I once had to make a presentation to the entire regional board of a big blue chip company. The presentation was in Windsor near London. An appropriate location considering the execution that awaited me.
As I had to cover 15 countries in 15 minutes I decided to show them some simple charts. Years before Boris Karasyoff had shown me how to summarise TV activity on a single page by plotting ratings against weeks. Previously I had written it out but in chart form it made it immediately obvious the position of the company against it's competitor.
I was therefore able to show quickly that against P&G my company was not competitive from Morocco, across North Africa, through Israel, past Turkey to Kazakhstan. It didn't matter if you were Muslim or Jewish, African or Central Asian; Procter had 52 weeks of TV at high weights & my client had rather less.
You would have thought that they would have been impressed with my brilliant summary of their incompetence. But for some reason they were upset. One Greek Australian man from Saudi Arabia was getting particularly irate as each country's performance was presented.
A couple of years later I was asked to help with a pitch in Dubai. The Greek Australian had left the Big Blue Chip and was now with a Saudi company. I mentioned to the local MD of our media company that I didn't think he liked me. I was wrong... he despised me.
I flew all the way from Berlin via Istanbul to Dubai. We went to their office. I didn't get past reception. Mr. Greek Australian saw me and asked to speak to our MD privately. He wanted me out of his office, out of our office & on the next plane out of Dubai.
My father always told me never to trust Short Fat Greek-Australians from Saudi Arabia.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Shooting an Elephant
Somebody asked me directions in Warsaw the other day. I wanted to tell them to head towards the sun, but my Polish isn't that good so I think I told them to go towards the elephant.
Which reminds me of books about elephants by different nationalities.
The Englishman wrote, Elephants I have shot; The Frenchman wrote L'Elephant l'amour und der Germans wrote Vorsprung durch das Futur Metafisik auf das Elefant. The American wrote The Elephant and how to make him bigger.
Somebody did a version for the Nordic countries. The Finns wrote, Finland's debt to the Elephant; the Swedes wrote What Sweden did for the Elephant during the Second World War and the Norwegians wrote a book titled; Norway & the Norwegians.
And finally the Russians wrote; The Elephant - A Russian Invention & The Soviet Elephant: The Greatest Elephant in the World.
Which reminds me of books about elephants by different nationalities.
The Englishman wrote, Elephants I have shot; The Frenchman wrote L'Elephant l'amour und der Germans wrote Vorsprung durch das Futur Metafisik auf das Elefant. The American wrote The Elephant and how to make him bigger.
Somebody did a version for the Nordic countries. The Finns wrote, Finland's debt to the Elephant; the Swedes wrote What Sweden did for the Elephant during the Second World War and the Norwegians wrote a book titled; Norway & the Norwegians.
And finally the Russians wrote; The Elephant - A Russian Invention & The Soviet Elephant: The Greatest Elephant in the World.
You Don't Get 150 Friends...
...without making a few enemies.
Was frightened to realise that I had more contacts on Linkedin than friends on Facebook. So I decided to 'turbo-charge' my friends by actually inviting some people instead of waiting like a shy girl at the school dance.
I now have 150 friends, which is amazing because at school I only had one friend. And he was imaginary. And even he didn't like me much.
Was frightened to realise that I had more contacts on Linkedin than friends on Facebook. So I decided to 'turbo-charge' my friends by actually inviting some people instead of waiting like a shy girl at the school dance.
I now have 150 friends, which is amazing because at school I only had one friend. And he was imaginary. And even he didn't like me much.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
T-Mobile prove airports can still be fun
Click the headline to see the follow up to the famous T-Mobile Dance in a Train Station.
This time they have chosen Heathrow, the scene of so much misery this Christmas. Last year I asked if any client had really understood the internet. And then I suggested that T-Mobile had cracked it with the Liverpool Street Station commercial. A project so grandiose that it would instantly be a hit on Youtube.
But I questioned whether it was campaign-able & not just a one-off stunt. With this 3 minute follow up they show that they have achieved the near impossible. It's own-able, campaign-able & works on the internet.
But it still starts life as a 3 minute TV commercial.
This time they have chosen Heathrow, the scene of so much misery this Christmas. Last year I asked if any client had really understood the internet. And then I suggested that T-Mobile had cracked it with the Liverpool Street Station commercial. A project so grandiose that it would instantly be a hit on Youtube.
But I questioned whether it was campaign-able & not just a one-off stunt. With this 3 minute follow up they show that they have achieved the near impossible. It's own-able, campaign-able & works on the internet.
But it still starts life as a 3 minute TV commercial.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
There's no business like Showbusiness
My first encounter with the business of show was with Dave Prowse. He was the actor inside Darth Vader's costume. He was also the Green Cross Code man.
He came to my school to teach us little ones how to cross the road. But we weren't interested in stopping, looking & listening. We were interested in how he could use the dark side of the force against Luke Skywalker... his own son.
That is the romance of showbusiness. Which reminds me of the famous anecdote about our business. There is a man whose job it is to shovel the elephant shit at the circus. It's a miserable job. 18 hours a day of shovelling pachyderm poo. Someone asks him why he doesn't get a better job.
And he replies, "What... and leave showbusiness"
He came to my school to teach us little ones how to cross the road. But we weren't interested in stopping, looking & listening. We were interested in how he could use the dark side of the force against Luke Skywalker... his own son.
That is the romance of showbusiness. Which reminds me of the famous anecdote about our business. There is a man whose job it is to shovel the elephant shit at the circus. It's a miserable job. 18 hours a day of shovelling pachyderm poo. Someone asks him why he doesn't get a better job.
And he replies, "What... and leave showbusiness"
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Zimmer, Fruhstuck und Wideo
My brother is a fluent German speaker, he is also a consultant. The definition of which is someone who understands there is no solution but knows that there is money to be made prolonging the problem.
He was staying in a hotel in Deutschland with 3 colleagues and they were checking out. The receptionist loudly announced their zeitungs. ZIMMER, FRUHSTUCK und WIDEO she first said to meine Bruder. Then the next consultant went forward; ZIMMER, FRUHSTUCK und WIDEO she exclaimed. Then the third; ZIMMER, FRUHSTUCK und WIDEO she proudly shouted.
Finally the fourth man went forth; "ZIMMER und FRUHSTUCK" she said with a hint of disappointment.
He was staying in a hotel in Deutschland with 3 colleagues and they were checking out. The receptionist loudly announced their zeitungs. ZIMMER, FRUHSTUCK und WIDEO she first said to meine Bruder. Then the next consultant went forward; ZIMMER, FRUHSTUCK und WIDEO she exclaimed. Then the third; ZIMMER, FRUHSTUCK und WIDEO she proudly shouted.
Finally the fourth man went forth; "ZIMMER und FRUHSTUCK" she said with a hint of disappointment.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Russian Invasion - Gazzy Must Die !
"Giant Hogweed Heracleum mantegazzianum A native of the Caucasus Mountains, grows to 4-5m tall, and can cause severe phytophotodermatitis if the sap gets on human skin." Wikipedia
One part of our Edinburgh WildLife survey was to locate this noxious weed so the council could attempt to eradicate it. The team in charge of the project waited for the Poet...err Press Officer to go on holiday & then they briefed me on doing the PR campaign.
I obviously didn't know the first thing about PR so I called a friend who also had a 'Community Programme' Job at a local newspaper. She told me that Journalists were lazy creatures and that a well written press release, accompanied by good photos and a press conference would usually guarantee plenty of column inches in the local press.
I did as instructed and set the date of July 6th 1988 for the press conference. How do I remember the date? Because it was the day that the Piper Alpha blew up killing 167 men. This terrible & very Scottish tragedy in the North Sea meant that nobody was interested in my curious Victorian, Russian, herbacious import.
However my press release did work. The Daily Record ran a story a few days later with the headline "Gazzy must Die" They even quoted me, even though I never spoke to them. Gareth Brown, spokesman for the operation said "It's taking a grip all over Scotland."
And that is why I never trust PR.
One part of our Edinburgh WildLife survey was to locate this noxious weed so the council could attempt to eradicate it. The team in charge of the project waited for the Poet...err Press Officer to go on holiday & then they briefed me on doing the PR campaign.
I obviously didn't know the first thing about PR so I called a friend who also had a 'Community Programme' Job at a local newspaper. She told me that Journalists were lazy creatures and that a well written press release, accompanied by good photos and a press conference would usually guarantee plenty of column inches in the local press.
I did as instructed and set the date of July 6th 1988 for the press conference. How do I remember the date? Because it was the day that the Piper Alpha blew up killing 167 men. This terrible & very Scottish tragedy in the North Sea meant that nobody was interested in my curious Victorian, Russian, herbacious import.
However my press release did work. The Daily Record ran a story a few days later with the headline "Gazzy must Die" They even quoted me, even though I never spoke to them. Gareth Brown, spokesman for the operation said "It's taking a grip all over Scotland."
And that is why I never trust PR.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
The Enviroment (sic) Centre
Amazing as this may sound Media was not my first job. I worked in a library, I worked in a bank and I even worked with trainee criminals. However the most interesting job I had before advertising was working at Edinburgh's Environment centre.
In the 1980's the Conservative Government created a scheme called the Community Programme to "massage" the long term unemployment statistics. If you were a part time student you could collect unemployment benefit. And if you had been unemployed for more than 6 months you could apply for a part time job on this wonderful scheme. This was a magical recipe for mayhem.
I applied for a job as an "Information Officer." Which was my first encounter with title inflation. I arrived on my first day overdressed, as I was wearing normal clothes. The part time wheeze meant that instead of employing 10 professionals the goverment could remove 30+ people from the long term unemployment figures. We were a motley crew of PhDs, burn outs, has beens, and the never going to be. We even had our own poet-in-residence, though his title was Press Officer.
I was sitting doing nothing the whole morning, which was going to be good practice for the future. Then Alexander walked in. Sandy looked & sounded like Chewbacca from Star Wars. I later found out that beneath the hair & beard was a handsome man but at first sight Sandy was truly intimidating. I asked him a question which had been troubling me all morning "Sandy, what do we do...?"
"Well Gareth" Sandy said in his gravelly tones "we are conducting a wildlife survey of Edinburgh. You see this map of the city" Sandy continued pointing at a large map of the capital divided into squares and a pile of paperwork. "This form has all the potential flora & fauna that could be found. The University wants an audit of how much variety of wildlife exists in the city. So we take the form, go the area the square represents.....find a pub & sit in it making up the numbers."
And that is another reason why I don't trust research.
In the 1980's the Conservative Government created a scheme called the Community Programme to "massage" the long term unemployment statistics. If you were a part time student you could collect unemployment benefit. And if you had been unemployed for more than 6 months you could apply for a part time job on this wonderful scheme. This was a magical recipe for mayhem.
I applied for a job as an "Information Officer." Which was my first encounter with title inflation. I arrived on my first day overdressed, as I was wearing normal clothes. The part time wheeze meant that instead of employing 10 professionals the goverment could remove 30+ people from the long term unemployment figures. We were a motley crew of PhDs, burn outs, has beens, and the never going to be. We even had our own poet-in-residence, though his title was Press Officer.
I was sitting doing nothing the whole morning, which was going to be good practice for the future. Then Alexander walked in. Sandy looked & sounded like Chewbacca from Star Wars. I later found out that beneath the hair & beard was a handsome man but at first sight Sandy was truly intimidating. I asked him a question which had been troubling me all morning "Sandy, what do we do...?"
"Well Gareth" Sandy said in his gravelly tones "we are conducting a wildlife survey of Edinburgh. You see this map of the city" Sandy continued pointing at a large map of the capital divided into squares and a pile of paperwork. "This form has all the potential flora & fauna that could be found. The University wants an audit of how much variety of wildlife exists in the city. So we take the form, go the area the square represents.....find a pub & sit in it making up the numbers."
And that is another reason why I don't trust research.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Nightmare on Plac Inwalidow
My worst ever client was called Mito Chanalo. I have cleverly reversed the initial letters there so his relatives & friends won't recognise him.
He was so bad that all other clients pale in comparison. I can cope with small moustachioed men, I can handle men with big titles like President Jean Francois Van Boxmeer, but Mito defeated me.
He was a bully & a coward. He would throw documents. He would tear pages out of presentations. He would happily reduce subordinates to tears...and that was just the men. But he would watch while the GM would write on the wall, too afraid to tell him that we weren't using the white board. He was the Marketing Director of Polgate Calmolive. And he was an idiot of the highest rank.
His favourite tantrum, because he was a big baby, was to demand, nay insist, that we meet on Monday at 8am. However he would always forget his anger over the weekend. So we would arrive at Plac. Inwalidow on Monday at 7.55 sharp only to find no Mito. Once the Client Service Director didn't notice the clocks change and so was there at 7am only to wait 2 freezing hours before a forgetful Chanalo appeared.
Chanalo was criminally stupid. But I bless the man. Because after him I can cope with any client.
He was so bad that all other clients pale in comparison. I can cope with small moustachioed men, I can handle men with big titles like President Jean Francois Van Boxmeer, but Mito defeated me.
He was a bully & a coward. He would throw documents. He would tear pages out of presentations. He would happily reduce subordinates to tears...and that was just the men. But he would watch while the GM would write on the wall, too afraid to tell him that we weren't using the white board. He was the Marketing Director of Polgate Calmolive. And he was an idiot of the highest rank.
His favourite tantrum, because he was a big baby, was to demand, nay insist, that we meet on Monday at 8am. However he would always forget his anger over the weekend. So we would arrive at Plac. Inwalidow on Monday at 7.55 sharp only to find no Mito. Once the Client Service Director didn't notice the clocks change and so was there at 7am only to wait 2 freezing hours before a forgetful Chanalo appeared.
Chanalo was criminally stupid. But I bless the man. Because after him I can cope with any client.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Secret Diary of a Sex-Pat
If I wanted to improve the statistics of my blog I would simply write a diary of my sexual history. It's not that intesting, but I am sure people would read it out of curiousity. Even my mum might start reading my blog.
My point though is this; all statistics about the internet are wrong. Or rather the reading of them is. Yes Facebook reaches 500+ Million people. But TV reaches 5+ Billion people. This blog has the potential to reach 3 Billion but so far it has only reached 3000+; see the new feature on the left below the survey.
Also I deliberately drove people to the site with surveys, which perhaps reveals a hidden love of democracy in Russia. Maybe I should conduct a sex survey - now that would improve my figure.
Facebook's success was based on understanding that the internet, like all media, is driven by the basic human desire to have sex. Radio calls it "Rock & Roll", which used to be slang for sex, Cinema & TV call it romantic comedies. Magazines call it Cosmo-pollution. Facebook calls it social networking ;)
My point though is this; all statistics about the internet are wrong. Or rather the reading of them is. Yes Facebook reaches 500+ Million people. But TV reaches 5+ Billion people. This blog has the potential to reach 3 Billion but so far it has only reached 3000+; see the new feature on the left below the survey.
Also I deliberately drove people to the site with surveys, which perhaps reveals a hidden love of democracy in Russia. Maybe I should conduct a sex survey - now that would improve my figure.
Facebook's success was based on understanding that the internet, like all media, is driven by the basic human desire to have sex. Radio calls it "Rock & Roll", which used to be slang for sex, Cinema & TV call it romantic comedies. Magazines call it Cosmo-pollution. Facebook calls it social networking ;)
When clients understand this they might make some decent websites. They worked it out before with soap operas; designed to sell, well....soap.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Book about Facebook for 200+ Rubles
I am having an auction - 4 copies of "The Facebook Effect" to give away. I'll start the bidding at 200 rubles - send your bid price to pgarethbrown@gmail.com
Client Agency Relationships
Click the headline above for a painful reminder of our wonderful "Show Business"
The Dark Side of Moscow
Forgot to put Pink Floyd on the list of musicians on the survey. Strange omission as I saw them perform "Dark Side of the Moon" in London in the early 90s. That is one of the small joys of working in media, free concert tickets. It makes us feel that we work in Showbusiness.
Moscow has a dark side as well. At night the city changes, the traffic jams that choke the city during the day disappear and an army of workers from Central Asia appear. Many Muscovites ignore these people and act as if they don't exist. It's a similar situation in most big cities. But I speak a little Turkish after 2 years in Istanbul so sometimes I talk to them.
Once I was desperate for a cigarette so I approached some Uzbek road workers. They not only gave me two fags but also refused payment, even though I was wearing a suit. At the open market it is fun to negotiate in Turkish as many of the fruit sellers are from Azerbaijan. I'm not sure if I get a better discount but I do get the best Baku tomatoes. Another time I was buying juice from a kiosk. I said "Rakmet" which is "thanks" in most of Central Asia. She was from Tajikistan and a broad smile lit up her face. She had amazing gold teeth, proving that she put her money where her mouth was.
So next time you are on holiday in Turkey learn a few simple phrases. And you will discover that the dark side of Moscow actually has a light side.
Moscow has a dark side as well. At night the city changes, the traffic jams that choke the city during the day disappear and an army of workers from Central Asia appear. Many Muscovites ignore these people and act as if they don't exist. It's a similar situation in most big cities. But I speak a little Turkish after 2 years in Istanbul so sometimes I talk to them.
Once I was desperate for a cigarette so I approached some Uzbek road workers. They not only gave me two fags but also refused payment, even though I was wearing a suit. At the open market it is fun to negotiate in Turkish as many of the fruit sellers are from Azerbaijan. I'm not sure if I get a better discount but I do get the best Baku tomatoes. Another time I was buying juice from a kiosk. I said "Rakmet" which is "thanks" in most of Central Asia. She was from Tajikistan and a broad smile lit up her face. She had amazing gold teeth, proving that she put her money where her mouth was.
So next time you are on holiday in Turkey learn a few simple phrases. And you will discover that the dark side of Moscow actually has a light side.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Fairytale of New York
Beautiful morning in Moscow. It's like New York in Winter out there. There is even a Santa by the Tchaikovsky Hall.
Which reminds me of my second classic "wind up" involving a lady we shall call Jill Blenkinsopp; because that is still her name.
A year after I ripped up her diploma I was Media Director in Warsaw. Many people back in England thought I'd resigned to live in Walsall, but that is another story.
I was sitting at my desk in Poland on April 1st & was starting to type an email reminding people at the London HQ to play a prank on the delightful Miss B when I realised that I could do it myself using the marvellous new technology of email.
I asked my Ukrainian-American friend Ed if he could vacate his desk for 10 minutes so I could type the following; "Dear Miss Blenkinsopp, my name is Edward Assarabowski and I am the HR director of Y&R's New York Office. You have been selected for Y&R's New York internship program (note the American spelling) You will spend 6 months in New York being "fast tracked" for a future senior management role at Y&R. You will be assigned a mentor & attend a series of lectures about our marvellous business (remember Miss B is a perpetual student). You have been recommended for this by Susan Scrimgeour (Jill was platonically in love with the Client Service Director) Naturally you will maintain your present salary. Please resign immediately & we look forward to meeting you in the Big Apple."
I called James Whitmore to warn him of the bomb that was about to explode and sent the mail late at night so Miss B wouldn't open it until April 2nd. The next morning the device went off.
"I'm going to New York, I'm going to New York," Jill screamed like a schoolgirl. "Should I finish with my boyfriend? 6 months is a long time, I'm going to New York." This went on for an hour until James was tired of the munchkin's screeching.
"Jill, what date is the email?" he asked
"I know James I should have answered yesterday, sorry" the numpty replied
"Jill, where did the email come from" he asked
Miss B stared at the screen, saw the Y&RWarsaw email address and fell silent.
"The Bastard" she sobbed quietly in her northern public school tones.
Which reminds me of my second classic "wind up" involving a lady we shall call Jill Blenkinsopp; because that is still her name.
A year after I ripped up her diploma I was Media Director in Warsaw. Many people back in England thought I'd resigned to live in Walsall, but that is another story.
I was sitting at my desk in Poland on April 1st & was starting to type an email reminding people at the London HQ to play a prank on the delightful Miss B when I realised that I could do it myself using the marvellous new technology of email.
I asked my Ukrainian-American friend Ed if he could vacate his desk for 10 minutes so I could type the following; "Dear Miss Blenkinsopp, my name is Edward Assarabowski and I am the HR director of Y&R's New York Office. You have been selected for Y&R's New York internship program (note the American spelling) You will spend 6 months in New York being "fast tracked" for a future senior management role at Y&R. You will be assigned a mentor & attend a series of lectures about our marvellous business (remember Miss B is a perpetual student). You have been recommended for this by Susan Scrimgeour (Jill was platonically in love with the Client Service Director) Naturally you will maintain your present salary. Please resign immediately & we look forward to meeting you in the Big Apple."
I called James Whitmore to warn him of the bomb that was about to explode and sent the mail late at night so Miss B wouldn't open it until April 2nd. The next morning the device went off.
"I'm going to New York, I'm going to New York," Jill screamed like a schoolgirl. "Should I finish with my boyfriend? 6 months is a long time, I'm going to New York." This went on for an hour until James was tired of the munchkin's screeching.
"Jill, what date is the email?" he asked
"I know James I should have answered yesterday, sorry" the numpty replied
"Jill, where did the email come from" he asked
Miss B stared at the screen, saw the Y&RWarsaw email address and fell silent.
"The Bastard" she sobbed quietly in her northern public school tones.
Monday, December 6, 2010
I don't believe you did that..!
When I started in advertising we were only just beginning to get computers on every planners desk. And the internet was in its infancy. Therefore we had to use our imagination to get from the 9 to the 5.
A friend of mine used to photocopy the Guardian crossword puzzle at work. That way she would look as if she was deep in thought (she was) but it was of a more cerebral kind than her bosses suspected.
This lack of entertainment gave rise to the "wind up." Two of which I am proud to have performed.
The first involved someone we shall call Jill Blenkinsopp; because that was her name. She went on a basic media course for young planners called Media Circle. It took place every Thursday at JWT on Berkeley Square at 6pm. As I recall there were 10 lectures. If you had a 100% attendence record you got a certificate.
Miss Blenkinsopp proudly placed her certificate on her desk. She had only just joined Y&R from University and was one of those annoying perpetual student types. She left our business after a few years to go into teaching which explains what follows...
She asked me in her haughty way "did you get a certificate Gareth? I got a certificate." I explained to Jill that at Zenith, where I was when I went to Media Circle, the opportunity to leave the office at 5 should not be wasted on a lecture that posters reach drivers & young people go to the cinema. It was a golden opportunity to go home early for once. So no, I didn't get a certificate.
I then noticed that her certificate was black & white.
A quick visit to the photocopier gave me pretty decent facsimile of her beloved piece of paper. I had to glue another piece of paper to the back to give it significant heft & weight to stand up on its own. All I had to do now was wait.
Sure enough within 24 hours Miss Blenkinsopp started hectoring me about the values of a public school education. I leapt to my feet, picked up her "new" certificate & proceeded to shred it in front of her eyes. I threw the pieces in her bin. Jill's eyes filled with tears.
A friend of mine used to photocopy the Guardian crossword puzzle at work. That way she would look as if she was deep in thought (she was) but it was of a more cerebral kind than her bosses suspected.
This lack of entertainment gave rise to the "wind up." Two of which I am proud to have performed.
The first involved someone we shall call Jill Blenkinsopp; because that was her name. She went on a basic media course for young planners called Media Circle. It took place every Thursday at JWT on Berkeley Square at 6pm. As I recall there were 10 lectures. If you had a 100% attendence record you got a certificate.
Miss Blenkinsopp proudly placed her certificate on her desk. She had only just joined Y&R from University and was one of those annoying perpetual student types. She left our business after a few years to go into teaching which explains what follows...
She asked me in her haughty way "did you get a certificate Gareth? I got a certificate." I explained to Jill that at Zenith, where I was when I went to Media Circle, the opportunity to leave the office at 5 should not be wasted on a lecture that posters reach drivers & young people go to the cinema. It was a golden opportunity to go home early for once. So no, I didn't get a certificate.
I then noticed that her certificate was black & white.
A quick visit to the photocopier gave me pretty decent facsimile of her beloved piece of paper. I had to glue another piece of paper to the back to give it significant heft & weight to stand up on its own. All I had to do now was wait.
Sure enough within 24 hours Miss Blenkinsopp started hectoring me about the values of a public school education. I leapt to my feet, picked up her "new" certificate & proceeded to shred it in front of her eyes. I threw the pieces in her bin. Jill's eyes filled with tears.
"I don't believe you did that" she said struggling to hold back the waterworks. "I'm going to tell James." James Whitmore was the Planning Director.
When I got bored of her sniffles I took the original out of my desk and handed it back to her.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Herding Cats
They say that managing an advertising agency is like herding cats. The link in the headline show how to do it
I had that dream about a meaningful job again....
I took my daughter to Anfield in August. She took a book.
My grandmother was a big Liverpool fan, and when I say big, I mean huge. She had a season ticket for many years & even went to the European Cup Final in 1978, just 3 years before she died. And when she died we dispersed her ashes on the pitch in the same spot where Bill Shankly was spread.
Luckily even though my lovely daughter wasn't interested in any of this I was with my Uncle Bill who was. My Uncle is my hero. Why? Because he drove trucks for a living.
When I was a kid my Uncle parked a big "Fuck Off" Oil tanker outside our ticky tacky house in bourgeois Balerno, a suburb of Edinburgh. Our neighbours were horrified, I was delighted. I was the proudest pupil at school that day.
My dad, like most of our neighbours had a job that an 8 year old boy couldn't understand. Something at the University involving engineering & computers & machines and other unfathomable stuff. But a big oil tanker I could understand. Still can actually. My Uncle had a real job, one that I respect to this day. One that I admire everytime I get a bendy bus in London. Media buying is not a real job; it's not something an 8 year old can understand.
So I dream of driving a big truck one day.
My grandmother was a big Liverpool fan, and when I say big, I mean huge. She had a season ticket for many years & even went to the European Cup Final in 1978, just 3 years before she died. And when she died we dispersed her ashes on the pitch in the same spot where Bill Shankly was spread.
Luckily even though my lovely daughter wasn't interested in any of this I was with my Uncle Bill who was. My Uncle is my hero. Why? Because he drove trucks for a living.
When I was a kid my Uncle parked a big "Fuck Off" Oil tanker outside our ticky tacky house in bourgeois Balerno, a suburb of Edinburgh. Our neighbours were horrified, I was delighted. I was the proudest pupil at school that day.
My dad, like most of our neighbours had a job that an 8 year old boy couldn't understand. Something at the University involving engineering & computers & machines and other unfathomable stuff. But a big oil tanker I could understand. Still can actually. My Uncle had a real job, one that I respect to this day. One that I admire everytime I get a bendy bus in London. Media buying is not a real job; it's not something an 8 year old can understand.
So I dream of driving a big truck one day.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Finally....a decent Russian pop song
Click on the headline to see the first decent song I have heard in Russia. It's by a lady call Nyusha & the song is Chudo. The video appears to be a scary porno version of Cirque du Soleil but it's a start.
It is noticeable that the further East you go from Britain & Ireland the worse the music gets. Maybe it has something to do with the speed of sound. French music is merde, German songs are sheisse, Disco Polo in Poland ish pish (as Sir Sean Connery would say)
So by the time you get to the Ukraine you can barely hear Led Zeppelin, U2 & Snow Patrol. I think they are only just beginning to hear the Beatles & the Stones in Vladivostok. But their music might be muffled by the proximity of Karaoke from Japan.
It is noticeable that the further East you go from Britain & Ireland the worse the music gets. Maybe it has something to do with the speed of sound. French music is merde, German songs are sheisse, Disco Polo in Poland ish pish (as Sir Sean Connery would say)
So by the time you get to the Ukraine you can barely hear Led Zeppelin, U2 & Snow Patrol. I think they are only just beginning to hear the Beatles & the Stones in Vladivostok. But their music might be muffled by the proximity of Karaoke from Japan.
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