Will they never learn?

“Hey guys, I’ve got a great idea for the agency Christmas card!”



The guy doing pelvic thrusts while standing on his chair at 2:10 is a probably the low point, although it seems churlish to try to pinpoint one.

I'm embedding this but I know it'll be disabled within hours when common sense invades one of their tiny minds.

Away in a manger (that's manger as in the French for 'to eat', see?)

Sorry I haven’t posted much lately. My stupid colleagues keep winning new business. I don’t mean that in a look-at-us-we-keep-winning-new-business way. It’s not me that’s won it, it’s them. Stupid colleagues.

In the nanoseconds snatched between working with our noses to the grindstone whilst keeping our heads above water yet below the parapet and buried under an avalanche of work, we’ve begun to put together this nativity scene.

Now those of you who know me will know I’m a big fan of Jesus and genuine a God botherer.

“So why the heresy?” I hear you cry.

Well, not only is the baby Jesus not there, but in the place of his manger is a plaster cast of Mrs Realmenwritelongcopy’s teeth.

It is a biting comment (HONK!) on the commercialisation of Christmas.

I’m well pleased with the golden rabbit as the angel Gabriel and the donkey as the, er, donkey. But I’ve not decided yet whether the dudes on the left are wise men or shepherds.

I’ve still got some spaces to fill as we’re running out of stupid crap that creatives keep around their desk. So please feel free to send in any additions.

Holding the scalpel are 110 politicians who are spending too long having lunch

Last weekend Mrs, mini and myself went along to The Wave, the biggest climate change protest EVER.

It was baby RMWLC's first protest. (It turns out that taking a little 'un to an event where you're hemmed in by thousands of people and trying to push a buggy isn't as good an idea as it sounds. There wasn't too much peace and love among the beardies by the end of it I can tell you.)

Today I happened upon this rather good blog-for-the-week by Andy Cato from Groove Armada (they're a rock band I think). He writes very well and scarily about the summit in Copenhagen, I liked his tailpiece:

So humanity is on the operating table in Copenhagen, with 13 days left to save it. On one side of the operating theatre there are all the worlds’ experts, united in their call that to save the patient requires decisive, immediate action.

On the other side, there are the Saudis, the Dubai delegation, Niger, the new Canadian Oil Barons and Fox News urging us that we’re fine, we haven’t got much of a temperature yet so we should go out and enjoy ourselves. And here’s a pack of cigarettes on us.

Holding the scalpel are 110 politicians who are spending too long having lunch.

Watch this space.

How to be creative

There are lots of ways to kill time at work, from making a collage of cuttings from the lingerie section of the BHS catalogue, to doing actual work.

Whatever you get up to, it’s important you’re doing everything you can to nurture your own creativity.

Some do this by taking a walk, or reading award annuals, which is all a bit desperate. If you can't even get inspired in an original way, what hope do you have of having an original idea?

So, to help you all be more successful, I've compiled my top 5 ways to foster creativity at work:

1. Strip down to your vest and run up and down the stairwell pretending you’re John McClane in Die Hard. (The last thing Realmenwritelongcopy wants is to be a hero. But he doesn't have a choice.)

2. Read Campaign. It’s so dull, it’ll make you want to make a paper cut clean through your own jugular. Which is a pretty creative way to end yourself.

3. Challenge everyone in the agency to an arm wrestle.

4. Spend time around creative people. It’s unlikely that their creativity will rub off on you. But they might have a good idea you can steal.

5. Strip off in the toilet and spend several minutes gaping at your own nakedness in the full-length mirror. I for one find this an extremely inspiring sight. For an added rush, leave the door unlocked.

Hopefully these tips will help you become more creative. Why not give them a go? Then share in the comments how I’ve helped you produce groundbreaking, award-winning creative.

My special friend

As the regular readers of this blog will know (or would-be regular readers if I still regularly wrote), I have a special friend.

We began blogging around the same time and have developed a ‘special relationship’. A relationship built on mutual respect and admiration that has at times bordered on the homoerotic.

His name is Adland Suit.


Now everyone knows that account men spend all their time gadding about in tight trousers and pointy shoes talking loudly about how marvellous they are.

So it comes as a massive shock to see one doing something worthwhile.

He’s decided to give up his anonymity. And, worried that unveiling his true identity will be a crushing disappointment (and rightly so, I know who he is and he really is eye-wateringly dull) he’s decided to at least make some money for a good cause from it.

So here’s the plan. We all donate a couple of quid to Marie Curie and in exchange he’ll reveal himself. And buy us a beer. Plus, the biggest donator gets taken out for lunch (charged to one of his clients).

So come on people of adland, don’t delay, donate today!!!!!!

Chowder sales are up

Now this is clever.

Ivar’s Seafood Restaurant in Seattle released a story about how its founder anchored billboards in the Sound back in the 1950s, in anticipation of people one day travelling by submarine and seeing their ads.

They then announced they were going to haul up the billboards (cue PR madness).


I guess the moral is, it’s okay to play a hoax on folks. Just make sue it's as clever as this. Apparently, chowder sales have quadrupled.

(I actually had this same idea, but with ads being written on balloons and released into the sky because people would one day travel by plane. I can see how maybe billboards underwater does work a bit better though.)

Found this story on The Denver Egotist.

Creative cleansing

Is it just me or is anyone else finding it increasingly difficult to get work through?

Presumably this is a result of the recession and clients being more cautious with their budget. Whatever it is, I’m finding I have to do increasingly demeaning and sordid things to sell stuff in.

It’s got so bad now that Mrs RMWLC always knows when I’m presenting work because I’ll leave the house in tight shorts and a low-cut top.

Which is fine except I’m beginning to wonder how much further I can go. Even as I type this I’m sat at my desk in nothing but a negligee and it’s well draughty I can tell you.

But those I present to are constantly baying for more, licking their lips then dropping pens on the floor and demanding I slowly pick them up going “oooh ahhh”.

So what’s the answer?

The more I think about it, the more I believe that this is a time when our industry needs a new breed of creative. One that is less focussed on the work and more focussed on pointing at it seductively and pouting.

You can see things are already going that way. Junior creatives today are at least 10% better looking than their counterparts from a couple of years ago. And students now are generally expected to include a few glamour shots in their books. Otherwise, how does the CD know what you’re capable of?

But is there an ugly side to the beautiful creative department?

Of course we're told there’s still a place for the old-fashioned ugly, talented creative in the modern agency. What they don't mention is that that place is generally dark and windowless.

Here at Partners, we use the bike storage facility. Briefs are simply slipped under the door and scamps are passed back a few hours later. Then, the more aesthetically-pleasing creatives can present the work and our creative Quasimodos can do their job without scaring clients or small children.

But I can't help worrying there's a price to all this. Once I lose my youthful good looks and my firm thighs have begun to sag, will I also be cast into the darkness? Anyone?

If you like laughing at humour, you'll love this

I like having fun and laughing at humorous things. Maybe you do too?

Between Two Ferns with Zach Galifianakis from Between Two Ferns

I found this on Think Chimp which is also humorous.

Don’t flatter yourselves, Mortimer Street girls

Actually I was just looking out of the window because I was thinking and you happened to be in front of my eyes when I was staring.

Anyway I can still see you. Especially you on the right. I call you Phoebe because you're the fun, kooky one (like in Friends, gettit?)

How to get your brother in trouble

I came up with this little trick after one too many dead arms.

Whenever my brother did something to upset me, I figured out a way to make sure any punishment meted out by mum could be magnified tenfold.

Instead of running to mummy, I would actually HIDE my pain from her. (I know, it’s a little counter-intuitive but stay with me.)

I would go to the end of the garden and weep at the grave of Betty the hamster. (Betty my soul mate. Betty, the only one who ever really understood me. Betty who was snatched from me so young WHY?????)

I lurked at her graveside, knowing only too well that mum would see her little Davi-dums in distress and come to find out who had upset her special boy.

A little “Oh it’s nothing really” or “I’m sure he didn’t mean it” was all it took for mum to not only open an enormous can of whoopass, but shake the can violently beforehand.

Now I’m not saying I owe my brother anything.

But I would like to point you to these rather nice pictures he’s done on his iPhone.

Here are a couple of my favourites. See his new blog here. (I'll take 15% on any commissions, thank you.)

Where this industry went wrong

Yesterday, because I had an awful lot of words to write, I decided to leave my glasses at home. As a result, I spent the day squinting at my computer screen as if it were the actual sun.

Oh how I yearned for yesteryear. You see there was a time, a happier time, when hacks like myself would simply handwrite their chosen clichés for that day and give their scribblings to a secretary who would then type it up.

Which made me wonder, whatever happened to these typing angels? Were they all made redundant with the advent of the personal computer?

Well, a little research was very revealing. What in fact happened was, once their typing skills were no longer needed, these secretaries were increasingly asked to draw up the writer’s ideas.

Over the years, this role slowly evolved into what’s known today as Art Director.

‘So how did we end up with the shower of prima donnas and halfwits we have today?’ I hear you cry.

Well, as the first generation of secretaries retired, new art directors were recruited from art school under the misguided assumption they’d be better at drawing.

This had many drawbacks. Not only did this new crop bring with them massive egos and mediocre drawing skills, they also lacked the basic skills required to do their job – namely, making tea and answering the phone.

Which goes a long way to explaining the current malaise in the London ad industry. Whereas in other countries, industry institutions have addressed the issue and retrained art directors to make decent tea, D&AD has persisted with these ridiculous ‘art director workshops’ on typography or whatever.

As if that matters! Art direction really isn’t that complicated. Just get the photographer to take a nice picture then stick the headline in massive in a nice readable font like Times New Roman or Arial. Done.

Now go and make the tea and get it RIGHT this time.

Join me in the world’s most audacious cybersnub

I know you’re as dumbfounded as me that I was overlooked at this year’s BIMA Award for best blog.

I managed to steal their special ‘vote for me’ button though.



So I’d like to ask you all to click through to the site, shake your fist at the screen to register your displeasure, then close the window really fast so you don’t help their traffic stats.

That should do it. They can’t ignore me forever!

Real men have died writing long copy

Long copy is a very tricky thing.

Because it’s a horrible fact of life that the more words you write, the more there are for people to disagree with.

Before you know it, you can find yourself embroiled in rounds of amends so endless and dispiriting, they make the Hundred Years’ War look like a small spat with the in-laws.

The copy goes back and forth back and forth until you can no longer remember what you're writing about or why.

Then just when you've become really disillusioned with the whole thing and decide you can’t write a single word more, they ask you to do a complete rewrite.

The client asks for a rewrite not because you’ve lost the original energy and direction of the piece.

It’s because it’s been going on so long, all the people who first briefed you have died.

A whole new generation of people have since grown up and begun working on it. And they have no idea what their forefathers first intended when they began the project.

I have a job like this going on at the moment.

Records suggest that when my great-great-grandfather was first briefed, it was a letter to aristocrats and dandies launching the first ever brand of moustache wax.

But over the years, through endless drafts and redrafts, it’s slowly evolved into an email and microsite for a leading brand of anti-virus software.

What’s most galling about this particular job is that at several points we’ve been so close to seeing it run. Then, each time, something’s come up at the last moment. Apparently at one point we had sign-off from all the clients involved , but then World War II started and the whole thing got put on hold.

Some people could get depressed at the thought their work will still be going on long after they’ve ‘passed on’.

But I realise my project is in good company. Raphael's Transfiguration. Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia. Tupac’s R U Still Down?

I take great comfort in the thought that some small part of me will live on through these endless rewrites.

Or at least it will if they don’t change every single fricking word.

We are all Ian

Wondering what this post would read like if it were written by someone intelligent? Read the new Planningplusone.

Here are some things that anger me on the underground:
• People looking at me funny
• People breathing wrong
• People looking at me funny whilst breathing wrong
• People looking miserable
• People smiling but sarcastically
• People walking in front of me but 0.00001mph slower than I like to walk

London is the angry capital. And I would be the King of Angry, if it weren’t for the fact everyone else seems to be angry too.

Which is why I’m not too sure about the campaign to get that tube worker sacked.

Yes he is a horrible little person. But aren’t we all?

I am, at any given moment, only one elbow nudge from throwing an innocent old man under a train. I mean, let’s be honest, who hasn’t at one time or another deliberately tripped a nun who pushed past us on the escalator? Or at least thought about it?

There's something about the underground that brings out the worst in people. Like firearms. And the 80s.

My worry is, it feels like the twitmob is out of control. My twitter feed is starting to read like the letters section of The Daily Heil.

Sure, twitter is for protesting. But that means real issues like free press and democracy. Not, ‘he’s got long hair and an annoying face and shouts so let's get him sacked’

The problem with being involved in a campaign against someone mean is that it’s mean, no?

Principally, tweets should be a force for all that is funny and dumb.

For example, here are some which have made my world a better place recently:

@adlandsuit: When faced with a dilemma, just take a breath and ask yourself the all-important question: What would Atomic Kitten do?

@Elika: Hang on... Wait... No. Wait... Ah. There it is: my hangover.

@SandwichRich I wish there was a Shewolf in MY closet.

Not to mention following the hilarious trials of @realnickgriffin getting caught with stolen cocktail sausages in his pockets at TV Centre yesterday.

Ridiculing fascists. Now THAT'S what twitter should be about.

Is this the most terrifying thing ever screened?

Someone here just mentioned The Wheelers from Return to Oz and I came over all queer just thinking about them.

I had a little quiet sit and a cup of tea and was feeling okay again. Then I watched this.



Fetch me a very large a cup of camomile somebody.

Why would they put something like this on telly? For kids?!

It’s not lunatics with guns or flesh-eating monsters that really scare you. It’s men with wheels for hands. And things like Chocky. Remember Chocky? That weird green floating nipple thing in the kid’s room? Chilling stuff.

Mum, dad, why did you let me watch this?

I've been to J R Hartley's for lunch. Have you? Didn't think so.

If you’re pregnant, I heartily recommend attending an NCT class.

You get to spend a few hundred quid learning how to say helpful stuff to your partner like “Push”, none of which is useful as in the end they decide to make a neat cut and just pull the baby out of her tummy (why didn’t they just do that in the first place?)

On the plus side, you get to meet lots of nice people.

You go bowling with the other men and give one another hilarious birth-themed names on the scoresheet, like Forceps and Perineum.

Then if you’re really lucky, you have a get-together at your friend Emma’s parents’ house. And it turns out to be the home where they shot the classic Yellow Pages J.R. Hartley ad!

I know!



Sadly, JR wasn’t home. So I got a photo of myself in situ instead.


And here’s my friend Emma playing the part of the daughter.


I’m thinking of turning this into a regular feature and going round other famous ad homes. Here’s my wishlist.

The Ferrero Rocher Ambassador's house.

Flake girl’s house – the nice one in the garden, not the one on the windowsill who in my opinion was a bit slutty.

Gold Blend couple’s house. Although I’d probably feel a bit of a gooseberry, like this poor chap. I can’t stand it when a couple’s all luvvy-duvvy right in front of you. I’d have to shout “I am still here you know”.

So if anyone knows where these guys live, please get in touch.

It’s raining babies

As a child I was told all manner of tales regarding where babies come from. But now I think I've finally got to the bottom of it. Babies come from a recession.

It makes perfect sense. The lack of spare cash to spend on going out means people are left with no alternative but to have sex with their partners.

Since the recession, people here at RMWLC Towers have been falling over themselves to procreate.

In the creative department alone, we’ve had two kids in the last two weeks!

It has to be said that, taking a long term view, having children is not a great way to save money. The average cost of having a child from birth to 21st birthday is said to be £186,032. (That can’t be true by the way. If it is, my parents owe me at least £185,500.)

Simon, the art director wot sits behind me, was so sensitive about costs he actually delivered the child himself. In his bathroom.

Now I’ve said some pretty mean things about art directors in the past but that is IMPRESSIVE. Congratulations Simon and Vicks on baby Sonny.


I’ve shot him here in baby-catching action pose. Apparently the cuddly dolphin here actually bears very little resemblance to his baby. But the look of surprise on his face as his firstborn popped out is pretty much spot on.

And secondly, anyone who reads the comments section will be delighted to hear that Katie the copywriter, who posted under such pseudonyms as Workman 2 and A girl near you, had a baby girl named Lorelie on Monday. Well done Katie!

One of the pitfalls of parenthood is that you can become incredibly boring. You lose all perspective of what is and isn’t interesting for others and just ramble on endlessly about your child.

This isn’t a problem for me, as I was boring before. But the rest of you who are thinking of reproducing should watch out!

Bryan is on holiday. Permanently.

Well there’s a nice welcome back.

Not a single, “Did you have a nice time?” or “Missed you”.

Just a lot of, “I read your blog while you were away – Bryan’s really funny” and “Can he do it every week?”

I wouldn’t mind if people were saying it to wind me up, but there’s a horrid ring of sincerity in their voices (you can tell when someone’s being sincere here because everybody turns around and stares).

Yes Bryan was very entertaining. FOR A WEEK. Anyone can blog for a week. He’s a flash in the pan, don’t you see? Like Right Said Fred. Or Stiltskin (remember them?)

Me, I’m U2. Consistently producing the goods. Churning it out. Admittedly the routine has got a bit tired lately – basically the same idea re-hashed over and over. But you're compelled to keep coming back for more because you remember it was good once.

Maybe it'll get good again. Maybe it won't. The point is, Bryan’s gone now and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Not so Rude Tube

If like me you like nothing more than driving over to your girlfriends on a Friday night, only to land in a traffic jam at Wandsworth on the way, sack it off and turn back after an hour of the car overheating, grabbing a MacDonalds on the way to sit and eat on your own in front of the TV, then you may have caught Rude Tube on Channel 4 last night. If not, then this was the best video you missed :-

Hey, Hey it's Friday

Grunders is still giving it some.........

When I lived in Oz in the 90's, the TV there really was a big pile of steaming.................well....... let's just say, it wasn't very good. Nothing typified this more than their Saturday night prime time show 'Hey, Hey, It's Saturday'. It ran for 27 long years.

I see it is back in the news again. TV wise, this really is about as good as it gets in Australia.....................