Working for the man (hopefully)

Went for a job interview today in London. I arrived in High Holborn around twenty minutes early and pottered about so I could arrive at 11am on the dot, as we had agreed over the phone. The job was regarding a group of headhunters. I was asked of my skills of decapitation and shrinking of heads in the Amazonian-style and the relative merits of this over the Congolese-style.
Er, well, not quite. They were business headhunters. I was fairly relaxed throughout, the only downside was to to over-gesticulate with my hands, when the classic pose is arched in the chapel-fashion and to remain so for the duration.
It was standard interview stuff, why I want this job, why I'm suited for this job, what are my strengths and weaknesses (for the latter, 'perfectionism' is done to death I was told prior to answering), what do my friends think of me, what are my short-term and long-term career ambitions, what are my two greatest achievements, how well do I work in a team?
There was also that question that's leftfield, though not so much in this case since it was related to advertising. In this instance, what's the most effective ad currently in my opinion. There were a few that have made me chuckle, but the only one that I could squeeze out of my brain and appear at ease was the Cadbury's gorilla bashing drums. As I talked a few others flooded back, but I had read about this one in the media pages of a newspaper and so was fairly familiar.
Then the interview technique cunning - asking if I had any questions when no mention had yet been made of salary, pension plans, health insurance, working hours (plus lunch break), perks and activities outside of work. To not ask about salary alone is enough to be marked for the reject pile. It was only the first stage. Were I to be successful, I would be invited back along with several other candidates to make a presentation to test, well, our presentation skills. This is no one-stop-shop job.
As I go for employment, Jose Mourinho leaves his. I must imagine that Chelsea fans are feeling 'blue is the colour, depression is the name'. The bookmakers will be rubbing their hands with glee at all the lost bets on Sammy Lee or Martin Jol, though some punters may make a technical point that Jose left of his own accord and was not sacked. I must admit I believed that if Jose made it to August he would survive the season, since departing in the middle of it smacks of an amateurishness that I thought the Abramovich Chelsea would not tolerate. Apparently, he could tolerate his manager even less, but to lose Mourinho just before the big game against Manchester United is calamitous. It will be interesting to see who is the replacement that can deliver the excitement. As for Mourinho himself, he will lurk like an ominous shadow at the back of any struggling manager at a big or big-ish club or rather his agents will lurk for him. The Portuguese always provided and provides interesting times.