Monday morning mildly amusing movie moment

Welcome to the first in this occasional series.

I thought this might be a good way to start the working week.



Now I'm no movie buff, so I think it's safe to say that if I feature a movie you haven't seen, you should probably take a long hard look at yourself and the direction your life's going in.

Interesting

I thought this was worth posting.

A while ago I began the bellybutton fluff chronicles. This thought-provoking series logged my bellybutton fluff, with the aim of finding meaning in the seemingly random volume of fluff gathered from day to day.

Anyway, this morning I discovered this in my back pocket.


For those of you who can’t make out the fuzzy image, it’s actually a raisin coated in fluff.

So that just goes to show, it’s not only bellybuttons that attract this stuff.

Please add your thoughts in the comment section. It’d be great if we could have a decent debate about this.

When pitches happen to good people

You can feel it in your water. And your bowels. Possibly even your gizzards.

A pitch is coming. The traffic guys look over. Then quickly look away. They start MURMURING.

Getting asked to work on a pitch is like premature ejaculation. You know it’s coming but there’s nothing you can do about it.

The traffic bloke wanders over casually and softens you up with a few hopeful words about a big TV job coming in a few weeks.

Then just as he leaves, he drops the news, “Oh there might be a pitch coming in for you guys”.

He’s gone. But the news lingers long after him, as if it had been farted out.

Now you know two things. First, you won't be socialising, seeing your family or sleeping for the next two weeks. And second, at the end of it you will almost certainly be hated.

Because chances are you won’t win. Success or failure depends on a zillion possible factors, only three of which you actually have any control over.

It's not all bad though. There’s a wonderful sense of camaraderie with a pitch. Everyone mucks in with an opinion on exactly what you need to change, or what the client might be thinking. Right up until the last minute they’re offering suggestions for changes, or even completely new bits of work.

Thankfully this is one deadline that doesn’t move. Finally the day comes when the people with the expensive clothes totter off with their bodyweight in foamboard and you step out blinking into the daylight.

You remember grass. And trees. And friendship. And beauty. And love.

Then a few days later you find out that you lost the thing.

No one in management looks you in the eye for a week. You carry the stale stench of failure, which at least guarantees you won’t be asked to work on another one for a while.

It's back to business as usual for you. Ah yes, business as usual. Now we can go back to baulking at even the client’s most reasonable request. “They want me to write an introductory paragraph? In three days? Can’t be done.”

Good old current clients, with their low expectations.

My book

I’ve been pretty quiet lately. But I can at last reveal the reason for my silence.

That’s right, I’ve written a book.

A few other bloggers have boshed out books lately so I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon.

I had no idea just how easy it is.

Admittedly it pretty much wrote itself once I'd come up with such a clever concept. It’s basically this: If Andy McNab worked as a copywriter. And was published by Mills & Boon.




I’m understandably pleased with the cover.

Although our hero should, in my humble opinion, have a beard. (The press have speculated wildly about who my main character, Dave Mans-man, is based on. I’m not giving anything away but let’s just say everyone who reads this blog has heard of him and he is typing RIGHT NOW. That’s all I’m saying.)

As my loyal blog audience, I can exclusively give you a sneak preview below:

Dave Mans-man strode powerfully yet sensually into the agency. All talking stopped as every jaw dropped open with deep yearning.

“Dave, Dave!” panicked the voluptuous titian-haired young account girl “The client’s got a change to the copy and every other writer’s tried to crack it but no one can because it’s impossible.”

His smouldering eyes fixed her with a penetrating stare that said “I want to tear your clothes off and ride naked with you on a stallion across a meadow in the moonlight.”

He sat down steamily and began writing.

His bicep rippled with every word, the account girl involuntarily quivering and shivering with excitement as he wrote.

“There” he thundered masterfully, handing her the words. She gasped as she began reading. It was everything she thought it would be and yet every word was imbued with a raw masculinity that thrust itself powerfully into her mind.

Just then, loads of Johnny foreigners armed to the teeth stormed the building.

Dave Mans-man dived for cover whilst pulling the girl to safety and pulling a grenade launcher out of his trousers.

"Brainstorm this, terrorist!" he screamed, mowing down a dozen foreign-looking baddies with a single bullet.

TO BE CONTINUED...

You can pre-order it today.