I fucking *hate* bank holidays. It's as if they're designed by The Man to make life without work seem so insufferably miserable and drab that you can't wait to drag your sorry arse back through the doors the day after. The television's half the story, terrible nonsense on all day, nothing half-decent to watch... then there are the crowds of crying children in shops, crying adults in Ikea, scurrying parents under umbrellas, and the rain - oh, the rain! - chucking it down all sodding day, just to add another layer of overwhelming crap to the whole affair.
I try not to be depressing. But really. Really! And then if you do have the misfortune to be sitting in front of a television - (and why shouldn't I? I could try listening to the Test match, either that or give money to Rupert Murdoch, and I'd rather boil my balls in jam and then dangle them in an ants' nest than do that. But no, it's my day off) - you constantly get bombarded by utter lies, drivel, bollocks and bullshit in the name of advertising.
I grew up in a BBC house. These were the days when you had to walk a whole four yards - four bloody yards! Can you imagine it? - to change the channels. So, once the screen had spent half an hour warming up and the little green patch on the right-hand side had gone away a bit, we'd tend to keep it on the Beeb. Not really for any sake other than it was the first channel that came on. And when I look back, it's maybe that that's made me hate adverts so much. Well that and the fact they're a total lying bunch of bastards talking shit, selling shit and being allowed to talk utter toss all the time. There's that as well.
I'm talking about Energie (Nucleaire) de France, or EdF as they politely call themselves in this country, buying advertising slots during last night's The 11th Hour on Channel 4 to tell the world how wonderful and lovely they are, how brilliantly environmental they are and how great it is that they do nice and fluffy things while everyone else is naughty and bad. Then you get British Gas - why, it's almost as if these companies exist to make the world a delightful and cosy place, not to make stacks and stacks and stacks of lovely freshly-minted cash for their shareholders - offering four fucking lightbulbs to customers 'to help the environment'. Four fucking lightbulbs? Yes, because that'll make a big fucking difference won't it. (Four candles - well that would make more sense, even if it didn't to Ronnie Corbett.) Why not take easyJet down to Morrisons to buy a back of air-freighted out-of-season kiwi fruit? It doesn't matter what you do, because benevolent and lovely British Bloody Gas are giving a couple of bloody lightbulbs away, and that's going to solve every fucking thing in the entire world, isn't it? Then. Then! You get the Government, using YOUR money, to tell YOU it's all YOUR fault! You know, that advert with Shangri-Lah by the Kinks on it, where everyone's got a *literal* carbon footprint. Oh I bet it was like Scarface in that advertising agency when they came up with that idea... "How about... a real carbon footprint? A footprint, you know, made of carbon...?" Cor blimey, that's billions of pounds of taxpayer cash - from petrol - gone to a better place then. So long as we've kept some ad agency in ridiculous haircuts, five-hour lunches and poncey electronic gadgets, then that's made every fucking thing all right, hasn't it? Yes, get everyone to pay loads of tax on petrol - perhaps not a bad thing in itself, but where does the money go? To some ad agency to tell you that you're polluting too much, so they can all go out and buy Audis and jet off to bloody Tuscany. Isn't there something slightly awry there?
Oh, and then. And then! Just when you think the ridiculousness of it all has reached the nadir, just when you think things couldn't get any more bizarrely "We're pretending to be like this, you know and we know we aren't, but we're going to bullshit you anyway, because that's the best thing to do" I happened across a fucking advert for BMWs last night with Donald Sutherland chirping away about how hills were nice, how everything was lovely, how BMWs are designed to be efficient and how they're beautifully marvellous people who only exist to make the world a more pleasant and enjoyable place for everyone. Yes, because that's why people buy BMWs, isn't it - because of the fuel economy and the niceness of them. Funny that, because every single BMW I have ever seen in my entire life has been driven by a needle-dicked tosswipe flashing his lights at anyone doing under 140mph on the M25, while talking - sorry, braying - down the phone and probably booking an appointment for some poxy gym somewhere in Hampstead where he can practise his wife-beating skills. Those are your customers. Don't pretend! Don't be like Stella Artois, and pretend you're really jolly and jovial and upmarket and friendly and traditional and pleasant - you exist for cunts. Your customers are cunts. Selfish, vile, horrible, arrogant total cunts who like revving their engines at frail old dears on zebra crossings, cutting in front of anyone on a bicycle to try and make them fall off, splashing through puddles to punish pedestrians for not being macho or rich enough to be out driving all the fucking time and generally acting like a fucking five-year-old at the wheel. Those are your customers. I'd have much more respect for BMW if they advertised their cars with total pricks at the wheel, cutting other drivers up, roaring away from traffic lights and then tailgating everyone who ever dares to try and stick to the speed limit, while shouting into a bluetooth headset about how much they spunked on expenses in the past five minutes. Come on BMW, be honest. You exist for cunts. Your customers are cunts. Your cars aren't there because they're efficient: they're there for people to threaten other drivers, be unpleasant and generally act like aggressive testosterone-fuelled wankers with no social skills. At least tell the truth about it.