I am just about in place when Hurricane Tara hits Starbucks. She is a therapist and fashion designer who pulls off the additional trick of appearing to talk to myself and Martin Bowe at the same time and on different topics before plumping for Martin. Sensible choice – particularly if you are setting up in business for the first time, as she is. But as what? Fearful of what a therapist crossed with a designer might turn out to be, Martin tries to keep his options open by sticking to the catalogue of requirements from the bank, the Revenue, VATMAN and assorted lawyers and bloodsuckers. He is brilliant and immensely reassuring. Still, he looks hugely relieved when Hurricane suddenly decides she has heard enough, veers round like a Tennessee Twister and demands of me, “Now tell me how to market my business!”. I look nervously at my watch: I have seven minutes before Starbucks staff stretch the European Working Time Directive to breaking-point. I play for time neither of us have. “Which one..?” I quaver. “Oh,” she says dismissively, “I’ll do the therapy in the gaps between couture commissions.” I don’t know whether to be more gobsmacked by her cheek or her energy. In a headlong dash through the chapter headings of marketing, we touch on market positioning, research, corporate identity, advertising, PR and promotions. And I mean touch. I ask her if she can give me a word-picture of the sort of clients she attracts and she goes off into a diatribe about plastic surgery which puts me in playful mood. Wrong! I am instantly classed as an unreconstructed pervert and chauvinist with the intelligence of a Sun-reading mollusc. Departing in a swirl of designer chiffon, she manages to insult Martin’s dress-sense while praising his accounting savvy. Sounds like we have things the right way round.