Friday, 29 August 2008

Avon U by Ungaro

I've been quite taken with the new perfume ad from Avon - Avon U by Ungaro. It features Avon Global Ambassador, Reese Witherspoon, looking stunning in a sheath of peach satin. She takes an old fashioned elevator (like the one in Fatal Attraction - where Glenn Close has her way with Micheal Douglas) up to the roof-top of a very tall building. It's dark and a little too breezy because her hair is getting all messed up (she should have gone to L'Oreal). Here she is joined by a tall dark attractive man in a dinner jacket, looking nonchalantly shaken but not too stirred. Perhaps he has lost a mint in the neighbouring Casino because his bow tie is hanging loosely around his collar; or perhaps he has a box of Milk Tray stuffed down his trousers, he is that type of guy. As the couple look longingly at each other a voice over cuts across the scene and says: 'What happens next is up to U to decide' . . . . Well obviously the Cactus Kid turns up with his underage pregnant girlfriend and he shares out bottles of 'Oasis' before they all fly off in a passing helicopter. Several years later they crash land into the penultimate episode of 'Lost' where they swap partners at least four times, have six children, one porcupine and an African Violet between them. On day 3,046 they are all evicted but still manage to live happily ever after, thanks to the exclusive magazine deals with 'Hello', 'OK', 'Gardener's World' and 'The People's Friend'. Then a nice Avon lady rings my doorbell, I let her in and she sells me a pink heart shaped 'Soap-on-a-Rope' . . .

I need to get out more.

Thursday, 28 August 2008

Teach Me to be a Lady Mrs Pouncer

There's a lady in the Blog World called Mrs Pouncer, she's extremely charming and erudite and puts me to shame. I'm hoping that she'll teach me how to be a lady - just like what she is. I know I have vulgar ways and that I'm not much more than a gutteral peroxide blonde in need of a good scrubbing, inside and out; and that I'm no better than I ought to be (so my Mum's always saying) . . . but this is why I need you Mrs Pouncer . . . I think my vulgar ways are putting the gentlemen off . . . I'm fun for a frolic . . . a bag of pork scratchings and a Moscow Mule, but that's about it.
I know that Mrs Pouncer won't come here to give me instruction, it's far too grubby, but I'm hoping she'll sort me out over at hers . . . she's about the poshest person I've ever met . . . so I've linked her as 'HRH'. And she seems to know so much about flattering underwear, which is always a plus.

A Flash of Fiction

Flash fiction has been growing in popularity, so I've decided to have a go . . .

"So what happened to you last night?"

"I'm really sorry . . . blah, blah, blah . . . went for a drink after work . . . blah, blah, blah . . . tried to ring, but I couldn't get a signal . . . blah, blah, blah . . . out of credit . . . blah, blah, blah . . . missed the last train home . . . blah, blah, blah . . . but then I ran into Steve . . . blah, blah, blah . . . he'd had a row with Sally . . . yeah, I know . . . blah, blah, blah . . . shoulder to cry on . . . couldn't leave him like that . . . blah, blah, blah . . . went back to his place . . . blah, blah, blah . . . finished off a bottle of wine . . . blah, blah, blah . . . then all my clothes fell off . . . blah, blah, blah . . . . and I slept with your best mate . . . blah, blah, blah . . ."

The Prisoner's Dilemma

Sarah and Lisa played out a version of 'The Prisoner's Dilemma' on last night's Big Brother and decided to trust each other. Good for them! The theory goes that it's rational to betray - being that self interest is rational. If they'd both decided to take the money they would have ended up with nothing. Well, they chose to share and now both walk out of the house £25k better off. It's a good job that we women are irrational. It might have been interesting to see the game played out between Rex and Lisa . . . would he have tried to take the whole £50k?
I can't say that I've really warmed to this year's bunch of housemates. And the continual bullying of Sarah over the last week by both Darnell and Rex has made unpleasant viewing. I'm glad she got the dosh. There is still no obvious winner, but I guess it's between Lisa, Mikey and Rachel . . . as somebody said weeks and weeks ago when all this nonsense started, 'the blind bloke will win it . . . those are the rules.'

Tuesday, 26 August 2008

Scarlet's Credit Crunching Tip of the Day . . .

. . . Growing a long fringe will save money on Botox . . . . and possibly on eye-shadow, mascara and even lipstick . . .

Thursday, 21 August 2008

Coke/Oasis: Addendum

I was thinking of a new ad campaign for Oasis . . . something irreverent that would appeal to its demographic . . . how about a thumping close up of the product with the unforgettable tagline: 'Oasis - Fruit Flavoured Water - Fucking Buy it.' Well it would save all the fuss of a storyboard and some poor chap being humiliated by having to dress up as a potted plant . . . after all . . . advertisers want one thing . . . they want people to buy their stuff.

Wednesday, 20 August 2008

Coke/Oasis

I like the new series of 'blink and you'll miss 'em' Coca-Cola ads. The first few I saw were almost subliminal . . . barely much more than the effervescent fizz-fizz fizzle of coke being poured over chinking cubes of ice. The plain white background gives these ads a picture poster effect and doesn't detract from the product. Very clean. These are clever ads dependent on a well established brand identity. Contrast these Coke ads with the new ad for soft drink 'Oasis' - 'For people who don't like water'. A catchy tagline if ever I heard one. I loathe this advert. It features a character called 'The Cactus Kid' who, I guess, doesn't drink water . . . . but cacti do drink water, they're renowned for conserving it. I suppose some creative marketing bod thought, 'Oasis = Desert = Cactus', and in a nano-second 'The Cactus Kid' became a disturbing reality. The Cactus Kid is horrible, he reminds me of a character from 'The Twilight Zone' . . . or was it 'Creepshow'? . . . Where the guy picks up meteor rocks which in turn infected him with a space virus, and made grass grow all over his skin . . . Eeurgh . . .
Apparently "Oasis is being transformed from a product to a brand with an irreverent and engaging personality via a powerful core creative idea." So says Kate Bourne of Coca-Cola Enterprises Limited . . . . how can they get one ad so right and the other so mind numbingly wrong? Well, Oasis isn't aimed at me, is it? But, if The Cactus Kid is a good example of a 'powerful core creative idea', then I'm a 16 year old cheerleader from Amsterdam with tulips sticking out me arse.

Side Splitting

I must mention that John Crace nearly killed me on Saturday. I do not have the lungs for laughter. He writes 'Digested Classics' in The Guardian on Tuesday/Saturday. His potted version of Daphne du Maurier's 'Rebecca' was spot on, and Saturday's version of 'Of Mice and Men' by John Steinbeck literally split my sides.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/aug/16/fiction2

Laughter is not a recommended remedy for pleurisy. This is why I'm stuck with Adverts and Big Brother. I saw 'Mamma-mia!' last night. Flotsam and jetsam, but very funny. A genuine 'feel good' film, but unfortunately it did nothing but harm to my lungs.

Tuesday, 19 August 2008

Gloomy Weather

Think I ought to take a leaf out of Patsy's book. She's flown off half way across the world because she has a swanky new job. It involves flying around the world and being swanky . . . I guess at some point she'll have to take her clothes off. She's good at that.

Me? Well, I collapsed last Thursday because of this pleurisy thingy, so I'm not feeling brilliant but a lot better than I was. It doesn't help that it's so disgustingly damp. However, it's given me loads of time to stay in and watch adverts . . . and sadly, also Big Brother: Rex and Nicole - what's that all about?

There is an advert that has been bothering me, it's the one for the Nokia 6220. I think they're trying to flog it on the basis that it has some kind of GPS system; this is illustrated by a colourful massive map being drawn with felt-tip pens. Nothing wrong with this . . . other than it reminds me of when I was a kid and my Dad used to buy me great long packs of felt-tip pens with every colour imaginable. The most popular girl at school was the one with the longest pen pack . . . so much fun sniffing the tips . . . My point is that this ad makes we want to rush out to buy felt-tips, regress to the age of six and doodle all over a white-washed wall . . . it doesn't make me want to buy a phone . . .

Monday, 18 August 2008

Time Warp

"Moscow threatens to launch nuclear strike against Poland, if it allows US missile defences on its soil" - Did I really read that right?

So bully-boy Russia is invading Georgia . . . . and threatening Poland; UK house prices are falling through the floor; repossessions and unemployment are on the up; a major recession is imminent . . . some people are really taking this eighties revival trip too far . . . next thing will be Rick Astley releasing his Ultimate Collection, and we can't be having that. At least we are good at water sports and cycling: not surprising really, what with all this flipping rain and the price of petrol . . . .

Monday, 11 August 2008

All Is Calm

I seem to have been a little 'rabid' of late . . . I will go off somewhere and . . . quietly deflate . . .

Friday, 8 August 2008

Credit Crunch

I'm getting tired of the phrase 'Credit Crunch', it's baby language for the word 'recession' and it's getting on my wick. It's being bandied about everywhere, all over the Internet, in newspapers and magazines. I was in the newsagents yesterday and I noticed several magazines had feature headers such as 'Beat the Credit Crunch', and I thought, yes I will . . . I won't buy your poxy magazine. It's as though it's something jolly . . . it isn't. A genuine downturn in the economy is never pretty and people get hurt. It's not entertainment. It's not being taken seriously because it hasn't really hit yet. Think of this period as 'The Phony Recession' . . . see what happens in Winter when the fuel bills start coming in . . . and lots of old people drop dead because they won't turn on their central heating . . .

. . . and if that pigeon starts staring at me again he'll find himself being bashed over the head and made into a filling for a very tasty pie . . .

Someone's not in a good mood then . . . .

Thursday, 7 August 2008

Bleurgh

I had some exceptionally good news on Monday. I should've been jumping for joy, cracking open the champagne like any normal person would. But was I? Was I 'eck as like. Nope, success makes me moody and introspective - hence all the nostalgic stuff about my Auntie Pam. The future that never was etc, etc . . . for all my success I am still a juvenile doughnut brain. Even though I am pushing 40 I still do stupid things.

I'm sure I will be back on form tomorrow. I think I've got some notes about an advert that I really like . . . so that'll make a change then . . .

Wednesday, 6 August 2008

Big Brother

Before I stuff my face with sausage . . . I thought I'd confess that I'm developing a bit of a 'thing' for Mohamed in Big Brother. I don't know why . . . it's totally irrational. Maybe it's because he's a toy demonstrator. I'm sure I'll get over it. He's just totally without guile and I find that rather sweet and appealing . . . all he does is eat and sleep . . . HELP . . .

D.I.Y For Multi-Millionaire Movie Stars

I didn't follow my Auntie Pam into advertising. I was never destined to live out a life of glamour in revolving restaurants. I loved hearing her stories about going out to dinner at the Post Office Tower restaurant, the ever changing view of London and eating prawn cocktails. My Dad promised to take me, but he never did. And then it got blown up by the IRA in the seventies and the restaurant closed in 1980.
I have too much personal integrity to be able to sell/market something that I don't believe in . . . that, and my Auntie Pam being against nepotism . . . damn her to this day . . .

Today I have a bone to pick with L'oreal: As if Eva Longoria, Penelope Cruz, Linda Evangelista and Andie McDowell use home hair dye kits. I can just see Eva on her own, in her bathroom, struggling to cover every strand of hair with stinky gloop and dripping it all over her cream shag pile carpet. Honestly, does L'oreal seriously believe that women are gullible enough to believe this crap? Yeah, right, I'm sure Eva always nips into Boots during her lunch hour to buy a £12.99 box of hair dye whenever she needs to liven up her locks . . .

And another thing . . . if all these anti-aging creams do what they say they do, with their pumperpeptides - or whatever - then surely the need for botox, acid peels and major pull-back surgery should be diminishing . . . shouldn't it? And what is a flipping peptide? Scientific gobbledygook . . . or gobbledygloop.

Right, I'm off to the greasy cafe on the corner for breakfast then . . .

Tuesday, 5 August 2008

I Don't Have an Issue with Vauxhall!

It has be suggested that I have an issue with Vauxhall. No I don't! I just think their ads are crap! To put the record straight: my Uncle Bill used to work at Vauxhall, my Grandad used to drive a green Vauxhall Viva, and my second car was a silver Vauxhall Nova GTE. It kept getting nicked though.

To add a bit more personal padding: I grew up in a male dominated household; the most glamorous woman in my life was my Auntie Pam. On the rare occasion that I remember seeing her, she would be wearing the slinkiest of black evening dresses topped off with a feather boa, a sophisticated Sobranie cigarette would hang loosely from her lips and she would then swan off somewhere a lot more exciting, leaving me in front of the telly with my Dad and my brothers. I thought she was the epitome of style and glamour. I wanted to grow up to be just like her. She owned an Advertising Agency.

Friday, 1 August 2008

So Now It All Makes Sense

I've been puzzled by the Vauxhall Corsa Ad for some time now. I mean, what's it all about? A very attractive woman hangs around with a collection of nicely knitted willy warmers, which have all been given hideously deformed faces. She's not allowed to drive the Corsa, but the collection of willy warmers are? Why don't they let her drive the car? Why doesn't she just stamp on them and grind them into the pavement with her stiletto heels? And why do they all intermittantly shout 'C'mon' . . . why do they do this? What does it all mean? Well, I thought I'd try to find out . . . and guess what . . . the willy warmers are the persona's of a band called The C'mons, a band formed in the late 1990's in Barcelona and made popular on MTV. Well there you go, that's cleared that up then . . . it all makes perfect sense now. I apologise for being culturally ignorant. Still a crap ad though . . .

I don't know who's going to win Big Brother . . . I usually do by this stage in the game. I haven't watched it avidly, not like I used to in the good old days, but if I was putting a bet on; it'd be Lisa, Stuart or Sara. I would have put my money on Darnell, but he blew it when he was leader of the house.

Haven't been well this week. I had pleurisy at the end of last year and have been suffering on and off from a post viral infection; I get washed out and house bound. The heat hasn't helped. I'm cranky because I'm waiting for rejection slips from publishers.

The pigeon is no longer staring at me.