I remember watching a highly successful adman (dubbed “the Grocer” by the venerable Prouk*), phone wedged into the crook of his neck, tiny spanking Guccis resting on the marble desktop, barking into the phone while admiring the pink perfection of his manicured fist:

“I’m thinkin’ TV, I’m thinkin’ three – no – four – yeah that’s it – four thousand GRPs a week. I’m thinkin’ we cover this town with billboards…”

He hadn’t a fucking clue what he was talking about.

Some hapless media knob would be tasked with contriving a media buy that on a blocking chart could pass for the promised commercial blitzkrieg, but with a budget that wouldn’t cover the Grocer’s dry cleaning bills for a week.

A recurring theme of conversations between me and my late mate (he’s dead and he was irritatingly tardy when not dead) concerned the need to be either a genius or as dumb as a barbell to really get on in advertising. Given the need to bolster the sagging confidence of nervous nellies before they’ll part with their money, universally acknowledged creative or strategic brilliance is a self-evident advantage. But when cloddishness is accompanied (as only it can be) by bombast and evangelical certainty it can be very persuasive in a business where no one knows what’s right.

Which is why the Grocer’s rich and I’m not.

*Gary Prouk, former Chairman and Creative Director: Scali, McCabe, Sloves (Canada) Inc.