THE ART OF RECLAIMING OUR STREETS

                                       

                                          THE ART OF RECLAIMING OUR STREETS...

The death of Sarah Everard is one mourned by all throughout the land, none more-so than her immediate family and boyfriend.  She is not the first female killed by a male and sadly will doubtless be the last.  Her abduction and subsequent death is currently subject to investigation.  The fact that the man arrested and now charged with her murder is a serving Metropolitan police officer makes the case even more newsworthy.   My sympathies also go to the police, this is last thing they need, another excuse for the left and others with a lifetime's agendas to goad them with.  That the officer in question had been involved in an indecent exposure incident three days previously is also part of the jigsaw as to why he was considered a suspect.  As with most crimes, it will all come out in the wash.  Only then will the world know the truth, until then it is a patchwork of speculation. 

The Yorkshire Ripper was responsible for a number of murders over a long period of time.  All the victims had family and/or friends who suffered great loss.  As someone who has lost a son of his own in unexplained circumstances,  I know what Sarah Everard's family must be going through.  What I'd imagine is the last thing any family needs is those hell-bent on causing disruption to society doing it in your name.

What is it then that gives this group 'Reclaim Our Streets' the right to hijack another family's grief and organise protests under the emotive banner of 'Vigils' and gather unlawfully on Clapham Common, London  and other towns and cities throughout the UK?  I have watched these hard-faced angry, driven ladies with a collective cause banging on about rights and men.  A female peer, sitting in that highly undemocratic chamber known as the House of Lords had some interesting and skewed thoughts on violence against women.  The lady concerned is a member of the Green Party and regales under the title of Baroness Jones of Moulscomb.  Not being familiar with her, I looked her up and there is a photo of her in full flow giving words of perceived wisdom to all those who give not a toss as to how she feels on the matter.  A more miserable looking cove would be hard to imagine.  She has the appearance of a female who's just smartened herself up after years of  camping at Greenham Common.  She was, apparently the London Deputy Mayor at some stage, what on earth did that once fine city do to deserve her?

Her address to fellow Club members included the following: 'In the week that Sarah Everard was abducted and we suppose, killed... I argue that at the first opportunity for any bill that is appropriate, I might put in an amendment to create a curfew for men on the streets after 6pm. I feel this would make women a lot safer, and discrimination of all kinds would be lessened'.  Can you imagine the furore if a male suggested a curfew for females after 6pm on the grounds that they were 'Asking for it!'  There would be hell to pay for any male making such a statement, and rightly so, but a female can make that ridiculous suggestion adding as she did, that she was 'Just trying to make a point'. Strange, deluded lady, but then she is a member of the Green Party, which just about sums her up really.

What infuriates me is that in a time of Lockdown and a combined effort to continue moving in the right direction with Covid, these 'Reclaim Our Streets' organisers were determined to go not only against the law regarding public gatherings but raise a lot of money very quickly in order to challenge both the police and the government through the High Court.  To my mind this has very little to do with Sarah Everard and everything to do with an opportunity to discredit the government, the Home Secretary in particular and make things as uncomfortable as possible for the police.  I'm not a great admirer of Cressida Dick, but she, and all her officers are on a hiding to nothing.  Despite being advised not to go ahead with their demonstration...sorry, protest... sorry vigil, there was a gathering on Clapham Common.  Women were arrested and taken away in handcuffs, frankly I'm appalled by the crass stupidity and bloody-mindedness of these people.  If they want the streets to be safe to walk through then they're certainly not helping the police by diverting precious man... and woman power from the streets by having them attend their misguided and mischievous gathering.

I have to say, as a lad who grew up in Clapham Junction and spent school holidays playing football and cricket on both Wandsworth and Clapham Commons, I was always told by my parents to be 'Home by dusk'.  It's what any sensible parent would have said in the 50's and 60's.  I wouldn't have walked the route Sarah Everard took as a teenager back then, I certainly wouldn't attempt it these days.  One has to ask why she felt confident enough to make that long journey on foot at that time of night.  Yes, any woman has the right to go about her business unhindered, but reality tells you that you have to take precautions, and the basic rule is to keep risks to a minimum. 

Sadly, social media is constantly used to drum up support for those with nothing better to do than snipe, bitch and in some cases seek to destroy society and democracy for their very limited ideals. 

'Reclaim Our Streets'?  I'd rather we reflected on our collective social duties, but in a culture of 'Me, me, me', I suspect that is about as long a shot as an announcement that as of 6pm this evening, there will be a bobby on the beat in every street in Britain... One can but remember the good times...

CATS, PIGEONS, AND A YANK IN THE ROYAL COURT

                        

                               CATS. PIGEONS, AND A YANK IN THE ROYAL COURT 

The British press are rubbing their collective grubby mitts over the Meghan Markle interview on a chat show fronted by some black female American Presenter.  The world's press and TV are awash with the interview.  The Black and Asian Broadcasting Corporation (officially still entitled the BBC) are beside themselves with news, views, interviews and opinions - providing they are the right views and opinions of course - listen to Radio 4's Woman's Hour for clarification!  One word and one word only is central to the story - RACE!

No-one can be in any doubt of my contempt and dislike of the Royal family.  I am not overly-fussed by many of the household's members.  I have serious reservations about any family being born into such wealth and privilege.  I have serious misgivings over the army of employees funded by the taxpayer in order to keep this strange band of inbreds cocooned in their little world of advantage and opulence.  But... and it is a big but!... they really have no right of reply in the manner afforded to the man and woman in the street. 

Nobody interested in this story should really be surprised that a member of the Royal family broached the subject of race.  It is a discussion that would be broached in any residence should their offspring marry someone of different skin colour.  That it appears to be only one member of the Royal household would seem to me to be a complete fabrication of reality and a denial of normal human response, intrigue and basic desire at any given opportunity to smirk at a very white institution having to come to terms with that dreadful word 'diversity' as it hit them head-on!  Surely that would have been the first thing anyone would have asked the minute Harry made it clear to Daddy and Step-mummy... oh, and William and Kate... that he was to marry a mixed heritage (half-caste as was) thrice-married unknown Yankee actress and bring her into the Royal fold.  It's moments like these that you'd give a lot to be a fly on the wall for just those few minutes and witness the shock as it all sinks in to those within the cloistered surroundings of whichever palace everyone was gathered, when the news was broken and 'The Family" came to terms with the awfulness of the situation.  My advice to the Monarchy and all who sail in her is to sit tight and say nothing.  Princess Needy and her puppy have brought disgrace and disappointment to our country and should be left to paddle their own celebrity-culture driven canoe as far into the never-ending cesspit of showbiz quagmire as their ambitions allow.  Strip them of all remaining Royal titles, privileges and rank. Once out of our country and what it gave you, stay out!

I'm on the side of the Monarchy on this one.  They are damned if they do, they are damned if they don't. Looking back for a moment to Princess Di, I have always been of the opinion that she was disposed of by what I can only refer to as 'The Establishment'.  Without going into the details, the mysteries surrounding her demise, the questions that remain unanswered - and will probably stay that way - you have to ask, what if she was pregnant at the time of her passing by Dodi Fayed?  He would have brought a bit of colour into the lives of those at Buckingham Palace, had their relationship blossomed. I cannot see Prince Philip being comfortable having to chat about his father's shop in Knightsbridge and having to address the newly announced addition as Viscount Ahmed or Prince Faisal of Rochdale!  A Royal Muslim in the Family would surely have been seen as taking diversity several thousand steps too far - and far too soon - by about a century, I'd say!

It is good sport for the world's press, social media, and those who take the first opportunity to criticise the rights of others to have an opinion that doesn't match their own.  It is equally good sport for those with an artistic, rebellious and humorous nature to save the day whilst making mine!

WhatsApp has been the source of several Meghan related pics and cartoons.  There was one sent yesterday of the Queen sitting in a Royal car holding a gun whilst driving.  The caption reads: 'When you spend £32 million on your  grandson's wedding and his wife starts bitching to Oprah...'  Another pic has the Queen and Prince Philip sitting on a sofa (settee as was in Battersea) with both of them holding a giant golliwog. The caption reads 'All I said was...will he look like this?  The last in the trio has a photo showing Queenie, our Phil, Harry, Meghan - holding her sprog - and a black woman who I presume is either the Yank's mother or someone who's into photo-bombing.  Anyway the punchline is the colour chart the Queen is holding in her hand.  Alongside the lighter colours is the word 'Okay' and besides the darker tones is written 'Not okay'.  Now that is good, clean British humour when baited by what is basically imported trailer trash attempting to change centuries of inbreeding by gatecrashing our institutions and thinking they'd be accepted within our society, a society of class and standards.  Remember, all Americans are Red-necks, it's just that some wear suits and look smart... but don't let that fool you! 

Just read that the Breakfast Show on ITV this morning had a little problem aired live between their weather man and Piers Morgan.  You can always rely on Piers to be the voice of reason, the ordinary man's champion.  It's days like this I'd love to see Boris announce 'our Piers' as Minister without Portfolio, directed to instal common sense into every government department and scupper the aspirations of those intent on destroying - literally in some instances - our heritage and culture.

Thought... A Piers Morgan Bank Holiday'... More cats and pigeons?

THE RACE FOR SPACE

                                                            

                                                            THE RACE FOR SPACE!

On the twentieth day of July 1969 three Americans chaps became heroes during their excellent adventure when they nipped off to the moon.  The world apparently marvelled at the feat.   I remember thinking that in just over three weeks time it would be the first anniversary of the elimination of steam hauled trains on our railways.  This latter date (11/8/68) having much greater significance and bearing on everyday life than an awful lot of money being spent so that  'spacemen' could gallivant for eight days basically 'playing amongst the stars' - though not yet Jupiter or Mars!

Thinking about it, though not for longer than necessary, the most iconic 'leftover' were their footprints which I believe are still extant.  I knew they left an American flag, but then they would do, they are Americans!  What is telling is that whilst scientific equipment remained to continue its work, they left behind tools and bagged rubbish.  Today we witness a solar system awash with debris and not just American debris.  Every nation involved in heavenly flights has sadly left its mark.

Years on, various successes and failures later and here we are once again, this time The Red Planet, Mars! Perhaps it was the colour pics, perhaps it was due to the subject being on Breakfast TV, or perhaps it was seeing Perseverance land slowly and clearly that caught my attention, who knows...

The crispness of the visual recordings were frankly stunning, much better defined than anything I'd imagine being possible.  It was then that the seeds of doubt were sown.  I recalled the theories, continuing to this day, that in fact no-one arrived on the moon in 1969 and that it was all filmed in a studio.  Talk of shadows not being where they should be, a lack of stars in the background and the flag seemingly waving in an airless environment have all contributed to the idea that it was all shot in Area 51 in Nevada.  To be fair,  my money goes on the whole episode being true.   I just can't see the Russians not making capital of the situation years ago.  Mind you, wouldn't it have been satisfying to have learned that it was in fact a hoax, committed in partnership with the British and filmed at either Shepperton Studios or a temporarily revived Ealing.  I'm now flying high in my world of fancy.  Imagine,  cost-conscious Yanks agreeing to and using  British actors for the parts in order to save on travel costs!  I can see Neil Armstrong being played by Arthur Lowe, Buzz Aldrin by Patrick Macnee and Michael Collins by Leslie Phillips, they just need to dub the accents - or retain them on the grounds of class!

Meanwhile, back in the world of startling reality, the 'Red Planet' did match its description.  I was captivated by the NASA website and spent more time than the dog was comfortable with (it was walkies time!).  As I scoured the landscape I stopped at one picture that had been mystifying staff back at the US Ground Control.  What appeared to be a slip of oblong-shaped paper was declared to be a sliver-thin slice of rock.  Oh wouldn't it have been fun if it had turned out to be  part of a 1932 Morris or a label from an 18th century apothecary's jar, or better still, a receipt for a Mars Bar?  What I was surprised to find, and pleasantly so, was the complete lack of reference on any of the planet's surface to 'Black Lives Mattering' or a banner planted on behalf of the LGBT etc brigade.  Mind you, it will probably be mandatory on the first manned flight, hopefully I'll be long gone by then... They do have steam trains in heaven, don't they?

THE REVEREND JAREL ROBINSON AND HIS ANGER ISSUES...

               

              THE REVEREND JAREL ROBINSON-BROWN AND HIS ANGER ISSUES...

It was not without a little disquiet that my attention was drawn to an article concerning the reaction to Captain Tom Moore's passing and the subsequent clapping of hands.  This gesture was to provide the public with an opportunity to share not only the family's grief but to acknowledge his achievements and celebrate a life unknown to the public at large for ninety-nine years and then known world-wide for his last few months.

The option was afforded to all, to clap or not to clap.  What was totally unnecessary was the response on social media by a black homosexual vicar deriding the gesture.  Now, on the basis that freedom of speech is fundamental in a democracy it is difficult to argue against someone posting their views, feelings and observations via Fastbuck, Twatter or any other platform shared by millions.  That said, feathers were ruffled across the white majority of this country - and it is still a majority despite the BBC indicating otherwise.

Whilst the angry young - well, 29year-old man - may not wish to join in  a public mark of respect for Captain Moore, his comment that the clapping was a 'Cult of white British nationalism' smacked of all things tribal and sadly becomes all to easy to mock.  The very fact that this black homosexual wishes to spend his time sniping at his fellow indigenous white neighbours whilst taking employment from a religious cult is fairly ironic in itself! Just how 'christian' is the man? 

You can garner a taste of his bile when he describes Boris Johnson and Priti Patel as 'Oppressors'.  He goes on to argue that the British honours system is 'Deeply married to white supremacy' before labelling those involved 'Ignorant white christian men'.  The poor boy does seem troubled...

Apparently Mr. J R-B was recently appointed to a pointless posting at a presbyterian church  by the equally pointless Bishop of London, a gal who goes by the name of Sarah Mulally.  At least the cult's hierarchy deemed their great black hope's views with concern describing them as 'unacceptable, insensitive and ill-judged'.  There is also a review to be launched by the Highly Pointless Archdeacon of London.  Talk about jobs for the unemployable.  Still, it keeps them off the streets and cocooned in their  little world of historic abuse and denouncement of sin perpetrated by those outside their church! (Wry smile time)

Hard on the heals of his social postings, as opposed to an overseas posting, which is what I'd give him, he has been subjected to 'Racist abuse'. Surprise, surprise!  The man clearly hates our native population and our country. He should do the honourable thing and leave our shores,  never to return, Go! Bugger off, your'e clearly not happy here... But then, people like him never are.   He would rather remain and whinge from within, possessing as he does a lifelong shoulder chip of black origin. 

During one of his social media rants on Twatter he opined that the 'UK government do not want those experiencing poverty or homelessness to survive this pandemic'.  He clearly has a problem with authority and his role in society.  True to form, and close to his ethnic heart he commented, somewhat predictably on the Home Office's decision to deport 50 blacks back to Jamaica.  He said 'The Home Office can go to hell. 50 Black Brits are to be deported tomorrow. Utter injustice and wickedness'.  These 50 undesirables are all criminals.  Why should British taxpayers continue to support them in this country, we have enough undesirables of our own to contend with let alone those who arrived from foreign climes - either recently, or those who are the offspring of immigrants arriving several generations ago.  To me they are merely passport holders and will never be British, certainly never English!

Last November he commented that 'Jamaicans should build a device to direct all the flood water to Britain because those landslides and severe flooding are a legacy of colonisation and poor infrastructure'.  As I said, the poor deluded sap has problems.  He is to publish a book this coming July entitled 'Black, Gay, British, Christian, Queer'.   Well, you can't say he isn't hanging all his hangups on a single mast. Hmmmmm...Just thinking, perhaps I should take inspiration from his title and call my next book 'White, Straight, English, Atheist, Normal'.  Can't see me getting much publicity on the BBC though... 

NOW THAT REMINDS ME...

                                                     

                                                         NOW THAT REMINDS ME...

I received a phone call early last week from my local health centre informing me that I was being offered the chance to be vaccinated against this 'ere Covid virus.  My appointment was for Sunday the 31st January, five days after the call.  I was impressed and thanked the lady for her courtesy.  I noted the time in my virtually unsullied diary - 6.50pm - and wrote alongside 'Lakeside Club'.  Now, the Lakeside Club, or 'Potters' is where Darts competitions take or took place.  Not being a fan of the 'hobby' or 'leisure interest' - you can hardly call it a sport - I recalled the times that a small group of us in the 70's and 80's would make the ten minute journey to Frimley Green and partake in a 'Chicken in the Basket' meal whilst awaiting the entertainment that took to the stage some time later.  There was, I suspect some form of entertainment leading up to the very reason you were there in the beginning, but it certainly wasn't memorable.  I remember seeing Les Dawson there once. He took to the floor, picked up the mic and wiped his hand across his face. He said absolutely nothing, but it was his timing.  The hall erupted in laughter. he told jokes, he told stories, he played the piano - badly and well.  I cannot remember how long his act was, but I do remember hoping he would finish as my sides were aching to the point of discomfort.  Yes, he was that good.

At 6.15pm last Sunday evening I set sail... well I turned the ignition on in the Kia and sallied forth to my northerly destination.  I was met in the rain by a very pleasant lady who directed me to a parking spot before pointing the way to the main entrance.  Cheerful lady after cheerful lady took my temperature,  confirmed my address, another checked my appointment time before a finger pointed to a free chair tucked around the corner.  There seemed to be about ten doctors and paramedics all seated at socially distanced stations with willing participants called forward by yet another smiley person.

I was called forward and after a few further checks and advice on 'Do's and Don'ts' post-injection it was a case of 'Left shoulder Forward'.  Not even an 'Ouch', didn't feel a thing. Bidding the lady with the power of life over possible death 'Goodbye' I made my way to the stage area where everyone takes fifteen minutes out in order to check that they are not suffering from a reaction to the injection.  Incidentally the lady with the syringe mentioned that I was being  given the English Oxford variety.  Possibly slightly presumptuous, but I'd assumed that it would naturally be provided to all Surrey residents.  After all, when God created Earth he used Surrey as his starting point, it was all downhill from there on - Joke!! (NOT about G starting in Surrey but the very idea that there is a God!!)

It never occurred to me that I might be feeling any after-effects until I followed the 'Way Out' signs and found myself opening a cupboard door and mingling with a gaggle of mops and their appropriate buckets. Apparently it was the NEXT door on the right!

I drove home thinking of the wonderfully efficient service everyone had  provided with grace, manners and not a little humour.  There was even a lady sat on the stage overseeing the volunteers charged with wiping down the seats we had sat on for that fifteen minute 'Recovery Period'.

It's so refreshing to be proud of one's country for once.  So pleasing to see that when the chips are down and it's a case of 'All hands to the deck' we can actually pull it off...  even more satisfying of course when you read of Europe's little distribution problem.  I shall sit quite smugly as the autocrats in Brussels point fingers, play the 'Blame Game' and ponder as to who follows the UK out of the EU!

THE THREE D's - DIVERSITY, DIVERSITY, DIVERSITY!

                          

                             THE THREE 'D's - DIVERSITY, DIVERSITY, DIVERSITY!

I was brought up in the so-called 'Golden Age' of television.  From 'Sunday Night at the London Palladium' to 'Top of the Pops', 'Morecombe and Wise' and 'The Two Ronnies', 'Match of the Day' followed by 'Parkinson'... or was it the other way round?  It matters not, it was great television.  The BBC was the flagship, it not only commissioned innovative programmes covering history, the arts, science - 'Tomorrow's World ' - but it assumed a place in society as a paragon of faithful reporting that transcended continents. BBC 1 and 2, Radio 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 plus that bastion of all that was fair and square, the BBC 'World Service', they did us proud.  Anchor gents and anchor ladies interwove programmes seamlessly without the listener feeling that their senses had been derailed by something cheap and nasty infecting the airwaves.... Oh how times have changed and our culture diminished.

The BBC's left-wing bias has been apparent for many a broadcast, but diversity?  There is not a programme, a news story, a filler that doesn't have a disproportionate number of ethnic actors, presenters or newsreaders.  I recall the days of Moira Stewart and Trevor McDonald waving the flag on behalf of ethnicity and offering the viewing public a glimpse into the world of diversity.  That is all we needed, a glimpse.  We certainly didn't need the word shoved down our collective throats as is current, and I suspect, will remain future policy.

Subtle inroads into previously enjoyable programmes have been made over the past few years, but the speed of change has put paid to an awful lot of pleasure where black and Asian staff have been added to a team or cast and the mix becomes rather skewed in favour of the so-called minorities.  I no longer watch 'Countryfile'.  It used to be presented by white men and women.  Anita Rani was added to the staff.  I have no problem with the lady, she seems very nice, but thin ends of wedges rapidly become thicker.  They never know when to stop.  Recently these in charge of recruitment added a presenter called Sean Fletcher. Again, a pleasant enough fellow, but I do not want those from an ethnic background informing me of the problems facing our countryside be it Brexit, climate change, interesting places to visit or walks in Cumbria.  And before anyone shouts 'Racism', let me tell you that if I was Ugandan, Kenyan or Indian, the last person I would want showing me around - whether it was harvesting coffee in Zirobwe, trekking with the Maasai tribes or growing rice in Kashmir  - would be a white presenter whose family originally hailed from West Byfleet!   It is their country, with their history. Being second or even third generation doesn't give anyone title to that country's background.  You cannot feel the same empathy as that of the native occupant.  You may be white and possess a Jamaican passport, but it doesn't make you Jamaican, you are still an Englishman abroad.  Similarly, in my book, a Jamaican may well hold a British passport, but they will never be British, let alone English!  Incidentally, as I write, there are viewers raising their irritation concerning a recent episode of 'Countryfile' featuring a group of walkers calling themselves 'Black Girls Hike'.  Other than the obvious kudos of ticking another ethnic box, can someone tell me why this group was singled out for nationwide promotion on primetime TV?  Could you imagine such publicity if it were a group called 'White Girls Hike', there would be hell to pay!

'Homes under the Hammer' is another example of ethnic incursion and kow-towing to diversity. From it's inception in 2003 until 2015 the programme ran very nicely co-hosted by Lucy Alexander and Martin Roberts.  In that year Dion Dublin joined the cast - why?  Why employ a third member, be they black, white or any shade in-between?  It didn't need three presenters.  It didn't add anything, but the move no doubt hit an ethnic target set by some un-named individual or committee within the BEEB's hierarchy! Lucy Alexander left in 2017 to be replaced by a Scottish lass named Martel Maxwell, again, seems like a nice girl.  The powers that be have recently announced that the 'Gang of Three' is to be enlarged to become the 'Famous Five' with the addition of Tommy Walsh, a chap who made his name on 'Groundforce' several lifetimes ago and a black lady, whose life no doubt matters, called Jacqui Josephs.  The team appear as overcrowded as some of the streets within which they ply their trade.  But... and it's a big but, another target has been hit.  Twenty per cent of the cast are now from an ethnic background.  How smug and self-satisfied those in control must feel!  So, another programme consigned to my viewing history.

Last night I watched 'House of Games', a half-hour programme hosted by Richard Osman.  Just before the programme commenced  the male continuity announcer informed the viewing public in an accent that left you in no doubt that he was black, that following 'H o G' would be a show called 'Lightning' at six-thirty, both pronounced without the 'T'. Why do the BBC employ staff and then let them loose on licence payers when their diction is so sloppy and lazy?  Presumably it's all to do with equality whilst quality can go to the wall!

Do you remember 'Wish You Were Here', a travel show presented by Judith Chalmers from 1974 until 2003?  You knew where you were with 'Our Judith', ably assisted over the years by the likes of Chris Kelly and John Carter.  Nobody dropped their 'Aitches' and 'T's back then, the BBC had standards.  All gone sadly.  The modern day equivalent is a glossy, loud offering compressed within BBC's weekend Breakfast programme and fronted by a variety of chaps and chapessess, one of whom sticks out for all the wrong reasons.  It's not that he is black or in a wheelchair, though it ticks two boxes on the BEEB's Wishlist.  Again it's the dreadful diction. Football commentary is ruined by the likes of Micah Richards, Clinton Morrison, Ian Wright and Karen Carney.  

All is not lost or without fairness and one must be seen to be whiter than white!  There are those from foreign climes and backgrounds who I would promote as 'beacons of light' from within in the vacuous media and acting world.   Perhaps Samira Ahmed and Art Malik could be persuaded to use their  silky, well-honed diction and speech patterns to further the education of todays 'yoof' brought up on a diet of 'Eastenders' and  reality shows,  where everyone speaks badly and pronunciation is a word too far!  Oh for the days when commentators spoke in 'BBC English'  and MOTD was presented by Barry Davies, John Motson, Jimmy Hill etc.  These were class acts to a man from an age when diction came as standard.  No thought was given to the possibility that one day their successors would be required to commence their commentary with a doffed cap and an ingratiating reference to certain peoples' colour, giving the impression that one mattered more than another!

IT'S ALL IN THE NAME...

                                                            

                                                            IT'S ALL IN THE NAME...

Companies spend umpteen million pounds on marketing.  The aim is to sell, the greater the sales the greater the profit.  That is basic capitalism and I have no problem with that.  No-one can afford to run any business at a loss so marketing teams across the globe strive to create stand-out slogans, catchy messages and memorable images.  And that is the problem, the only ones I can remember having any lasting effect are the ones from the fifties, sixties and seventies. 

Hoover got it right, their slogan was 'Hoover beats as it sweeps as it cleans'.  There was a jingle that accompanied their television advertisment and it still flows to this day.  It told you, the consumer, what it did and all in words of one syllable!  You referred to your vacuum cleaner as a Hoover whether it was or not!  Guinness became a force in style and innovation, you didn't have to like the drink, but the distinctive adverts told you exactly what it was they were selling. 

OXO!  How can anyone in their sixties and seventies not remember that long-running series of ads starring  that paragon of domestic bliss portrayed so ably by Katie...or was it Katy?  No matter, the viewer felt as comfy as her traditional family, you remember - husband, wife, two point four children... probably a dog... '  OXO gives a meal Man Appeal'.  Can you imagine that now?  Oh how times and social acceptance change, and rarely for the better!

I only watch a programme televised by a commercial channel if it has been recorded.  That way you can fast-forward through the four minutes of unedifying, unfathomable dross, and there can be six four minute ads within a film... 6 x 4 = 24 minutes. 24 minutes of your life could be wasted every time you sit down for the evening.  That adds up to a large part of your life if you don't control it!  I did catch an advert recently at someone else's house, I hasten to add, and it was for a car.   I cannot remember the make but what struck me was that the silky-voiced young lady who read her lines so sensually, imparted little if anything about the virtues of the vehicle that would make me sit up and consider a replacement.  The car took off at great speed, the goddess smugly driving the shiny beast, negotiating highways, byways and forests before stopping on a deserted beach and taking in the view - and not a car was overtaken, a traffic light encountered... not even a cyclist - so some good news!

Companies sell their goods through their 'Brand', and everything is a 'Brand'.   Football clubs are described by the money men as 'Brands'.  Will you tell them or shall I?  They own or manage a football club, however grand or merely in survival mode, it is still a football club. Y ou go shopping, not now, obviously, but in times past and hopefully at some stage in the future.  There are high street names that lack inspiration, but in one case project perspiration!   'Sweaty Betty'... Who came up with a name like that?  It certainly wouldn't encourage me to shop there if I was a gal.   I required some new ink cartridges for my printer.  Deciding to browse the options available on-line and compare prices, I stumbled over a company called 'Stinky Ink'.  Why?  That style of branding is probably considered 'Hip' or 'Cool' by the techno-geeks of today, but me, I'd  warm to a company calling themselves 'Empire Ink' or 'Imperial Ink', or thinking about it - 'Imperial Ink Inc.' - not because I feel a particular empathy to the names, but if it hacks-off just one Liberal -Democrat or other political refugee, then it has all been worthwhile.

I recall perusing a pub menu and espying a 'Dirty Burger'.  How off-putting is that?    It wouldn't matter a jot how mouth-watering the contents might look on closer examination, but I would never consider such a ghastly named option for my choice of main course - or any other course  - of course!