Logging - Nick Spalding Page 0,5

Crush.

Turning slowly away from the three fashionistas, I do as I’m told and run my hand along the wall as I make my way to the hessian-covered smart screen at the end of the room.

‘Ooh,’ Winery Smalls says, almost orgasmically, as I reach the velour.

Nobody has felt this good about velour since 1978.

It certainly doesn’t feel particularly good to me as I drag my fingers across it, and I’m quite relieved when I hit sponge on the next panel.

I like sponge. I have three of them in my bathroom.

Giving it a final little poke, I move away from the tactile wall and lift the brown hessian to reveal a reassuringly boring smart television screen. It’s lovely to see something so solid, straight and black after all that eclectic colour.

‘Pull the hessian away, Andy,’ Pikky tells me. ‘It’s attached with Velcro.’

‘Velcro,’ Winery parrots, rolling her eyes with pleasure.

I do this, trying to ignore Winery’s small, ecstatic moan at the sound of Velcro strips pulling apart. These are some very strange people I’m dealing with here.

It takes me only a few seconds to link my iPad to the screen, and within moments I am ready to start my presentation.

‘Good morning,’ I say formally to the three people sitting with expectant looks on their faces. ‘I am very pleased to be here today, to pitch you my ideas for your newest campaign.’

‘Excellent!’ Pikky says, clapping his hands together.

‘Divine,’ Winery Smalls agrees.

‘Tarnation,’ Tex remarks.

I’m not sure he understands what that word actually means.

Nevertheless, I have to present to these people, so ignoring their idiosyncrasies is paramount if I’m to get through this. I can’t spend the next ten minutes worrying about why a young man from Lancashire feels the need to dress like a cowboy.

I launch into the presentation as best I can.

To begin with, it seems to be going well. My Google research about Fluidity appears to have paid dividends, as I get a lot of nods and smiles from my audience as I talk about what I think their vision for the company going forward should be, and how my graphic design sensibilities can work for them.

I then show the three of them some sample text images I think would be appropriate for the upcoming campaign’s wording. I’ve created some truly awful fonts for this. All jagged edges and overblown serifs that most people would reject instantly . . . but this lot seem to think are right up their street.

It’s actually going very well, until Winery Smalls drops a bombshell.

‘It’s so nice to see how different people can come up with the same idea,’ she says, interrupting me as I’m trying to explain how the eclectic fonts I’ve created will complement the badger-ravaged clothing they want to sell to poor, unsuspecting members of the Gen Z population.

‘Pardon me?’ I reply, a bit nonplussed.

She leans forward. ‘I just think it’s wonderful how the creative process works.’ Her hands go to her chest. ‘I’m in awe of it. That two people, entirely unrelated, can come up with graphics that look so similar. It really must mean Fluidity has a strong and clear message that you’ve both understood so well.’

‘Both? Similar?’ I say, now completely confused.

‘What Winery means,’ Pikky interjects, ‘is that the work you’re showing us is very similar to the designs Zap Graphics presented us with yesterday.’

My jaw muscles instantly tighten, and I can feel my teeth wanting to clench themselves together. ‘Is it?’

‘Yes!’ Winery crows happily. ‘Isn’t that a wonderful, majestic thing?’

‘Majestic,’ I repeat, barely able to get the word out.

‘It really is quite amazing,’ Pikky continues. ‘A real wonder how you can both provide such similar proposals without having worked together on it.’ Pikky’s eyebrow arches with the last few words, indicating that he doesn’t believe for a second that Zap Graphics and I haven’t colluded on this project.

But that’s not true!

I don’t even know the guy’s bloody name!

The only way we’d have the same kind of work to show off is if one of us had copied the other, and I know for a fact that it wasn’t—

Oh, bloody hell.

Is that it? Has Zap Graphics somehow hacked into my computer and nicked my ideas?!

Yes! That’s it!

The bastard!

My stomach flips as the horror of it envelops me. I have been hacked and ripped off. No doubt about it!

‘Are you going to continue, Andy?’ Pikky says expectantly.

Oh, Christ. Now I have to finish this damn presentation? Knowing that some bastard – whose name I don’t even know – has stolen my