The plot thickens

The ribbon headlines on yesterday’s TV news were intriguing. First, they said that rebels had entered Gaddafi’s compound, but there was no sign of Gaddafi. Later, they said that Gaddafi’s golf buggy had been found in his compound.

I’m not sure how much the story is advanced by the second piece of news. I suppose we can conclude that he isn’t at one of Libya’s many golf courses – which narrows the search. All the rebels need to know now is: which of Gaddafi’s recreational vehicles isn’t there? Then they can just comb the area for his toboggan or his skateboard.

Unless of course it’s a double-bluff. He could be roaming a Tripoli golf course in a borrowed (or stolen) buggy. Have they found his membership card?

The Stupid Advertisement Awards

The other day I went past Jekyll & Hyde, a local gin palace. (There’s a nostalgic term, redolent of a Hogarth print.) And I was pleased to note that a certain advert has been taken down from their window. It was one of the two stupidest and most irresponsible adverts I have ever seen.

Of course, killjoys and Communists have asked questions about the whole advertising industry, and the culture which feeds it. But the drive to economic growth demands that we make more, or at least consume more: so advertising serves a purpose by encouraging us to treat as essential many things we never knew we needed. And this must surely be a good thing. How long we can go on like this before we run out of oil, trees and fish is not a question we should ask. The clever scientists will sort it: and meanwhile our duty is to consume – for GDP’s sake.

Again, some individual adverts may look a bit silly. The idea that we would buy a product because it is endorsed by footballers or (going back a while) Martians or chimpanzees seems far-fetched. And yet ... Someone I knew insisted he’d overheard this conversation in a supermarket:

-          What was the name of the tea those monkeys were advertising on television?

-          I think it was PG Tips.

-          Well, I think we ought to buy some. They spoke very highly of it.

No: the stupidity of the adverts I have in mind is of a different magnitude.

In second place (cue X-Factor pause) is a series of TV ads run by Toyota. I haven’t seen one just lately, so maybe they’ve given up on the campaign. In each advert, someone offends a Toyota owner in some way. (Perhaps they brush the car with muddy trousers as they walk past.) And in each case, the car owner takes elaborate and often dangerous revenge. (E.g. removing the ladder from below someone working on a house roof.)

I will not dignify the adverts by trying to draw out a serious and coherent message about the product. Nor will I indulge the creators by joining them in saying: “Just havin’ a larf, innit?” (which is probably what the kids are saying who are being jailed for arson after the recent riots in London and elsewhere). Vengeance is a singularly nasty trait in a motorist, and any advert glorifying it should be quickly banned.

But the winner is …

The advert in the gin palace was based on publicity for Jim’ll Fix It. For those under a certain age or outside the UK, this was a TV programme in which viewers wrote to presenter Jimmy Savile as if to Santa Claus, saying: “I want to be sent in the post to my girlfriend” or “I want to do an army assault course” and the BBC fixed it for them. Programme publicity featured Savile, smiling and waving a cigar.

The advert kept the picture of Savile, but cleverly changed the slogan to Gin’ll fix it.

Of course no-one suggests gin will help you to do an army assault course (although I dare say scientific testing has not been done). But you can imagine the problems gin is asked to fix. “I have a boring job.” Gin’ll fix it. “I fought with my wife/husband again.” Gin’ll fix it. “The bailiffs are coming in the morning.” Gin’ll fix it.

No, it won’t, and I’m very glad to see the advert has disappeared from the gin palace window. Mind you, they might want to change the name of the gin palace. We’ve all met people who rely on gin (or similar) to “fix it”, and Jekyll & Hyde more or less sums them up.

Sniggering Philistines

Once when I'd just started judo classes, the tutor divided us into teams and paired us randomly. My opponent was twice my size and wore a green belt at somewhere near my eye level. There were embarrassed titters on his side of the hall as we took our positions, such as were probably heard in the Philistine lines as Goliath approached David.  

Of course with judo, the fact that your opponent weighs 100 kilos doesn’t have to be a problem. In fact, it can be his problem. Green Belt didn’t seem to know this, and closed in on me with confidence.

The bout lasted about three seconds. I landed on my head.  As someone (Runyon? Thurber?) once said: “The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that's the way to bet.”

Fast forward to this summer, and Britain v Luxembourg in the Davis Cup. Laurent Bram can’t have enjoyed being triple-bagelled: and conversely it’s tiring for British fans to see our team as a whole in such straits. But I found myself identifying with Green Belt’s friends. What embarrassed was the ease of Murray’s victory.

Or again, the second Test against India. I travelled through rain on the Monday and checked the score in the evening – wondering whether England had declared and how far Tendulkar & co had got towards a (hopefully) distant target. To find that the match was over with a day to spare was somehow disappointing.

I suspect it may be an English thing, to be uncomfortable with total dominance. Well: with total English dominance. We love Pele’s Brazil: we grudgingly admire Manchester United (who admittedly aren’t that English, but they fly an English flag).

We seem to warm to heroes who prevail after disappointment (Kelly Holmes), against the odds (Dennis Taylor – again, and like Andy Murray, not actually English), or at least at evident cost (Steve Redgrave). Best of all we love heroes who totally don’t prevail (Tim Henman, Eddie the Eagle). I mean, name a polar explorer.

As I write, England are starting the third Test as they finished the second. By the end of the summer maybe we’ll learn to relax and enjoy it – convinced as we are that it isn’t normality. The Three Musketeers’ watchword was: “All for one, and one for all.” Ours seems to be: “Just for once, and not for long.” And on that basis, we can enjoy the good times when they come.

By contrast, I somehow imagine after all that the Philistines weren't sniggering in English embarrassment:  but laughing out loud and taunting, like Australians. Much good it did them.