Advertising Account Planners - Organised or Scatty?

I’ve just been reading the UK Account Planning Group’s 2007 definition of an account planner and was struck by Merry Baskin’s section on what Planners “don’t do (well)”

She listed a few things that they don’t do – for example go to client meetings on their own (they’ll get lost), write their contact report (their minds wander) – that no doubt were written with a splash of humour and self-irony, but which do indeed strengthen the image of a planner as a scatter-brained genius.

Someone you can roll out of a dark room occasionally to say something clever to a client. A quote from Nietzsche. Or Baudrillard.

And I wondered how much I actually agreed with this image - so cast my mind over the planners in I know.

Couple of things came quickly to me:

Firstly – I don’t agree with this image. I think it’s a bit dated. Most of the planners I know are very bright, have organised minds, and are certainly capable of tying up their shoe-laces. Literal as well as lateral.

Secondly, I think that it’s potentially dangerous to perpetuate this kind of stereotypical pen-portrait if the future of planning in agencies is to continue to thrive.

Agencies are constantly challenged to be more efficient – deliver on targets, work faster with fewer people. Be switchted on to economic realities. Shoe lace tying is the least one can do.
Planning types that seem to flourish will be those that really can prove their worth – data planners are an example. They are comfortable with large scale segmentation exercises, customer profiling and CRM programmes – the opposite of scatty.

What do you think, planners of the world wide web? Do tell, as Nancy Mitford might have said.

Cars, Culture and Public Transport

I have been using public transport ever since I passed my driving test a good few moons ago. Cars have never fascinated me, full stop. I felt that I somehow ought to be able to drive – just in case, you know, someone else at the wheel was suddenly incapacitated……..quite.

Which makes me a very odd person, it seems. Most people look at me as if I am totally barmy if I say I don’t drive, and don’t wish to – am I an eco-warrior, they wonder? Hmm….he doesn’t look like one. And who on earth would want to rely on public transport?

Cut to the chase – not driving has its disadvantages. According to Wikipedia, there’s a whole cultural car-driven cornucopia out there focussing on the benefits of getting behind the wheel and driving away – liberation from social control, an expression of masculine power, potential sexual adventure (according to Wikipedia, in any case), travel….the list of brilliant things you can associate with mobile metal is a long one. James Dean coolly peering out of his gleaming roadmobile says it all….well, let’s not dwell on the car-crash.

All of which I can live with, frankly. What is more jarring is the public perception, which no-one less than Margaret Thatcher seemed to front up back in the 1980s, of being a lesser social being: “A man who, beyond the age of 26, finds himself on a bus can count himself as a failure”.

Well, thanks for that. I use buses all the time. And yes, there is something in what she says, I confess – you don’t find a good social balance of people using the buses. But why, for heaven’s sake? Why should public transport services be regarded as the terrain of the underprivileged? What about the superior carbon footprint?

Trying to persuade anyone to give up their car is, in my experience, a total waste of time.

But would it be too much to ask for better public transport, that folks from all walks of life might wish to use as a stress-free, cheap and eco-ok alternative? Now, where did I put my eco-balaclaver….?

Diane Arbus - Sunday Afternoon in Edinburgh

Just come back from having a quick peek at the Diane Arbus exhibition at the Dean Gallery in Edinburgh on what has turned out to be a grey, blustery March afternoon.

Other than knowing she was a famous photographer, and having seen a few of her pictures on Wikipedia, my knowledge of the great lady’s work was (and is) limited. Plus, I don’t much like going to galleries – institutionalised art, people standing around, you getting in their way, they in yours, people with headphones on looking distracted, a slightly stuffy atmosphere… a sense of curated jewels of the past.

But the Dean Gallery is a bit of a cracker. Beautifully appointed, wonderful shades of blue paint in the reception area, a great sense of a stately home…and all open to the great unwashed - including my good self, in a metaphorical sense of course.

And the exhibition – quite surprising. It’s free for a start – and why, I wonder? Loads of pictures on show, each one superbly commented on, must have cost someone a fortune to put together so well. Taxpayers of the world rejoice, I suppose….Contrast this with the Seurat exhibition at the Frankfurt Schirn we saw recently, which was poor in comparison and charged around 8 Euros to get in. Hm.

Well, if you’re into Arbus’ kinda stuff – black and white square shots of all sorts of oddities and misfits - dwarfs, people in mental asylums, giants, people with masks on, people tattooed all over – then get yourself to the Dean.

I decided that I’m not. Mankind can only take so much reality as Mr. Eliot said….. And seeing a couple on the way out – her with 1960s beehive, him with tattooes covering his whole neck. – I decided to scuttle away, away from the clicking of a camera lens at society’s edges, an eye into closed world, and back to the safer scenery of my own virtual world.

Rugby Passion - but not for the English?

I was in the pub yesterday watching England play Ireland and not for the first time was struck by how cheerful, joyful even the Irish supporters were, and how quiet the English fans seemed in comparison.

And then I wondered – are they (we) quiet for a reason? Inhibited, perhaps? Even intimidated – psychologically at the very least?

I remember being in a pub in Düsseldorf during the World Cup when England were playing Wales, and looking at the unmistakeable wrist gestures from the Welsh fans when the English national anthem played, or when “Swing Low” was chanted. Was there a pub brawl? Of course not. But maybe there should have been.

What’s at the bottom of it? Do the Scots, Irish and Welsh really hate the English? And if so, why?

Maybe it’s got something to do with the turgid rugby the English have been churning out for the past – er – 6 years. Or the fact that Swing Low really is a terrible song, something to be embarrassed about. And God Save Our Gracious Queen doesn’t quite stir the blood or get the pulse racing.

My own impression it that we English are not really hated at least when it comes down to rugby, but we are buttoned-up in a way out Celtic neighbours are not. And our rugby isn’t the most entertaining. And the post-match interviews from England management and players are so up-tight and “on-message” as to be scary. So maybe time to chill-out, lighten up a bit. We don’t have to use fake tan but…..Martin Johnson, hope you are reading this. And good luck Mr.Cipriani.

What has happened to Hugh Grant?

I've just come back from watching Hugh Grant's latest film - "Have You Seen the Morgans". Hmmm.

It seemed like a harmless idea, go watch a rom-com lasting an acceptable hour and forty minutes. Plus I had been to see "Up In The Air" with George Clooney the day before, rather enjoyed it (despite Mr. Clooney's clear infatuation with himself) and so was suitably in the mood for another film. Bring it on. And besides: what better way to spend a Sunday afternoon in January, having the odd giggle, bit of popcorn.....?

Or - as Hugh Grant might say - so I thought.

It really is a shockingly bad film. I am not a fan of Sarah Jessica Parker, and I don't really understand her appeal. A beauty she ain't, and that's putting it mildly  - not to speak of her less than stellar acting abilities.  But Hugh Grant - really, really awful. Was I surprised? Well, no, and that's the truly shocking thing.

I confess to being a sucker for any film that Hugh Grant appears in, despite knowing that he has, over the years, done many truly, embarrassingly awful films. But Four Weddings and a Funeral, with its pre-PC wit, its whiff of the 1980s (a much maligned decade in my view) sits deep in my film consciousness, as do a few other great Hugh Grant moments and films. The pull is there, I buy the ticket and hope for the best.

Well, the film was terrible. Flat comic lines, poorly acted, dreadfully implausible plot.

And Grant himself: please... He really shouldn't subjet us to his inability to act in this very direct, no-holes barred manner. It's against the rules of polite film-watching - I mean, it's clear that he was never ever a really good actor, but he had his moments, his turns, albeit a limited repertoire. But to openly and at great length force even his fans to admit that he is so, so poor is, as I say, in bad taste. Leave us with our memories. Don't assist in dismantling your iconic status.

Will I go and see the next film Hugh Grant makes? Depressingly, the answer is yes. The pull of fond memories and the hope that the next one could just give us a touch of genius again....too great to resist.

Do you ever get hooked on someone, a film star, a musician, a writer, who wrote or sung or said something that so inspired you once, that you always go back to them, despite more than clear indications of waning talent? Woody Allen, maybe? Morrissey? Do tell.

Quality Cues

Deeply puzzled by quality cues on food packaging in the UK. Not to say disturbed.

It would seem that "Made in Britian" accompanied by a little Union Jack flag is a very popular way of flagging quality (excuse the pun). The word "proud" often appears as well - as in "produced with pride".

I can understand that all the buzz about carbon footprint has embedded itself into the UK popular consicousness, if that is what you can call it, over the past few years.

I still find the presence of the Union Jack baffling. Firstly, it implies that everything from "the Continent" (that strange place also referred to as Europe) can't be as good. Hm. Patently not the case as anyone who has been to a German or French market (no, they don't call them farmers markets there) can testify.

Secondly, it smacks worringly of a nasty form of xenophobia - limited in outlook, suspicious of anything new, provincial. Especially when combined with the word "proud".

Nationalism plus a "back to the soil" movement - wasn't that exactly the groundswell that fed extremism in the 1930s?

As an additional aside - I thought the Union Jack had been replaced in terms of popuarity by the Welsh flag, the Saltire, to reflect regional identities.....

What's your view on the Union Jack/ buy British revival on food packaging? Does it make you believe in the quality more? Do tell, as Nancy Mitford might have said.