I’m a firm believer in always ending the week with a bang – so is Busty by the way – so tonight I am planning a celebratory fireworks extravaganza.
But it’s not only for Guy Fawkes; my start-up agency Idol Hands is really beginning to take shape.
Of course, like any budding entrepreneur, I have drawn up a check-list of what must be done before launch:
• Sort out premises. Luckily, since Meteorite are moving out of their Mortimer Street base in London’s Fitzrovia, we’ve found the perfect location. Just down the road from Charlotte Street, and close enough to Archibald Ingall Stretton to lure their decent staff. We’ve also managed to secure a deal with Hugh Bishop that he still gets his wine delivered to the agency so no-one at McCann nicks it – ker-ching!
• Sort out website. Done and dusted and ready to go live, total cost: £150.
• Sort out staff. Old Hands and I have been working hard on this one. Thing is you have to strike the right balance: you need some people to do the work; some people to look at. If you can find gorgeous-looking women who can also work hard, that’s a bonus.
• Sort out creative director. Obviously this is a tricky appointment because, first, they need to be called Steve; second, they need to do all the work when I am out on the piss; thirdly, we don’t want them demanding equity in the business.
• Sort out data people. This was proving easier said than done until someone suggested putting up a job ad at the end of platform 19 at Clapham Junction. We’ve been inundated with coneheads ever since.
• Sort out end-game. Like most agency chiefs, old Hands and I have just one thing on our minds – the buyout. We’ve already ruled out Engine Group, though, ever since they made those poor old Liquid directors repay their advance when they didn’t meet their targets. No wonder Ollie switched to the client side soon after.
There, I think that’s about it. One last thing I have to do is try to appease Mrs Idol, however, who is not altogether too chuffed at the prospect of me setting up my own business.
You see, she’s heard tales of agency chiefs ‘trading up’ with young, fit account execs. It starts with them having to ‘work away’ and ends with them moving in with some floozie who’s half their age.
Apparently one boss – we’ll call him Phil for argument’s sake – even had his agency valued at virtually nothing so the ex-wife had no claim on it. Then he pocketed £5m in cash. Now, that really is a man who knows how to run a business. Come to think of it, maybe we could get him in as a non-exec…
