The Gaviscon Fireman - Advertising Genius?

One has just spent a very emotional weekend in Great Malvern, where one was saying a final farewell to a very dear friend who had left us long before his time was due. One thing is for sure, since his passing ‘Great’ Malvern will no doubt be downgraded to ‘Quite Agreeable’ Malvern, as all of its greatness left when my poppet’s fingers of life began to tinkle the piano keys of eternity. One has sent an email suggesting the name change to the local town council, in case it hadn’t been realised.

Anyhoo … it was while Chu Me – my faithful houseboy – and I were cruising down Her Majesty’s motorways in GUSSET 3 - on our way to Malvern - that one started to think of the wonders of the advertising world. As Chu Me drove beautifully – in truth, he always does – one sat in the luxurious splendour of the back seat listening to the soothing, musical wonderment of Classic FM and during the small advertising section I heard the closing lines, ‘…because I’m the Gaviscon fireman.”

It was at this very point one began to realise just how far advertising has come over recent years. As I took the Pere Ventura Cava from the ice bucket and refilled my flute, one remembered it was not that long ago that, to advertise a product, one would have a very upstanding gentleman smoking a woodbine in his favourite armchair, relaxing after a busy day at the office while his delightfully loving lady wife would enter and hold the product up to the camera – a sparkly glintiness emanating from her eyes and pearly white teeth as she told the audience this product was the one for them. Back then it was oh so simple and straight forward.

Yet, as we have sashayed into the 21st Century, it’s all highly technical now with computerised graphical representations and small cartoon characters – the Gaviscon fireman being a case in point. As a result of this hi-tech cleverness, the advertising industry is now worth almost as much as Dame Crusty.

In Gaviscon’s case, who would have thought that the idea of a well equipped fireman, entering one’s mouth and sliding his hose down the back of one’s throat ... only then to release it’s contents into the lining of one’s stomach with a soothing stroke of the inner wall, would have graphically shown how easy it was to remedy the problem of indigestion … quite remarkable is it not, poppets?

One thinks one shall begin to appreciate the work that is put into these pieces of micro-genius a little more in future.

Iceland Put Kerry Katona Out To Defrost.

One was sitting in one’s bed watching BBC Breakfast this morning, waiting for the George Clooney of regional news to pop on my 28 incher; Colin his-twinkle-makes-y’tingle Briggs.

Now, normally one enjoys the professionalism of young Bill Turnbull and the simply delicious Kate Silverton as they fill in between the north east’s news slots but one had to find a distraction this morning when some woman - being interviewed about the benefits of attending university – was shouting at the two presenters as they sat right next to her. Honestly, if one wanted to hear a shrill, eardrum piercing harpy at that time of the morning one would have turned to the GMTV regional news.

Anyhoo ... one let one’s digits glide over the nodules of the remote and selected the teletext option.

Despite multiple snippets of doom and gloom, there was some happy news amongst the day’s headlines. It would appear that Iceland (the frozen food emporium and not the bankrupt country) has decided to sack Kerry Katona from their advertising campaign. The company said the contract could simply not go on following News of the World stories of her indulging in Class A drugs and being all together beastly in public (one is unclear whether the latter is a recent revelation).

Kerry, a former ‘singer’ with Atomic Mutton, has had her fair share of problems over recent years – one of which was stringing a coherent sentence together on This Morning with the scrumptious Philip Schofield – and it appears they are to continue for the poor poppet.

A spokesman for Iceland said they would be supporting her should she wish to seek help … so one can expect a hefty rise in the price of - what I understand is - the famous prawn’s ring and fish fingers.

Boycott Alton Towers - Support the Budgie Smuggler

Poppets, for some time now one has always thought that the Health & Safety Executive - that malignant melanoma on the rapidly withering flesh of Her Majesty's realm - was the only organisation that could issue utterly preposterous instructions. However, one has been proved wrong and Crusty is outraged!

My faithful houseboy, Chu Me, has brought an article to one's attention this very day; some woman of insignificant importance at one of our nations tourist attractions, has banned the men of our race from wearing swimming trunks!!

I suspect we were thinking the very same thing; 'better off than on!'

But no! This woman has condemned the stylish and supportive piece of swimming apparel and said the ban was '....to prevent embarrassment among fellow members of the public and to maintain a family friendly atmosphere at the resort (in Staffordshire)'.

It's true! The company has made startling revelations that during our gorgeously hot weather, a number of our menfolk had been seen ... (one can hardly bring oneself to say it) .... sporting
tight trunks!!!

(Aaaggghhhhhh! Run for the hills, save the children...take all the food and water you can carry!.... No, leave Granny! ... she'll have to fend for herself, she's seen doodlebugs during the war!!!!!!)

Anyhoo ... reading into the company's lack of understanding of the devil's garment, one would state here and now, to all men, that one should always opt for the tight trunk; should one opt for the alternative, then one may find one's little friend introducing itself to the neighbours in the most unsightly fashion, along with a pair of semi-deflated space hoppers.

Sales and marketing director Morwenna Angove suggested this completely normal, well designed, well researched, supportive, comfortable swimming attire is not appropriate for our country and therefore the park will be advising male bathers to wear more protective swimwear (a diving suit?... a jumper with a pair of flannels?) such as shorts. (if trunks aren't appropriate for swimming goodness knows what she would consider appropriate for a black tie affair ... A polynylon twin set and flip flops?)

So if you're unfortunate enought to be going to Alton Towers ... not be a confident swimmer ... and were looking forward to ... sort of ... gliding effortlessly through the waters in your aerodynamic, water repellent swimming trunks, please finalise your will before setting off and prepare to sink to the bottom of the pool and drown in your dragging, heavy, water logged shorts.

Take solice in the knowledge that, though you may be motionless and extinct on the pool floor, at least when they pull you out and try to revive you, no one can take a sneaky peak at the outline of y' todger.

One would have hoped, if our little poppet's holiday park was as 'family' orientated as she suggests, there wouldn't be anyone on the rampage to look at mens downstairs areas in the first place.

I, for one - in one's state of absolute fury - recommend a boycott of Alton Towers (not that one would have ever considering visiting it the first place) and show a national solidarity with our mens freedom of choice in swimming attire.

After all, I think one will agree, when a gentleman packs his budgie smugglers correctly, the result can be quite breathtaking!

Swine Flu Gone - The Village is Safe!

The other morning, one was sashaying along the passageway from the conservatory to the library when the telephone rang; it was Ida Rash - one of the Rash triplets. Ida and her siblings Hedda and Ivor, run the village charity shop.

Normally, one would wait for Chu Me to answer the telephone but he had just had one of his specialist nature DVD's delivered and was inspecting it. I believe it was something to do with bears but really, I don't know where his DVDs come from but the spelling is atrocious; do you know, instead of Bears in the Park, they had actually printed Bareass in the Park??!! Still he loves his nature so as long as the documentary is value for money, all is well.

Anyhoo ... Ida Rash told me they had just taken a delivery of some odds and sods from a house clearance and that there was a rather gorgeous piece of Royal Worcester that may be of some interest to Crusty. As Chu Me was a little preoccupied, I decided I would take the Aston and have a quick blast into the village.

It was while I was driving out of Crusty Hall's gates that one bumped into Doctor Arthur Pedic and the village nurse, Angie Gramm. They really should have looked where they were going but, thankfully, other than a cracked helmet and a ripped stocking (Angie Gramm's and not Dr. Pedic's, of course) they appeared to be fine.

One lowered one's window, "Doctor, dear, there's no marks on the front of the car, are there?"

"No, Dame Crusty, You actually hit my leg rather than the bike itself."

"Good show!" I said, " What brings you up to one's home on this gloriously sun drenched day?"

"We were just coming to tell you that the Swine Flu scare seems to be over. We have no further reports of symptoms."

It was indeed marvellous news. One had quarantined Crusty Hall for the past week or so, ever since Angie Gramm had first mentioned the potential outbreak. One even had to put a member of the household staff in the stable block for a week after I saw her runny nose. She said it was hay fever but one thought a week locked up wouldn't hurt and may even toughen her up a bit.

As one sped off to investigate the Royal Worcester find, one got the impression Dr. Pedic and Angie Gramm were looking for a lift - now that their bicycles were slightly bent - but one could not have blood on the leather upholstery, could one? As chance would have it, they seemed quite happy hobbling down the lane as I glanced at them through my rear view mirror.

Mark Lester Father of Michael Jackson's Daughter?

One was sitting the in the library at Crusty Hall the other evening checking one’s Facebook and emails.

When I signed out of one’s Hotmail account my curiosity was stimulated by a headline that Oliver Twist had claimed he was the father to Michael Jackson’s scrumptious little daughter, Paris.

I know, I could hardly believe it oneself so I clicked on the headline and read further. It appears that child star Mark Lester - who was a long time friend of the late Moonwalking Megastar - had been approached by Mr. Jackson; He had allegedly asked if it a donation of sperm could be given up for breeding purposes.

One has obviously not been privy to the exact account of the ins and outs - as t’were - but while reading the article, one pictured the scene in one’s own mind to clarify things.

The Scene: Two friends sit at a dinner table being served a delicious main course:

ML: [claps hands] Food, Glorious Food!!

MJ: Oh yes, Mark, It’s a Fine Life. Tell me, Mark, would you do something for me?

ML: I’d Do Anything for you MJ; after all Where is Love if it is not between two such good friends and I Consider Yourself as one of my closest.

MJ: Mark ... can I have your sperm?

ML: [shocked] (thinks: Well, As Long as He Needs Me I suppose…) MJ, after Reviewing The Situation, of course I’ll do it. If you can order desert I’ll just pop off for a little Oom-Pah-Pah …. Be Back Soon.

[Exit ML]

[½ hour later, enter ML with half filled receptacle]

MJ: Thank you Mark! Promise me you won’t tell a soul about our arrangement. If you do I Shall Scream.

ML: MJ, my friend, Who Will Buy such a story. You certainly won’t find this Boy For Sale. I assure you there is only one occasion after which I would think of disclosing such private information; That’s Your Funeral.

And thus the story leads us to believe that nature’s nectar was passed between the two men and a gorgeous little poppet was born. Whether the transaction was carried out using a resealable freezer bag, a turkey baster or an adequately sized piece of Tupperware is unclear, as is the matter of whether there is any truth behind the tale.

Anyhoo … I don’t know about you, poppets, but one thing is for sure ... one will certainly never be able to enjoy the song Beat it in the same way again and all in all the very thought of such things has left a funny taste in one’s mouth.

Employment Agencies - Qualified to Recruit?

I was cleaning out some old bits of rubbish from the study this morning and came across a print off one had taken of a job advertisement. It was placed on a reputable website, by an even more reputable employment agency and I believe it was advertised around 2004.

One remembers printing it off as I was agog at the number of mistakes throughout the piece and really wondered if the agency who placed the advert should, indeed, be qualified to select candidates for inclusion in the work place.

Crusty swears this is the actual advert placed although one has removed the company name so as to avoid embarrassment. (apologies for the poor scanning quality but for some reason there was baby oil smeared on the glass platen - goodness only knows what Chu Me was scanning last night!)

I have never found out how many people ansered the advert but let us hope someone was lucky enough to obatain the postion.