exchange it went. But when Matias needed people to service a client, the owners of Drax sent him untrained, unqualified heads from the North. That was it: he led his Spiff co-founders into a breakaway. All he lost was his stock; but, hell, at the end of the day, this was just a bubble. The new name was rather warmer than Drax – as warm as you can get. What name would be the most unlikely you could find for a technology company? Something that says it is caring, and something you would look up to. Enter Farfar, the Swedish for “grandpa”. And Farfar then became the hottest digital agency, housed at first, of course, underground, this time in a parking lot in Skånegatan in the southern part of Stockholm (now called SOFO). But it set out to be the best in the world – to be Swedish but global. The work was ravishing. First in line, was a program for Milko, which epitomized, ahead of its time, everything that digital offered. It gave people the unbelievable experience of editing for themselves. It was viral in its market, before the word viral was stolen for digital. A Swedish dairy suddenly had a fan page in Brazil and a feature in Wallpaper. The Vikings had arrived on the global advertising scene. Farfar received a Gold Lion for a campaign for Visit Sweden. This was celebrated with a big night out in Cannes. A sozzled Farfar creative buried the Lion (they are quite heavy, actually) in the sand on the beach in order to party a bit, came back to find the adjacent chairs had moved, and then after frantic digging couldn’t find it. The missing lion was never recovered. This incident, however, proved to be great advertising, as Matias just turned it into a classic film. “Even today, when he wants to express something complex, he will draw it.” Farfar was premised on 80 per cent work and 20 per cent innovation. Fridays were for the latter, when they did whatever they thought was fun. But the business guy, the contract man, living inside Matias became restless again, kicking the traces. Farfar was sold in 2005 – to Aegis.