Across my business, I talk a lot about ‘Sorted in 60®’ and why it’s the dog’s bollocks in supporting my clients with copy, content, and comms. But when you work with a steady stream of clients on a one-to-one copywriting basis over a healthy number of years, it’s not entirely unthinkable that you’ll have at least one session out of the hundreds that goes tits up.

So, if you’re up for a bit of a giggle, let me tell you about the most uncomfortable Sorted in 60® session I ever ran.

It was years ago, and it was with a small team in the marketing department at a very well-known rice brand.

No, not that one.

The CMO had heard good things about me from a colleague at another brand, had read up on the concept of what Sorted in 60® is and does to support businesses through a one-to-one copywriting basis, and had booked me to work with their team on some ‘romance copy’ (their words, not mine – it sounds a bit twattish for my tastes). The copy was for a campaign they were working on for a new way of cooking rice (because apparently there was one). They needed ideas, structure, and a general sounding board for their messaging, and so it was a case of ‘I’ve got the brains, they’ve got the cooks…‘.

You can see why they hired me, I know…

Anyway, our one-to-one copywriting session starts, and within seconds, Barry the Cat jumps up onto my desk – which he pretty much always does during a Sorted in 60®. The sounds and images on my laptop screen are like a beacon to him, and god forbid he should miss a cameo opportunity to either show his furry hole or glare intently at the faces on the screen for longer than is comfortable for anyone involved.

He jumps up and into shot, and straight away, the female member of the rice trio (I want to use the word ‘thrice‘, here) let out an absolute mother of a shriek.

It startled me, but to be honest, nobody looked more horrified at this point than her colleagues.

Then she asked – still in a visibly and audibly heightened state…

…if Barry was a cat.

(If your first reaction in this instance isn’t to let out a laugh, then I don’t know what’s wrong with you, quite honestly.)

I snapped into focus, confirmed cat status, and chuckled gently in comforting response.

My new client then told me she was allergic to cats, to which I responded that I thought I probably was as well, but that Barry didn’t care about that because this was his house and I was merely paying the mortgage on it.

Cue a snigger from the two male clients, with a nod of understanding from one of them.

But their allergy-addled Zoom companion? She was in no way agreeable. She told me I’d have to put “it” (Barry the Cat) into another room, as she “couldn’t bear to be so close” to him.

Naturally, I laughed heartily at her humour.

Except she wasn’t joking.

Nope, she fucking glared at me through the screen, and waited intently for me to a) stop pissing myself laughing, and b) remove my cat from her vision.

My client’s office was located a whopping four and a half hours down the A1 from where I presently sat, so what help putting the cat three feet away down the hallway landing was going to offer wasn’t exactly clear to me.

Look, I get that cats can be weird (like their owners, I know), and I’m fully on board with the fact that some people might not like them or might even be scared of them – I respect the hell of out of that. Yes, I’d have probably still instinctively laughed (out of nerves, most likely) if the client in question had revealed any of this, but this lady didn’t claim any of those reasons at all. She said she was allergic to them, and proceeded to keep repeating this fact until the cat was “gone“. Now, I pay a fair whack for my Zoom account each year, so if you tell me that the premium price is because the platform is so damn intuitive and functional it can transport cat dander through two computer screens as well as across 250 miles of airwaves between Greater Manchester and the Home Counties, you can colour me impressed and fairly invoiced, but to my knowledge, I’m not sure this is a level of technological capability that’s got all its kinks ironed out right now.

From that moment on, the Sorted in 60® session just couldn’t get into full energy. We got the outcome the business wanted, of course, because cat or no cat, my sessions are creative, collaborative, and truly transformational, but although I brought my best ideas, I didn’t feel like I’d brought my best ‘me’. On the one hand, I felt fucking awful that one of the people staring across the Zoom at me really bloody hated me for how I’d laughed at her, but on the other, I was really damn miffed that she pretty much refused to talk to me or say anything positive or pleasant for the rest of the session – making it incredibly awkward for her team, as much as for me. And don’t even get me started on how poor Barry felt!*

So yeah, it’s not always sunshine and rainbows on a Sorted in 60®. Sometimes it’s allergic reactions and over-reactions.

Book one, and sneeze for yourself!

Ps – If you’re sensing a little bit of spicy rice from me in this dish, as opposed to a general ‘oh we’ll all laugh at this someday’ sense of light-hearted amusement, it’s because this episode was back in the early days of Sorted in 60®, where I didn’t charge up front and instead invoiced on completion. Let’s just say that getting payment out of this company was like getting blood out of a stone.

Or in my case, like trying to get badly cooked rice off the bottom of the pan.

Just me?

If this piece made you laugh, then at least some good has come from it, in my view.

Now, who’s hungry?

*I don’t think he gave a shit, to be honest. Never does.