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.

A post that’s nice about a planner yet is IN NO WAY a climb down from last week’s post that was mean about planners

I dunno if you lot all have boyfriends in planning or what but there were quite a few comments sticking up for them last week.

Whatever. Mr RMWLC is his own man, not the type to pander to the murmurings of the masses just because he is terrified of losing readers.

It just so happens that I was going to write a nice post about a planner anyway.

The fact is, today I am genuinely sad at the departure of a guy by the name of Sameer. Because in an industry that seems to be losing its share of crazies, he is one of the precious few oddballs left.

This is a man who, in my early days here at Partners, re-briefed me by handing me a Philip Larkin poem, reciting a few lines, then ambling out of the office. A man who can weave quantum physics, Gershwin and the Bernoulli Principle into a brief to sell frozen peas. A man who once tore up ten pound notes in front of me to illustrate his point (it was about one of our clients so I guess I shouldn't say who).

Most crazy of all, here's a guy who doesn’t actually tell a client something unless he believes it. I know! Mad as a fish.

In recent years there's been an alarming trend of agencies increasingly hiring sensible types. Awful people who have made us more efficient, productive and businesslike and generally done all they can to ruin the industry.

What so many people fail to understand is that without Sameer and people like him we’re just an accountancy firm with a snazzy reception. We’re just salesmen in jeans. Estate agents with marker pens.

So it's with a heavy heart I watch him pack up his pie charts and collection of wacky striped jumpers and head off to Mindshare. Good luck to you Sameer. We hope to see your kind again (but we doubt we will).

A conversation Mrs RMWLC overheard on the bus yesterday

Two gobby girls talking loudly:

"Guess what."
"What?"
"You know that DVD we watched? It ain't broke. It's something called a 'flashback'."

True story.

Following the success of my recent campaign to ‘STOP hiring art directors. FULL STOP.’ today sees the launch of my new movement, to MAKEPLANNINGHISTORY.

Planning is a shameful stain on our business.

Every year around 10% of an agency’s wage billings is wasted on planners. This is money that could be spent on biscuits or toilet roll.

Enough is enough!

Join my campaign where we say “No!” to brainstorms. Where we cry "No more!" to briefs being held up for weeks while they research things like 'the target market for electricity' or 'what kind of person drinks water'.

Here are some ways you can get involved in the campaign:

Add the MAKEPLANNINGHISTORY twibbon to your twitter pic (no I have no idea why either).

Buy tickets for the MAKEPLANNINGHISTORY benefit gig. It's going to be at the Wetherspoons in Leytonstone. Already confirmed are Lloyd from X Factor and local church tribute act Nuns 'n' Moses.

And most importantly, give money:

• £2 will pay for a planner to have a meal with normal people to get some ‘insights’ into the fact that none of them give a monkeys about brands.
• £20 will retrain a planner as a childminder or an academic, so they can babble away harmlessly without troubling anyone.
• £200 will buy a goat. Goats are cool.
  

Please join my campaign today and help create a better future for us all.

Every parent's worst fear – having an art director

I almost spilt my extra-milky ultra-weak Earl Grey this morning as I saw Baby RMWLC, focussing hard as she tried to walk, pulling an ‘art director’s face’.

You know the one I mean. That endearing one when they’re focusing every last brain cell on the task at hand (colouring in without going over the lines) and they stick their tongue out of the corner of their mouth and narrow their eyes in concentration. Yes, that face.

I couldn’t believe it. A child of mine an art director?! Talk about a cruel twist of fate.

Thankfully, a few soothing words from Mrs RMWLC coaxed me out of my despair.

She explained that behaving like an art director is a developmental stage that all children go through at around 12-18 months.

In fact, as a child matures they at one time or another possess the mental capacity of all agency types. It goes roughly like this:

Art director (12-18 months). Responds to simple instructions. Babbles 2 or 3 words repeatedly. Demands constant mothering.

Studio (18-24 months). Can put on shoes.

Account Director (2-4 years). Joins 2-3 words in sentences. Feeds self with spoon. Can count to twenty.

Account Exec (5-8 years). Speaks in sentences. Constantly asks questions.

Creative Director (8-12 years). Knows right from left (in most instances). Fluent with few infantile substitutions in speech.

Planner (teens). Awkward in social settings. Worry about being ‘normal’.

Copywriter (20+). Full cognitive development.

Pretty enlightening, huh?

You may be surprised at how developmentally advanced planners are supposed to be, but they do tend to be pretty smart. The point is they actually choose to say those things.

I'm just hoping Baby RMWLC grows out of this art director stage quickly – it's a bit much having to wipe away someone else's drool all day. Then come home and have to do the same.

By the way, if anyone has an Account Director that they've successfully potty trained, please do leave any tips in the comments section.

The tickets are now DIAMONDS

Nicked from The Denver Egotist

You weren’t there man

Yesterday, as I donned my muffler and balaclava to brave the trip home, a colleague joked that I looked like a soldier in the SAS.

He wouldn’t have been laughing if he knew the dark truth.

I've seen things that would make your irises pale in horror. Ooh the stories I could tell if I wanted (but I don’t talk about it because I'm the strong silent type).

Although my days in the special forces are now far behind me, it got me thinking about the similarities between my former and current profession.

Sure, I did some terrible things for Queen and country. I murdered men with my bare hands. And killed a wild pig by jumping out of a tree and stabbing it with a spear whilst wearing a bandana. A bit like this.


But that’s nothing compared to the things I’ve done since.

Unspeakable acts that haunt me.

I guess we've all done jobs in the past we're not proud of. But I just can't seem to get them out of my head.

Often I wake in the night screaming “Only 34.9%APR” or “Head along to our showroom now for your last chance to get low low prices!!!!”

Mrs RMWLC is understandably worried about me. She’s tried to get me to talk about it but how could she understand? I never want her to know about the things I've done to keep a roof over our head.

Occasionally I still see some of my old comrades. Copywriters who did some jobs with me back in the day. Men with dead eyes. Men with consciences so seared, they’d write a leaflet selling North Korean arms to the Myanmar government in UV ink on heavily bleached un-recycled paper as soon as look at you.

We nod silently at one another. A nod that says ‘Ooh the stories we could tell if we wanted (but we don’t talk about it because we’re the strong silent type).”

Sometimes I kid myself there might be some redemption for me. That maybe if I could write enough ads for lost puppies or endangered monkeys I might atone for all the wrong I’ve done. But I know it’s pure fantasy.

I should go back to killing. At least I was fairly good at that.

Irishman urinated on French bread in protest at Henry handball, court told

A true story from the superb newsfromireland.com

BY KEVIN BRADY

(ROSCOMMON, IRELAND) A drunken unemployed plasterer who was found urinating on the French loaves section of a large supermarket in protest at the infamous handball incident in the France vs Ireland World Cup qualifier, was this week given a suspended sentence, fined and bound over to keep the peace.

Frances “Smokie” Larkin, The Meadows, Killareagh, Co Roscommon pleaded guilty to the incident at Maher’s ValueStore supermarket, Killareagh, one week after the match which Ireland controversially drew after the French goal was deemed to have scored despite a blatant handball by French striker Thierry Henry.

Gardai Anthony Flanagan told the court that he had been called to the store at 11.15 on the morning of November 25.

“When I reached the shop, I was informed that Mr Larkin was causing a disturbance in the bread section and when I got there, he was urinating on the French bread section and stamping on a loaf. I later ascertained that the loaves were brioches, a sort of French bread.

“When he saw me, he tried to run away but I apprehended him and grabbed him by the arm. He said ‘that’s for Thierry Henry, guard. If you have any pride in your country, you’ll let me go.

“Then he said ‘that’ll teach them, the cheating French bastards.’”

I love the way the Gardai later ascertained that the loaves were brioches.

If there are any French readers out there, please could you confirm whether or not this did indeed 'teach you'?

My mention in Campaign – one week on

Now the media furore has died down, the dust has settled and I’ve stopped talking loudly about myself, I thought it’d be worth picking over the remains of my big moment and see what we’ve learned.

On the whole, I can honestly say that being in Best of the Blogs hasn’t changed me.

In fact, the only really tangible difference you could point to would be the small addition to my morning get-pumped-up-for-the-day routine.

It still consists of the customary striding around my bathroom in just my pants slapping myself repeatedly whilst singing along to Craig David's seminal album, Born to do it.

But since my 'moment' I now allow myself a five-minute victory dance, where I hold last week’s Campaign aloft whilst vigorously fist-pumping into the mirror shouting “You da man!”

You may wonder why I'm making such a big fuss about all this.

After all, Campaign’s mention didn’t exactly overwhelm this site with new readers. In fact I reckon I could have got the same bump in readership stats by whispering the URL at a crowded bus stop.

I have, however, noticed a real difference in the way my colleagues regard me. Just take a look at my Victim-of-bullying-incidents stats.





Now it's fair to say that there's been no marked change in the number of Chinese burns and bogflushes since last week.

But just look at the way nipple tweaks plummeted. That’s a drop of 40% (although admittedly, much of this could be attributed to Steve ‘Clamp hands’ Aldridge being away pitching most of the week).

And of course, what these graphs don’t tell you is the non-bullying stats. The number of Cursory Nods Received from Colleagues rocketed up from 1 to 3!

So to sum up, you could say I’m something of a bigshot at Partners now. But I'm not going to let this new-found popularity go to my head. Instead I shall knuckle down and keep working hard (on the blog I mean). So the real beneficiary of my moment of fame is actually you.

And if that doesn't make you whoop and fist pump for a good few minutes on a Friday afternoon then there's clearly something wrong with you.

The secret to a successful relationship

I’ve commented on the bizarre nature of copywriter-art director relationships in the past here and here. And here.

So rather than come up with any fresh ideas, I thought I’d just rehash that old gag again.

This week we look at how to foster a healthy long-term relationship.

Most copywriter-art director relationships operate like a loveless marriage – poor communication, constantly looking for ways to undermine and humiliate the other, and a practically non-existent sex life.

There are however a few exceptions to the rule. Beautiful, loving relationships where each values and encourages the other and they both flourish in a beautiful garden of burgeoning creativity.

After a couple of painful break-ups I’ve been wondering what these couples have that we don’t? So I conducted a little research into these unnaturally amicable and productive relationships. The results were very revealing.

Almost 100% of teams surveyed chose to look at one another.


As you can see here, I always place my computer monitor in the centre of the desk, directly blocking my view of my AD. I figure that this way I’m not distracted from work. What’s more, I only have to look at the annoying top of his stupid ugly head.

But in every case of happy relationships, teams actually prefer to move their monitors to one side so they can see one another!

Take for example Jon and Rich here.


They’ve been working together since they met at Watford College back in 1938 and are as in love today as when they first met. Look at the eye contact there. It’s beautiful.

One team here at Partners even goes a step further and lunches together every Friday. Like a sweet old couple going out on date night.

I find this kind of behaviour baffling. I want to say “But what about when he does that thing when he sniffs his marker and stares into the middle distance instead of thinking of ideas? Or what about when he nods at a line you give him, then actually writes only about 80% of the words you said plus a couple of his own swapped in, all of them misspelt?”

The only logical answer is that in these functional relationships, the art director is simply not too annoying.

So, to conclude. If you want a healthy long term relationship, you have to find a not-too-annoying art director. And those, dear reader, are rarer than rocking horse doo-doo.

How to get a creative to do their job (the Ronan Keating way)

As we all know, persuading a creative to put bullet point to marker pad can involve all manner of cajoling and badgering. And frankly, saying things like “But isn’t this what you’re paid for?” just won’t cut it.

So as a gesture of goodwill towards all the suits I’ve made fun of on this blog, I’m giving you my TOP SECRET-super-classified-insider-tips on How to get a creative to do their job.

May I suggest you adopt what I’ve dubbed 'The Ronan Keating approach to account management'?

Now, the Boyzone star and Women's Institute pin-up may have the least sincere smile in pop and a voice so middle of the road it makes cat's eyes jealous. But beneath those twinkly Oirish eyes lurks a mind of fiendish cunning.

Quite simply, it’s all in how he phrases it.

He wrote the following about his wife: “You say it best when you say nothing at all”.

Think about it. He doesn’t say, “Shut up, I’m trying to watch the telly”.

Instead, he comes up with, “You say it best when you say nothing at all”. It's genius. The guy's an utter genius.

Now. Let’s apply that to what suits do.

You’re briefing something in. You want the team to put in that extra 10% (so that’s 12% then). What do you do?

Here are my top tips:

· Tell them how brilliant they are.

· Tell them another team couldn’t crack it, so you’re coming to them because they’ve got a reputation for always coming up with the goods.

· Tell them there’s a massive budget on it and it’s a really exciting opportunity – but could they also do some low-budget solutions, just to show a ‘range of ideas’?

· Give the job an exciting name like ‘Project breakthrough’ or ‘Awards job’.

These are almost guaranteed to give you the desired effect.

If, however, none of the above work, and you feel the situation warrants it, you can go for The slightly scary brooding Ronan approach.

This is where you THREATEN TO GET THE PLANNER TO COME AND PROVIDE A BIT MORE BACKGROUND.

The prospect of a couple of hours of 'insights' and 'brand essences' will, I promise, put the wind up any creative. Just watch them scuttle back to their desk more anxious to please than, well, a suit.

Ronan and I look forward to hearing how these tips have boosted productivity in YOUR creative department.

I am one today

I’d like to thank everyone that’s nurtured me through my first year of blogging.

Thank you goatee man at only dead fish, whose post on why you should blog fertilised the egg of my blogging ambition.

To Scamp, who delivered me, kicking and screaming, from the warm uterus of anonymity into the cold glare of a faintly interested readership.

To adlandsuit, grahamcreative and the many other blogging brothers and sisters who run around the garden of bloggoland with me, arguing about who is best and weeing in the sandpit of one another’s comments section. I owe you all a Chinese burn.

And most of all to you, the weirdo who lurks by the swings reading this. For the short-lived and pitiable gratification I get every time you boost my traffic stats.

I love you all XXX

Review of 2009

Real Men Write Long Copy has never been one to lazily spout out a few half-baked thoughts on a topic two weeks after everything that could possibly be said about it has been said.

But I know you’re all hankering after my carefully considered opinion and insights on the decade’s most self-absorbed year. So here goes.

Best ad

The Facebook Whopper Sacrifice thing.

Best sandwich

Rare roast beef with melted cheese from Make Mine.

Best place to hide from having to do work

Disabled toilet/shower on the ground floor. Warm, roomy and with a lock on the door, you can comfortably spend all day in there safe from the clutches of Traffic.

Best moment of the year

Just now when Carole came round with mince pies and I made a nice cup of tea.

Best waste of time

Choosing between blogging and tweeting for this award is possibly the hardest decision of all. But I’m going to go with blogging, just for the spectacularly pathetic way I hit refresh every three minutes hoping someone’s left a comment, even when I haven’t posted anything for a week. Then, on the rare occasions someone does comment, my euphoria is immediately punctured when I see it’s only another one from snoxishere.

Best moody Campaign shot

It's been another storming year, with so many strong contenders. But this guy’s got it all: the steely gaze into the middle distance, the chiselled jaw and, just to send him over the edge, a fantastic name: Ringan Ledwidge. Mind you, I s’pose you can get away with a pose like this when you’re really good.

And with that whimper, I’m signing off for 2009. See you all in 2010 for more of the same. Or possibly even something good.

x

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.