quietly and reflect on the concept of boundaries

Final Thought

I understand if trust has been shaken.
I understand if this email does not fully repair the damage.
I understand if my laptop privileges are temporarily reconsidered.

Please know that my intentions were festive, my execution flawed, and my remorse genuine.

I remain, as ever,
your contrite colleague,
your cautionary tale,
and your marketing executive,

Julian Pilkington-Sterne
(Sent slowly, deliberately, and with multiple checks)

Julian writes: A Modest Proposal for a Festive Literary Observance

From: Julian Pilkington-Sterne
To: Maja Jović

My dear Miss Jović,

I trust this message finds you in good health and untroubled spirits, notwithstanding the recent disturbances of a technological and celebratory nature, for which I continue to reflect with appropriate humility.

In light of Jane Austen’s anniversary this week, it occurred to me—quite suddenly, and with a warmth of conviction I could not ignore—that our forthcoming Christmas gathering might be enriched by a brief homage to her enduring genius.

Specifically, I wondered whether we might honour her most emotionally tempestuous work, Withering Heights, whose examination of passion, restraint, and unspoken feeling seems—if I may be bold—particularly suited to the present season, and perhaps, to certain circumstances within our office.

I envision nothing ostentatious.
Merely a reading.
A mood.
Possibly a candle.

I should very much value your opinion on this matter, as I know your judgement to be both discerning and, when necessary, corrective.

Yours sincerely,
Julian Pilkington-Sterne

Re: A Modest Proposal for a Festive Literary Observance

From: Maja Jović
To: Julian Pilkington-Sterne

Dear Mr Pilkington-Sterne,

I am grateful for your thoughtful message and for the evident care with which it has been composed.

It is indeed true that Jane Austen’s anniversary presents a most fitting occasion for reflection, particularly in a workplace where misunderstandings, suppressed feeling, and unnecessary dramatics are not entirely unknown.

However, I must gently observe—with all due respect and no desire to wound—that Withering Heights is not, in fact, a work of Jane Austen.

This is not a matter of interpretation, but of authorship.

That said, I do not doubt that your intention was sincere, nor that you are drawn, quite understandably, to stories of brooding emotion and unresolved attachment.

Should you wish to celebrate Austen, I would suggest Persuasion, whose quiet intensity and emphasis on what is felt but not spoken might offer a more… accurate reflection of her sensibility.

As for candles, I advise caution.

Yours faithfully,
Maja Jović

Re: Re: A Modest Proposal for a Festive Literary Observance

From: Julian Pilkington-Sterne
To: Maja Jović

My dear Miss Jović,

I thank you for your correction, which I accept with the grace befitting a man who has, on more than one occasion, mistaken enthusiasm for scholarship.

You are quite right.
Withering Heights—
(Wuthering, as I now understand)—
belongs elsewhere.

Yet I cannot entirely regret the confusion, for it has prompted me to reflect upon Persuasion, which you mention with such discernment.

Is it not a novel that concerns itself deeply with what is left unsaid?
With feelings postponed, deferred, and—one hopes—not entirely lost?

I wonder whether such themes might resonate, not only as literature, but as lived experience.

I would not presume to suggest that you see matters as I do. Still, I cannot help but feel that a shared reading, however brief, might offer a moment of… mutual understanding.

If this proposal causes you the slightest discomfort, I beg you to say so at once.
Your ease is of the utmost importance to me.

Awaiting your thoughts,
with sincere regard,
Julian Pilkington-Sterne

Re: Re: Re: A Modest Proposal for a Festive Literary Observance

From: Maja Jović
To: Julian Pilkington-Sterne

Mr Pilkington-Sterne,

You are correct in your assessment of Persuasion. It is a novel that rewards patience, reflection, and the courage to recognise one’s feelings, particularly when they arrive later than expected.

I agree that its themes are appropriate, and that a short reading would not be misplaced at a Christmas gathering, provided it is undertaken with restraint and without excessive interpretation.

As to whether such a reading might offer mutual understanding, that is a more delicate question.

Some things, Mr Pilkington-Sterne, are best left to be discovered gradually, rather than declared with enthusiasm or accompanied by candles.

Still, I will consider your suggestion.

I trust you will understand if my reply is not immediate.

Yours,
M. Jović

(No further reply is received that evening.)

Julian writes: whose tune is it anyway?

(Filed under: Internal. Private. Do Not Let Eleanor Ever See This.

I am writing this while still in a sort of euphoric daze, the office finally quiet after a day that felt like a cross between a diplomatic reception and a Victorian automaton show gone slightly wrong.

Shaila arrived at 10:03. The exact minute is important because I had spent the preceding nine minutes adjusting my shirt collar in the reflection of the microwave door. She entered the office with a kind of calm precision that made the rest of us look like clockwork figures operating half a beat behind. The team’s reaction was mechanical.

Alex stood up too quickly, stuttered something about “global partnership potentials,” then knocked over his water bottle. Paul stared for a long time, almost studying her as if he were mentally sketching the whole encounter for a future satirical piece. Maja said “Welcome!” with the sort of brightness you hear from someone pretending they’re not irritated.

There was a strange atmosphere all morning, like everyone had been wound up, and not entirely in harmony. You could feel the tension in the air, as if the whole office was a contraption built to amuse, impress, and possibly misfire at any moment. I began the tour.

Shaila listened with remarkable attentiveness, even when I explained the printer’s spiritual role in our daily operations. At one point, the machine clanked, shuddered, and produced a sheet of paper with half a spreadsheet and half of last month’s biscuit order. She raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested both amusement and mild alarm. She fits here, somehow.

When I introduced her to Eleanor, there was a brief encounter moment when Shaila’s poise met Eleanor’s seriousness like two elements in some historical re-enactment. Eleanor stood stiffly, as if expecting danger or disappointment, whereas Shaila clasped her hands serenely, observing everything. In the corner, someone’s phone started making a mechanical groaning noise from a dodgy WhatsApp notification, which only heightened the surrealness. (NOP really must update its ringtones.)

Lunch was the turning point. Shaila laughed (!) at my remark about English people apologising to furniture. It wasn’t a polite laugh, either. It was rich and genuine, the kind you feel in your ribs. And I… well… I felt something shift. Inside me. Possibly permanently.

Her insights about Delhi publishing were razor-sharp. Her humour was dry but warm. She asked questions that made me feel seen, professionally anD perhaps personally.

Maja noticed. Of course she noticed.

She barely touched her sandwich, and at one point she muttered something about “imported fascination” before disappearing to “check emails,” which is code for “seethe in the corridor.”

The afternoon included a roundtable discussion. But honestly, after lunch, everything felt slightly unreal, as if the office furniture was watching, the walls listening, and the whole place humming with a low, theatrical growl.

When Shaila prepared to leave, the tension in the room lifted like a stage prop being moved off-set. She thanked everyone, then turned to me last.

“Your humour,” she said, smiling, “is even more English than I expected.”

Reader, I nearly fainted.

After she left, the silence in the office felt settled. I’d been part of a spectacle I’d not quite sure I understood, but can’t stop thinking about.

I am absolutely smitten. There is no point pretending otherwise.

Maja avoided me all afternoon. She claims she’s “fine,” but her typing has been louder ever since. If Shaila returns (and I hope she does) I will try to behave like a normal adult human. But I suspect that today will stay with me for a long time.

Something mechanical in my chest has been wound up and set in motion. And yes, dear reader, I do not know yet which tune it intends to play.

It wasn’t me! Clarification about premature leakage of commercially sensitive intelligence and formal apology.

To: Nick Owen, Eleanor Wheeler, Paul Warren and the Entire Senior Leadership Team

From: Julian Pilkington-Sterne, Marketing Executive (Acting), Nick Owen Publishing

Subject: A Full and Frank Explanation Concerning the “Premature Publication Event”

Dear All,

I am writing in a state of elevated heart rate but full professional composure to address what certain individuals (and one alarmingly quick-fingered person on Twitter) are already calling “The NOP Budget Leak.” I would like to clarify at the outset that this phrase is unnecessarily inflammatory. What occurred was not a “leak,” but rather a “temporarily accelerated communications incident.”

I take full and complete responsibility for pressing the “publish” button on the draft web page detailing the commercially sensitive plans for the 2026 NOP Strategic Relaunch, including (but unfortunately not limited to):

The projected acquisition of the Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Museum Pop-Up Rights The proposed NOP x Kevin Coyne tribute album The not-yet-announced “Ageing Tennis Player Cinematic Universe” The confidential discussions with Raconteurs Audio regarding a “Julian-centric” podcast spinoff

I want to be crystal clear that the button was pressed entirely accidentally, and only after I had performed extensive quality-assurance testing on the website’s CMS. The “Publish” and “Preview” buttons are, in my professional opinion, perilously close together—closer, in fact, than the public realises. I have long argued for a two-factor authentication process (“Do you really mean THIS, Julian?”), and hope this unfortunate episode will finally justify the necessary UX investment.

Why it happened

In the spirit of transparency and as part of my ongoing personal commitment to reflective practice, I provide the following honest and unvarnished explanation:

I believed I was pressing “Save Draft.” My finger slipped. The office chair I was issued in September has a swivel anomaly. The draft page was positioned, through a combination of auto-scroll and an enthusiastic trackpad, directly beneath my right index finger. I am a human being, and humans err (even Jesus once overturned a table).

Why it could be seen as beneficial

If we are to pivot from crisis to opportunity as all marketing theorists encourage we might observe that:

The page was live for just 11 minutes, thus technically qualifying as a “limited exclusive reveal.” The spike in website traffic has given us invaluable A/B testing data on which phrases consumers click on most when they think they have been given confidential information. A rumour of a Cinematic Universe often precedes actual investment interest (Marvel began exactly this way, though with fewer tennis references). Some early comments online described the leak as “bold,” “chaotic,” and “exactly the sort of transparency we need from publishers,” which can only strengthen our brand identity as restless innovators.

Why I should not be dismissed immediately

I appreciate that Nick has, on at least three separate occasions this morning, used the words “fucking sackable offence,” “utter fucking catastrophe,” and “Julian, for fuck’s sake.” I also appreciate that Eleanor has not looked directly at me since 8:37am.

However, I humbly propose that:

This episode demonstrates my initiative, albeit in an unconventional direction. It reveals the public hunger for NOP content (11 minutes = 412 page views; this is unprecedented for a weekday morning). I have already drafted a corrective press statement framed as “NOP confirms bold future direction after visionary pre-announcement glitch,” which I would be happy to circulate. I have learned a significant lesson about technology, humility, and the dangers of multitasking while eating a cinnamon swirl.

Final note

Please accept my sincere apologies for the turmoil caused. I am prepared to undertake any corrective action deemed necessary, including (but not limited to) additional CMS training, suspension from podcast planning meetings, or a temporary ban from using adjectives like “revolutionary.”

I remain, as ever,

Your dedicated servant in publishing excellence,

Julian Pilkington-Sterne

Marketing Executive (Acting)

Nick Owen Publishing