Chapter 8

Spike was brainstorming an idea for his first column. Though to look at him, feet on the desk and pencil tapping absently on lip, you could be forgiven for thinking he was just taking it easy, as usual.

"Colin wants to talk to you about your expenses," said the voice behind him, disrupting the creative process.

"Now, there's something for the first edition. Colin wanting to discuss something to do with money!" replied Spike, swivelling around to face Cindy Watkins, accounts assistant.

"Spike, this is serious. You've claimed an iPod!"

"Well, as Music Columnist, I consider it to be necessary equipment for my job," said Spike, primly. "How can one review music if one has got nothing to listen to it on?"

Cindy rolled her eyes. "You go and tell him then. He's having seven kinds of fit about it. You know what he's like."

"I sure do. Leave it with me, Cindy." Spike sauntered over to the accounts department and burst suddenly into Colin's office. Colin looked up guiltily, the way he always did whenever anyone came unexpectedly into his line of vision but recovered quickly.

"Ah, Spike. Did Cindy have a chat to you about your expenses?"

"She did," replied Spike, coming around to Colin's side of the desk and sitting heavily on it. Colin smiled, in what he thought was a just-us-guys sort of way.

"It's about the iPod, Spike, my old mate. We can't cover it."

"Sure you can. It's a legitimate business expense. We've got a brand-new and healthy budget, Colin, don't tell me you've 'invested' it already!"

Colin looked hurt. "Spike, "I'm shocked and appalled you could even think that. I'm simply trying to ensure that the Phoenix is a financially viable commodity from the start."

"Yeah, right. How about this, I keep the iPod and I don't tell Lynda to get Mayer's accountants in here to give you a helping hand starting up?"

Colin swallowed hard. "Tell you what, Spike. You return the iPod and I'll give you – at a greatly reduced price – the latest in portable music devices." He scrambled in a carton under the desk and produced a small box.

"An iPoc?"

"Virtually indistinguishable from the real thing!" Colin had regained some confidence. "My uncle is importing them." Spike inspected the box.

"Does it even have headphones?" he asked, sceptically.

"Sold separately," replied Colin, without flinching.

"Does it play mp3s?"

"Ah. Well, no, not exactly," squirmed Colin.

"Not exactly?"

"The features are slightly different. It does however, have a very powerful AM radio . . ." Spike snorted and tossed the box back to Colin.

"8 out of 10 East Timorese teenagers can't tell the difference!" called Colin as Spike left the office. Undaunted, Colin set about reviewing his customer files. The same near-sighted executives that purchased his inflatable phones would be just the marketing demographic for an Appella iPoc.

Spike returned to his desk and fished the iPod in question out of his pocket, marvelling at the tiny size yet again. Sure, he had upgraded his old tape Walkman to a Discman years ago but this held so much more music and was so much more easier to carry. No more sagging pockets, chewed tapes or scratched disks. Amazing. He looked fondly at the iPod for a little longer before turning to his computer and beginning to type.

"The Revolution of Portable Music," he said aloud. "From Ghetto-Blaster to Pocket Rocket!"