With the continued proliferation of trickledown titlenomics, the industry has created a dirty, big monster for itself.

A kind of junior senior effect where ‘Creative Director’ now means the poor sod who’s meant to be trusted with the work, but so clearly isn't. Not when they have to get it cleared by an ECD, who then needs to get it okayed by the CCO.

The Chiddingfolds is a bet that this has not gone unnoticed by clients — one or two of whom will be missing the assurance a more experienced pair of hands brings to the table. Liver spots and all.

Or to put it another way, old bastards.

Who, when not yelling at skateboarders or worrying about unseemly seepage, have no trouble getting inside the mind of the demographic with the lion’s share of the loot — being part of it themselves.

Who, lacking the virtuous zeal of their younger counterparts for commandeering your budget as a vehicle for their world view, remain wedded to outdated, boomeresque concerns.

Brand preference. Customer retention. And of course, that tiresome old turning-a-profit chestnut.

If you're one of the marketing types out there who still goes in for that sort of thing, let's have a chat.

You may have to put up with sayings like Great Caesar’s Ghost and a bit of wheezing, but you’ll live.

Longer than us, probably.