Thursday, 1 March 2012

Can't think of a title. It's been a while.

Welcome back.

And what better way to mark my return to blogging than by pouring tepid bile over that big, fat, sexless something-or-other of an industry we call Advertising, eh.

So let's go! For those of you of a literary bent (i.e. those who spend less time gawping at shapes and colours than the rest of us) "big and fat" is the theme of today's post. So write that down in your £15.99 Moleskine before your get distracted by a Twitter feed or a beautiful account manager. It's an important part of this module.


Whilst many of us creative types (ponces) will have had the displeasure of working in vast, constipated network agencies, on sprawling global accounts managed by inexperienced young women who diet a lot, it's always heartening to see lithe young agencies picking up high profile jobs from lithe young clients. I'm fantasising about that now, in fact. Watching their delicate, young bodies dancing and frotting together in some blissful creative harmony. In a meadow perhaps... With lots of sunshine... And strawberries for eyes...

See, I told you it was a fantasy. Not least because that doesn't ever happen like that. At all. But as a bitter old shit, I like to imagine it does, right. Because it gives me hope that we're not all doomed to be whores and parasites, clinging to the ankles of our flabby clients, like abused orphans. So when I saw The (very, very good) Neighbourhood had picked up the (arguably very, very good) food pornographer Heston Blumenthal as a client, my tiny mind reeled once again with the thought of happy creative people skipping in fields, as naked and free as the day they were born.

And here's the result of their frolics.

Looks beautiful don't it. Fedoras off to everyone involved, I have to say.

But ask yourself this: when half the world is starving, could you skip naked through a (metaphorical) field with a man who makes iced-cream using liquid nitrogen?

Or to put it another way, would you be satisfied servicing the profligate whims of the world's most self-indulgent man?

'Course you could you fat ducks.