The marketing agency window looks across the road out onto fields. It’s muggy out there. Cows graze, tails swishing through clouds of persistent, undiscriminating horseflies; nettled field-margins conceal all manner of ecological goings-on, and in the middle-distance, on the chalk path, a springer spaniel strains every sinew to get to the edge, to sniff the wee of the dogs that went before.
It’s late afternoon. The freelancer surveys this scene, taking a break from a frustrating afternoon where, like a train passenger stranded by signal failure, he contemplates his next move. His is not a train to catch, though. His is the aching need for the arrival of information.
In the marketing agency we tell stories; stories that elevate, stories that remind, stories that keep products in frames, and stories of skill and passion and success and praise and noteworthiness. Even stories of genius. And yes, our own finely-honed talents can paint some pictures with scuffed dust and perspiration alone, but it’s better to have a complete palette; better to have the bright colours to mix and splash around for the bigger pictures.
If only.
It’s summer. Today is a waiting game. The barley in the fields ripples in the breeze, the stream of emails barely trickles, unanswered questions hang in the humid air, and half-told tales lie helpless on the ‘pending’ shelf where the faintest coffee cup rings overlap.
Inventors and salesmen and installers and product managers; executives and organisers - tell to me your stories and the world will know them.
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