As is so often the case, I started off with the intention of writing something short and succinct

You must be as delighted as I am to hear that, next year, I shall be a dad again.

I’ll tell you why you should be so nauseous with happiness.

Last night, the mystery singer made another of his little visits outside my home. He performed an original composition that actually managed to rhyme “black coffeeeee” with “Do you want meeee?” which, as far as I’m aware, is a lyrical first.

Unfortunately I couldn’t quite muster the strength to get out of bed (it was 3am) to record any of his ONE HOUR set. But of course, once the stork delivers my latest miniature insomniac, I’ll be up at that time anyway and able to record this nocturnal one-man-talent show. All for you.

In the meantime, you can make do with an excerpt from this fantastic article wot says having kids is good for art.

Reading it made me cry. Except I didn’t, right, cos I am a REAL MAN.

We were still students when we got married and had our first baby. It must have been hard work. We didn't have a washing machine and we couldn't afford disposable nappies – but mostly we were drugged with happiness. Our only conversational gambit was: "Isn't he amazing?" Friends were mostly delighted, but also slightly appalled. From the first they'd take me aside and commiserate. "That's it now, Frank, the pram is in the hallway."

The full quote – from Cyril Connolly – is: "There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hallway." In fact, we didn't have a pram or a hallway, but in the dark watches of the night I would sometimes look at the Maclaren Dreamer buggy in the corner of the tiny kitchen and think, is that it then? Will I have to go and get a proper job and never write again?

Happily, I had married a woman of terrifying courage who, the day I was offered a proper job, said: "Don't do it, Frank. Go to the library, write something for us." I didn't produce a work of precocious genius, but I did get myself started as a TV hack. Ever since then, fatherhood and writing have been inextricably intertwined for me.

I'm not the only one. The most commercially successful British writer (JK Rowling) and the most ferociously inventive (JG Ballard) were both single parents. Edith Nesbit had three children of her own, and then adopted the two that her feckless husband had with his mistress. She founded the Fabian Society, precursor of the Labour party, and still had time to write 60 novels, among them the most purely funny pages in the language.

My children have been a crucial part of my work in ways that I find hard to account for or anticipate. If I need to go on a research trip for a book or a film, we'll usually go as a family, and I find that – apart from the fact that it's useful to have extra eyes and ears – people and places tend to open up to you more.

It's worth reading the whole thing.

On another note, they've finally done a great follow-up...



to this, one of my favouritest ads ever



Right, that's it. Sorry for banging on.

I'm off on my holidays.

Zut alors! Mange tout!

Monday morning emotional rollercoaster

We're privileged to work in an industry where you wake up some days and can't wait to get into work. Today was just such a day. That's right, my art director is off.

On top of this, I’m going to France next week, effectively making it a glorious two-week break from him.

I bustled in at 8:30 (it turns out the doors are open at that time) whistling 'Happy days are here again'. However, my chirpy tune came to an abrupt and off-key end as I caught sight of next week’s workflow.

There has been a horrible holiday-booking mix-up. It turns out THE ART DIRECTOR AND I HAVE BOTH TAKEN NEXT WEEK OFF.

That’s right, I could have had the same enjoyable break by staying at my desk. Instead I have thrown away a week's holiday.

And this is only the tip of the horror-iceberg.

The art director has gone to France, THE VERY COUNTRY I’M HEADED FOR. He is in fact only a few miles from me, a realisation that made me do a sick in my mouth.

Mrs RMWLC is dead against cancelling the trip even though the travel company said we could get some of the money back.

This just goes to show that no good ever comes of getting to work before 9.

The Littlest Hobo lives

I invite you all to sit at your keyboard and weep at this story.



Then relive this awesome programme intro and let the trickle of tears turn into a flood until you are a blubbering bawling wreck and have to be led away from your desk.

The day of fun

Last Friday was our annual allocated day of fun here at Partners.

It’s always a big date in the agency calendar. Last year we went to Thorpe Park, so expectations were high. And we weren’t disappointed, as we rolled up at a lake in Milton Keynes.

Bryan ‘Fun’ Grundy, Head of Fun at Partners and erstwhile guest blogger quickly made us at home with bacon sarnies and cups of tea all round.

But even with this aficionado of fun at the helm, it’s only fair to say things got off to a rocky start.

That’s right. Team building exercises.

Every team building exercise I’ve ever come across is carefully designed to make you cry tears of frustration at your colleague’s inability to perform the simplest task like tie a knot or outmanoeuvre a traffic cone, causing you to snap at them childishly. These were no exception.

Our first challenge was The Matrix. Clearly the organisers have picked up a few tricks from the suits when it comes to the old ‘give it an exciting name and they’ll think it’s brilliant’ strategy.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you… The Matrix.


To be fair, I'm not sure this photo does it justice. It's hard for a single shot to convey the drama and excitement of stepping on office carpet tiles that have been laid out on an astro turf pitch while your boss directs you on an imaginary course. The final ignominy was being laughed at by some passing schoolchildren.

But then things brightened up considerably with Blindfolded Giant Jenga, an opportunity to get felt up by colleagues under the pretence of ‘finding my team’. I still haven't managed to identify Mr/Mrs Roving Hands in my team but whoever they were, they certainly spiced up my day.

From here it was brilliant fun all the way.




culminating in a drunken dragon boat race. As you can see, Carole here won at both drinking and racing.


As if that's not enough to call it a successful work excursion, casualties were also down this year, with only one member of the studio walking into a metal pole and cracking his head open.

Although I also sustained a hurty elbow in Dragon Boat racing.


By the way, me and a couple of other lonely people have decided to play Blindfolded Giant Jenga here every Friday lunchtime. If you fancy it, please get in touch.

Newport

*Wipes away tear of pure joy*

Thanks to Dickie the planner.

Changing behaviour, one wizz at a time

Someone recently stuck this up as a case study.

It’s the dispiriting tale of how a company dramatically reduced the number of cases of men weeing on the floor by painting a fly onto the urinals.

While I respect their achievement, I can’t help feeling humanity is poorer for this story.

It's depressing on many levels. Not least that men can’t manage to hit what is, after all, a pretty big target without a carefully reproduced insect to focus on.

Also, I feel sorry for the poor bloke who had to paint them all on.

But worst of all, that faintest of nagging memories that I too, guided by some primal fly-dousing instinct, have aimed carefully at that fly. I seem to recall vaguely wondering why it was there and why I couldn’t stop aiming at it.

I wonder how far they went in testing the efficacy of a fly above all the other options? For example, did they experiment with other insects, a wasp or bee perhaps? Or even an invertebrate? I for one would welcome the opportunity to wee on a millipede.

And of course there's no reason to restrict ourselves to small creatures. Why not stick a picture of ITV's World Cup pundits in there? Or the entire cast of Hollyoaks? The mind boggles at the glorious weeing possibilities.

Just one of the ways in which I'm like SuperTed

A few weeks ago, our Head of Copy was taking his usual holidays, sitting in a dark room reading Dostoyevsky.

As luck would have it, my art director was also off so I went and sat in the Head of Copy's BIG SPECIAL CHAIR next to the Head of Art.

It's hard to describe the feeling as my butt nestled into that hallowed leather throne. But let's just say that I now know how Bilbo Baggins felt after he'd worn the ring of power.

I've had a taste and I want more. I just can't get the thought out of my head. The way account girls spoke to me with a straight face. The nod of vague acknowledgement from my creative peers. A heady mix indeed.

Not that it was all Champagne lunches and celebrity status. If there's one thing Spiderman taught us, it's that with great power comes great responsibility.

For example, when an account person asks the Head of Copy which side of the 's' the apostrophe goes, they expect you to KNOW. That kind of pressure is terrifying and takes some getting used to I can tell you.

But I like to think I bluffed my way through it with aplomb.

So it's pretty hard to take that I find myself back at my wobbly desk in the cellar, stripped of my position and cast aside like a piece of rubbish.

A lot like SuperTed before he got his special powers.



Sometimes it's only SuperTed's example that keeps me going.

I yearn for the day my own Spotty man will arrive from outer space to sprinkle me with cosmic dust and transform me into the heroic Head of Copy I know I'm destined to be.

When will you come, Spotty?

Bryan’s left but that doesn’t mean you have to

Regular readers will be as surprised as me to find my blog has become both funny and popular in the last week. Less surprising is the fact that this happened in my absence.

Bryan ‘Grunders’ Grundy, our man from finance, took my place while I had a week off to recover from the strains of writing the fourteenth most popular UK-centric long-copy-based blog written by a hirsute man in a wrestling outfit.

I’ve got Bryan to crunch some numbers on last week’s stats. The results made for some sobering reading.

It turns out he is 29% more popular than me. And 307% funnier.

Whatever. I’m back at the helm now to steer this blog back into the impenetrable fog of my inane and humourless babble.

Here are some things I can tell you right now:

• While I was away the guy who replaced me lowered my chair and also lowered the left armrest. But not the right. Curious.
• Today I’ve been asked to edit a pub menu. This is not a joke. Has anyone been asked to do a more humbling writing job than this? If so please let me know in the comments.
  
• On my holiday (near Bath) I went to a country park and saw some llamas. I hate llamas because touching one as a child triggered an allergy to ALL animal hair. Again this is not a joke. Has anyone else experienced or heard of this phenomenon (your experience might not be with a llama but another animal)?
• I think that is all.

It’s amazing, I can almost hear the new readers leaving with each word I type.

Ah well. Only 8 weeks to go til Grunders takes over again.

The Supreme miss

realmenwritelongcopy - out. Grunders - in.

I realise RMWLC is not a football blog but as the World Cup has yet to fully start motoring, let's re-visit the best moment from the 1994 finals in the US of A instead.

In fact, this is possibly the best moment of any World Cup finals.

Clean sweep

realmenwritelongcopy isn't here. Grunders is.

Wow, what an suspense filled 24 hours that must have been for you all. Will RMWLC ever have me back after this dumbing down 'take a break' style quiz ? Did any of you get it right ?? (Yes actually - Rob, Jane, & Louise). Did the rest of you care ??

Yes RMWLC fans, I saw the legend of the high pitched squeak yesterday - Sweep.

Lord only knows how he manages to carry his Oyster card round with him, negotiates 'the gap' and gets round the whole 'dogs must be carried on the escalators' rule.

Watch, he's kind of like some kind of one man dog puppet vuvuzela band :-

RMWLC becomes Heat Magazine

realmenwritelongcopy is still away somewhere. Grunders is here instead.

I've noticed before that one of the ways that RMWLC has got his weekly Campaign mentions has been to blog about scintillating subjects such as his journey to work (or something).

I intend to follow this tradition, and blow it to pieces with my star celeb spot on my District Line train this morning. Baron's Court has never seen anything like this before.

Being a fan, I was naturally too nervous to approach them but did get a sly shot on my iPhone of them minding their own business. Can you work out who this TV legend is ??

Study the photo and see if you can work it out. If there a significant level of interest (ie at least one visit to this blog on the stats), I'll reveal tomorrow.

Please make it stop

Realmenwritelongcopy is still away on his hols

I love football.

I love the World Cup.

I love the fact I have 2 computer screens and the games are broadcast online.

But here are the 5 things I currently hate about the World Cup :-

1. Vuvuzela's

2. Vuvuzela's

3. Vuvuzela's

4. ITV HD making me miss the Steven Gerrard goal on Saturday

5. Vuvuzela's

Grunders is back

Realmenwritelongcopy is on annual leave again. Grunders is back

Despite the fact the World Cup is on, I have a backdated list of DIY jobs at home and a 7 month pregnant girlfriend to tend to, nothing could stop me guest blogging for RMWLC for a week.

I realise since my guest blogs last year RMWLC has been having almost weekly mentions in Campaign. My aim this week is to make sure this never happens again. Stay tuned.

Blogging for The Man

The word going around the staff kitchen is that head office has been tracking my progress with interest.

They sense I’m destined for big things. They've spotted my potential.

How do I know this? In short, they asked me to write a post for the company blog.

As you can imagine, I jumped at the chance – an opportunity to put my skills to use in order to promote the company was just too good to pass up. Also they made it very clear I had no choice.

You can read the post here.

Obviously they were delighted with what I wrote. Phrases like ‘destined for senior management’ and ‘rising star’ have been banded around freely in recent days. Which makes such a nice change from the usual murmurings of ‘offensive body odour’ and ‘gross incompetence’.

I’m just trying to keep my feet on the ground and remember the principles that have served me so well up until now: hard work, diligence and brazen brown nosing.

How real men spend their bank holiday

• Rise early thanks to early morning wake up call from the Mystery Singer (see previous post).
• Head to DIY store to buy screws and thingey that stops Baby RMWLC opening cupboard doors and pulling all manner of deadly kitchen implements on her head.
• As I walk in, try to ignore burly staff member rolling his eyes at my chinos and hush puppies.
• Feign a ‘working class’ accent and ask for wood screws. Going on instinct, decide not to ask why wood screws are not made out of wood.
• Scurry out of DIY shop clinging to last shreds of masculinity.
• Begin work with an indefatigable spirit of optimism.
• Read fitting instructions for thingey. It requires FOUR screws. Feel spirit of optimism draining away.
• Drill four holes.
• Drill four more holes.
• Drill more holes.
• Working on the principle that if infinite monkeys sat in front of infinite typewriters one of them would write the complete works of Shakespeare, continue randomly drilling holes in the hope that eventually four will be in the right place.
• Mrs RMWLC marches in to ‘see how things are coming along’. Cower while she rains down all manner of deadly kitchen implements on head before storming out.
• Return to task with renewed sense of purpose.
• After two hours, become hysterical and start dressing the tools up like dolls and giving them names.
• Mrs RMWLC calls Bob from around the corner. Bob comes round and completes the task in around 4 seconds.
• Note Mrs RMWLC gazing wistfully at Bob.
• Long for the bank holiday to end so I can return to being a monkey at a typewriter.

Do you know this man?

Fans of David Attenborough films will be aware of the interminable patience of his cameramen. They spend weeks, even months, lying in wait for that one moment of magic.

Well I've waited two years to capture this.

And at 4:30 this morning, my patience finally paid off.



Many times in the last couple of years I’ve had the genuine pleasure of being woken by this man singing and dancing opposite our home.

At first, we assumed it was someone on their way back from the pub. But it’s too late/early for that. And anyway, look at those moves. Here’s a man in total control of his body.

I can’t tell you how hard he was to capture. Countless times, he’s stopped performing just as I got there with the camera. Or it was too dark to show up. Once he even spotted the camera flash and scampered away.

Even now I have to say I’m a little disappointed I didn't get any of his singing. That’s where his real strength lies.

When I do you can be assured I'll post it.

In the meantime, can anyone identify this man? Perhaps he’s performed outside your home? Or at your wedding or Bar Mitzvah?

Any information leading to a positive ID will be richly rewarded.


I’m disappointed with my camera work on this one. I had too much zoom on it
and was trying to hold the camera with one hand so I could stay out of sight. Sorry.

A case of The Mondays

You'll never believe this but someone ACTUALLY just asked me if I had a case of The Mondays.

Now you too can smell like a real man

A while ago I posted this brilliant ad.



Little did I know then that a major high street retailer would soon produce a new line of fragrances based on a character even more manly and desirable.

That’s right, ME!

Behold, Next’s new line of man scent, which goes by the snappy moniker of Performance. (For the slow/art directors among you, my surname is Mance, see?)


Here’s what it says on the label:

Performance cologne is masculine to the core, combining the refined sensuality of bergamot, jasmine, and starfruit with the powerful virility of cedarwood, men’s changing rooms, cobra venom, mace, the SAS storming the Iranian Embassy and sheer musk. Performance is a potent blend that draws you in and envelops you, like a ninja on a dark night.
CAUTION: use sparingly.

Douse yourselves in the stuff immediately.

Monday morning mildly amusing movie moment

Going old school this week

My foolproof guide to deciding who you should vote for

Here are some things you should do before you vote:

• Read the manifestos.
• Read what a variety of papers have to say on the different parties’ policies.
• Read about the situation in your constituency and who’s standing this time.
• Watch a debate or two.

But to be honest that’s a bit of a hassle.

So instead just use my simple guide, which helpfully shows you who to vote for according to agency role.

Suits. What you want to see is change. Changes to copy. Changes to artwork. It doesn’t really matter whether those changes actually makes things better or not. Change in and of itself is good.
Your vote: Conservative.

Planners. I know I know, after doing all that research and listening to all those focus groups, it does seem rather unfair to have to limit the proposition to a single thought. Far better to ram 3 opposing ideas in there.
Your vote: tick all the boxes and assume it'll sort itself out somewhere down the line.

Board members. Given Labour's plans to tax earnings over £150,000 at 50%, I'm guessing there’s going to be a lot of “Hmmm… that David Cameron’s got some interesting ideas” and “I’ve always been a fan of Big Society”.
Your vote: Conservative.

Art directors. I once had a neighbour called Jimmy (this is a bit of an aside but stay with me here folks). Jimmy was a lovable benefit-cheating ex-con who lived upstairs. I once had the pleasure of appearing as witness in a case of racial harassment against him.

What’s brilliant is, Jimmy was cleared of all charges on the grounds he couldn't be racist because he hated everyone.

Which is kind of like you guys. Shouting at suits. Shouting at planners. Shouting at your longsuffering writers. So because you guys have so much hate, I've decided the BNP is your ideal party of choice.

Of course it’s a little unfair to compare you to the BNP. They do after all have the decency to discriminate between those they hate and those they don’t. But it's what Jimmy would do.
Your vote: BNP.

Copywriters. Sadly, there’s not a party in the world lefty enough for writers who are, to a man, a sorry collection of lilly-livered bleeding heart liberals.
Your vote: Lib Dem (admittedly they're not that liberal, but they are the anti-Tories and also Clegg has that weedy nerdy writer look about him).

So, according to my calculations, if everyone follows my recommendation we'll end up with either a Tory majority or a hung parliament with an uncomfortable Tory-Lib Dem alliance.

It's exciting to think that this blog is now so influential it can determine the outcome of a general election!