I've re-written this since first posting - changed the ending and cut out some descriptive passages. Removed quite a bit. Hope it works better.

'Okay guys, take a seat. I have a few short words on behalf of the Managing Director, then - I'm afraid - we have a lot of work to do.'

Bryan Gillespie ushered in his creative team, indicating a couple of empty seats around the small, round, highly polished table in the Conference Room. One of the seats was actually padded so the members of his team knew that this would be Bryan's.

There were, including Bryan, three people on the team so - with Bryan's secretary present to make notes - the four of them took a seat each. Bryan took the padded one, since it was the only one left vacant.

'So Boss ... What's up?'

Eric Avery, at 53, was the eldest and Bryan thought him the most valuable member of the team.

'Eric.' Nodding to the older man, Bryan got down to business. 'Now ... I have been told - by the MD - to read this notice verbatim.' He paused and looked around the other three people in the room. 'It's not pretty. You all know Bill; he doesn't mince his words.'

Gordon McLuskie - the youngest member of the creative team - lost his smile. Eric leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows on the table. The secretary - a short, shapely brunette named Dawn Schofield - merely opened her notepad and prepared to make notes.

'We need new ideas.' Bryan read from a sheet of paper. 'The company goes to the wall in three months or less if we don't turn things around. Get your collective fingers out. (Signed) William P. Thompson, Managing Director The Caring Cards Company.'

'Jesus H. Christ! When did things get that bad?'

'Been sliding for a couple of months, Eric. Sales figures are at an all-time low for the company. Apparently although hand-crafted cards are all the rage, the bigger companies are getting in on it. Mass-produced hand-crafted cards. How can we compete?' Bryan slumped in his chair and looked at the two members of his team. 'Bill wants something new.'

Gordon rubbed his face. 'New? It takes a while to come up with new ways to say "Happy Birthday" or "Get Well Soon".'

Eric looked at the younger man. 'Not new like that, Gordon. A new product; a new occasion to create cards for.' He turned to Bryan. 'I'm right, right?'

'That's it in a nutshell.' Bryan confirmed.

'You're kidding!' Gordon stood up, realised there was nowhere to go, and then sat down again. 'What are we supposed to do, invent a holiday? National "Pick Your Nose" Day?' he snorted in frustration. 'The verse should be lots of fun: "I hope you have a happy day, and are content with what you've got. So get to work and pick away, let's make a pile of snot!"'

Eric laughed out loud. Dawn took notes. Gordon himself couldn't stop a smile spreading on his face.

Bryan looked daggers at the young man.

'You happy to be facing the dole?' he growled. 'I'm not. Like you two, I have a mortgage. We have two cars and a holiday home in Dorset. If you want to be funny, do it on your own time. Just now, let's brainstorm to save our jobs, huh?'

Chastened, Gordon slumped in his seat and stared out the small window. Eric too stared, but at Bryan.

'Hey Boss, give him a break, huh? I was thinking the same thing ... although not with so much volume. His point being, I think, that getting a new angle on the Greetings Card business is a real bastard, you know?'

'I know, Eric. But that's the reality. That's what we have to do. That's why I said it's not pretty.' He looked at Gordon. 'Sorry, Gordon.'

'S'okay, Boss.' Gordon gave a lopsided smile. 'Never been in a situation like this.'

'Me neither, Gordon. So, let's get to business.' Bryan clapped his hands then rubbed them together. 'Brainstorm, eh?'

The two other men nodded their assent.

There was silence. The silence stretched. Eric sat back, his hands clasped behind his head, staring at the roof. Gordon had his head propped on one hand, his elbow on the table, and stared out the small window. Bryan pursed his lips, ran his tongue along the back of his teeth, and stared at each of the other two men in turn.

Dawn made notes; of what, no one knew ... Nor particularly cared, at that moment.

Eventually, after what seemed an eternity - but had probably been only ten minutes - the silence got to Bryan.

'Come on guys! I asked for a brainstorm, not a Vulcan mind-meld! Throw something onto the table. Anything!'

'What about taking a leaf from Lewis Carroll?' Eric said, looking around the table. Dawn was the only one without a puzzled expression on their face; she was busy making notes.

'You know ... from "Alice In Wonderland"?'

Silence. Gordon looked at Bryan, Bryan returned the look. Both shrugged then looked at Eric.

'Enlighten us then, Eric.' Bryan said.

'You know ... "A Very Merry Un-Birthday To You"!' Eric beamed. 'It's genius! It'll be money to burn!'

Bryan pinched the top of his nose between thumb and middle finger, shaking his head and sighing.

'Who do we sell those to, Eric? I mean, do you want to send a card to your wife every "Un-Birthday"?'

Both Eric and Gordon, who had also thought the idea genius, looked deflated. Bryan continued;

'Hand-crafted cards are a fiver a pop, right? That's thirty-five quid a week -'

'Only thirty when it's her birthday!' interrupted Gordon, getting a glare in return.

' - that's EVERY week.' Bryan glanced at Gordon, 'Except her birthday week, of course. THEN you’d have to buy her a BIRTHDAY card.' He then turned back to Eric. 'So, roughly fifteen hundred quid a year ... Every year! And that's just the wife! What about your parents, children, friends, siblings ...?’

Eric blew out his cheeks and ran his fingers through his hair.

'It's not easy, this.'

'If it was easy we'd all be millionaires, Eric. Still, at least you're thinking now. I was up all night thinking this through. I don't mind telling you, it's a fucking nightmare.'

Eric reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out a slightly battered pack of cigarettes.

‘You mind if I take a wee break, Bryan? I’m gasping for a fag.’

Bryan took a deep breath.

'Sorry, Eric. No smoke breaks. I'll phone out for lunch if we're still here; you can take a smoke break then.'

Eric looked as though he'd argue the point but simply sighed, tucking his cigarette packet back into his pocket.

‘Okay, anyone have the idea that will save our jobs?’

No one was jumping up and down trying to get Bryan’s attention. Gordon, however, was drumming his fingers on the table.

‘You got something, Gordon?’

‘I was thinking about supporters of football teams?’

‘Yeah? Go on.’

‘Well, what if we do cards that congratulate supporters on the success of their team? You know ... “Promotion! Congratulations!” Or “You Won The Cup!” They could all be done in the colours of the team in question. They’d sell like hotcakes.’

Bryan couldn’t help himself. The frustration was threatening to give him a stroke.

‘And what if the league goes to the last day? How quickly could we get the cards printed, packed and shipped out? By that time, it’ll be old news.’

‘We could print them in advance. Do what they do on Cup day, you know? With the ribbons? A set in each team’s colours, just use the appropriate set at full time?’

‘We’re a small company at the moment, Gordon. You suggesting we print out hundreds of cards that won’t get sold?’

‘We could keep them in case the other team wins the Cup the next year.’

‘So ... warehouse space taken up with thousands of unsold cards that we may never be able to use?’ Bryan hated shooting down ideas - especially from friends. But he had to do it.

Gordon seemed to shrink, his usual self-confidence tattered. Eric was staring into the distance; the fabled ‘thousand-yard stare’ usually attributed to Veterans of armed conflict. Dawn made notes.

Bryan thought life had rarely looked so bleak. Here he was, head of a creative team that - ultimately - would be responsible for the loss of almost one hundred jobs. Small business was a tough business and the greetings card business one of the toughest. How were the little people to compete with multi-national businesses? ... Considering that one of these multi-nationals even had their own TV channel!

Just then, to the surprise of the three man team, Dawn spoke up.

‘I have an idea.’

Bryan looked at his secretary. He saw Eric and Gordon do the same. Silence reigned. Bryan wasn’t sure but he could swear Dawn hadn’t said even as much as ‘Good morning.’ to anyone since the meeting began.

‘Okay, Dawn. You have the floor. Let’s hear it.’

‘Well ... I thought Eric was onto something with his “Un-Birthday” idea. Why don’t we do cards that say things like “Heard You Failed Your Exams!”? Use the British sense of humour and work with it. A little humourous verse inside, nothing too nasty. Maybe a cover depicting a torn-up exam certificate littered with “F” grades. That sort of thing.’

Bryan stared. Eric stared. Gordon stared.

Silence reigned again.

Bryan thought about that idea ... and he couldn’t shoot it down. It could work. In fact, knowing the British...

‘I think ... I’m sure ... that may be genius!’

Eric was smiling. He could see it too ... See the possibilities. Gordon too was smiling. Dammit, they were all smiling.

Dawn was taking notes.

The ideas began to flow thick and fast:

“So You Failed Your Driving Test” from Gordon.

“Thanks For The Terrible Gift” from Eric.

“Sorry To Hear The Bank Repossessed Your Home” from Eric again.

Soon, they were all laughing whilst the ideas ricocheted around the close walls of the Conference Room.

Dawn took notes.

“So You Got Left At The Altar” from Bryan.

“With Deepest Sympathy. I Hated Him Too” from Eric, definitely getting into the swing of things.

“Get Sick Soon” from Gordon.

Dawn continued taking notes until there was silence again. Then she contributed one of her own ideas.

“I’m Smarter Than You So I’m Having Your Job”

Bryan didn’t think that one was particularly funny.

‘Okay, guys. Great job. I’ll let Bill know what we’ve - ‘

Dawn stopped taking notes to cough.

‘ - what Dawn came up with. I think we’re on to a winner here.’

For the first time that day, they all walked with a spring in their step.

Two weeks later, Bryan came downstairs to find an envelope bearing only his name - obviously hand-delivered - on his doormat. Inside was a card.

The card had the words “Sorry To Hear Of Your Demotion” on the cover ... along with a posed photograph of a panicked man sliding down a 'slippery slope'.

Inside the verse read:

‘You're on the slide? That’s really sad. Those good ideas? ... You never had. So back to work, let's go the whole nine yards. Now I'm your boss ... It was on the cards.’

It was signed Dawn Schofield, Creative Manager, The Caring Cards Company.