Shopping the other day and I was browsing the latest DVDs when I noticed a little addition to all the main comedy releases.
It's a little sticker on the packaging with a simple phrase. It says "Everyone Loves a DVD". That's all.
Now I got thinking about this, and I started to disagree on several levels. Firstly, I don't need someone to tell me that a product is so universally liked that it would clearly make a great Christmas present. Because that's what at work here. The sticker is supposed to act on behalf of your brain.
It's like you'd be stuck for a Christmas Present, see the 'Lee Evans Best Routines' Boxset and think 'Should I get that? Well, everyone loves a DVD, don't they?' but the sticker has got there first - you've reached the conclusion before you've asked the question.
And I don't like that one bit. I don't need to be told. I'd like to make my mind up. Sausages don't have a label on them saying "Phwoar. You'd be mental not to love these bangers" or plasters with "These are so brilliant you'll want to cut yourself open just to try them." It's more dumbing down. It's implying we can't think for ourselves.
And besides which, the statement is factually incorrect because there is absolutely no way that 'everyone' can 'love' a dvd. What about:
(a) people who work in the DVD business and spend hours pressing the discs - they must be fed up of seeing them
(b) the same people, who have just been made redundant
(c) anyone who has suffered a bereavement because of a dvd related death (decapitated by disc, electrocuted plugging dvd player, watched 'Lee Evans Best Routines' and shooting themselves out of despair)
(d)Blu-ray machine owners
(e)People who can't afford dvd players.
You get the idea. So technically it should be "Everyone Loves a DVD ,don't they?
By the way, if you still need to get me a present then I've made a new sticker which simply says "Everyone loves £50 notes or cocaine" that I'll be happy to forward to you to help you with your choice.
Monday, 30 November 2009
Thursday, 26 November 2009
My brain is at it again
I wrote a while back about how I struggle to keep the bad thoughts in my brain and not out in the world. Well today it's been at it again. And once more the bowels of Hell await me I'm sure.
See, I've been trying to write a round-up about Children in Need that happened across the business I work for. And no matter how I tried starting the article, my brain just wanted to write awful stuff. Here's some of the versions I had to delete:
"We love Children in Need. Not the charity you understand, the concept of needy children"
"Children in Need is great isn't it, all that brill telly? Shame they ruin it by putting those sad stories up inbetween James Corden and Terry Wogan doing a conga"
"It's time to see what you've been doing for Children in Need. This year we wanted to do a sponsored 'push Myleene Klass into a pit of razor blades' but some red tape got in the way"
"Lets find out what you did for that luminous one-eyed bear Pudsey"
"Children in Need. A great charity. Helping those in need of a pension, like Terry Wogan"
So, you see, it wouldn't stop coming. All But then thankfully I got an email that beat everything hands down, completely unintentionally. It was from my contact in Bury who simply sent a file with the title "Bury children in need". That's a harsh way to deal with them I thought.
And then I laughed so loudly I snorted and was able to write something sensible instead. Phew.
See, I've been trying to write a round-up about Children in Need that happened across the business I work for. And no matter how I tried starting the article, my brain just wanted to write awful stuff. Here's some of the versions I had to delete:
"We love Children in Need. Not the charity you understand, the concept of needy children"
"Children in Need is great isn't it, all that brill telly? Shame they ruin it by putting those sad stories up inbetween James Corden and Terry Wogan doing a conga"
"It's time to see what you've been doing for Children in Need. This year we wanted to do a sponsored 'push Myleene Klass into a pit of razor blades' but some red tape got in the way"
"Lets find out what you did for that luminous one-eyed bear Pudsey"
"Children in Need. A great charity. Helping those in need of a pension, like Terry Wogan"
So, you see, it wouldn't stop coming. All But then thankfully I got an email that beat everything hands down, completely unintentionally. It was from my contact in Bury who simply sent a file with the title "Bury children in need". That's a harsh way to deal with them I thought.
And then I laughed so loudly I snorted and was able to write something sensible instead. Phew.
Wednesday, 25 November 2009
Mary Poppins after a heavy drink and drugs session
Good god, It's wet here. I mean really. Stupidly wet. Biblical wet. Wetter than John Inman's handshake, liqufied, diluted into water, mixed with more water and then put in a water wetness accelerator if such a thing existed.
And it's lovely. Well, it's lovely to look at from the 2nd floor of this Glasgow building I'm in with big glass windows and gale force winds battering the side. Being outside is about as sensible as watching more than 18 seconds of Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisp (you know who you are).
The wind is blowing so hard that small dogs are being knocked off their feet - not good news, especially if you happen to be a small dog.
Umbrellas are exhibiting that classic FAIL that they do where they blow inside out (there must be a Dragon's Den invention here that would stop the outty-inny situation) and people look like Mary Poppins after a heavy drink and drugs session.
Sometimes being out in the rain can be a joyous experience. I remember playing games of football in utter chaos as the rain hit your face so much it stopped having any feeling and you felt like a god. Games that ended up 32-28 and you had mud inside your body for days on end. And then I remember standing on the open terraces at Accrington Stanley whilst the rain hit my eyes like mini-anvils as Torquay United slumped to a 2-0 loss - with nothing more than a scarf for protection. I shouldn't have gone naked, I know.
And it's like that outside the window right now, whilst I cower here. A coward. But a dry one at that.
So in summary, it's wet. And I ain't looking forward to the journey home neither.
And it's lovely. Well, it's lovely to look at from the 2nd floor of this Glasgow building I'm in with big glass windows and gale force winds battering the side. Being outside is about as sensible as watching more than 18 seconds of Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisp (you know who you are).
The wind is blowing so hard that small dogs are being knocked off their feet - not good news, especially if you happen to be a small dog.
Umbrellas are exhibiting that classic FAIL that they do where they blow inside out (there must be a Dragon's Den invention here that would stop the outty-inny situation) and people look like Mary Poppins after a heavy drink and drugs session.
Sometimes being out in the rain can be a joyous experience. I remember playing games of football in utter chaos as the rain hit your face so much it stopped having any feeling and you felt like a god. Games that ended up 32-28 and you had mud inside your body for days on end. And then I remember standing on the open terraces at Accrington Stanley whilst the rain hit my eyes like mini-anvils as Torquay United slumped to a 2-0 loss - with nothing more than a scarf for protection. I shouldn't have gone naked, I know.
And it's like that outside the window right now, whilst I cower here. A coward. But a dry one at that.
So in summary, it's wet. And I ain't looking forward to the journey home neither.
North and South
I'm a shandy drinking Southerner, well - weak lager really, but I'm a pariah in my homeland for moving away.
Alright, I'm being dramatic, but I sometimes do feel a part of the wider world rather than having strong roots. I still see Bath like Barrrth, and on certain wurrds I sound a bit Westcountry. But living in Wolverhampton for 3 years means I say buus and I've taken to using the word chuck a lot from being in Yorkshire.
Bascially, I'm a mishmash of my experiences and geographical habitats. If I was found as a fossil I'd probably confuse the scientific community before being put in a drawer and left alone.
Right now, I'm up in Glasgow for a bit of work and the wind and rain is howling - yet people are walking around in tshirts. Seriously, you could hang coats on my nipples but these people are getting on with it. Fair play.
Having lived in the south, middle and north of England I can report the important sociological fact that 'people are all roughly the same'. Some things are different. I find Scottish people the friendliest. Midlands people the most socially active. And people in the Westcounty the oddest - must be the cider.
But overall there are nice people and nasty people everywhere. And if you're reading this, then I count you in the former.
Right, enough soppiness, I'm off to find a radiator and a duvet before it freezes and falls off.
Alright, I'm being dramatic, but I sometimes do feel a part of the wider world rather than having strong roots. I still see Bath like Barrrth, and on certain wurrds I sound a bit Westcountry. But living in Wolverhampton for 3 years means I say buus and I've taken to using the word chuck a lot from being in Yorkshire.
Bascially, I'm a mishmash of my experiences and geographical habitats. If I was found as a fossil I'd probably confuse the scientific community before being put in a drawer and left alone.
Right now, I'm up in Glasgow for a bit of work and the wind and rain is howling - yet people are walking around in tshirts. Seriously, you could hang coats on my nipples but these people are getting on with it. Fair play.
Having lived in the south, middle and north of England I can report the important sociological fact that 'people are all roughly the same'. Some things are different. I find Scottish people the friendliest. Midlands people the most socially active. And people in the Westcounty the oddest - must be the cider.
But overall there are nice people and nasty people everywhere. And if you're reading this, then I count you in the former.
Right, enough soppiness, I'm off to find a radiator and a duvet before it freezes and falls off.
Monday, 23 November 2009
Seasons greetings
Merry Christmas. Seriously, Merry Christmas. Isn't it Christmas? It isn't yet? Surely it must be?
Now, you can read that in a number of ways - like an excitable child who can't wait to get presents (Darth Vader Star Destroyer in 1984 - best present ever) or you can read it in my grumpy old man voice that declares it must be Christmas because the decorations are up everywhere.
Seriously, you'd think that Christmas was an 8 week long festival that starts in early November. Still, my missus has done all the present buyin and wrapping, despatched 99% of them and has even written the cards. Were it just me, I'd only be considering looking at Play.com about now. It pays to get married I say.
Anyway, I'm hoping that this year I'll see one of the most bizarre Christmas sites, like I did last year...
I work in Leeds and we are next to the joy that is the White Rose Centre, one of the biggest shopping centres in the area. They always have a lovely line in Christmas decorations with elves and workshops and the like. But last year I finally got to see Santa walking around. But he wasn't alone. Did he have a reindeer? An elf?
No. He had a security guard. Yes, Santa has a security guard in Leeds. I don't know the background to it, whether he was duffed up by a burly grinch or, more likely, had his sleigh driven into on the m62.
It seemed a little sad to me that he had to be protected in this way. Instead of the "What do you want for christmas?" line I imagine he is obliged to say "And what would you like to tell Father Christmas you would like, bearing in mind I am only a represenative of the real santa and - as such - cannot make a legally binding contract with you over what you will/will not recieve."
Anyway, I want Keplunk and the Doctor Who annual. So if anyone is reading and wants to help Santa out then get in touch.
Now, you can read that in a number of ways - like an excitable child who can't wait to get presents (Darth Vader Star Destroyer in 1984 - best present ever) or you can read it in my grumpy old man voice that declares it must be Christmas because the decorations are up everywhere.
Seriously, you'd think that Christmas was an 8 week long festival that starts in early November. Still, my missus has done all the present buyin and wrapping, despatched 99% of them and has even written the cards. Were it just me, I'd only be considering looking at Play.com about now. It pays to get married I say.
Anyway, I'm hoping that this year I'll see one of the most bizarre Christmas sites, like I did last year...
I work in Leeds and we are next to the joy that is the White Rose Centre, one of the biggest shopping centres in the area. They always have a lovely line in Christmas decorations with elves and workshops and the like. But last year I finally got to see Santa walking around. But he wasn't alone. Did he have a reindeer? An elf?
No. He had a security guard. Yes, Santa has a security guard in Leeds. I don't know the background to it, whether he was duffed up by a burly grinch or, more likely, had his sleigh driven into on the m62.
It seemed a little sad to me that he had to be protected in this way. Instead of the "What do you want for christmas?" line I imagine he is obliged to say "And what would you like to tell Father Christmas you would like, bearing in mind I am only a represenative of the real santa and - as such - cannot make a legally binding contract with you over what you will/will not recieve."
Anyway, I want Keplunk and the Doctor Who annual. So if anyone is reading and wants to help Santa out then get in touch.
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