'Who does all this… stuff… belong to?' I asked, a trifle testily.
Wilson shrugged and said, 'Well, customers. Obviously.'
'Can you tell who owns what?' I persisted. 'Have you kept proper records?'
'They'll be able to recognise their own stuff!' W replied. Shrugging again, he said, 'It stands to reason! And if they don't, we'll sell it off by auction, just like on Storage Wars – it'll be brilliant, and we'll be rich! And famous!'
I opened my mouth to protest, but Wilson raised his paw and cut me off.
'I know what you're going to say, New Dad – you're going to ask how I can possibly run a top-flight professional operation like this without a logotype. Well don't worry, I'm working on it.'
He looked round. 'Just as soon as I can find my iMac under all these boxes…'
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