The Joy Of Exes
Back in the frivolous old days, when the music biz had light-hearted accountants and the West End was awash with rock Dollars, young journalists competed with each other to get the most outrageous expenses claims past the Editor. It wasn't especially dishonest, more a bunch of puerile larks. Such as the guy who found a receipt for £6.66 and marked it down as "drinks with the devil". Or the guy working for Loaded who tried to get the wife's breast enhancement on exes.
Back at the NME, one bloke claimed £20 "just for being me". And it was duly signed off. Meantime in the interest of cutting edge journalism there was £50 on a sheet for interviewing a prostitute. Me, I was a paragon of virtue, but I did manage to claim for an entire fencing kit for a duel with Iron Maiden's Bruce Dickinson. I was aiming to get back into the sport, but I was already too old for the piste and not creative enough with the spreadsheet. The realy audacious moves were documented in Frederic Dannen's Hit Men, when bar mitzvah parties and Californian blow-outs were not uncommon and tacitly tolerated. Ah, the good old days.