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

I came in early to clean up the inbox. The inbox laughed.

Every message replied to every other message. Subject lines like “RE: RE: RE: unsubscribe me you magnificent maniacs.” The MailEnchant logo in the corner pulsed faintly, like a living heart.

In my panic, I clicked “Sync All Devices.”

The office printer started printing the newsletter. The scanner started beeping Morse code. Even the coffee machine hissed “Welcome to the Mischief List.”

Nick arrived mid-flood. I tried to explain. He stared at the rising tide of paper and said quietly, “Julian… this is strangely on brand.”

I think that saved me. For now.

This morning, Nick walked in with that calm, amused expression that only people who have seen creative catastrophe before can wear.

He placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “You’ve done more in a week than most do in a year. It’s also possible you’ve cursed the entire website.”

We spent the day undoing my “enhancements.” Cosmic aubergine returned to white. The MailEnchant spell was exorcised. The printer finally stopped muttering.

As we finished, Nick smiled. “Every apprentice breaks a broom eventually. The trick is learning what to sweep next.”

I smiled back, pretending I understood. But I swear: when I left the office tonight, the coffee machine whispered “unsubscribe.”

I’m taking my laptop home. Just to keep an eye on it.

It began innocently enough.. I wanted to automate the newsletter process by making the ‘Mischief List’ send itself, like a self-pouring jug of marketing magic.

I installed a plugin called “MailEnchant Pro.” It asked for permissions. I said yes to everything. Everything.

An hour later, emails began multiplying on their own. Drafts spawning drafts. Subjects writing themselves. “Join the Mischief,” “Stay in the Chaos,” “You Cannot Escape the List.”

By lunchtime, 327 emails had gone out. To whom, I don’t know. Possibly the entire alumni of York St John University. Possibly a plumber in Ripon.

Nick walked past my desk and said, “Julian, good engagement spike today.”
I nodded, smiling weakly, as another email whooshed out of the outbox like a bewitched broom carrying buckets of spam.

The tutorial videos promised that “minor tweaks” could transform a website overnight. I believed them.

Today I discovered something called ‘Custom CSS’ . It’s like alchemy: you mix a little of this, remove a bracket there, and the entire homepage rearranges itself like obedient magic.

For a moment, the banner image moved on its own with the text flickering between “Nick Owen Publishing” and “Nick Owns Publishing.” I wasn’t sure if that was a bug or divine commentary.

I tried to reverse the code but the page just whispered, “Syntax Error.” I think that’s Latin for “You’ve gone too far, young one.”

Nick hasn’t noticed yet. I’ll fix it tomorrow. Or learn how to live with cosmic aubergine.