This was the regional agency with a 'hub' in London and some impressive results.
According to their website, they are 'groundbreaking strategists with award-winning creative thinkers of global stature'. They have also worked for Coca-Cola, Nike, IBM, the BBC, Proctor & Gamble, Apple and Orange.
(The work on the site, however, seemed limited to a manufacturer of air conditioners and a leaflet for a local kennels called Janet Balls Dog Hotel. They were very proud of it, though. 'Our innovative print solutions for Janet Balls Dog Hotel increased profits by up to 400%.')
So, I headed to their London 'hub' for a chemistry meeting and, hopefully, a massive tear-up.
The 'hub' part of it was clear: it was around the size of a hub cap. Squeezed in as an afterthought in a bunker-like concrete building at the bowel-end of an industrial estate, it had just enough room for a small coffee table, three collapsible chairs and a kettle.
The 'London' element I was less sure of. We seemed, as far as I could tell, to be in cunting Lincolnshire. Now, I'm no geography teacher, but if we were in London, it was very, very North.
The two agency principles were the Chairman / President / CEO / MD / Global Account Director, and the Chief Creative Officer / Global Digital Strategist / Global Creative Head / Global Head of Art / Global Head of Copy.
Their business cards were bigger than the fucking Telegraph.
We squeezed into the 'hub' and Lee, the Chairman Global President Etc, gave me a passionate and lengthy description of his company's strengths. They are 'the fookin best agency in fookin Cheshire by a fookin mile' and 'as good as that fookin London lot anyday' and 'always winnin loadsarawards and fookin' all that shite'.
Meanwhile, the Creative Global Whatever Etc, was drawing with a black marker pen on some kind of board.
When Lee finished (saying, I think, 'we're dead fookin creative - we've even gorra fookin meetin room wivvuh fookin chair like off of James Bond and that') the Pan-Continental Creative Overlord Etc turned to reveal his work.
He'd drawn a light bulb. On a blank canvas.
'That's what we'll do for your brand,' he said in a barely audible, throatily rich whisper.
Then he fell off his chair, out of the door and into the corridor, where he coughed like a dying hound for a worryingly long time and then walked off, presumably to the nearest boozer.
'See whorrah mean?' said Lee. 'He's a fookin creative genius, he is.'
'Is that it?' I asked.
'Yeah,' replied Lee. 'Wotchuh reckon?'
'I reckon that bloke's your Dad,' I said. 'I'd catch up with him before he dies without leaving you his massive debt and chronic alcoholism.' Lee ran off, with a look of familial concern.
Fucking weird, eh? Nothing more to do but head home without so much as a pint of shandy inside me. (I got back into town, naturally. Then I had a pint of shandy, substituting the beer for scotch and the lemonade for scotch.)
Can't say I was impressed. Still, I think I should let them pitch. It'll be fookin mental.
Right, I'm off to claim virtually everything I've bought over the last month on expenses.
Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!