Taking a five minute break from writing to seek inspiration on the Internet, I found this colourful background to the name I share with the company. (source: Internet Surname Database)

"Percival: This interesting name, with variant spellings Perceval, Percifull, Purcifer and Passifull, derives from the male given name Perceval, first recorded as the name of the hero of an epic poem by the 12th Century French poet Chretien de Troyes, describing the quest for the holy grail or chalice. The name is fancifully taken from the French elements "percer", to pierce or breach, plus "val", a valley, hence "pierce the valley", a nickname presumably given to a keen poacher or soldier remembered for his breach of a fortification. The exact origin of the name is uncertain; however, the most likely source is the Celtic "Peredur" from the Old Welsh meaning "warrior of the cauldron". This name was borne by a Welsh legendary hero of the Middle Ages and the cognate Old Welsh "Pair-cyfall" means "warrior of the Chalice". Occasionally, the name may be of French locational origin from Perc(h)eval in Calvados, Normandy, as in Richard de Percevill (Staffordshire, 1203). The first recorded spelling of the family name is shown to be that of William Percevall, which was dated 1229, in the "Calendar of the Close Rolls", Shropshire, during the reign of King Henry III known as "The Frenchman", 1216 - 1272." 

I've always been a FroggyPhile, so my Gallic sympathies suddenly stack up!

Well we were busy the last quarter of 2008 so it was time all our new work made a debut on this site.

Click here to see our new portfolio, with enhanced navigation thrown in for good measure too.

The last couple of months we’ve been shuttling down to the Pembrokeshire National Park, an enchanted corner of Wales.

Here I’ve been working at a place called Bluestone, a completely new take on what a holiday resort can be.

In a simply breathtaking valley, and centred around a traditional Welsh village, it’s a total retreat, a place to calm down, chill out and generally forget who the hell you are.

For once, I’ve been the middle man, a consultant working with a creative agency (redrivercreative.com) and a technical agency (fusionworkshop.com) to create a brand spanking new website, http://www.bluestonewales.com

Bluestone seems to be inhabited by the nicest people in the world ever. (I always remember the tennis commentator Dan Maskell saying of a Seventies tennis ace, Tom Gorman:  “Tom Gorman. One of the nicest men….in the world.” Quite what the empirical or contextual basis for this sweeping statement was, I’ll never know, but it caused a giggle or three at the time.)

Last night was quiz night in the Tafarn Pub in the village, and I can now tell you that Q and Z are the highest scoring Scrabble letters. Great camaraderie, superb service, and uber quaffable local ale.

Bluestone deserves to – and will  – succeed. It’s endlessly endearing, ‘green’ to the core (the Blue Lagoon water park is powered entirely by biomass fuel grown on site) and situated in a matchless location. The Coastal Path with endless hiking and whale watching opportunities is nearby, they’ll soon be Britain’s first new racecourse in decades just twenty minutes away…..I could go on and on, it’s just a totally different, fresh experience.

A place to lose yourself and find yourself.

(Spoiler warning: this blog entry contains cheese.)

I skied twenty consecutive seasons, and then suddenly the passion went dead.

Maybe it was some bad luck with poor snow conditions, ill-fitting ski boots (my last girlfriend called me Shrek Feet, enough said), the ridiculous cost of a ski holiday (yes white powder is an expensive Class A drug), or a host of other reasons. But I missed 3 consecutive seasons on the bounce. I fell out of love with hurtling down mountains. 

Until….approaching Christmas, with nothing other than London based r’n’r planned for New Year, a friend and I suddenly imagineered a week in the Alps. And did it.

The only place with a spare bed left in the whole Tarentaise Valley was La Plagne, so that’s where we headed.

The early signs didn’t augur well. The road we had to negotiate up to the resort had more hairpins than Elsie Tanner, and the village was a selection of boxy sixties buildings, among which were the first tower blocks I’ve ever seen in the mountains. Chocolate Box charm was thin on the ground.

Thankfully, the snow situation was quite the opposite. The whole place was carpeted in the white stuff.

Our hotel, the Araucaria, was new and meant well with vaguely Art Deco inspired décor and ski lockers that worked on your electronic room key (why don’t all ski hotels have these?) It was fabulously located at the bottom of the slalom slope so you could have a late afternoon aperitif on your bedroom balcony and catch all the races. Basically a nice place, apart from the hyperactive Maitre’D who in the charm stakes made Basil Fawlty look like Basil Brush.

I’ve always found skiing a totally creative experience and source of almost divine inspiration, a time when the mountains rule and you think expansive thoughts. (Laurence, cut the spiritual crap, Ed.)

But the first couple of days, I just couldn’t get it right. My boots were adjusted all wrong, I bruised the top of my foot so each turn was agony, and my short short curvy carving skis felt all wrong to a man who’d skied his formative years on 203cm planks with nary a curve between them.

The sun was great, the snow was new, but I wondered if I’d ever get back ‘that feeling’.

And then: like it always does with anything truly addictive, the magic cut in. We skied across the Paradiski region to Les Arcs, and suddenly we were on kind red runs snaking through the trees, with hardly a soul on them, and then my knees began to flex, and that sensation of feeling the skis through the balls of your feet and effortlessly unweighting from one to the other began to cut in (yes I know that’s Old School technique, but hey ho!).

My friend and I weave in and out of each other’s tracks, and I see a smile even bigger than my own. And briefly, oh so briefly, I feel like I’m flying and master of all I survey.

And it may sound cheesy, corny, call it what you will – and it maybe it’s the Vin Chaud talking - but I see next year and all the creative projects, for me and for work, and we can make them fly too. Sometimes creativity comes easily, sometimes you have to carve it out.

Not to the tune of Hot Chocolate’s ‘It started with a kiss’, but 2008 literally started for me at the world’s most famous hotel. (I noted it here).

And after a great start, in the words of Frank Sinatra, it was a very good year.

But what of the warily anticipated 2009? Step in the cock-eyed optimist.

The credit crunch, correction, recession – call it what you will – is a problem, sure. But it’s also an opportunity. Creativity will be at a premium than ever. When it’s harder than ever to make a sale, you need big ideas on your side.

So to close the year, here’s wishing all our clients and friends a resilient, resourceful, rebounding 2009. 

OK, we weren’t lucky with the weather – rain, a little snow, and extreme cold - but December saw us shooting the new Spring Phase of the Savills ‘We have the power to move you’ national advertising campaign.

Percival’s Elle John and Savills’ very own Laura Clarke (pictured left) were both among the inspired leapers, and photography was by Our New Best Friend, James Bedford.

James’  dog Bramble also put in sterling work, putting pay to the famous epithet about children and animals.

Thanks to all the Savills team for the chance to take a campaign into Season Two. And the weather couldn’t stop us – we have the power.

We were more than a tad compressed in the Media Village, and it’s great to to have our own place with our own front door. It’s also a stone’s throw from The Bridge, so becomes a sea of blue on match nights.

West Brompton isn’t as homogeneised in terms of stores and cafes as most of London, and the slightly higgeldy-piggeldy vibe is actually quite engaging.

The Atlas a few yards away is one of London’s best gastropubs, chocca with local professionals on most weeknights.

Perhaps it’s time for a tiny bit of reflection. We set out on day one a few short months ago to create advertising, design and web in one space, under one system of creative direction.

In the last two months alone, we’ve done a national advertising campaign for a market leader, created a brand identity for a major charitable initiative, and have just been hired to re-engineer a large travel website. It’s satisfying to come good on your own business plan.

But – and a big but -  we know it’s a tough market ahead, and we have to be even better. No room for complacency.

Anyway, to all our clients and friends, we’d love to welcome you to Rickett Street very soon.

Percival created the new logo, an elegant mix of minimal typography and a stylised ‘barbell’. We also created the identity last year for the HFF’s sister organisation, the FIA – the trade association of Britain’s gyms. (Read about that here.)

I hadn’t been to Parliament before, amazingly, and walking through the various halls I felt my jaw dropping again and again. The ancient Westiminster Hall, literally smelling of antiquity, the vibrant friezes of the galleries, the statues of PMs past, and the unmistakable aura of power that infuses the place. You can see how politicians get addicted.

Met some very nice people at the dinner. The HFF’s remit - part of which is to get disadvantaged youngsters trained up as personal trainers or through fitness-related higher education – is a really useful part of the UK’s wider fitness agenda.

Elle’s previously worked for Provenance, the luxury division of M&C Saatchi, so has the perfect background for our growing roster of high net worth clients.

She’s also been client side with bespoke shirtmaker Frank Rostron, so is very much au fait with the luxury sector.

‘Ello, El!