Joël Penkman’s brilliant paintings exude childhood nostalgia. Jif Lemon – egg tempera on gesso board

In perhaps a rather limited research poll, it turns out that young children aren’t aware that today is Jif Lemon Day. And while I am a Catholic atheist, I was saddened and astounded when they didn’t appreciate that it is Shrove Tuesday. “But it is Pancake Day Daddy” replied my middle child. (There’s always one ready to pipe up in a research group isn’t there!) I swear she is more excited at the prospect of gorging herself on refined flour and sugar that she was on Christmas Day.

So given that my youngest is not even 10 months old and she couldn’t actively participate in my focus group, the responses from my 4 and 10 year old perhaps shouldn’t have come as a big surprise, given that our store cupboard ingredients don’t include that brilliantly designed Jif Lemon squeezy bottle.

This sent daddy into a nostalgic rambling about how as a child of the 70s/80s, Pancake Day had always involved Jif Lemon. In the days where our knowledge of processed foods and preservatives perhaps isn’t what it is today, a pancake wouldn’t be British without a squirt of the battery acid-like liquid from the fun little bottle. Quite why anyone would favour a processed alternative to simply cutting a fresh lemon in half is a mystery to me. I’m pleased to say that (in a particularly irritating middle class foodie way) when my focus group was questioned about where we get lemon juice from, the reply was an exasperated: “From a lemon Daddy.” No quick fix short cuts in my ‘all fresh’ kitchen. Yes, daddy extracts juice from a lemon by the method popularised by chirpie Essex geezer, tray-baker and general do gooder, Jamie Oliver: (1) cut lemon in half (potentially rolled on the kitchen work surface beforehand to get the juices flowing); (2) cup hand below one half of lemon; (3) squeeze lemon half, catching (some of) the pips while letting the juice trickle through fingers; (4) repeat with other half.

Rather strangely, I’m half tempted to buy a vibrant little bottle of Jif Lemon today. Not to use it you understand, but simply to marvel at its innovative marriage of form and function. The instantly recognisable, well branded and highly visible bottle, with more that just a little sense of fun, has been knocking about since the 1956 and I’ve always loved it.

Supermarket isles are jam packed with indentikit bottles, tins and jars (with stick-on labels)but Jif Lemon provides a perfect testimony to creative and brilliantly simply thinking. Where drawing inspiration from nature’s own packaging, results in a pack that perfectly communicates what’s held inside. You can almost imagine Edward Hack’s epiphany when he more than likely asked himself: ‘Where does lemon juice come from? From squeezing lemons of course!”

Not only is Jif Lemon one of my favourite packs, I was equally impressed with the advertising strapline: Don’t forget the pancakes on Jif Lemon Day.

Rather than focus – as many brands do – on widening their appeal, Jif Lemon narrowed its sights on claiming just one day of the year: Pancake Day. In doing so they’ve become synonymous with this day, and I’d wager that in doing so, they sell more little yellow bottles on the run up to this day than if they tried to take on fresh lemons all year round.

Perhaps the Barraclough household isn’t nostalgic enough to replace the fresh unwaxed lemons with a processed alternative, but I wouldn’t be surprised if plenty of other families default to this alternative just once a year – passing this tradition onto the next generation, meaning that there’s a fair old chance that it’ll still be around in another 50 odd years.

I wonder whether if Jif Lemon hadn’t been designed until today, whether it would even make it to the supermarket shelves? Not simply because of our increased knowledge of the benefits of fresh food and the drawbacks of processed, but because the idea of a non-flat bottomed product rolling off retailers’ shelves would never make it through the research focus groups.

There are many who believe that systematic, careful research can arrive at a creative conclusion that will be successful in the market place (paraphrasing Wally Olins). But research is only useful in telling you what people currently think and feel – not what the best original creative idea is. I don’t even buy the argument that focus groups may not tell you what will work, but they’ll definitely tell you what won’t. Most people are initially conservative and don’t like anything new. So an artificial situation where a few people are paid a little money to sit in a room with strangers, and talk about something they potentially know very little about, is invariably going to result in conservative thinking so that they don’t appear foolish.

It’s a familiar scenario: the formal research group dominated by what Alex Bogusky describes as the ‘Alpha Asshole’ – the person most comfortable being opinionated among a group of strangers. Who in their right mind is going to argue with this person?

Sensible research has its place but it shouldn’t be a substitute for creative decision making. Don’t be fooled into thinking that it can identify the right creative route and that what the research says goes. Interpretation, judgement and gut instinct are critical.

I don’t know whether any Jif Lemon (or Realemon as it was originally known) research groups were commissioned in 1956, but to me, the resulting pack looks like a triumph in relying on creative instinct rather than research.

This creative instinct and courage, combined with attention to detail invariably makes for great work. Legend has it that the designer personally examined the entire stock of lemons in Harrods’ food hall to obtain the perfect lemon shape.

Now that’s my kind of research.

It’s interesting to see China Town even more vibrant and colourful than it usually is (see the now obligatory colour dips below).

Onto the Chinese Arts Centre in the heart of Manchester’s Northern Quarter. I’ve long been an admirer of the CAC logo, dating back to my days as a design student at Salford; where I’d point it out to anyone that would listen (or was sober enough to see it). For me, it’s a classic example of design taking the viewer from A to almost B, with some effort required on their part to complete the picture.

So it came as a pleasant surprise when starting at Barraclough, to discover that it was the creation of our very own Creative Director, David, and his team — whilst heading up the design arm of CheethamBellJWT. This iconic mark, created almost ten years ago, has since been applied to numerous bits of collateral by the CAC team and their design agencies:

There were some interesting bits and pieces on show too, with the Chinese New Year honoured in the ‘Wishing Tree’ installation created by Manchester based artists Olivia Glasser and Lu Di. The tradition of the wishing tree, is that people write their wish on a piece of paper, tie it to an orange and throw it up into the branches. It is believed that the wish comes true if the orange does not fall.

The exhibit that held my interest the most, was a series of pieces by Jeremy Hutchison, that seemed to be inspired by the incredible attention to detail that seems to be present in most Chinese manufacture processes. Jeremy created a series of ‘Incorrect Products’ by briefing Chinese factories to create one of their products, but with an error built in that means the product cannot be used for its intended purpose. The error must be created and thought up by the factory employee him or herself. The results were really interesting:

During the Christmas break (which already seems a distant memory) I travelled to Paris for New Year’s Eve whilst squeezing as much culture into five days as possible. I saw and did plenty of interesting stuff, a brief snapshot of which is shown below with some colour dips — as previously discussed on this blog — for good measure. Interesting results as ever.

Happy (belated) 2012.

One I designed in 1995, where the idea of display was the idea

I may have missed something, but surely a prerequisite of a Christmas card is to be able to display it?

We’re either: a) deeply unpopular, or b) the traditional Christmas card is dead. I’m certain that from the rise in ecards we’ve received that it’s the latter (let’s hope so). I’m sure that it won’t come as any surprise that the traditional card has pretty much had its day, or at the very least, the corporate card has. As a consultancy, we’re asked less and less every year to design them for our clients and this year we’ve not designed one for ourselves.

Brazen Christmas card 2006 – a celebratory twist on their logo. You can see more Brazen stuff here

But this makes me a little sad. I totally buy the argument that a Christmas card is not only environmentally unsound but a right pain in the proverbial to write and send out. Add to that actually designing one seems to get harder every year, then is it any wonder that they’re on the decline in these tough times?

While I’m very grateful for the ecards we’ve received, I can’t help thinking that they’re not any kind of replacement for the humble card. Much like the 12” vinyl record sleeve, the traditional Christmas card was an opportunity for a piece of art, a playful thought or a sharp observation. Sure you can still create a clever visual digitally, but there is something a little lost in its execution versus the real life tactile experience, and often smell, of a piece of print.

Traditional cards and ecards share the same ability to carry a pithy goodwill message and a themed visual, but I remain flummoxed as to how an ecard can form any kind of replacement when it fails to deliver on one fundamental prerequisite of the traditional card – the ability to display it.

Sure you can print it out on a piece of 80gsm laser paper, fold it in half and place it on your windowsill but it won’t be there for long. Perhaps if you could automatically download each of your ecards at the touch of a button, save them to a screensaver folder that automatically displayed them as your computer nodded off, then the ecard would be going someway towards being a realistic replacement. As it stands, it’s like asking someone to pick you up a low-fat strawberry yoghurt from the shops and them returning with a pack of six, all butter mince pies. It appears that I’m not alone (#ecardnameandshame).

Advertising and digital agencies seem to be making a better fist of going that stage further and creating Christmas sites and games but I can’t help but think that they’re little more than an exercise in ‘look how clever and digital we are.’ Don’t be fooled that the graphic design community was showboating any less but the card could be a quick and relatively low budget way to wrap up the year in a memorable fashion – the main equipment required being a sharp brain and the ability to twist a printer’s arm for one last seasonal favour.

It seems apt to point out that in the month where Thomas Heatherwick’s new bus for London was revealed, that this studio, capable of creating design on such a giant red scale, until very recently religiously designed a Christmas card for themselves every year since 1994. Regularly confining their thoughts to the self imposed use of a postage stamp (or stamps) and the post office stamp of London’s Mount Pleasant sorting office, they created tasteful, playful and often incredibly intricate Christmas cards worth talking about. Dare I say, worth displaying. Better than that, I’d wager that anyone who’s ever received one has still got it. You can read more about Heatherwick’s cards here and here.

It’d be impossible to mention Christmas cards and stamps without a shout out for The Chase’s mid 90s classic of a Christmas tree made from stamps; the sum of which making up that of a first class one, and as luck would have it at the time, that was 25 pence. Get it?

It’d be hard to beat that card and it appears that I’m not the only admirer. I saw the strangest thing here! Why would you do this?

The demise of the Christmas card is perhaps the biggest loss for the junior designer, yet to be let loose on a fully blown corporate client. The Christmas card was often a level playing field, a sort of FA cup tie if you like, where the junior had every chance of overthrowing their master.

I’m sure that many design companies worth their salt will still indulge, but the smarter ones will do so with one eye on the environment, as Johnson Banks did here by ram-punching a Christmas tree out of magazines and brochures they found around the office.

One thing is for certain, 2012 will throw a question mark over more than the humble Christmas card. As the general economy, both here and in the Eurozone and beyond continues to teeter on the brink of meltdown (happy thoughts ey?) designers will need to reevaluate every method they use to communicate and find smarter ways in which to do so. In many cases they’ll need to do so in a more humble fashion, but no less effectively. Like Thomas Heatherwick’s self-imposed constraints, sometimes great things can come from working with less. A good idea should thrive no matter what the economic climate.

Merry Christmas!

The barraclough team have used this technique to tailor client presentations and even personalise their email footers. What’s interesting, is that even when images are chosen for emotional rather than colour-theory based reasons, the resulting colour combinations are rarely something you’d place side by side.

My email footer is inspired by Mr Thomas’s Chophouse in Manchester’s city centre. It goes without saying, it was chosen primarily for emotional reasons (plenty of good times have been spent in this excellent public house). Having said that, this fine piece of 19th century Mancunian architecture and one of the oldest pubs in the city, does have some fantastic colours both inside and out. Some internal shots can be seen here. Thanks to ‘Confessions of a Wino’ for kindly letting us show his shots.

David selected David Stewart’s brilliant ‘Mirror Girl’ shot for his. In fact, a visit to David Stewart’s site could easily lead to hours of colour dipping and inspiration from his superb images. Thanks to Mr Stewart for the use of this shot.

So you get the picture. Here are a few more examples you may well recognise.

Finally, no colour post would be complete without a mention of our old friend Joey – it’d be quicker to list the projects she hasn’t been involved in with us, than the ones she has, before deciding to move into her fine art career (which seems to be going rather well). This title of this painting is ‘Blancmange’, and comes from her British Food series. You can see more of her work here. Go on, buy one.

As always, we’ll keep our radars up and more than likely post more of these throughout 2012.

Brands could learn a lot from the seminal TV music show.

Much like myself, the Old Grey Whistle Test has been celebrating its 40th this autumn. I must admit that I’ve missed most of the series that’s been running on BBC Radio 2 – so we’re chipping away at the shows through the iPlayer. It seems a shame that its return has been confined to radio when it was originally a TV programme. I’m sure that the impact it made in the 70s and 80s would not have been nearly as influential had it been a radio show.

Chances are, if you’re any younger than me, that you won’t be familiar with OGWT. The truth is, that I probably only caught the tail end of the seminal show’s run in the mid 80s, but its influence was apparent upon viewing The Tube and can still be detected in Later with Jools Holland.

Catching up with the recent mix of archive and new performances, along with interviews with artists who appeared in the original series has been most enjoyable and enlightening, and even more so for the 29 year old that sits next to me, who had never heard of the show.

It wasn’t just the stories and great music that struck us, but there’s a lot of stuff brands – and perhaps in particular, startups – could learn from OGWT.

Do one thing well
Whereas other music shows focussed on hair, dance routines and chirpy performances of the latest chart singles, OGWT focussed purely on albums, setting a strict criteria for inclusion in the show: if you hadn’t made an album, you weren’t coming on. Follow David Hieatt’s blog and you’ll be more than familiar with the idea of doing one thing well: “We make jeans. We will only make jeans. We will focus our minds on making jeans. It will keep us plenty busy. So no bobble hats. No sweatshirts. No mugs. No perfumes. No distractions from the main thing. The main thing will be the only thing.”

Sometimes what you don’t do is just as important as what you do.

Make a virtue out of a little
Bands on OGWT often performed their numbers in front of bare studio walls or plain wooden boards, that were actually the backs of set walls from the other programmes filmed in the same studio. This was a matter of money as much as style – the show’s minority appeal dictated that the programme originally be filmed in a humble 10 x 7m studio, meaning that the lack of showbiz glitter only served to reinforce the show’s focus on serious rock. This gave OGWT a visual signature that was arguably stronger than it would’ve been had budgets been bigger than a mere £500 per show.

Humble is often the designer’s blind spot. You don’t always need a lot of money to establish a brand, in fact, having less can often focus your mind on what really matters.

Stop shouting
Probably the shows most renowned presenter was the so called, ‘Whispering’ Bob Harris. His velvety voice, quiet delivery and laconic enthusiasm became synonymous with the show – very different from the “pop-a-doodle do” delivery of Top of the Pops. The concise and considered delivery from the professional journalist meant Bob didn’t have to shout or over state.

Brands need to find an opinion and their voice. Remember that shouting is no longer engaging.

Find the best people who love what they do
Harris was not the only expert on the show: Richard Williams, Annie Nightingale, Andy Kershaw, David Hepworth, Mark Ellen and Richard Skinner all played their part. Mike Appleton, the series producer, had little need to for scripts and verbatim recitals. The professional music journalists brought their knowledge to the show and displayed a genuine passion and bookish knowledge of their subject, meaning that not only were viewers engaged, they knew that they were listening to people like them. They did the job as much for the love, if not more than the money. They were doing something they loved.

Find staff who love what they do. It’s infectious and your internal brand will flourish as a result.

Give people room to express themselves
The programmes format allowed artists to perform whatever they wanted, rather than just peddle their latest single. Let people express themselves and you’ll create an energy that gets people talking. People are still talking about OGWT performances now.

Recognise and acknowledge your mistakes
Annie Nightingale took over as host in 1978 when it was felt that the show was behind the times in its failure to embrace punk. This was acknowledged when punk band, The Adverts, opened Nightingale’s first show with the words: “At last the 1978 show” – a pun on the TV Comedy: At Last the 1948 Show.

Today’s brands need to be more transparent than ever. They also need to be more flexible, while somehow remaining true to the brand’s focus. Just like OGWT, you can make a virtue out of your mistakes, and even open up with them. Be brave, be honest.

Make things that stick in people’s minds
For me, the thing that stuck with me most about OGWT was the title sequence: the animated man, known as the star kicker, accompanied by the distinctive harmonica theme (a track by Nashville band: Area Code 615).

Create a visual, verbal and mnemonic identity for your brand and plant it in people’s minds. Who knows, people may still be celebrating it in 40 years time.

Read the trend
Sergeant Pepper had not long been released and OGWT identified that there was a growing demand for album music, but no one was featuring it on TV. OGWT spotted the gap and filled it.

Brands need to give consumers something they can’t get elsewhere. Dare to be different.

Great stories inspire great names
OGWT was very nearly called: Florence Foster Jenkins’ Musical Emporium – a narrow escape! The show derived its actual name from a Tin Pan Alley phase of old, where the record execs would play the first pressing of a record to the people they called ‘the old greys’: doormen in grey suits. The songs they remembered and were able to whistle having heard just once, had passed ‘the old greys whistle test.’

What I love about the name ‘Old Grey Whistle Test’ is that the story is nonessential, but when you know it you feel a little like you’ve gained entry into an elite club – musical trivia currency to spend next time you’re with your music loving, 40 something plus friends.

All too often, branding consultancies can get caught up on whether names are abstract, descriptive or suggestive, when very often all you need is a natty little story.

Finally, share your thinking with the right people
My favourite lesson from OGWT is based on the very ‘old greys’ story that gave the show its name.

It’s a familiar scenario: the formal research group dominated by what Alex Bogusky describes as the ‘Alpha Asshole’ – the person most comfortable being opinionated among a group of strangers. Who in their right mind is going to argue with this person when all they’re getting is fifty quid, a couple of sausage rolls and a slice of black forest gateaux? Sensible research has its place but it shouldn’t be a substitute for creative decision making.

Get your brand and products in the hands of the right people, in the real world. I’m not suggesting that you totally abandon the formal research groups (or am I?), but find your equivalent of the old greys, let them spend time with it on their terms and see what sticks in their heads.

Listen to them and you’ll soon have plenty of people whistling to your tune.

An inquisitive graduate recently asked me: “Who (in my opinion) is the best designer in the world?” I must admit that in my twenties I could’ve probably rattled off my top 10 and reasons why, including their landmark projects, in pretty much in the same anorak fashion I could’ve told you the best guitarists when I was 15. But now somewhat older, while I still follow the design industry avidly, I tend to be influenced by people other than designers.

It was an article on guitar heroes that got me thinking about the ways in which we evaluate what makes a truly great designer. The article, George Harrison: the ultimate guitar hero, was written by Mark Edwards of the Sunday Times (quite some time ago).

Edwards’s contentiously titled piece put forward the proposition that Harrison was the greatest rock guitarist of all time. “You’ve got to be kidding! What about Hendrix, Clapton, Page, Beck…?” I hear you retort. When Rolling Stone listed the 100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time, Harrison wasn’t even in the top 20.

The usual criteria for being considered a great guitarist are: noise, speed and flashy showmanship. The Rolling Stone poll, like most, chose the best guitarists in the same adolescent fashion.

Harrison wasn’t particularly loud, fast, or flashy. He never did anything to draw attention to the fact he was undoubtedly a virtuoso on any number of string-based instruments. He had a different ability: he never played a wrong note and never played a note that wasn’t necessary. Every note he ever played made the song better. He made songs work.

Can you think of a Beatles cover that tops the original? Edwards argues, probably not. “To do a better version of a Beatles song than the band themselves, you have to come up with a different – and better – guitar part than Harrison played on the original. And that just can’t be done. He always made exactly the right decisions.”

Harrison was so opposed to guitar heroics that on the one song he wrote that cried out for a flashy solo – While My Guitar Gently Weeps – he got his mate Eric Clapton to do it.

This understated excellence has sometimes been overlooked by musos and journos but he has influenced a succession of younger guitarists who have learnt from his example. Think of Johnny Marr: no tricks, no solos, but a signature style that showcased Morrissey’s lyrics perfectly. Or Peter Buck who, like Marr, eschewed solos and created the chiming sound of REM.

Now I ask you to think again about who’s the best designer of all time? Who’s the best designer you’ve worked with? Who would you like to work with in the future?

Chances are, you may well still be wowed by the equivalent of the axe wielding flashy soloist. But for me, if a precocious talent rocked up at our studio, doused their portfolio or lap top in lighter fuel and theatrically chucked a lit Swan Vesta in its general direction, it’s highly likely that I wouldn’t even notice. But a Harrison-esque or Marr-like band member on the other hand, would be sure to get my ear.

Just like Harrison, a good designer should know when to bring in a ‘Clapton’, acting more as an arms length art director than a flashy soloist. They should know that, just like the half-dozen notes that introduce Something or the riffs that drive Ticket to Ride and Day Tripper, that just the right balance of elements should say “well what else could you put there?” Above all, just as Harrison didn’t draw attention by going off on self-indulgent solos, a great designer should be able to strip away a piece to all but the essential. Not to mention always being there for his teammates.

So, when drawn on who’s the best designer in the world, I ask you to exercise restraint in your hero worship and first consider what part they play in the group, and if they’re big enough to leave out the equivalent of the odd note, or even themselves.

I may no longer be able to put my finger on who the best guitarist is, or the greatest designer for that matter, but here’s a great designer playing a guitar.

I wonder if he knows any George Harrison?

I can’t decide what grinds my gears most about McDonald’s strapline, I’m lovin’ it.

It might be that the breezy upbeat exclamation of personal wellbeing is pretty much one that any brand could use. Well, I say any brand, any brand that has a penchant for a wafty three lines of nothingness.

Michael Bierut, in his Design Observer post The Tyranny of the Tagline, pointed out some very valid points about straplines, from the likes of Ogilvy: “Agencies waste countless hours concocting slogans of incredible fatuity.”

Think of Vodafone’s banal offering How are you? And when they presented themselves with an opportunity to improve upon it, the best they could muster was an equally lightweight Power to you. Apart from Nike’s Just do it, which has stood the test of time and positively reinforced every movement of a finely tuned brand, there’s not much else out there. The best ones have more than likely been mentioned here.

Bierut added: “Ad agencies put great stock in taglines, hoping that with a simple phrase they can create the indestructible core of an evergreen advertising campaign.” He’s got a point. How many times do we see the strapline (as we refer to them in Britain – or end line) replaced with a change of agency, marketing director, or simply a change of heart? Nothing evergreen about that.

I’ve spent much time over the years trying to lock up straplines to logos. Sometimes to marks created by me, occasionally the other way round, and even when I’ve created both it can prove just as tricky.

It might sound like I’m not a fan of straplines, but I do in fact love a good one. Take the BBC’s for the iPlayer Making the unmissable, unmissable. I loved Muller’s Lick the lid of life. Both are neat, efficient little packages that sum up beautifully the service or brand. So ask yourself: what exactly does I’m lovin’ it say?

Perhaps it’s saying: “Yo, I’m desperately trying to pander to you, the urban market consumer?” There’s something a little conspicuous about seeing the vernacular in the written form: the dropped g, the flagrant use of the verb to love in the present continuous form – just about forgivable, although you’ll be looking for a long time for a dictionary that sanctions ‘loving’ as a form of the verb ‘love’.

I’ve been working in the creative industries long enough to forgive a little playful use of language, and indeed, the brilliant professor of grammar David Crystal, openly promotes the irreverent 21st century use of the English language, just as long as you know what’s correct. Thereby lies one of my little bug bares with this chirpy phrase; that it’s everywhere and I’m not sure people realise that it’s technically incorrect.

I get why McDonalds is trying to sound purposely iffy, and that this phrase is becoming more accepted in popular culture. But it can, and often does, when used in the wrong situation, make people sound a bit, well, dim. I recall in the early days of this company, having to endure three clients respond to the work I presented with a stream of “I’m lovin’ it… I’m lovin’ it… I’m not lovin’ that bit.” It went on. For me what works best, is when the vernacular is written in the mocking form. My favourite headline for The Economist was: You can so tell the people who like don’t read the economist. The three marketeers surely didn’t!

Russell Davies puts forward a good argument that it’s an easy gag to take the mickey out of that West Coast way of speaking, even if it’s increasingly common here – and that it’s not a sign of intelligence (or business acumen, in reference to the Economist ads). So, if people brighter than me, like Davies and Crystal are in favour of slightly unusual grammatical nuances, who am I to take a pop?

I wonder if what I like about the iPlayer and the (old) Muller straplines is that they are almost a return to the days of slogans rather than straplines. Michael Bierut explains: “Somewhere along the way, though, slogans turned into taglines, vague bits of poetry that sought to transcend the mundane commercial world and commune with the divine. Hence: Get the feeling. (That one’s for Toyota.)”

Perhaps a good test for a strapline may be to ask yourself the opposite of what it’s promising. The counter of Nike’s, Just do it, is a rather shameful admission of, Don’t bother. I know this test is a little limited, but go with me on this one.

I recently found myself with a very empty stomach after dashing straight to a gig after work. My blood sugar was seriously low and fearing that this may bring on a head squeezing migraine, I wasn’t going to be as fussy as I might usually. The only opportunity for sustenance presented to me en route home was, yes, you guessed it: McDonalds.

In desperation and starvation, I plumped for the drive-though option given it was now 11.45pm. I duly ordered my meal, although the young man seemed to think that my clear and concise order needed to be challenged, in the way that regularly happens at the likes of Costa Coffee (“Any cakes or biscuits today?” Did I ask for a sodding biscuit?) and just about any petrol station (“Two foot long Dairy Milks for a pound?”).

My meal was readily dispatched, no complaints there. It truly was fast food. Although the burger looked like it had been assembled in some haste. Call me old fashioned, but a prerequisite of the burger is to neatly sandwich the filling between two buns. Mine however, looked like it had been quickly gyrated in a cement mixer.

I was halfway out my car to complain when a group of menacing, hooded, urban market consumers (who were probably totally lovin’ the strapline, and perhaps that’s all that matters) came into view, with a look of rabid dogs. I didn’t much fancy negotiating them, so I got back in my car quietly and ate the disappointing collection of bread, meat and lettuce.

So, I ask myself: Am I hatin’ it? Well, as I’m sure you’ve realised by now, I’m certainly not lovin’ it.

DB

Let’s hope so, apparently it’s rather good for you.

“We don’t blog about our favourite crisps”. I wish I could recall on which design company website I read this, but I knew when I did, that the wry statement had come from a kindred spirit (or perhaps a similarly – on occasion – curmudgeonly git).

The blogosphere is undoubtedly filled with a mountain of cyber-cack and unfortunately, it seems that many design companies are regular peddlers of this moronic bilge. In fact, I can recall on more than one occasion reading about mouldy food stuffs decomposing in design studio fridges, metamorphosing into strange shapes – perhaps the Virgin Mary or similar, hilariously accompanied by amusing images (he said sarcastically). Or was that in the Daily Mail?

At the other end of the spectrum – and rather like watching the aforementioned food slowly decompose in front of you – are the lengthy pseudo-science, white paper wafflers of the giant juggernauts of branding companies. I think a mouldy depiction of the Crucifixion is slightly more compelling, at a push.

So is there anything worth reading out there? Johnson Banks write a fantastic Thought for the week blog, often brilliant and always annoyingly well written. Then there’s Ben Terrett’s Noisy Decent Graphics, a little less wordy but brimming with enthusiasm for design. Tina Roth Eisenberg’s, Swissmiss is a regular (welcome) distraction – a personal visual archive of bloody good taste. Maybe it’s because professional writers inhabit the ad industry, but I always enjoyed the likes of Rory Sutherland. You’ll have to keep up with his whereabouts though: he’s moved from his own blog to Campaign’s and now can be found mainly in the Spectator. I love intelligent insight from planners like Russell Davies and inspirational thinkers like Seth Godin and David Hieatt. I’m still keenly awaiting the return of my old pal Graham Furlong’s (CPB) offering, ‘Work hard + be nice to people’, in whatever form this takes.

So why should we start one? Thinking purely selfishly, apparently it’s rather good for you. Scientists and writers have long known about the therapeutic benefits of writing about personal experiences, thoughts and feelings. Writing is believed by many to be a stress coping mechanism and it has been mooted that expressive writing produces many physiological benefits, improving sleep and memory.

Now, far brighter people than me have looked into the affects of writing on the human mind. Hypergraphia is apparently an overwhelming urge to write controlled by the limbic system, a ring-shaped cluster of cells deeply buried in the cortex which governs emotion, affiliated instincts and inspiration and is said to regulate the human being’s need for communication (or at least that’s what Wikipedia says). After a little further desk jockey research, one Alice Flaherty, a neuroscientist at Harvard University and Massachusetts General Hospital reveals, “We believe something in the brain’s limbic system is boosting their (bloggers) desire to communicate”. She goes on to explain that: “located mainly in the midbrain, the limbic system controls our drivers, whether they are related to food, sex, appetite, or problem solving.”

Flaherty believes that it is this drive that is involved in blogging because a lot of people do it compulsively. Also, blogging might trigger dopamine release, similar to stimulants like music, running and looking at art. In fact the effects are so stimulating that people coping with cancer diagnoses and other serious conditions are increasingly seeking, and arguably finding solace, in the blogging.

But beware; all this compulsive writing isn’t necessarily a good thing. A wonderfully persuasive writer, 4 time D&AD “Writing for Design” judge, collaborative friend, and ex-blogger: Lindsay Camp, ceased to post, believing that the medium is too easy. In his last post (and I recommend you take a look at all his old posts and lament his online departure) Lindsay explains his reason for quitting: “Take three minutes to get set up, and you’re away: no need to think before you write; no quality control; no time to reflect on what you’ve written before sending it out into the world. No discipline, in fact, of any kind: if I chose, I could interrupt myself right now to give you my mother’s famous flapjack recipe, or to share with you the poem I wrote last week. (Don’t worry, I’m not going to.)” Brilliant!

Lindsay points out that for some, it’s this unbounded immediacy that makes for bloggings best attribute. But he puts forward the eloquent argument (as you’d expect given his boundless writing talents) that blogging is too self indulgent, stating: “I’m pretty sure I do my best work when there are constraints: a brief to be met, a deadline, a sharply defined objective.” I must say that I’ve always struggled with the design of self-promotional items for the very same reason and I’m sure that other designers of the problem solving persuasion have struggled on occasion too. He concludes that in a world where there is way too much information “one of the biggest courtesies we can show our fellow human-beings is not to communicate with them, unless we feel an overwhelming need to do so.”

He may well have a point. But on a more positive note, I think that revealing a little more about yourself through an online presence, more expressive than the standard brochure website, can say a lot about the individuals and the company they work for. I believe that blogging shouldn’t be overly managed and manicured and it should retain much of its spontaneity, but one must exercise some restraint and enforce parameters upon oneself, for fear of contributing to the virtual rivers of waste material flowing through the drains of cyberspace.

Whether we manage to keep up our blogging remains to be seen and I don’t expect time will allow us to be particularly prolific bloggers. But for now it seems like a good idea – I must be feeling less curmudgeonly these days, perhaps it’s the result all the other writing we do already? Perhaps a little unusual for a design consultancy, writing takes up a major part of our week, usually in the form of distilling down our thoughts and strategies, into the written word. Often we start with words before we move onto pictures. Even designers will have a stab at copywriting too. Personally, I’m no copywriter (we can tell, I hear you cry) but I think it’s a good discipline for any designer to put the writing pen to paper and collaborate with great copywriters on a regular basis. I’ve always thought it strange that in the business where working with type is a daily duty, so few designers actually read the words, and even less often, actually contribute to them. Type is used to express words, so wouldn’t we all benefit from a closer relationship between the two?

Whether all this enthusiasm for the written word is Hypergraphia is up for debate, but what we know for sure is that we do have a passionate desire to communicate on behalf of our clients and in doing so, the writing process not only clears up and clarifies a direction, but it can make you feel pretty damn good too. We’ll try and resist the urge to prattle on about thinly sliced fried potatoes. We may on occasion stray into subjects that aren’t at first glance design or branding related, but I hope that we’ll demonstrate a little about our culture (and not the cultures growing in the top of old yoghurts). And when we run out of things to say, perhaps we’ll share some well-observed (tasteful and not overly wacky) visual observations with you ­– well we are a design company after all.

So, with the limbic system stretched and warmed up, and a little dopamine released, I’m off to write another post. Strange thing is, my limbic system is also telling me that I could murder a packet of Tyrrell’s Chicken and Tarragon crisps.

DB