Phishing with Moira

Yesterday I was happy. I thought I was getting a tax rebate.

Sadly, today that rebate is just another little bubble of happiness that has burst.

It was a scam!

I know what you’re thinking. How was a savvy real-man-of-the-world like myself nearly duped?

Three words. Moira “Shyster” Stewart.




The duplicitous minx! In all my dealings with her, I never dreamt she’d pull a stunt like this.

You expect this sort of thing from Trevor McDonald. But Moira?!!

It will never fly

Have you seen this rubbish?

What Spot Now shows you what's happening inside coffee shops, pubs, etc. in real time.

So you can decide whether you should pop in or whether it’s too busy and you should just go home because you’ll never meet anyone anyway and you’re destined to be alone forever.

Sadly, What Spot Now is the kind of missed opportunity that drives me crazy.

First off, it only works in Portland. That’s a 13-hour flight! By the time I get there, Starbucks could be busy again.

Worse than that, there are so many better uses for this technology.

Why don’t they have cameras in conference rooms at work, so you know when meetings are over and you can swoop in to hoover up the biscuits? Or even better, one at your local Greggs, so you know when they’ve baked a new batch of Sausage & Bean Melts.

Then there are the stalking opportunities. Cameras in houses of all the girls that ever dumped you, anyone? Yes please.

Have a look anyway. I guess it is pretty interesting.

Keepin’ it real like Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard

Is The Bodyguard the greatest movie ever?

I guess that when you’re forging a movie from the raw materials of Whitney Houston’s stardom and Kevin Costner sporting quite short hair, you could hardly go wrong.

But still, you’ve got to admit the director used this potent combination to full effect.

For me, the onscreen chemistry between Kevin and Whitney has only been matched by Frodo and Sam in The Lord of the Rings.

As well as solid movie gold, the film’s opening scene contains a valuable lesson for us.



After saving a client’s life, Frank Farmer (Costner) is begged to take a full time job, but turns it down. “I’m no good in a permanent position. My feet go to sleep.”

Which is true for YOU too.

If you stay at one place too long, you get complacent.

Pretty soon you’re taking lunch breaks from 11:30 to 3:30. And when you are at your desk, you spend the whole time collecting, collating and filing your bellybutton fluff. Then posting pictures of it online.

Inevitably the work suffers.

Next thing you know, you’re as stale as a Greggs steak slice.

Whereas for freelancers, you have to be useful ALL THE TIME.

That means every day I’ve got to bring my 'A game'.

This can be anything from filling out a timesheet correctly to looking attentive during briefings.

These days I even think of ideas, which I NEVER used to do. I guess nothing gets the old noggin going like the fear of not being asked back next week.

So to sum up. If you yearn to be edgy and sharp like me and Kevin Costner, you should definitely go freelance.

(Or I suppose you could just work harder. But that kind of blows my whole theory out of the water.)

Happy New Year!

I wonder if this is the most middle class way you could end yourself? Jumping from the top floor of John Lewis on Oxford Street?

I reckon so. Particularly if you managed to impale yourself on some Jamie Oliver-endorsed kitchen utensils.

This is the kind of thought that plops into my mind when returning an item over the festive period, that's all.

On a similar note, I’ve been thinking about writing a murder mystery around a fantastically middle class killer. In the opening scene, a woman lifts the lid of her breadmaker to discover her husband’s severed head rolling around inside, sprinkled with organic poppy seeds.

Maybe it’s time I got an agent.

Are we the most important people on Earth? (Answer: yes.)

I’ve spent the past few days doing my best Florence Nightingale impression, nursing Mrs and Toddler RMWLC back to health from the oinky misery of Swine Flu.

Thankfully, I was spared the same horrid fate thanks to a flu jab arranged by my agency.

Not so Mrs RMWLC who, despite being an NHS professional, was left jab-less.

This is as it should be.

Say what you like about the Western worldview, when it comes to esteeming those roles in society that deserve it most, we’ve got it pretty much bang on.

After all can you imagine what would happen if, in the event of a pandemic, marketing types were unable to work? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

With no one to produce a steady stream of pointless communications persuading people to buy stuff they don’t really need, our society would surely crumble.

Douglas Adams covers this theme with aplomb in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

The Circling Poets of Golgafrincham decided to rid themselves of the useless third of their population (including hairdressers, telephone sanitisers and, yes, advertising folk).

So they concocted a story that their planet would shortly be destroyed by a 'mutant star goat’ and sent them away in a giant spaceship, B-Ark, promising to follow shortly.

The other two thirds of the population of course did not follow and ‘led full, rich and happy lives until they were all suddenly wiped out by a virulent disease contracted from a dirty telephone’.

Now, I'm aware that Adams mistakenly lumped ad folk into the ship of useless people. But my point is this.

As another year draws to a close, let’s take a moment to salute how marvellous and important we all are.

And be thankful that, should a plague wipe out most of our population, we’ll still be around to propagate the human race with a new breed of shallow, self-obsessed halfwits.

Merry Christmas one and all!

Christmasjumper-off

Behold, earthlings! My snazziest ever snazzy Christmas jumper.

I know what you're thinking, "Dave, you look fricking AWESOME in that, where can I get one?"

But I'm afraid this is a limited edition, bought for me by the munificent Mrs RMWLC last Christmas. With the advent of, um, advent, I figure it’s now okay to wear it. Or at least, as okay as it can ever be to wear a jumper like this.

If you think you can rival my Christmasjumperness, I’d love to see what you’ve got. (Although I should warn you, the nose ACTUALLY SQUEAKS and the antlers have real bells on.)

If you'd like to challenge me to a Christmasjumper-off, please take a photo and send it to realmenwritelongcopy at gmail dotcom

Kim Jong Il looking at things

Well worth a look. Here are a couple of my personal favourites.

Looking at wheat

Looking at a radish

Looking at a kitchen cabinet

IRELAND UNVEILS BAILOUT PLAN – The Guardian. Or, to put it another way...

via Reuben, via Boing Boing.

How to freelance. Lesson 1, extorting money.

As I’ve been freelancing for a couple of weeks now I’m something of an expert on the subject.

So I thought I’d begin spouting out my vast knowledge, in a new series cunningly titled How to freelance.

Let’s begin with the first task for any freelancer, the distasteful business of negotiating a fee.

As we all know, more important than the actual work is how much you can get away with charging for it.

Now if you’re anything like me (an incompetent coward) then you’re not really cut out for negotiating. So the moment that haggling begins, you’ll want to fold like a cheap suitcase.

However you must resist that urge. This is the time to play hardball.

Whatever they say, double it and add a nought or two. Make sure you maintain eye contact and try to add some menace to your voice. If they dare to hold your gaze, don’t be afraid to bare your teeth.

(If you’re not actually negotiating in person, no problem. You can achieve the same effect over the phone by shouting. Or, if you’re communicating by email, simply write in all caps.)

At this point they may ask you to justify your fee.

This is nothing to be fazed by. If you think about it, there are all kinds of reasons why they should pay what you're asking. You might make excellent tea, for example. Or, like me, have a cute ass.

The only rule when it comes to justifying fees is that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU MAKE PROMISES ABOUT THE QUALITY OF THE WORK YOU'LL PRODUCE. Trust me on this one. It will lead to all kinds of difficulties down the line.

Once you’ve agreed a fee, you might think that's the end of it. But there are still a few cunning tricks you can pull.

A favourite of mine is to add an extra hundred or two when you invoice. Agencies LOVE this, as it shows initiative and tenacity. And if there’s one thing creative directors are looking for, other than a cute ass, it’s initiative and tenacity.

Hopefully that’s enough advice for you to be going on with. I’ll be spewing out more wisdom on the actual work of a freelancer just as soon as I successfully negotiate my first job.

This one goes out to the Paveys

This blog is many things to many people.

To some, it's a way to pass those annoying last minutes before 5:30. To others, a mine of information on how to undermine and belittle your colleagues.

But what it has never attempted to be, nor indeed succeeded at being, is a source of humour.

Or so I thought.

Upon visiting my sister-in-law at the weekend, she informed me that she had found it humorous.

[Only my own literary snobbishness prevents me from inserting a massive smiley face here.]

Rach's compliment was especially gratifying as she is currently undergoing chemotherapy, which apparently isn’t as much fun as it sounds.

She told me she’s spent many of her feeling-ill-est hours reading from these turgid cyber-pages.

Although she didn’t actually say so, I think it’s fair to say that this blog is a single shining beacon of hope and joy in her life.

It would also be COMPLETELY accurate to say I inspired Rach to write her own blog, Rage against the lymphoma, chronicling the non-stop-fun of fighting Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

However, I must warn you: DO NOT READ IT.

I don’t say this because I’m intimidated by someone daring to take on a challenging and weighty subject and carrying it off with genuine wit and warmth. That’s not it at all.

I forbid you from reading it because she has TEN TIMES more readers than me.

Ten. Ruddy. Times.

Things like this make me wonder what’s the point of it all.

If people are more interested in reading an honest account of someone’s hopes and fears rather than banal observations on the shallow world of agency life, then I for one feel like giving up.

On the other hand, let’s not forget it’s ME that inspired her.

Which means they’re really my readers anyway.

P.S. I heart you Paveys XXX

End of an error

You missed the awesomest leaving do EVER last night. The DJ rocked da house.



But today a sombre mood has settled on the agency, as reality of my departure hits my colleagues like a sledgehammer of unhappiness wielded by a burly man of misery.

I may not have been the most popular person at Partners. Or the most talented. Or the least annoying.

But what I’ve always had is spunk. And if there’s one thing the modern agency needs, it’s spunky individuals.

I’m sure that Messrs Andrews and Aldridge are looking at one another right now and wondering where the spunk is going to come from.

Things are just as uncertain for me. I have no idea what the future holds. Apart from death and taxes. And the ridicule of my peers.

But whatever comes my way, I shall face it with the same cowardice and self-loathing with which I’ve faced everything in my career.

I know you can't wait to hear all about it.

P.S. Thanks Chris for the headline. Thanks Rich for the video. Thank you everyone else at Partners for loving and accepting me for who I REALLY am.

A fitting tribute

It doesn't happen often in the hard-nosed, cut-and-thrust, dog-eat-dog-eat-dog's-dog world of agency life, but just occasionally you really connect with someone.

You discover a common vision. They help you to be the very best at what you do. And, in some small way, you help them to be better too.

That kind of office chemistry is a special and rare thing.

Which makes it all the more upsetting when the powers that be decide that person is deemed surplus to requirements. Over the hill. Redundant.

I'm talking about my friend, Barney.

Barney is a printer here at Partners Andrews Aldridge. Or at least he was, until recently.

For he has printed his last copy doc.

As a tribute, I've created this video of our final moments together, set to James Blunt's stirring vocals.

Perhaps you've had someone like Barney in your life? A stapler. A ring binder. A laminator. If so, this video is for you.

Real Men Write Resignation Letters

The walls of Partners Andrews Aldridge are resounding to all manner of unseemly sobbing and wailing today, as news reaches the girls in account management that the agency's most manly hunk of throbbing masculinity is leaving.

That’s right, I’ve decided to go freelance.

Given the way the UK economy is stuttering along like an Austin Allegro on a cold Winter’s morning, and the fact I’m soon to be flattened by the financial haymaker of having a second child, I thought this would be a super time to cast aside all financial stability.

As you’d expect, everyone here at Partners is distraught at my departure. Although I must admit they’ve managed to mask their disappointment extremely well.

My art director in particular has been so supportive about the whole thing. Right from the moment I first floated the idea he’s been incredibly enthusiastic and helpful.

He's left articles on my desk about how great freelancing is. He even started posting encouraging motivational notes, like ‘Who dares wins!’ and ‘Be all you can be!’

Equally, my CD has tackled the toughest brief of his life with a passion bordering on relish. These are enormous shoes he has to fill. Shoes so big, they could almost be described as clown shoes. And yet, the way his eyes light up when he talks about ‘getting the upgrade’ is a sign of a man unfazed by the gargantuan nature of the task.

Now, you might be wondering why I’d leave a brilliant creative place like Partners. These are some reasons why I’m going freelance:

• I want to meet lots more people and experience loads of different stuff.
• It’s good to be scared. Sometimes.
• It feels like the right time in my career to do this.
• I believe I can fly. I believe I can touch the sky.
• If I don't get any work, I might finally get around to painting Baby RMWLC’s room.

This has never been a very comment-y type blog. Mainly because no one cares enough to comment. But this seems like a good topic to collect your thoughts on.

So tell me blogosphere, how should one behave on freelance? How do I stay employed? And what’s the etiquette with eating the staff biscuits?

And by the way Yes, leaving was my idea and No I wasn’t fired, thank you very much.


P.S. Why not have a look at davemance.com and tell me what you think of my work? Because I really could give the first one about your opinion.

Awesome 80s ads

If you're not interested in watching me making a right benny of myself on national TV, you might prefer to watch the adbreak.

Some real classics here.



Those teeth. I still have nightmares about those teeth.

Me, child superstar

In the olden days, there was no X-Factor. During these dark pre-Cowell years, people were instead served up dodgy quiz shows hosted by middle-aged men in velour sweaters. One such show, called Child's Play, featured megastar contestants such as Christopher Biggins, Jeremy Beadle, Lulu and Suzi Quatro, along with nauseatingly cute children. The premise of the show was that the aforementioned cute kids would describe a word, but without saying it. The contestants then had to guess the word. With hilarious consequences. You won't be at all surprised to hear I was one of those cute kids. Even at that young age, I was pretty ‘gifted’. As a result, they rarely featured me in the main part of the show. Instead, I was confined to the little bit before the ad breaks, known as the 'this is what happens when the kid's a bit simple' slot. To put it bluntly, I was a figure of fun. To six million viewers. This week I have finally had the celluloid footage converted to electro-bytes and stuck it on YouTube. I realise there’s no reason why you should find these clips remotely interesting but I’m sticking it up here anyway. Enjoy! (Or don’t, I don’t care.) To explain, I’d seen a model of a baby in the womb and when I asked my dad what the umbilical cord was, he said, “That’s how they eat”. Thanks for that, Dad.

Rise of the Machines at Sainsbury's

That’s right. My local Sainsbury's is the latest to turn from a shop into a MACHINE.

Look on in horror friends, for this is how it begins.

One moment, a till is politely asking you to insert your card.

The next thing you know, a T-800 is pointing an Uzi in your face and asking if your name’s Sarah Connor.

These machines don't feel pain. Or remorse. They are relentless. And they WILL NOT STOP until you have scanned your item and placed it in the baggage area.

I remember a time when humans would serve you. They would exchange items for real actual money you know.

But a day is coming when my little girl will ask me "Daddy, what's a human being?"

And I will answer, with a tear in my eye, "They are extinct, my child".

Damp squib

Last week I celebrated my birthday.

Because I am so insanely popular, my colleagues insisted I have a few lunchtime drinks to mark my special day.

It was pretty mad. Here are some pictures.





Actually, if I’m honest, the turnout was a little disappointing.

In fact, it’s possible not all these pictures are really from my birthday.

Naturally, this is my art director's fault.

I had asked him to invite people for me. Unfortunately, this basic task proved too tricky for him.

First of all, he emailed just the creative department. I had specifically told him not to do this, as they’re too boring.

Regrettably, the eighth or ninth time I slowly and loudly recounted these instructions, my creative colleagues overheard.

As a result, there was a departmental boycott of the event.

Although he did eventually manage to send an invite to the whole agency, it seems I’m not as popular among other departments as I’d hoped.

The upshot was the kind of attendance you'd expect if you were hosting a three-hour brainstorm without snacks.

I can't complain. I always knew that being FANTASTICALLY SUCCESSFUL would involve sacrifice.

But I guess this moment really brought home just how lonely life is at the top.

***VIRTUAL SIGH***

Look on the bright side though. Here is a video of a dog riding a bike.

Snubbed by Al Gore

Last week RMWLC Towers hosted an event starring none other than VP Al Gore.

I first met Al on the campaign trail back in ‘88 (he was just a kid back then, wet behind the ears and crying for his mommy every night). So I was looking forward to hooking up again and reliving the glory days.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I turned up and found myself denied entry by one of Al’s burly bodyguards.

It seems the powers-that-be didn’t want me there on account of I am too edgy and dangerous and also I have offensive body odour.

Big Al did a talk, followed by Q&A, covering topics like The use of interactive media in the democratic process , the role of the media in the fight against climate change, Why Americans talk funny, and How to lose an election to an autistic cowboy.

It seems his latest mad-capped scheme is to run a TV station where he gets other people to make programmes for him. For FREE!

He's obviously had enough of misconstruing data as the basis for wild speculation (I think he used to be a planner). He’s now pedalling reality TV.

It. Will. Never. Fly.

Personally, I always had a lot more time for that other fella – you know, the funny one with the cowboy hat. I just loved the way he seemed to really hate terrorists, especially EVIL terrorists.

Anyway, I digress. The point is, I had Al Gore in my building last week. Did you?

Didn't think so.

Good cop (writer)/bad cop (art director)

Although we creatives like to think we’re unique and a bit special, the reality is that all teams fall into one of two basic categories.

Good cop/bad cop

In my experience, most teams fit this mould. Generally because the art director is so deeply unpleasant, the writer is forced to try to compensate.

Art directors may not be the sharpest scalpels in the studio, but they do have one rather cunning trick up their sleeve.

I'm talking about the one where they pass off their fantastically irritable temperament as ‘really caring about the work’.

So what is in fact an almighty sulk because they couldn't have Coco Pops for breakfast, or because someone moved one of those stupid little action figures on their desk, they manage to pass off as a passionate crusade for creativity.

“Aggghh! Can’t the client see this will completely ruin everything?!” they rage, pointing to an amend in the kerning or leading or whatever that is invisible to the naked eye. Of course the poor hapless suit is obliged to stand there passively nodding until his little art director spleen is fully vented.

I must confess a certain grudging admiration for their little ruse though. They get to let off some steam AND look really creative. It's ingenious.

And of course it’s a trick that writers, in their timid-voiced bespectacled puniness, could never pull off.

Instead, we good cops are stuck with the role of trying to make light of their latest hissy fit, grinning and rolling our eyes in a 'don't worry about him, he's always like this' kind of way.

The wacky one/straight one

This second archetypal team dynamic follows in the footsteps of great double acts like Morecambe & Wise and Cannon & Ball.

The wacky one is creative and demonstrates this by wearing T-shirts with muppet characters on. The straight one is the foil – the solid, workmanlike type that never lights the place up, but gets the job done. Think David Batty for Leeds circa 1990.

Now you may be wondering which profile my art director and I fit. Well, we’re a variant on the wacky/straight formula.

You see, I’m wacky. But I’m also very sensitive. I may look like a bristling hulk of masculinity, but beneath this rough exterior is a little scared child who just wants to be accepted and loved.

The result is what I like to call the fragile flower/patient gardener dynamic.

I see myself as an orchid or perhaps a very rare variety of pansy. I must be nurtured and encouraged by my art director in a warm glasshouse of love and unconditional acceptance before I feel able to express myself fully.

Once I feel the warm sun of validation beating down on my delicate stem, I open my leaves, bud, then bloom with creativity.

Then the flowers drop off and that’s it for another year.

And so, dear readers, I’d encourage you all to take the time to study the teams around you. You’ll find they each fall into one of my two categories.

Of course, as I said, the categories are broad. Within each one are many other variants – Beauty and the Beast, Dumb & Dumber and Torville & Dean to name just a few.

Which one are YOU?!!!!

Panic over. I'm back

I’m feeling refreshed from my time away, thanks for asking.

I have now returned my nose to its customary position on the grindstone while keeping my head above water yet below the parapet.

With all the stresses and strains of being a butch copywriter AND blogger, you may wonder what this real man does to unwind.

Well, the reality is, this real man spends seven days sitting in a gîte, eating his bodyweight in cheese.

I did go out once. Some local Frenchies took a day off from striking to have a market so I went to check it out.


Looks like someone needs to grasp the concept of ‘broadening your target market’. What’s the French for ‘diversify’, anyone?

**snicker**

I could post more stupid pictures but you don’t read this blog to find out about my holidays. You want a witty and acerbic account of agency life. And there's about as much chance of finding that here as there is of a Frenchie saying “Excusez moi” as he elbows you on his way to the front of the cheese queue.

Ooh, before I go, let me offer belated congratulations to Grunders, our resident guest blogger, on the birth of his daughter Amber last week. Beautiful.