Plying my trade within the advertising industry, I get to work with some wonderful people. It'd also be fair to say that I've encountered a selection of complete wankers too. Yet, on occasion, I also come across genuinely gifted individuals, whose creativity can make you truly feel it's not such a shit business after all. I'll be making an effort to accentuate that sort of positive here, which will be no chore at all when writing about Peter Cole.
Pete's work has graced many a billboard, so you'll know it without realising. Not the slogans, but the modelmade creations that transform an idea from just a scribble on a drawing board into a visual reality. His eye for detail and small-scale perfection has gone unrivalled, working in his scruffy, mad professor's workshop off Bethnal Green Road. He's helped me out of many job-related black holes. I could call him any time, in a blind panic about some layout or another, asking him how on earth we could make the impossible happen, for no budget, within a miniscule timescale. His stock reply was "let me have a little think and I'll call you back". And he always did, often coming up with a stack of ideas and a variety of solutions. A real problem solver, our Pete.
One thing that sticks in my mind is a Guinness job we did for an American agency. There was, unsurprisingly, a tiny budget, so no chance of a beer technician being flown in from St James' Gate in Dublin. But we still had to get the perfect head on that black stuff (and bear in mind, folks - in the good old days, you captured this stuff in-camera, on film - y'know, photography film - that stuff where you only get one shot at it, no 'erase' button if you fuck up...so, I'm not talking "let's fix-it-in-Photoshop" here). We all started to lose it by about 1am. By 2am, we were laughing hysterically, and things got a bit daft. This went on until 4am, when Peter Perfectionist was finally satisfied with his work, we could laugh no more, and the faultless beer head was achieved. It's one of my fondest memories of all my years in advertising, working into the wee small hours with Pete, James, Roger, all backed by the inevitable Depeche Mode soundtrack.
Only a month or two ago, I had a job in for a new Cadbury's product. It was the only time I ever heard my lovely man unsure about doing a job. Not because he thought he couldn't - he was a master of creating anything in chocolate, could do that stuff in his sleep - but because he didn't feel too well, told me had a chest infection he couldn't shake off.
It turned out to be more than just a chest infection. I'm beyond sad to say that Pete passed away 11 days ago at the far-too-young age of 60. I'm honoured to have been hugged under that big armpit, called his "darling girl", and proud to have been able to call such a smart, funny, talented, kind, dedicated, loud, brilliant chap - my friend.
He leaves behind the wonderful Pam (his art college sweetheart, 41 years of happy marriage, three kids, 6 grandkids). He also leaves a great big teddy-of-a-man-shaped hole in my life.
