Sunday, 28 September 2008

Kate Moss

Blimey, Kate Moss is at it now. Her self-portrait, drawn in lipstick, has just sold for £33,600. This portrait was originally a gift to Pete Doherty but he sold it. See BBC News for more information.
New ad for Rimmel, perhaps?

Where Has He Gone . . . ?

I'm looking for the blogger 'John Prescott' . . . I wonder where he could be. I'm sure this picture will lure him back . . .
Pork Pies on special offer . . .

Thursday, 25 September 2008

Gucci by Gucci

I’m bothered by the Gucci perfume ad directed by David Lynch. It features a tall willowy blonde who wobbles and waves her way across the screen to the sound of ‘Heart of Glass’ by Blondie, which is a shame because her name is Beverly and she prefers Demis Roussos. Beverly is looking ever so slightly pissed and is finding it difficult to keep in time with the music, this may be because she is concerned about crushing cheese straws into her cream shag pile carpet, or perhaps somebody mean has spiked her Cinzano. There’s something very trippy-drippy-dreamy about this ad that sends me on a colour co-ordinated commercial trip of my own.
Firstly it reminds me of the old Terry’s All Gold ad, which not only lights up Beverly’s face but also her living room and possibly the whole of Greater Manchester. Terry’s All Gold blends into the Egyptian pyramids of Benson and Hedges, from here a Camel leads me to the secret of the Black Magic box, which transforms itself into a glossy jet black pack of JPS. Back at Beverly’s soiree, an SAS man arrives in a silver Lotus √Član; James Bond style, he scales the walls of Beverly’s bungalow because he’s heard that Beverly loves Milk Tray, especially the coffee creams. He spies Beverly standing by her window wearing nothing more than a negligee of purple silk, cut to perfection. He waits in eager anticipation as he’s hoping to strike lucky by snatching a glimpse of her Toblerone honeycombed triangle . . .

Tuesday, 23 September 2008

Who Knows the Secret . . .

Well, loads of other bloggers seem to have black boxes . . . I thought I'd get my own . . .

Saturday, 20 September 2008

No More Awkward Moves

I don’t like vacuuming and anything that’s going to make it quicker and less of a chore is alright by me, so I was interested to see what the new Dyson vacuum cleaner had to offer now that the nice Mr Dyson has corrected the obvious design flaw. Apparently the new Dyson has been fitted with a big ball for easy handling; where previously it could only go backwards and forwards, straight up and down, thumping against the walls and getting nowhere fast, it can now be easily manoeuvred into any tight little nook or cranny. Sounds like a godsend.
According to Jennifer Whitehead at Brand Republic, the Dyson company are: ‘banking on research that the new ball design will make men 45% more likely to do the housework, a fact that, in turn, will make women want to buy the cleaner’. I’m confused because the Dyson ad blatantly only shows women using the vacuum. Maybe they realised the dubious quality of their research. Perhaps we women, when viewing the ad, are supposed to chuckle to ourselves in the knowledge that the obvious design flaw is that men are incapable of using a vacuum cleaner. But men are incapable of using a vacuum cleaner. Without supervision, a man may start innocently enough by vacuuming the carpets and the kitchen worktop, but inevitably he will discover the delights to be had from the wide range of assorted vacuum accessories and not before too long he will be sucking up spilt drinks with the mini turbine head, grooming the cat with the soft dusting brush, removing earwax with the ‘up-top’ tool and sticking the long hosed flexi-crevice nozzle down his trousers . . . .

Wednesday, 17 September 2008

Beautiful Inside My Head Forever

I think I've had a brainwave . . . going back to the Damien Hirst auction . . . the 'art' was the auction itself . . . not the stuffed animals and bits of bling that were being sold. It may have been performance art after all . . . ?

Well, there are worse ways of making £100m, Damien's way was artful. Just wish I'd thought of it first.

Monday, 15 September 2008

Fighting Temptation?

I've not tried the new Special K Mini-Breaks, but how can a bag of wheaty, oatie, low-cal, low sugar, lumps of nothing, really compete with an extra large packet of full frontal chocolate digestive biscuits? This ad is set in an office environment and we are shown a group of attractive working women sitting at their desks looking professional and well manicured. Unfortunately they are being distracted from their work by saucers of chocolate biscuits and bags of sweets. We see one of these distressed women gently caressing a chocolate biscuit with her finger; her resistance is palpable as she frowns and bites her bottom lip almost drawing blood. None of these women look as though the odd suck on a dunked digestive would do them any harm . . . so why the traumatised torture brought on by the presence of all this sugary snackery? And why are these Mini-Breaks specifically targeting women? Are men impervious to a snack attack during the working day? Do men coyly avoid biscuit temptation whilst being busy and business-like? Do they heck as like . . .

I've never eaten a packet of biscuits or a box of chocolates in one sitting, not ever. I don't have a sweet tooth; too much sugar makes me sick and hyperactive . . . . and I know what's perfect for nibbling on, so I'm much more likely to be found filling myself up on savoury nibbles and salty snacks . . . but not so much that I gag.

Sunday, 14 September 2008

Sale Now On - Everything Must Go!

Damien Hirst is having a massive sale of all his work at Sotheby's on Monday and Tuesday. He's cutting out the gallery dealer and keeping all the dosh himself. The title of the sale is: "Beautiful Inside My Head Forever" . . . . shouldn't that be "Beautiful Inside My Wallet Forever" . . . ?

Saturday, 13 September 2008

Something for the Weekend

Flash Fiction is growing in popularity . . . so I thought I'd have another go . . . . this one is called Beryl.

Beryl is a scrubber. For Beryl there is no greater pleasure than to be elbow deep in a bucket full of soapy suds and on her knees scrubbing every inch of dirt from the cracked linoleum that is Mr Baxter's kitchen floor. Her fingers are scrubbed red raw; the detergent stings, but Beryl refuses to wear gloves, professing to dislike the smell of rubber and, she explains, they make her hands hot.
Mr Baxter, in his big black policeman boots, treads slow deliberate footprints across the kitchen floor. Muddy and thick. They lead to a stool from where Mr Baxter sits to watch Beryl work; from where he watches her wobbling bare buttocks sway rhythmically in time with the scrubbing. Later, Mr Baxter will make Beryl a nice cup of tea and pay her handsomely for her trouble.

Wednesday, 10 September 2008


So we're all going to be sucked up into a black hole today; more likely that we're all going to be washed away and sucked down a plug-hole . . .

Monday, 8 September 2008

Let It Shine

I may have found myself a potential new career and a way of earning some extra cash to fight off the credit crunch blues. I have been offered the position of 'Product Placement Operative' at my local Morrisons store. My first shift starts tonight at 6pm and as you can imagine, I'm quite excited.
The Global Ambassador for Morrisons is Essex girl Denise Van Outen, so I will be in good company then. In the Ads Denise leads an army of 'Z' list celebrities, and Lulu, in a trolley trundle up stream, down dale and across valley in search for something fresh to eat. You may have better luck at a supermarket Denise, and you won't get your shoes wet. Denise tells us that she wants it fast and she wants it fresh and she wants it straight from the farmer and she's willing to parachute into a field to get it. She's probably breaking some kind of countryside code by worrying the sheep and scaring the crows, but what the hell, she's got her mitts on a train load of freshly picked apples and she's now on her way to gather plums.
So who will be the next celeb to succumb to signing a contract with Morrisons? My money's on Dame Helen Mirren. Still clad in her bikini she'll emerge from the surf, the spitting image of Honey Ryder in Dr No, and with regal poise and determination she'll trundle with her trolley over sand dune and through rock pool, stopping every now and then to seek out cockles and muscles, several crab sticks and a fresh fish finger for her tea.

Thursday, 4 September 2008


It sounds as if Sanitary wear manufacturers 'Always' are diversifying by moving into the greeting card industry, their snappy new strap-line being: ' Have a Happy Period'. Well it makes good financial sense; Christmas and birthdays are but once a year, but a period (fingers crossed - should've been legs) happens once a month. I actually think this gimmick could catch on; 'Always' could give away a set of 'Happy Period' cards, depicting calming pictures of flowers or kittens or any other suitably girly image, with every pack of pads they sell. I, in turn, could send them to my girl-pals, wishing them well whilst they're cramping up in agony and hugging hot water bottles. I'd probably get a slap.

Having a bearable period is about how fast the painkillers work, how quickly the killer rage subsides and whether or not the skinny jeans will still do up over the water inflated bloat . . . it has very little to do with the pads I stick in my pants . . . just make sure the bloody things don't leak . . . or make me look like I'm wearing a nappy . . . perhaps 'Always' could think about giving away a free Smirnoff Moscow Mule with every pack . . . now this would make me happy . . .

Tuesday, 2 September 2008

Avon U by Ungaro: Addendum

So Reese Witherspoon is not just 'The Face' of Avon - she is instead their 'Global Ambassador'. I suppose this is in the same way that Gary Lineker is the 'Global Ambassador' for Walkers crisps and the cute Labrador puppy is the 'Global Ambassador' for rolls of Andrex . . .

Anyhow, I must make amends . . . I wasn't paying attention when I first watched the Avon ad . . . I'd just painted a wall in the kitchen . . . and I think Reese was wearing pink . . . an important detail . . . also I completely missed the 'story'; she does not travel up to the roof-top in the elevator; it is the handsomely dishevelled gentlemen who is in the elevator and she is racing him to the top. They've probably got a bet on who can get there first . . . we've all done it . . . thing is Reese . . . if a Global, National, International, Worldwide cosmetic giant have made you climb the stairs, making you all puffed out and sweaty, then they're just not worth it. As I said before, you should have gone to L'Oreal . . . like everyone else . . .