This month, the gong must surely go to Be Brand who is responsible for creating an ad for the Costa Brava featuring a photo of – wait for it – an Australian beach, crudely photoshopped to look ‘more Spanish’.

Yes, some bright spark thought it would be a good idea to buy in a nice Perth seascape photo from Getty Images – complete with Aussie husband and son looking out to sea – and then superimpose a bit of Catalan on their t-shirts.

Why? Why? And again, why? There’s no denying that the marketing industry revolves around showing our clients in the best possible light – but on what planet does that translate into passing off a location at the other end of the globe as the Northeastern coast of Spain?

What a spectacular PR own goal for the Costa Brava tourist authority who now look to all the world as if the region has not a single decent view to recommend itself. If its tourism industry was flagging before this little debacle, it surely will be on its knees after it.

Looking at our own projects for the coming month, I wonder what would happen if we employed the same approach? Might we dispense with images of an office development we’re promoting and use pics of the Rockerfella building instead? We might well decide that clothes from our fashion clients aren’t hip enough and just borrow some shots from Marc Jacobs. Or, if we decree that the heads of our client companies aren’t sufficiently photogenic, we could perhaps lift a photo of Brad Pitt and photoshop a corporate logo onto his shirt. The possibilities are endless.

As if a global recession were not sufficient cause for anxiety, I’m now faced with another pressing challenge – that of knitting a jumper for our two hens, Peppa and Minty.

You see, eight-year-old Louis spotted a photo of ex-battery hens sporting hand-knitted jumpers this week in The Times.  He immediately begged me to knit a similarly warm and attractive gilet for our own birds. 

Frankly, when we decided to give over half our garden to hens and their mountains of poo, I didn’t expect that my responsibilities would extend to crafting hand-made garments for them. Mind you, neither did I expect to find myself, Jodie Kidd-style, frantically driving round neighbouring streets searching for the hens after they disappeared. Fearing the worst – that the foxes had finally got to them – I almost broke down with relief after discovering them three hours later. There they were, scratching happily around the garden of a very bemused elderly lady who lives across the road.

The funny thing is, a little part of me (just a little mind) actually rejoices at the thought of knitting a hen-jumper. I think it’s the prospect of someone actually wearing something that I’ve knitted – publicly and without protest.  My record of knitted gifts is not a happy one.  The first attempt (since knitting a single bed sock at the age of 12) was a forest green scarf three years ago.  My eldest son Max refused point blank to even try it on.  I then presented it to Louis who welcomed it as the most beautiful gift ever.  When a cold snap descended, I was finally able to proudly offer him the scarf to wear to school. He said: “Oh no Mummy, I couldn’t possibly wear such a precious thing to a busy place like school. I’m going to keep the scarf in a special box to remember you when you’re dead.”

Undeterred, I’ve gone on to knit a number of projects including: a cushion cover that has languished unfinished for 18 months; a rather peculiar pink ‘wallet’ for my daughter; and a further five scarves. The last of these – a burgundy-hued anniversary present for Jean-Philippe – took six weeks of fevered knitting.  The first time he wore it, a ten-year-old local kid approached him and asked pointedly why he was ‘wearing a girl’s scarf’.

So, if anyone has any easy-to-follow instructions for knitting a hen waistcoat, could you please forward them to me?