Logging - Nick Spalding Page 0,3

of happiness swells in my chest as the elevator door bings open.

I walk down the rather nondescript corridor, and arrive at the main door to Fluidity’s offices. These do not look nondescript. Not in the slightest.

In fact, if there’s some great universal scale on which nondescript is at one end, then these offices must be at the other. They are superdescript. Megadescript. There’s so much descript going on here, you could bottle it and sell it at a car boot sale.

I would say a riot of colour hits me as I walk through the doorway and into the offices proper, but that wouldn’t do it justice. This isn’t a riot. It’s a bloody thermo-global nuclear war.

Fluidity designs clothes exclusively for Generation Z. And Generation Z really loves a lot of colour. I know this because I googled it.

I’m thirty-six now, and am therefore completely disconnected from the youth of today, but the world’s most popular search engine has told me all that I need to know about Generation Z’s fashion choices. They largely consist of bits of multicoloured material, sewn together haphazardly before being torn to pieces by a hyperactive badger.

The interior decor of the Fluidity offices apes this approach to an alarming degree. No two walls are the same colour. Hell, no two square yards of wall are the same colour. It’s headache-inducing.

But I dutifully sit down on one of the brightly coloured plastic chairs in the reception area, having been directed there by the receptionist, who gave me a very funny look for daring to be over the age of twenty-five.

While I wait for someone to come and get me, I have another look at Twitter, to see that Fat Chance has been replaced at the top of what’s trending by the latest shenanigans in Parliament. I generally ignore everything to do with politics, as in recent years it’s become abundantly clear that those who work in it roundly ignore everything to do with me.

I also read Jerry’s Facebook post properly, and find myself grinding my teeth at his selfishness. There have been no additional comments on my latest DeviantArt picture in the last few minutes – which is rather disappointing, as I really thought I was gaining traction.

Then I pull the iPad out of my rucksack, and have one last-minute read-through of the presentation. I absently rub the back of my neck and my shoulder as that familiar aching pain reappears. I should probably get something done about that.

‘Andy!’ a clipped voice says from off to my left. I look up to see someone dressed in Fluidity clothing coming towards me. I wish I was wearing sunglasses.

This must be Pikky – the person who arranged this meeting with me.

No, I have no idea what Pikky’s real name is. I haven’t had the courage to ask.

All I know is that Pikky is one of the three founding members of Fluidity, and is something of a rising star in the fashion industry.

Pikky is of Asian heritage, and requires a pie in his life at the earliest possible convenience. He’s incredibly skinny. The colourful, badger-assailed clothing I mentioned before hangs off his frame in all the wrong places.

Mind you, I have no idea what all the right places are, so who am I to judge?

I get up from the plastic chair, wincing slightly as I do. I really must get my neck and shoulder seen to.

‘Good morning, Pikky,’ I say to the thin man, as he sashays over and holds out a skeletal hand.

‘Oh please, Andy. Call me Piks. Everybody else does,’ he replies happily.

‘OK . . . Piks. It’s very nice to meet you – and thank you for inviting me here today.’

Piks waves a hand. ‘Oh, it’s no trouble. We’re keen on seeing as many designers as we can for this job.’

This makes me involuntarily grind my teeth again. I was rather hoping they wouldn’t have many people competing for the tender. Realising I probably have a lot more competition than just Zap Graphics is irritating.

‘Shall we go through to our touch zone, and see what you’ve got to offer us?’

‘OK,’ I say, slightly confused.

What on earth is a touch zone? I don’t think I want to go into something called a touch zone with a complete stranger wearing baggy multicoloured clothing. Things may happen. Strange things.

But Pikky has already started sashaying away from me, so I’d better follow – and hope nothing untoward happens to my touch zone in the coming few minutes.

Pikky leads me through a