An agency blog with news from Breakfast plus thoughts, ramblings, observations and rants on marketing, media, technology and culture. Basically anything too long for Twitter or too random for our website.

That’s the spirit

April 17, 2018 Leave a comment

I’ve devoted a few posts recently to bemoaning the state of creativity in advertising so it’s time to redress the balance.

Ikea’s TV work has been generally outstanding for years, but went through a pronounced and fairly extended slump a while back. However, I really like their ‘Wonderful Everyday’ campaign and the latest spot is another winner: a lovely idea, executed beautifully and brim full of charm and wit.

This campaign benefits from a consistent and distinctive tone of voice, is always inspired by the product and feels – as advertising should – aspirational and relatively upmarket while retaining the ‘everyday’ ethos of the brand.

It’s no simple thing to produce a campaign this good; as Bob Bellamy, my first Creative Director used to say as he slapped my knee, “If it was easy, duck, they’d all be doing it.” Evidently, they’re not.

Well done to all concerned, etc. More of this type of thing, please.

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Fermented tea – just try it

Along with fellow foodie Bruce McMichael, Ed and I were delighted to have spent this morning learning about the weird and wonderful world of fermented teas… All thanks to Louise Avery of LA Brewery.

“Just try it”

My mother must have repeated this command hundreds of times when I was school-age. Not to me, but to my friends who came over for dinner, only to wrinkle their noses and baulk at the unfamiliar aromas and ‘odd’ looking textures of Indonesian food. None of them grew up with the pungent smell of terasi, the not-quite-but-almost meaty texture of tempeh, or the intense chilli heat of some of mum’s dishes. The curious friends always gave everything a go – and more often and not, they enjoyed it. The tentative snobbish ones were rarely invited back to our house to eat.

Terasi – a staple ingredient in Indonesian food – is essentially a block of dried, fermented shrimp. Tempeh – a staple source of protein – is made by fermenting soya beans. Indonesian food is incredibly diverse – unsurprising, given that the country is made up of thousands of islands – but the process of fermenting food is quite widespread. Perhaps then, given my blood and my background, I am predisposed to enjoy kombucha: fermented tea. Our tasting session with the lemongrass, strawberry, and ginger flavours of LA Brewery earlier today was certainly not an unpleasant experience.

It helped that Louise herself was present. With infectious energy, she guided us through her method, ingredients, and science (as well as her history, ambitions, and values). She explained that many of her London stockists naturally attract the vegan gym-bunny crowd who are drawn to kombucha because of its health benefits. But thankfully, Louise is not on an evangelical mission about gut health. Nor is she vegan. She simply loves kombucha: “It’s like Haribo to me.”

The viscosity, bubbles, acidity, and layers of flavour make it an exciting drink. It’s an experience. The smell, the sensory awakening as the fizz hits your lips and bubbles down into your throat, the complexity of flavour, and the way the taste lingers in your mouth for a while after swallowing – all of this and more is what makes Louise’s kombucha intriguing. So you take another sip. And another.

What is intriguing – and arguably quite rare – about Louise herself, is her genuine commitment to the cause. And that cause isn’t world domination – yet (although she does have stockists aplenty over here, and is also being courted by a supermarket chain in Europe…). Her cause, as mentioned, is simply her love for the product itself. Although commercial wins are obviously great, Louise explains that she’s frankly much more excited by interacting with people and experimenting with the brewing process, which she wants to learn even more about before scaling up further. She notes that there is no one ‘right’ way to make kombucha, and offers lots of advice on using seasonal ingredients (she also does kombucha masterclasses, so keep an eye out for her name).

The foraging techniques she learned from her mother whilst growing up in the Hebrides have stayed with her. She tells us that although the flavours she bottles for sale are relatively mainstream, she’s also experimented with countless other ingredients that she’s sourced through foraging. And if she were to expand LA Brewery into new territories in the future, she would do so with the ultimate goal of educating – rather than colonising – each market. One way this might play out, she says, is to find people in each country that are interested in kombucha (or at least open to it) – and then encourage them to make it with their own local seasonal ingredients. And this could all potentially be guided and funded by her company.

She has plenty of exciting ideas brewing (sorry). Most of them I’m not at liberty to share, but watch this space. In the meantime, if you’re interested in trying Louise’s kombucha, you can find the list of stockists on the LA Brewery website.

In the three hours we spent together, Louise never once claimed that kombucha is for everyone. She didn’t gleefully squeal, “You’re going to love it!” as she poured the first tasters, nor did she sanctimoniously list off the health benefits of having a diet rich in good bacteria.

She acknowledged that it’s different. She gave us her story. And she said, “Just try it.”

I’d encourage you to do the same.

NB. Also goes well with vodka.

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Categories: Uncategorized

Norman Hunter would be turning in his grave

He’s not dead, Norman Hunter.

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That’s Norman, there. Very much alive.

Norman, along with Chelsea’s Ron ‘Chopper’ Harris, is often the fella used as a shorthand for ‘old-school footballer, back in the days when men were men and women were in the kitchen’. Not always invoked in praise of progressive causes, then. But I’m bringing his name up now for good reason.

As I say, Norman’s not dead, but if he saw this on his TV at the weekend, he might be by now.

Joe Gomez and James Milner react with disgust as Mignolet drops another one

I had to watch that spot through my fingers, as the hairs on my neck prickled in discomfort (at least I know how to get rid of them now). Where to begin?

Norman’s nickname back in the day was “Bites yer legs”. It’s not the most elegant effort, is it? But you’ll notice it wasn’t “Shave yer legs”. In Norman’s day, players only took a razor blade into the communal shower if they intended to do some damage to one of the opposition or perform an impromptu circumcision in the plunge bath.

The idea that one might shave anything in a communal shower area is, personally, something I can’t condone. I’m still getting over Keith Vanderpant’s black head dye inadvertently rubbing off on a Lucas Sport player’s arm in 1989 when I played for Cuffley in the Herts County League. Traumatic times.

But my problems with this ad are not limited to the vagaries of male grooming or the rights and wrongs of changing room etiquette.

How did the agent for Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain and James Milner persuade their clients that ‘starring’ in this would be a good thing? Milner, especially, has cultivated a no-nonsense image that his recent arrival on Twitter seems designed to cement. Wincing at the Ox’s imperfect shaving technique while, presumably, naked, doesn’t seem to be quite on brand.

I realise that women have been pressured into depilating almost every part of their body for decades now and it’s up to men if they want to go down the same perfectly trimmed path, but I’m still reeling that this is now sufficiently mainstream practice that there’s a TV ad using semi-famous footballers to sell this to the young men of today.

My focus group of one (18-year-old son) was quick to assert that he wouldn’t be joining the ranks of soccer’s smooth chested any time soon, while I’m just glad he doesn’t clip his finger nails on public transport (here’s looking at you, anonymous former colleague).

God knows I haven’t got a problem with hairlessness but something about watching this ad shortly before Sky’s live football coverage began on Saturday made me feel more out-of-touch than any number of autotuned pop songs in the office.

As I write, no one’s approached Norman for a comment. So I’ll let the last word go to the commenter under the YouTube clip who asked “Can I use this on my balls?”

Nothing’s stopping you, lad. Let us know how it goes.

 

 

 

Another perspective

March 23, 2018 Leave a comment

My personal ‘participation’ in Facebook (and Facebook-owned Instagram) has rewarded me with countless opportunities – like creative work. The first job led to another, which led to another. I used Facebook to find flatmates when I moved to Barcelona. And sold unwanted items through the site when I moved back. During a 2 month trip to New York in 2016, Facebook allowed me to discover (and generate) further creative opportunities for myself – and more importantly, it facilitated new friendships. I met my housemate through Facebook; we’re currently using it to recruit a third. I’ve attended innumerable events of all kinds over the years that I likely would never have even heard of were it not for the platform.

But above all, Facebook is what it is to me because of the groups I’ve joined. These include, but are not limited to the following (mostly renamed for accuracy of description): housemate/property search in London (and Barcelona); housemate/property search in London specifically for people of colour; “Ingredient Hunters Barcelona” (naturally); creative networking for people of African, Caribbean or Asian descent in London; last minute hospitality work in London; a community for creative/politically engaged people of colour in New York; an Oxford-based group for discussion of feminism, and the same again for race.

Take from that what you will. There’s a name-calling facility at the bottom of this post, should you feel so inclined.

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The sense of community is powerful. I don’t always participate; the feeling of belonging and solidarity also comes from simply gazing gormlessly at the screen for minutes, hours, and days on end like the mindless cretin I am observing interactions. Everything I’ve learned and gained from the hundreds of (mostly) intelligent people that share on these groups daily has literally shaped my life and how I see the world – for the better (at least I think so, but then again I would). And that’s a huge part of the emotional benefit for me.

I don’t post much at all. My most recent update was on 7 September 2017 to share a teaser video for this article. The post before that was from 24 November 2016, inviting my network to a series of workshops run by my old company. I won’t share a link to that here though… #ifyouknowyouknow. In between those entries I did receive a smattering of posts to my timeline from friends wishing me happy birthday and sharing music, but not many. My privacy settings are such that if somebody tags me in anything, I am able to review it and choose whether or not it appears on my profile. I always select the latter option (but the photo can still be accessed via the page of whoever uploaded it, of course). I’ve only personally uploaded around 10 photos to my profile in my Facebook ‘career’ for my friends to see.

Nevertheless… Out of curiosity and prompted by Neil, I downloaded my Facebook data last night. The contents were unsurprising, but the format sobering. Despite considering myself a relatively private person on Facebook, seeing in one folder all the photos, videos, links, messages, screen shots, documents, voice notes (and the rest) that I’ve shared ‘privately’ to friends using the Messenger app was somewhat unsettling.

Far more unsettling, however, was the handful of (completely unsolicited) photos that non-friends had sent to me. I would share them here, but I’d probably get fired.

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However engaged you’ve been with this week’s revelations, I would recommend that you download your own Facebook data and spend some time looking through it. I was fascinated by the details of my life shared back to me about myself – but more intrigued (and disturbed?) thinking about what had inevitably been omitted and why. If you don’t use the platform and have nothing better to do on a Friday night, get yourself up to speed and then have a look through the information and language used on the company’s privacy settings.

#FASCINATING

 

 

Categories: Uncategorized

Delete your account

March 19, 2018 Leave a comment

Long before ‘Delete your account’ became, fleetingly, the online riposte de nos jours, I knew, somewhere at the bottom of my cerebral hard drive, that committing so much personal information to various anonymous dotcom entities was something I might possibly look back on with regret.

I deleted my rarely used but occasionally browsed Facebook account back in 2009, but had to take it out of mothballs for professional reasons. It’s hard to develop an app for a platform you’re not on.

Anyway, here we are nine years later and I’ve just set the wheels in motion to delete my Facebook account all over again. During those nine years, my interactions with Facebook have largely comprised blocking any ‘friends’ who have shared content from Britain First, blocking friends whose posts break my fairly relaxed inanity rules, blocking friends who post pictures of their children in school uniform (harsh, but you know… standards), blocking friends who share anything that’s obviously ignorant/ written by a Russian bot, and trying hard not to block friends who simply overshare on an industrial scale. Yes, I can be a judgmental arsehole. So what?

In short, my feed had become a sorry list of work-related and/ or sponsored posts, interspersed with various sports teams/ bands I follow. Nothing I couldn’t find elsewhere – specifically on Twitter – in more succinct form.

I’d never posted my birthdate on Facebook, having once read that it is sensible to limit how much relatively hard to find personal information one should share, but that was torpedoed by some friends wishing me a happy birthday via the medium I’d tried to avoid. I’m sure they have an algorithm that picks up on clues like that.

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Buuutttt… he looks so cuddly

Anyhow, my vaguely uncomfortable relationship with Facebook took on a more pronounced form when, shortly before Trump’s election, a friend explained to me at great length why Hillary Clinton shouldn’t be President, listing a number of reasons about which I had heard literally nothing. You know, the child abusing, FBI-murdering rumours that you could only find where he did – on Facebook.

I challenged the veracity, but he insisted it was true: “It came from a story in an American newspaper.” Reader, it didn’t.

You may know this already. You may know that Boris Johnson admitted inventing the “EU bans bendy bananas” story. That’s because, like me, you read stuff in “the mainstream media”, that much maligned ‘blob’ which actually comprises, by and large, credible news organisations staffed by intelligent, principled people. Not fake shit that’s posted to your timeline because you’ve shared content from Britain First or UKIP.

Back to the point. It’s ironic that in the week Facebook finally got round to banning the traitorous, ignorant, racist and inflammatory inadequates at Britain First, the Cambridge Analytica story was confirmed. Guess what? Facebook is, on balance, a bad thing. I’d explain why, but if you’re reading this, you’ll probably know.

In the meantime, I’ll be on Twitter for Bob Mortimer’s lists of cat names, and train delays in real time. See you there…

Rhyme and reason

In the week that the NME finally gave up the ghost and scrapped its print edition, my Twitter feed was full of like-minded souls (most of whom used to write for it) mourning its demise.

Back in the day (from about 1983 to 1990-something), I loved the NME. It, along with John Peel and a couple of friends, shaped my musical tastes. Apart from being a huge fan of many of the bands it championed, I loved its worldview, and the certainty which accompanied it. At the age of 13, when a journo who clearly worships the same bands as you tells you that x is great and x is not, you don’t question it. At least I didn’t.

As a result, I have always possessed some rather firm opinions about music. Is it musical snobbery? Possibly. I will never be persuaded that the execrable Queen aren’t the worst band ever. I can’t think of any occasion when I would be more conflicted than having to endure ‘We Are The Champions’  should Spurs ever win, well, anything. It would be the ultimate mood-killer.

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It’s really not a kind of magic, fellas

Anyhow, snobbery takes many forms, and during my time in advertising I have encountered significant resistance to rhyme, and especially rhyming endlines.

Somehow, it’s considered cheap and easy to produce a brand line that captures the desired sentiment and also carries a built-in sonic mnemonic (tah-dah!). Let me tell you, it’s not. I can remember many occasions when my creative director heard one of my apologetically proffered rhymes and turned his nose up while sporting an expression that said, “Really, you little moron?”. At least that’s how I interpreted it at the time.

Why? I can only assume that one man’s rhyming genius sounds like hapless doggerel to another. And maybe that’s the case. But it sure helps people remember what you say.

As my own boss, I happily bought ‘AutoRestore. Repairs at your door’ for one of our founding clients, and would do the same again. And the strength of rhyme was reiterated last week, when everyone in the country said the phrase ‘Beast from the east’ at least twenty times in four days, and Dave Trott wrote this paean to rhyme in ads.

I’ll promise to set aside my musical snobbery if you’ll give me rhyming copy. Ok?

Ok. Just don’t get me started on puns…

 

It’s cold out there…

March 1, 2018 1 comment

For every person you will see bundled up in a doorway or lying outside a shop on your way home this evening, how many others are hidden away out of sight? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

A smile, some change, a hot tea, a sandwich… They all make a little difference – but nowhere near enough. Especially not in this weather. If you feel any kind of way about rough sleeping (read: devastated and powerless) I suggest that you look up, download, and use StreetLink.

If you’re a cynic like me and often wonder if the “good” companies and charities you support are doing more harm than good (or simply nothing at all), or if the “good” actions you choose to undertake are ultimately meaningless and inconsequential… Watch the video below. This isn’t one of those instances.

“One day I was just sitting down and someone approached me from an outreach team; asked me how long I had been homeless, asked me about myself, and they referred me to a night shelter. It wasn’t until about three or four months later that I found out that someone had actually referred me from StreetLink… If I hadn’t been referred to StreetLink by a member of the public, I’m pretty sure I would still be homeless at this point in time.”

 

Creating a StreetLink alert through the app takes about 3 minutes – please use it, and provide as much detail as possible. You can also refer someone through the website or call the team on 0300 500 0914.

Find them on Twitter: @Tell_StreetLink

 

Categories: Uncategorized