Cleaned myself: none shall pass
Monkey see, monkey do: nil
Believe in God? That bastard?
One member of the public has seen the first rushes of the Pageo, as it’s now being referred to (a portmanteau of pageant & panto). But Roger’s wasn’t a critical reaction to the art; instead, he rasied a commercial argument, which rested on two main planks: i) that it is his event, in which he has already invested a great deal and must now be either compensated, or bought out; and ii) that the adverts belong to him, and must similarly, either be given to him as the recognised owner, or that the rights in them are bought from him. I asked him how he knew about all that, and it turns out that Big Tooth took the contract home for him to read.
It also turns out that he’s read it when I haven’t, because I didn’t even know that the adverts were referenced in the contract. I’ve had too much on love.
So, I called Eggo, who confirmed that it was so. ‘I’m afraid they own them now fella,’ he told me.
If they do, it means that they have secured ownership of my adverts for £500 less than it cost me to have them made. A fee which also, obviously, does not compensate me for the creative energies invested in making them in the first place.
I called Roger back to tell him that they’d gone, to which he replied, ‘not from me they haven’t.’
His position is that if his share is to be bought out, the starting point for the negotiation is £10,000. However, when I suggested that if they are worth so much, that he might buy my share from me, he said that the starting point for that negotiation is £200, because, ‘he has no interest in them.’
Eggo put it best, ‘welcome to the world of business fella.’
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