On the second of July I decided to rattle on about the new Pimm’s ad.
The post itself was the usual load of ill-thought out crapola, but in the comments section of the post, a guy called Dan decided to take me to task thusly:
I’m not sure if I’d buy anything you say about tv ads anymore.
You pissed all over that Stella campaign for the last year.
It picked up 3 golds at Cannes.
Someone is getting out of touch and it’s certainly not them.
I replied that I hadn’t even seen the ads in question and was therefore innocent of his accusations.
But now I’ve finally got round to watching the bloody things and can give Dan my genuine, honest verdict, leaving him at liberty to take further issue with my taste in ads.
Well…I can say in all in sincerity, they suck big fat elephant balls covered in crusty monkey poo.
I could only manage this one:
I wanted to turn it off after 1:42 but in the interests of journalistic integrity I thought I’d better sit through the whole thing.
Shit on toast, mes amis, shit very much on toast. I’ve never been so bored (incidentally, I just walked out of Bruno after ten minutes. Not on the grounds of taste; simply on the grounds of humour, or lack thereof), but it was the sheer oh-so-pleased-with-itself self-indulgence that made me want to corkscrew my eyeballs out and send them to Mother in a jiffy bag. It’s meaningless twaddle and if that’s what Cannes wants to bestow its much-coveted Gold award on, fuck Cannes right in the ear.
Moving on, I love what the Craigen fans did to this week’s poll. It’s sad, but I’m vaguely touched that enough of you cared to play such a delightful prank on my blog.
In case any of you aren’t regular readers, Droga looked like he had it sewn up 75-25 until yesterday when a giant last minute Craigen vote sent it over the edge to give him a win of 57% to 42%. I guess that’s the kind of affection and loyalty you can only get after years of brilliant ads coursing through your agency and a similar amount of time being, by all accounts, a really top bloke (I have had the pleasure of meeting him a few times and found him to be fine company on each occasion).
There will be a bottle of booze and a trophy on its way to JC eventually. I happen to know he’s a big fan of White Lightning, but only the 2008 vintage, which has heady top notes of meths and urine with a really lengthy finish of hobo ball sweat.