Soda - Keeping Curious

Although we usually live in a glorious ‘Tea-mocracy’ here at Together every now and again one poor mug seems to be lumbered with the role of making tea after tea after tea…

Sadly, for one reason and another, today that said mug appears to be me.

But as I stood stirring endless steamy cups and quietly grumbling I decided to put a positive spin on my demotion to the role of office tea monkey. Frankly it was either that or spike everyone’s tea with some kind of powerful cleaning product.

So, having put my new found appreciation for the art of the beautiful brew into practice I’ve come up with…

The Tea Commandments
(There are 14 of these. Moses was more concise than me)

Thou shall not dunk in another’s brew

Scalded shall be the fingers that try to retrieve fallen biscuit from hot tea

Thou shall dunk quickly the biscuits that crumble easily

Blessed are those who serve chocolate biscuits with their tea

Those who dunk baked goods other than biscuits are heretics and should be shunned

Thou shall honour thy duty on the tea rota or be cast out into the lonely wilderness

Thou shall not leave brown stains in the sugar bowl

A biscuit loosely gripped is a biscuit quickly lost

Bovril is a sin

Those who stir tea with a biscuit should be made to eat a teaspoon

Thou shall not covet another man’s Jammie Dodger

Those who do not blow on hot tea will suffer a tongue of a thousand burns

Beware the bubbles in the tea – they herald grave danger

Thou shall sniff the milk before pouring

I’m also fully aware that tea-making is a highly personal affair and many of you may now be seething like a freshly boiled kettle at the omission of your ultimate commandment.

So in the spirit of making the tea-drinking word a better place for all who brew there, please feel free to comment with your own commandments.

Hey everyone, it’s Lex!

Well, Andy has decided to take a break and let me in on this whole blogging malarkey which, I have to say, is a fairly new concept to me. I realise this is a rather shameful confession to make, as I’m only 21 and the rest of my generation is busy typing away on P.C’s and laptops, but can I help it if I prefer the traditional notepad and pen?

Anyway, I have been working for the Together Agency for the past week now and, although getting up at 7am every morning has nearly killed me, it’s been worth it. As an aspiring junior copywriter with limited experience, I’ve found a lot of agencies often don’t give you the time of day, but everyone working at Together has been so helpful and friendly and I really mean that. If I’m being honest, when I was first offered some work experience I thought “Here we go, I’m going to be spending a week making endless cups of tea and coffee,” but it just hasn’t been like that at all. I’ve been working on different accounts all week and even had the chance to work with Poor John (hereafter known as P.J.) and Stuart, 2 designers at the agency, which was brilliant. I should be leaving the agency with two mailers and one print ad to include in my portfolio, which I couldn’t be more pleased with.

I think one of the best things about working at Together is how you’re made to feel like part of the team. In my time here, I feel I’ve been treated as an equal rather than just some silly student here for work experience. Jen, Andy and Nat in particular have trusted me to work on various accounts, where P.J and I came up with some ideas for a four page mailer. Although we mocked up the finished leaflet, they decided to go with a tried and tested idea instead, but I still have the original leaflet to put in my portfolio. The team have even trusted my judgement when reporting back on proof reading which made me feel like a valued member of Together.

Hey, and I even entered a competition to win a pimped out caravan! If I win it will be truly immense (although I confess I won’t have a bloody clue what to do with it).

Just to round things off, here’s a little poem for you guys at Together…

Jellyfish are decent
But upon consideration
I rather think that dinosaurs
Should be favourites of the nation

In a fight they’d surely win
Though jellyfish can hurt
Coz I believe the victor
Can’t be named after dessert

THE END.

Four entries. In a week. Shocking.

All I can assume is that, despite all the big talk, the actual challenge of writing a limerick caused my critics to crumble like badly made biscuits.

For the few who managed to cobble together (and that it undoubtedly the only appropriate description of their efforts) a rhyme, I salute your best efforts.

For the rest of you, shame. Shame, I say.

Here are the submissions. See if you can spot the professional poet amongst the monkeys with typewriters and rhyming dictionaries.
 

Stu, shrew, you

There once was a chap name of Stu
Whose beard gave warm-home to a shrew
The shrew’s name was John
He was the copywriting number one
His only line being, ‘Now it’s up to you’

Stu, flu, loo

There once was a chap name of Stu
And one day he came down with the flu
He stayed in bed
Put a damp cloth on his head
And used his mattress as the loo

Stu, grew, brew

There once was a chap name Stu
With a beard that he grew and he grew
He lived with Paul Ross
Who often got cross
When he kept finding hair in his brew

Stu, flu, crew

There once was a chap name of Stu
Who laid up in bed with the flu
Wondering how it could be
He was chain drinking tea
Creating sites for Shaun’s sheepy little crew

There was a young man who wrote copy
Whose hair was dishevelled and floppy
His poems were mocked
By his colleagues who flocked
To point out that his rhyming was sloppy

Not wishing to blow one’s own trumpet, but usually when I chuck some wordy bread into my copywriting toaster, the hot lyrical toast that pops out is met with universal praise.

(The whole bread/toast metaphor, for example, is a work of literary genius that F Scott Fitzgerald would have been pretty bloody chuffed to have thought of himself.)

But to my horror (and fury) my recent efforts at writing a simple limerick were greeted with a flurry of scorn and derision from my colleagues.

Worse still, the critics attacking my rhymes and rhythms were all from that bawdy group of barely-literate ‘shape and colour’ monkeys – the designers.

Stung by their hurtful remarks I have decided to throw down the poetic gauntlet to these fiends (and anyone else who thinks they can ‘rhyme the rhyme’) and challenge them to a ‘Limerick-Off’.

Over the next few days they’ll all be putting down their clubs and spears and picking up a pencil to try and come up with a limerick starting with this line…

There once was a chap name of Stu*

Then we’ll see just how difficult the art of copywriting really is. Either that or I will have quite spectacularly engineered myself out of a job.

So watch this space. Not constantly though, that’d be pretty unhealthy. Just pop back every now and again.

* ‘Stu’ is an entirely fictional character and any resemblance to person/s living or dead is purely coincidental. He is most definitely not based on a 31-year old, bearded online designer who enjoys watching Hollyoaks and shopping at Poundland.

Ever the lover of good ads and good chocolate I felt I couldn’t let this pass by without a mention on soda. So, for all who joined the facebook campaign to bring back the much loved chocolate bar, here is a chance to see the new Wispa ad from agency Fallon.

This ad extravaganza was created following an on and offline campaign where people where asked to ‘donate their talents’ . And in true ‘30 seconds of fame’ style an amazing 2,281 people pledged themselves in just 25 days. In the end this was whittled down to just 300 - still more than enough content for a 30 second ad don’t you think! Take a look to see the 33 cheerleaders, 16 rugby players, 3 wrestlers, 11 mod scooters, 2 belly dancers, 4 irish dancers, 1 opera singer, 2 marching bands, 8 hula hoopers, 2 knights, 1 choir, 5 BMXers, 1 barbershop quartet, 17 drummers, 5 stilt walkers, 1 hovercraft, 3 jugglers and an open top bus - all celebrating this chocolate bars return.

We thank you Cadburys (and Fallon).

www.fortheloveofwispa.com

Check out this chocolate from Bloomsbury & co (bloomsberry.com). Now you can have good chocolate wrapper design as well as good chocolate! And have laugh too. The parodies are witty and clever and the design simple yet effective. It’s a great little website too.

What more could you want!?!

Christmas 1975. My dad presents my mum with her gift. It’s a new iron.

Fast forward 33 years and not a single day has passed without my mum holding this misguided, but far from malicious, choice of Christmas present against him (not literally, although that would explain all those burns…).

In fact, if an asteroid was hurtling towards earth and was seconds away from wiping out all of humanity I’m sure my mum’s final act on this planet would be to shame my dad one last time for the ‘Christmas of the Iron’.

But this blog isn’t just about exposing my dad’s blundering youthful naivety when it comes to buying acceptable gifts for one’s wife. Nor is it about the incredible endurance of my mum’s simmering resentment.

What it’s really about is how the simple, thoughtful act of giving someone a Christmas gift can easily turn into a display of ineptitude that will define you as a human being for the rest of your life.

Make the wrong move in Argos this Christmas and your girlfriend will be telling your grandchildren in 40 years time about how thoughtless/clueless granddad is. In fact, it’s probably best if you get out of Argos altogether.

Now, this is probably where you’re expecting me to offer my own wisdom about how to choose the perfect Christmas gift. Oh dear. The simple truth is I have none (I am the offspring of the ‘Iron-man’ remember?)

I do know there are certain things that it’s probably a good idea not to buy for a lady friend. Snooker tables; Incredible Hulk boxing gloves; remote control helicopters; robotic dinosaurs, robotic monkeys (pretty much anything robotic really); the Steven Segal dvd boxset; tickets to an evening of cage fighting; anything that, when wrapped up, appears to be a ring but actually isn’t; the list goes on…

My only advice would be that, when you’re shopping for that special someone, try to think more like a girl.

Imagine you can’t open jars, you don’t laugh openly when people fall over and you can sit through an entire episode of MTV Cribs without wanting to plunge your face into a bowl of piping hot soup. Then ask yourself, what would you want for Christmas?

Girls like to look good. That means nice clothes. Which in turn means clothes that are free from creases. Maybe my dad had the right idea all along…

On the plus side, it’s nice to see everyone getting involved with the 3 x 3 challenge and having a crack at this surprisingly addictive game.

On the minus, it seems that everyone has taken the chance to prove just how easy copywriting is. I’ll get my coat…

Before I go though, here’s my professional (that’s right everyone, PROFESSIONAL) stab at some of the trickier 3 x 3 challenges I’ve been set over the past few days. Enjoy…

Muppet Christmas Carol
Sir Michael Caine.
Will literally do.
Anything for money.

School of Rock
Gurning tubby rocker.
Befriends posh children.
Nothing sinister happens.

Alien
Man swallows alien.
Alien pops out.
Alien swallows everyone.

Back to the Future
Cool 80s kid.
Travels through time.
Snogs his mum.

The Sixth Sense
Lonely, creepy dweeb.
Sees dead people.
Nobody notices Bruce?

Brokeback Mountain
Manly cowboys meet.
Become less manly.
Steady on lads.

The Crying Game
Man meets girl.
Man fancies girl.
Man gets shock.

Love Actually
Take rusty nail.
Plunge into eyeball.
Have more fun.

Gladiator
Beardy shouty Roman.
Gets ticked off.
Has his vengeance.

The Usual Suspects
Mystery criminal mastermind.
Plots big heist.
Spacey did it.

In my time as a copywriter, two courses I’ve been on have left a particular impression on me.

The first was when I was taught that if I hid walnuts beneath the keyboard it would make my typewriting monkey bash the keys even more vigorously and lead to greater output of quality headlines. (Now I think about it I’m not sure this course was recognised by the British Copywriting Society).

The second, however, taught me an invaluable secret technique that now, like a disgruntled magician, I’ve decided to share with you all.

One of the most important jobs any copywriter has to fulfil is saying things as concisely as possible. This means absolutely, unequivocally removing all extraneous and unnecessary words and phrases from your copy.

And a great way to practice this is the ‘3 x 3’ Movie Pitch.

The rules are simple. All you have to do is take a popular film and reduce its entire plot and purpose to three lines each made up of just three words.

For example:

Man wearing vest.
Blows up building.
Vesty man wins.

Midget flies well.
Goes to school.
Flies even better.

Attenborough plays God.
Dinosaurs go mental.
Cute children survive.

Crazy white cop.
Nervy black cop.
Comedy banter ensues.

Shark eats people.
Eats some more.
People explode shark.

Unless you’ve wrapped your television in tin foil to stop the government stealing your thoughts then you probably should have got those.

But as regular readers of this blog know, I often like to flex my alphabetical muscles in a display of wordy prowess. Partly because I’m a terrible show off and partly because my television is wrapped in foil so I now have a lot of spare time on my hands.

So, using the ‘comments’ thingy at the bottom of the blog please send me the films you’d like me to give the ‘3 x 3’ treatment to and I’ll attack them like an angry badger.

Or I might just chuck some nuts in the typewriter and let the monkey do it. Either way, watch this space for the results.

Having been near paralysed with a devastating bout of Man-Flu this week, and receiving precisely no sympathy from any of my female colleagues, I’ve decided it’s time to dispel the myths about this terrible affliction that smug women everywhere seem all too eager to believe.

1. Man-Flu is more painful than childbirth. This is an irrefutable scientific fact*.
*(Based on a survey of over 100,000 men.)

2. Man-Flu is not ‘just a cold’. It is a condition so severe that the germs from a single Man-Flu sneeze could wipe out entire tribes of people living in the rainforest. And probably loads of monkeys too.

3. Women do not contract Man-Flu. At worst they suffer from what is medically recognised as a ‘Mild Girly Sniffle’ – which, if a man caught, he would still be able to run, throw a ball, tear the phone book in half and compete in all other kinds of manly activities.

4. Men do not ‘moan’ when they have Man-Flu. They emit involuntary groans of agony that are entirely in proportion to the unbearable pain they are in.

5. Full recovery from Man-Flu will take place much quicker if their simple requests for care, sympathy and regular cups of tea are met. Is that really so much to ask? Florence Nightingale would have done it.

6. More men die each year from MFN (Man-Flu Neglect) than lots and lots of other things. (Like rabbit attacks or choking on toast).

7. Men suffering from Man-Flu want nothing more than to get out of bed and come to work, but they are too selfless to risk spreading this awful condition amongst their friends and colleagues. In this sense, they are the greatest heroes this country has ever known.

8. In 1982 scientists managed to simulate the agonising symptoms of full blown Man-Flu in a female chimp. She became so ill that her head literally fell off.

9. Man-Flu germs are more powerful than He-Man, The Thundercats and The A-Team combined. They are too strong for weak, nasty tasting ‘lady medicines’ like Lemsip, so don’t bother trying to force them on a victim of Man-Flu.

10. While it may seem like a Man-Flu sufferer is just lying around enjoying ‘Diagnosis Murder’ it is a commonly recognised medical fact that the exact pitch and frequency of Dick Van Dyke’s voice has remarkable soothing powers.

Every minute in this country one man is struck down by Man-Flu. Women, all we ask is that each of you offers them a cup of tea, some kind words and your undivided attention and care. Then maybe, just maybe, we’ll beat this monstrous disease together.