“Please don’t do any creative” said the brief quite clearly.

Well you know me. I do love a chance not to do something.

When someone says ‘yes’ in a meeting you shut up. ‘They said yes… you won … shut up.’

It took me ages to learn that one. I’ve often misinterpreted approval as a sign to continue talking. It really isn’t.

A competitive creative pitch is a dog and pony show that’s a complete waste of energy and money. It’s where the best ideas go to die, and always ends in tears for most taking part.

Not everything is an opportunity either. I’ve never figured out how in advertising, a simple request to do nothing, always ends up becoming a challenge to do, well, something.

So, like hearing the magical ‘yes’, being asked to do nothing can also be considered a win. Besides, usually a client wants to know early on if you can follow instructions or not.

Trust me, the client that doesn’t want a creative pitch is definitely a keeper.

The nice people at the America’s Cup Village didn’t. Instead, they asked a simple question: how would we quickly communicate where to park - or something like that - after say a big Team New Zealand win, where a 100,000 or more people might flood into the city at short notice?

This was in the before times, pre-social media. At first I thought it might be a trick question, since to answer it beyond, ‘oh, we’d use radio’ you’d kind of have to do the creative work they said not to do, so it seemed safest not to answer at all.

I’d like to be able to chalk this decision up to careful listening and overall diligence, but history would point towards laziness as the main contributing factor. No shame in this. Don’t be judgey

From memory I think the sidestep was something about needing to create demand before you have to worry about how to manage it, and if that was done right, then no-one would care about finding a park. They’d work it out for themselves.

There must’ve been a bit more to it though, because they said ‘yes’ and fortuitously I shut up.

Sometimes going slightly off piste is the right call.

Before the circus blew into town, most of New Zealand thought the America’s Cup was just for champagne swilling wankers, and worse, if running the event was left up to Aucklanders - commonly thought of by the rest of the country as not being competent enough to arrange a drink in a drinkery - it was a one way ticket to disaster.

At least that’s what the research said. We decided to investigate for ourselves. The rest of the country gave Aucklanders the old side eye to be sure, but they were still keen on a knees-up.

Tony Glynn and his brother Michael, a chopper pilot from Franz Joseph, were definite starters and very enthusiastic indeed. It would - Tony assured us in not so many words - be an affront not to turn up.

There was some minor housekeeping to attend to first, but not to worry, they’d be there.

“Just need to ring Les and get a telephone warrant for the ute,” Tony explained, before downing his second Speights in the public bar of the Garston Hotel one evening.

Tony was on horseback at the time and didn’t much look like the sort of bloke whose commitment needed questioning. Nor did it seem the right time to go into the ins and outs of what a ‘telephone warrant’ entailed.

Since Garston is the most inland place in New Zealand, it’s literally as far away as you could be from a yacht, so their excitement about the Cup was heartening.

Truth be told, we’re all very welcoming hosts when there’s guests. We mow the lawns, get out the good Crown Lynn, and spruce things up a bit. All that needed doing, was to let Auckland know to expect company.

The Cup Village was a temporary affair, designed to drive sponsorship revenue. Aucklanders proved to be most welcoming hosts indeed and for a minute the village became our largest tourist attraction. In the end, three million of us popped in for a nosey.

And, as predicted, no-one gave a toss about the parking, everyone was out on the razzle and having far too much of a good time.

Would’ve been rude not to.