GREG MOODIE

More The Further Adventures Of Sir Fred >>

'Mr. Smith,' as he insisted on being known, turned out to be a demanding client. Phone calls were scheduled for midnight each night, when he would outline the nature of the work I was to undertake during the subsequent hours of 12-6. There was to be no deviation. Electric light was forbidden but candles were acceptable. I asked about my twin monitor set-up and he reckoned that was ok.

It was a tough, gruelling assignment. After two weeks working nights I was starting to feel like every other graphic designer in the world.

Sir Fred was taking no chances, but each night he let his guard down a little further. One conversation was particularly revealing. Amongst details of brand guidelines and Pantone references, Goodwin hinted at the reasons for the downfall of his previous banking venture.

"You see," he began in a soft Paisley brogue, "there are those who say I went too far. But my problem was I didn't go far enough. I was just too reasonable."

I took this as evidence he was a complete radge, but he wasn't any worse than Spore or my other lowlife clients.

"That's why, this time around, I have enlisted some of the biggest twisters ever known to man to create a joint banking venture that will one day conquer the world."

Ok, I don't recall Spore ever mentioning conquering the world. But I let him continue.

"Soon you will be contacted by my associate, who is sadly detained at this moment in time. This contact will be made by letter. Which normally takes 5-7 working days."

Before he rang off, Goodwin concluded: "It may or may not surprise you to hear that the name of the contact will be.." He paused. "Bernard Madoff."

I didn't much care, so long as he paid his bills upfront.

My New Client, Sir Fred Goodwin

April 22, 2009

A thinly disguised Fred Goodwin had appeared at my door to commission visuals for his new banking venture. Normally he wouldn't have made it across the threshold but on this occasion I liked the cut of his chequebook. 'Mr. Smith,' as he insisted on being known, turned out to be a demanding client. Phone calls … Continue reading →

More The Further Adventures Of Sir Fred >>

Twitter was proving to be quite useful after I discovered my slippery client Spore posted regularly. But today I had other fish to fry after being approached by a slim-built stranger wearing an obvious disguise. The glasses and moustache might have fooled me, but the plastic nose was a real giveaway.

I invited him in and he peered round the room before entering shiftily.

"I need some branded elements for a small business start-up," he offered hesitantly. "Money is no object."

"Ok, Mister.. em..," I replied.

"Smith."

"Mister Smith. What kind of business are you starting?" I was reasonably casual about this confab as so many of my clients had turned out to be complete twonks.

"It's.. a bank," he blurted out.

"A bank? You're starting a bank?"

"Yes," he stated frankly. "It's really not that difficult."

I was about to show the goon the door when he got his chequebook out. There was no point in being hasty.

"I can give you a six-figure advance as a retainer with the promise of daily expenses for, shall we say, six months?"

"I see," I said. He was already writing the cheque so it would have been impolite of me to decline.

The signature complete, he thrust the folded note my way and rose to leave. As he did, the disguise slipped an inch or so and what I could see of the features beneath seemed vaguely familiar.

"My one condition is absolute discretion. I must insist that this arrangement remain strictly entre nous."

"No problem," I replied. Six figures would buy enough booze to keep me quiet for a lifetime.

He made his way hastily out the door and I was left somewhat stunned but far from unhappy. Still, I remained curious. I had an inkling who this character was and a swift scrutiny of the signature on the cheque confirmed my suspicion. There it was, with a flourish that only the over-priveleged can achieve: 'F. Goodwin.'

Bankers Anonymous

April 4, 2009

10^th Nov 2008. Spore: "Found suitable patsy to dupe with misleading trail of non-existent symbols. Meeting Stephen Fry later."

Admittedly, I would follow a trail of peanuts if they were laid out with a modicum of design sense. But at this stage there was nothing more than that to suggest I was the patsy in question. I continued to read.

1^st Dec 2008. Spore: "Discussed fiscal arrangements with FF. Met Fry again and have decided he's a knob."

There was only one FF worth the name and that was LaFlamme. So the raven-haired minx was in collusion with Spore? And who the hell was this Fry character?

Feb 8^th 2009. Spore: "Framing the patsy later today. Fry has taken the huff."

A panic attack of seismic proportions began to take hold as I realised I was being overwhelmed by information. I had the urge to start removing clothes, but with Spore's picture and Fry's omnipresence this seemed improper.

I calmed myself with thoughts of giving up computers forever, and living in an electricity-free state. Eventually, I managed to skip forward to the current week. This time, there was a single entry:

29^th Mar 2009. Spore: "Fait Accompli."

Fait Accompli? The panic passed but was now replaced by all-out alarm. Whatever the loon-supreme was up to, I sure as hell didn't want it accompli-ed, with or without Stephen Fry.

My Client Calls Stephen Fry A Knob

April 1, 2009

You could hardly sue them for misrepresentation of the facts - the name 'Twitter' said it all. But uncovering your client's 140-character musings had its attractions, especially when the client was Ignacious Spore. 10th Nov 2008. Spore: "Found suitable patsy to dupe with misleading trail of non-existent symbols. Meeting Stephen Fry later." Admittedly, I would … Continue reading →

The discovery that my design client Ignacious Spore had been using Twitter had jolted me out of my force ten apathy towards the micro blogging site.

Spore had already sent me on a wild goose chase involving the worst logo in the world, Jack Daniels, and the raven-haired minx Fifi LaFlamme (who was now a best-selling author after her self-help book 'Help Yourself To Drink' had gone top ten).

His nefarious activities began with a request that I analyse the religious symbology of his 'IS' monogram, in the mistaken belief that I was a certain Harvard professor. This column had become increasingly silly ever since.

But the fact that the slippery nutjob could have been posting 140-character clues on the utterly pointless typing-based me-fest that is Twitter was just too intriguing to pass up.

My path was clear. I clicked 'follow.'

My Client Right Or Wrong

March 20, 2009

The discovery that my design client Ignacious Spore had been using Twitter had jolted me out of my force ten apathy towards the micro blogging site. Spore had already sent me on a wild goose chase involving the worst logo in the world, Jack Daniels, and the raven-haired minx Fifi LaFlamme (who was now a best-selling author … Continue reading →

The Admiral had explained 'twittering' to me in words of one syllable and yet I still found the concept baffling. I asked for a diagram.

Later that evening I began to explore for myself. There had to be a reason for the popularity of this typing-based pastime and I was determined to find it.

I arrived at the conclusion that the world was in the grip of typing-induced delirium, because after several hours spent amongst all this random keyboard spawn, I was unable to find any actual writing.

I was also finding it difficult to see the possible attraction in following the nonsensical ramblings of strangers when I could barely follow my own.

But just when I was about to give up on the idea altogether and slide into coma-level apathy, I stumbled upon a correspondent by the oddly familiar name of @Spore, who was about to change my opinion altogether.

Twitter: The Typing Sickness

March 18, 2009

The Admiral had explained 'twittering' to me in words of one syllable and yet I still found the concept baffling. I asked for a diagram. Later that evening I began to explore for myself. There had to be a reason for the popularity of this typing-based pastime and I was determined to find it. I … Continue reading →

"Twittering?" I queried. "Not typing?"

"Hmm."

"Not texting?"

"That's right. It's when you describe in 140 characters or less what you are doing. Let me give you an example." He began poking at the device. "Going to meet my colleague, the eminent psychologist Lydia Pine-Coffin." He looked pleased with this.

"But you're not. You're typing."

"Well yes, but you misunderstand. It's about social networking, it's about micro blogging."

"It's about typing." I took the device and punched in the following letters: 'hav just stuffd my armdillo and now thinkng tacos for brekfst.' I showed him this marvellous piece of prose. "Typing."

"You're being childish now," he scolded. "Deliberately obtuse."

"Bum bum bum," I retaliated, deciding to stick with childish rather than have to look up obtuse. "You don't need 140 characters to describe what you're doing. Just write 'typing.'"

But it seemed the Admiral was far from alone. Most people's list of hobbies would be headed with 'typing' if they ever dared admit it. Maybe it was like going to the bathroom - I enjoy my rest breaks but I wouldn't necessarily class them as a hobby.

More Joy Of Typing

March 12, 2009

Even though the Admiral was using a mobile phone rather than a keyboard, I still felt that he was essentially typing. But he took issue with this, insisting he was neither typing nor texting, but in fact 'twittering.' "Twittering?" I queried. "Not typing?" "Hmm." "Not texting?" "That's right. It's when you describe in 140 characters … Continue reading →

I went to visit the Admiral hoping he might be able to explain the Da Vinci Code to me in semaphore or some other language I might understand. I felt the story may help me solve the mystery behind the worst logo in the world, but I wasn't so committed to the idea that I would read all 600 pages myself.

I found the Admiral in typical pose, hunched over some miniscule technical device, poking and prodding, his milk-bottle glasses growing thicker by the hour.

But it turned out this wasn't another piece of his electronic fiddling. He was texting, and the miniscule device was in fact a phone.

It was difficult to see how this gadget could be dialled by anyone outside Lilliput, and this gave rise to my theory that either phones were shrinking or my hands were expanding at an alarming rate.

And just when I was getting to my next question - how could a form of typing ever become so popular? - the Admiral dropped a bombshell. He wasn't typing. He was 'twittering.'

The Joy Of Typing

March 3, 2009

"I believe your logo may be haunted," I informed Ignacious Spore, when I finally managed to tear myself away from his deceptively simple ‘IS' monogram and pick up the phone.

I had revised my opinion of the worst logo in the world after an afternoon spent locked up in it's presence without any drink. Initial revulsion turned to playful curiosity which turned to semi-religious epiphany, as I became transfixed with the zen-like beauty of the word ‘is'. Unfortunately this was followed by nausea.

My client sensed my emotional state and decided to tread carefully. "My dear boy, have you lost your bleeding marbles?" He was a sensitive soul.

But I knew Spore had been secretly searching for the Holy Grail and I believed he'd be interested in knowing this logo might hold the key.

"Ok maybe not haunted but it's definitely creepy."

This was where my knowledge of the Da Vinci Code let me down. If I could have wowed him with some nonsense about priories and keystones, he might have taken more interest. But I had nothing. There just weren't many possibilities for an anagram of the word ‘is.'

The Holy Grail Of Graphic Design

February 23, 2009

"I believe your logo may be haunted," I informed Ignacious Spore, when I finally managed to tear myself away from his deceptively simple ‘IS' monogram and pick up the phone. I had revised my opinion of the worst logo in the world after an afternoon spent locked up in it's presence without any drink. Initial … Continue reading →

So today it was just me and my shaky design skills. I avoided all the usual distractions: email, phone, Mongol hordes at the door. I had to break the spell of the blank canvas syndrome, which had so crippled me over the last few days.

I received a fax from my client Ignacious Spore. I'm not sure how, because I don't have a fax machine. It read ‘Are you up yet?' There was no escape.

I began to study the worst logo in the world - a simple monogram of the letters ‘IS' in a relative of Helvetica. Spore had limited imagination. The bold forms of the letters twisted and turned in my mind, and seconds evolved into minutes which became hours.

Eventually I could only see the monogram as a word. The word ‘is'. In the intensity of my concentration the word began to take on a mystical form. It was zen-like in its beauty and simplicity. Maybe this was the religious symbology that Spore was referring to.

Maybe in fact it wasn't the worst logo in the world. Maybe it was brilliant. Maybe it was like the ‘fcuk' logo - it was so appalling it had to be genius.

Just The Fax

February 19, 2009