_{Saatchi rides again.}

Diane McGiffen, the Chief Executive of the Law Society of Scotland, is waiting to see the organisation's new branding.

A year ago she commissioned a well-regarded local graphic designer, Connor McClew, to produce a fresh logo to mark the Law Society's 75th anniversary. McClew's portfolio was impressive and his proposal was competitively priced.

But with an hour to go until he's due to unveil his final design and debut it across all platforms, McClew is nowhere to be seen.

The phone rings and McGiffin's heart leaps. But the voice on the other end doesn’t belong to her designer. “Look out the window”, it instructs.

McGiffen pulls up the blind and peers down into the car park. A man dressed like a medieval knight canters by on a horse, dragging a naked and bruised McClew behind him. The graphic designer’s face has been crudely daubed with a saltire and he’s sporting a bedraggled wig of long brown hair.

As McGiffen watches with mounting horror, the ‘knight’ carefully dismounts, tightens a noose around McClew's neck, tosses the other end over a lamppost and winches the younger man into the air. While the art graduate kicks and struggles, Lord Saatchi, for it is he, unsheathes his blade and with a single slash across the belly sends his rival’s entrails slopping onto the tarmac in a steaming heap.

With a skill and artfulness unknown in his commercial work, the controversial advertising guru deftly removes McClew’s heart and, finally, hacks the man into quarters. After disappearing with the remains for a few hours, Saatchi returns and presses the intercom to be let into the building.

McGiffen buzzes him up, despite her reservations.

‘You’re a monster’, she croaks as Saatchi finally clanks into the room, exhausted after climbing three flights of stairs in a full suit of armour. 

‘You rejected my request to pitch for the job’, he gasps.

‘Your reputation preceded you’, she retorts.

‘And now a man is dead. You brought this upon yourself, McGiffin.’

‘I’ve called the police.’

‘Very well, but while we await the plod I shall present you with my designs. I must warn you, I have introduced surge pricing and given that your logo is due to launch in three minutes and my only competitor is hanging in four different parts of the city as a warning to other creatives, my costs have increased tenfold. Voila, your new logo!’

‘A haggis with a gavel', says McGiffin. 'Unacceptable. You're trading on tired and inaccurate stereotypes of Scotland and solicitors.'

‘In that case - ta-da!’

‘That’s our current logo’, says McGiffin.

‘Exactly! There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it.’

‘There is', replies the chief executive. 'The crest, the Latin, the pageantry are all outdated. It speaks to an aristocratic, patriarchal history. We want something fresh and dynamic, something modern and inclusive.’

‘I’ve got it,’ says Saatchi.

‘Not that inclusive’, says McGiffin.

'More patriotic, I understand.'

‘No.’

‘You've only got one minute until we go live. How about this?’

‘You've clumsily pinched an old news logo from the telly.’

‘Indeed I have. Thirty seconds. You’re running out of time. How about…this?’

‘That’s Social Work Scotland', points out McGiffin in exasperation.

‘Quite so. Ten seconds. May I present your new brand.’

‘That's still Social Work Scotland. All you've done is change the colours.'

'How dare you! I also deleted the islands.’

'It's a total rip-off.'

‘I’m sure you know a few copyright lawyers. I’m dropping it on the socials now.’

‘No!’

‘It’s already causing a stir, Diane!’

'Ignore Barry. That's money well spent', says Saatchi.

As police breach the building and swarm up the stairs, he gives a sharp whistle. In response, his faithful steed trots beneath the window and whinnies to let its master know it's in position. 

'And now I make my escape!' cries Saatchi. 'By the way, VAT is not included.'

Triumphant, he struggles across the office and topples heavily through the glass, landing squarely on his horse with a sickening crunch. 

Pinned in its remains by the weight of his armour, he's unable to raise his gauntlets to fend off the police as they lever open his visor and fire tasers through the gap. As his world fades to black, Saatchi can just make out the shocked face of another satisfied customer staring down from her office, high above. 'For Scotland', he whispers.