I've blogged about sex being used in advertising before, but I think it has now officially hit a new nadir.
Two fish fingers meet a third fish finger who has a sultry feminine voice and then unzips her breadcrumbs to show her 'pink' underneath, at which point the other two fish fingers faint.
It left me thinking 'Whaaaaat?'
Someone somewhere decided the way to sell new salmon fish fingers for Bird's Eye was to turn a salmon fishfinger into a femme fatale flasher-of-the-pink.
I admit it's clever in a 'how many absinthes did you neck before you came up with that left-field idea?' kind of way. But, they're fish fingers. And sick jokes about 'fishy fingers' aside, no one wants to connect fish fingers with sex or sex with fish fingers and we shouldn't be made to connect them because some addled creative put them together in an advert for TV.
To prove I'm not making it up, you can watch it here.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Jaded
I might be the last blogger in the blogosphere to blog about Jade Goody, but I was in the supermarket tonight and I was a bit overwhlemed by the number of tatty celebrity mags with 'tribute issues'. One of them (New) had an all black cover.
I recognise that it's sad when someone dies so young, and it's bound to be picked up in the gossip magazines when they are the arena she chose to live her short life in. But, still, this fetishization of tragedy is just bizarre. One of the magazines had the banner 'Farewell to Britain's brightest star'.
Really? "Britain's brightest star"? Are you insane, Mr Editor?
It's hyperbole gone mad. And hyperbole is already mad.
I recognise that it's sad when someone dies so young, and it's bound to be picked up in the gossip magazines when they are the arena she chose to live her short life in. But, still, this fetishization of tragedy is just bizarre. One of the magazines had the banner 'Farewell to Britain's brightest star'.
Really? "Britain's brightest star"? Are you insane, Mr Editor?
It's hyperbole gone mad. And hyperbole is already mad.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Ask a theologian
Had a (small) older youth cell group tonight which was 'ask a theologian (i.e. me) any question you want'.
The questions (in no particular order):
Should we believe in aliens?
Should I go out drinking with my mates?
What is a 'doctrine'?
What about the dinosaurs?
What about the stuff Jesus said about adultery and divorce?
Why is the Old Testament about Israel and the Israelites?
How literally should we believe the Bible?
Should you be baptised before you take communion (because in another church they won't let you take communion unless you've been baptised)?
Why did people live to ridiculously old ages in the Bible?
Afterwards the general consensus was 'this was good - let's do it again'.
The questions (in no particular order):
Should we believe in aliens?
Should I go out drinking with my mates?
What is a 'doctrine'?
What about the dinosaurs?
What about the stuff Jesus said about adultery and divorce?
Why is the Old Testament about Israel and the Israelites?
How literally should we believe the Bible?
Should you be baptised before you take communion (because in another church they won't let you take communion unless you've been baptised)?
Why did people live to ridiculously old ages in the Bible?
Afterwards the general consensus was 'this was good - let's do it again'.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
It's funny when it's not your upholstery
I wiped most of the zebra drool off the interior of Viv's car after our safari trip for Irony Boy's birthday. Later Cathy said 'I don't think you're supposed to feed the zebras. Fortunately, it's not as if there's any photographic evidence of you feeding the zebra (checks camera), oh, wait...'
But you have to admit he's a cutie...
Even when he's got his nose in the car trying to mug me for treats.
But you have to admit he's a cutie...
Even when he's got his nose in the car trying to mug me for treats.
Friday, March 27, 2009
And here's a question: 'If you knew...'
I've discovered that when I tell people about ambient hot dogs and other horrors from minimum wage hell they always - without exception - vow never to eat a cinema hot dog again.
That phrase: "If you knew..." is very powerful. If you knew what a cinema hot dog really was... If you knew that in a certain restaurant in Cardiff the prepped vegetarian meals are stored below the pork faggots... If you knew what a 'Coke Snake' was... and so on.
I have several friends who work for charitable organisations. Recently one of them told me that 'if he knew' what the organisation spent money on before he started working for them, he wouldn't have supported it. He still gives regularly, but he has told me that he won't increase his giving.
I know people who work handling sensitive information like credit card bills for the top people in charities who have told me they feel unable to question certain expenses even though they themselves would never claim for such things. And they seriously doubt the people who support the charities would be impressed, either 'if they knew'.
Two friends, who work as fundraisers for different charities, have told me that they would give 'allocated income' to achieve specific goals, but wouldn't raise general funds.
I think my big question is - is this unique? If you knew how any charity, or your church, spent money, would you still give to it?
Maybe that's something that should apply to all of us. I think a good general rule of thumb in life is 'If people knew what I spent on x, would I spend it?' I know before now I've decided not to buy some things because I would have to tell my lovely wife about it. How different would my personal finances be if I knew they were going to be scrutinised by other people too?
Could you open up organisations to make them more accountable too? A simple solution would be to set up a volunteer stakeholder panel and every six months give them copies of all invoices, expense claims, and bank statements and see what they say. I don't think this would be too hard to do - make it voluntary for charities and then award standards according to how 'well' money was spent. Getting the highest standards would encourage people to give knowing their money wouldn't be wasted. It could be helpful both ways, then.
That phrase: "If you knew..." is very powerful. If you knew what a cinema hot dog really was... If you knew that in a certain restaurant in Cardiff the prepped vegetarian meals are stored below the pork faggots... If you knew what a 'Coke Snake' was... and so on.
I have several friends who work for charitable organisations. Recently one of them told me that 'if he knew' what the organisation spent money on before he started working for them, he wouldn't have supported it. He still gives regularly, but he has told me that he won't increase his giving.
I know people who work handling sensitive information like credit card bills for the top people in charities who have told me they feel unable to question certain expenses even though they themselves would never claim for such things. And they seriously doubt the people who support the charities would be impressed, either 'if they knew'.
Two friends, who work as fundraisers for different charities, have told me that they would give 'allocated income' to achieve specific goals, but wouldn't raise general funds.
I think my big question is - is this unique? If you knew how any charity, or your church, spent money, would you still give to it?
Maybe that's something that should apply to all of us. I think a good general rule of thumb in life is 'If people knew what I spent on x, would I spend it?' I know before now I've decided not to buy some things because I would have to tell my lovely wife about it. How different would my personal finances be if I knew they were going to be scrutinised by other people too?
Could you open up organisations to make them more accountable too? A simple solution would be to set up a volunteer stakeholder panel and every six months give them copies of all invoices, expense claims, and bank statements and see what they say. I don't think this would be too hard to do - make it voluntary for charities and then award standards according to how 'well' money was spent. Getting the highest standards would encourage people to give knowing their money wouldn't be wasted. It could be helpful both ways, then.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
I'm not saying I agree with vigilante-ism
But when a guy who has flushed 24 billion pounds of tax-payers money down the toilet and then retires with a tax-payer funded salary of £700,000 a year, it's hard to feel any sympathy when yobbos brick his house.
Score 1 for the yobbos.
Score 1 for the yobbos.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
A final story about Grandad (for now)
I managed to give my tribute to Grandad yesterday. This was the last story I told...And I also learned from Grandad that the greatest gift you can give the people you love is the time you spend with them.
I’d like to end with one story, which has been told and retold in our family so often that it has passed from tale to fable to legend. But it’s still worth hearing, and maybe you won’t have heard this.
When Grandma and Grandad used to come and visit us in Shrewsbury when Dave and I weren’t little, but were littler that we are today, we would always greet Grandad with the same question: ‘Did you bring your old shoes, Grandad?’
I realise that may sound like a bit of an odd question for kids to ask. But the reason we asked it was this – if Grandad had brought his old shoes that meant he was going to be able to come across the road with us to the football pitches and play football. (Bear in mind he was probably in his late sixties at that point, but still – playing football with Grandad was something we really looked forward to.)
On one occasion Grandma and Grandad arrived and we eagerly asked the question: ‘Did you bring your old shoes, Grandad?’ And he hadn’t. I don’t think me and Dave were very good at hiding our disappointment, so even though he hadn’t brought his old shoes to wear, he agreed to come across the road with us to the field and play.
So, we were playing football. And Grandad swung his leg back to really leather the ball and he connected with it beautifully. But there was a really loud ‘pop’ and we wondered what had happened. The upper part of his shoe had completely disconnected from the sole, which was flapping underneath. That kind of curtailed our game, even though as the master fixer-upper he was able to loop the lace underneath and tie the shoe together.
Grandma wasn’t very impressed when we got home. Especially as Grandad then had to wear his jerry-rigged shoes to church the following day. He wasn’t embarrassed, although if I remember Grandma felt mortified. And, later we used to laugh about it. ‘It was a good game we had though,' he said. ‘Up until that point.’
If you can permit me a moment of indulgence I’d like to add something to that story. I know Grandad had a faith and it’s a faith I share. And part of that faith is the hope and the certainty that this moment in time, this parting, is not forever. I know I will see him again and he will see me, and we will recognise each other. I don’t know when that will be, but I know that compared to the length of history, it will be in quite a short time.
And in my mind’s eye I imagine that meeting. And I can almost imagine him standing there, holding a slightly lumpy bag, and smiling his slightly cheeky smile. And I’ll look at him. And I’ll look at the bag.
When Grandma and Grandad used to come and visit us in Shrewsbury when Dave and I weren’t little, but were littler that we are today, we would always greet Grandad with the same question: ‘Did you bring your old shoes, Grandad?’
I realise that may sound like a bit of an odd question for kids to ask. But the reason we asked it was this – if Grandad had brought his old shoes that meant he was going to be able to come across the road with us to the football pitches and play football. (Bear in mind he was probably in his late sixties at that point, but still – playing football with Grandad was something we really looked forward to.)
On one occasion Grandma and Grandad arrived and we eagerly asked the question: ‘Did you bring your old shoes, Grandad?’ And he hadn’t. I don’t think me and Dave were very good at hiding our disappointment, so even though he hadn’t brought his old shoes to wear, he agreed to come across the road with us to the field and play.
So, we were playing football. And Grandad swung his leg back to really leather the ball and he connected with it beautifully. But there was a really loud ‘pop’ and we wondered what had happened. The upper part of his shoe had completely disconnected from the sole, which was flapping underneath. That kind of curtailed our game, even though as the master fixer-upper he was able to loop the lace underneath and tie the shoe together.
Grandma wasn’t very impressed when we got home. Especially as Grandad then had to wear his jerry-rigged shoes to church the following day. He wasn’t embarrassed, although if I remember Grandma felt mortified. And, later we used to laugh about it. ‘It was a good game we had though,' he said. ‘Up until that point.’
If you can permit me a moment of indulgence I’d like to add something to that story. I know Grandad had a faith and it’s a faith I share. And part of that faith is the hope and the certainty that this moment in time, this parting, is not forever. I know I will see him again and he will see me, and we will recognise each other. I don’t know when that will be, but I know that compared to the length of history, it will be in quite a short time.
And in my mind’s eye I imagine that meeting. And I can almost imagine him standing there, holding a slightly lumpy bag, and smiling his slightly cheeky smile. And I’ll look at him. And I’ll look at the bag.
And I’ll ask ‘Did you bring your old shoes, Grandad?’
And I dearly hope he says yes.
And I dearly hope he says yes.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Dignity
Dave and I saw our first dead body today. It was Grandad lying in a coffin in a chapel of rest. We didn't know whether to go, but we both agreed afterwards that we're glad we did.
It was strange because he looked so well, as if he would wake up any time now and smile when he saw us. And at the same time it hammered home to me the fact that he had gone, and this man who has been a fixture in my life for so long is now not going to be around and somehow I have to get used to that and live on without him. I cried. And Sarah my foster-sister, who I was supposed to be making sure was alright, gave me tissues and patted my arm until I was okay again.
And he lay there with no effects of the stroke visible. He was in a suit, looking dapper as he always did on smart occasions. He looked younger than he did when I saw him last. And in death he looked dignified, which he couldn't in the hospital.
And I think that's why I'm glad I went to see him, because the illness which robbed him of so much had been defeated. And he looked like he could wake up at any time.
And in a real sense, in the world that's really real, I know he already has.
It was strange because he looked so well, as if he would wake up any time now and smile when he saw us. And at the same time it hammered home to me the fact that he had gone, and this man who has been a fixture in my life for so long is now not going to be around and somehow I have to get used to that and live on without him. I cried. And Sarah my foster-sister, who I was supposed to be making sure was alright, gave me tissues and patted my arm until I was okay again.
And he lay there with no effects of the stroke visible. He was in a suit, looking dapper as he always did on smart occasions. He looked younger than he did when I saw him last. And in death he looked dignified, which he couldn't in the hospital.
And I think that's why I'm glad I went to see him, because the illness which robbed him of so much had been defeated. And he looked like he could wake up at any time.
And in a real sense, in the world that's really real, I know he already has.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Car trouble isn't always trouble
We were driving up to Shrewsbury yesterday and just as we reached Pontypool the exhaust decided to break. After an RAC man gave us the all-clear we drove on, sounding like rude boys in a done up car, to Abergavenny. At Kwik-Fit we were told we could go back to the depot in Newport where they had the part. 'Forget that' we thought, and carried on to Shrewsbury, roaring through the countryside like city hoons on a day trip to ruralshire.
After eventually arriving in Shrewsbury I booked my car in with the family mechanic for Monday morning. Today I borrowed the parental Peugeot to drive over to Wrexham to see my Grandma. I wasn't even half way there, when the 'STOP' light came on on the dashboard, the temp guage was banging the side beyond the red, and there was blue smoke trailing from the exhaust.
Another RAC-man, who appeared deceptively young but had done six years fixing motors in the army, arrived and diagnosed that the water pipe had blown and the engine was dry. A jury-rigged fix later and we wended our way carefully back to Shrewsbury (Mum and Dad had driven to the rescue too), stopping for pancakes at a Little Chef first.
On reflection, this was a load of hassle on a weekend I could have done without it. But on the other hand, this could have happened on Tuesday when we were driving over to my Grandad's funeral. And it turned out my Grandma had forgotten I was coming and had gone out for the day anyway, so if I'd made it to Wrexham it would have been a wasted trip. So, the hassle served a purpose, and if it was going to happen it was good that it happened then.
After eventually arriving in Shrewsbury I booked my car in with the family mechanic for Monday morning. Today I borrowed the parental Peugeot to drive over to Wrexham to see my Grandma. I wasn't even half way there, when the 'STOP' light came on on the dashboard, the temp guage was banging the side beyond the red, and there was blue smoke trailing from the exhaust.
Another RAC-man, who appeared deceptively young but had done six years fixing motors in the army, arrived and diagnosed that the water pipe had blown and the engine was dry. A jury-rigged fix later and we wended our way carefully back to Shrewsbury (Mum and Dad had driven to the rescue too), stopping for pancakes at a Little Chef first.
On reflection, this was a load of hassle on a weekend I could have done without it. But on the other hand, this could have happened on Tuesday when we were driving over to my Grandad's funeral. And it turned out my Grandma had forgotten I was coming and had gone out for the day anyway, so if I'd made it to Wrexham it would have been a wasted trip. So, the hassle served a purpose, and if it was going to happen it was good that it happened then.
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