TSI: Brixton

[Forgive me readers, for what follows. If you are easily sickened, I suggest you look away now and come back when something else has replaced this. This is the Tombola equivalent of 'Hollyoaks: In the City' - the embarrassing version that only brings shame on those involved.]

As regular readers (there's a couple, honest. Although there might not be after this entry) will know, Ak's blog tends to deal with the weighty issues while I am often content to focus on the crap. Quite literally in this case.

I've deliberated about this for some time and there is no way of skirting around the issue. I'll be blunt: for at least a fortnight there has been a cack of quite monstrous proportions not far from my house and on my route to work. I am appalled and yet thrilled by it on a daily basis. Seriously, it's HUGE. Both in length and girth. Especially girth. If ever a scat was deserving of the euphemism 'a dead otter', then this is it.

I live in fear of ever encountering the beast that laid this cable. Mind you, I wouldn't be surprised if it died of severe trauma and exhaustion shortly after.

If that's what it leaves behind, what the hell does it eat? I've seen smaller dogs. Barry White's Boxing Day dump wouldn't come close.

The title refers to 'Turd Scene Investigation: Brixton'. Don't bet against that appearing on a cable channel soon. The use of the scaling device should in no way reflect upon the quality of that product. To help you fully grasp the gargantuan magnitude of it: that piece of card is just over 21cm long and approximately 4cm wide. That must be like giving birth. To a mudbaby.

Tuesday November 28, 2006

On Tuesday October 17th, 2006, the National Trust encouraged people to record a diary of their day, making it "Britain's biggest blog". Simply for the fact that I didn't know about it, I didn't join in. I could have submitted an entry after the event but, true to form, I never got around to it. As it happened, I put an entry on here about Tuesday October 17th. That was the day I mingled with* lots of celebrities at the opening night of Spamalot.

So here are some things that caught my eye on Tuesday November 28th, instead:

0815 - 0900
Head to Camberwell for a meeting. Have the excitement of taking a new bus route. It's p*ssing down and the directions I printed are in serious danger of disintegrating. As the bus crawls through Denmark Hill I look out of the window and through a gap in the buildings. In spite of the low cloud and pouring rain I can see St. Paul's. At this point I realise that one of the things I enjoy most about living down here is the unexpected glimpses of landmarks. As I walk towards my meeting another example occurs: I turn a corner and this time Canary Wharf looms out of the mist.

0945-1030
Meeting over, I need to get a bus to London Bridge. On the way my attention is grabbed by two sights:


1. This shop. Now I know where to go to meet my bubble wrap needs. I felt a bit naughty when the guy appeared and saw me taking the picture. I hurriedly fled the scene and started trying to think of what I would say if he chased me and demanded to know what I was up to. It also appears that I have found out what Blinkhorn is doing in his retirement.




2. This shop. I just stood and stared at this for ages. Brilliant! Unless you can find some way of making the picture bigger, you'll have to take my word for it that on display are a sign saying 'BEWARE Caterpillars' and what appears to be the Wimbledon Ladies Trophy. Being too young for Steptoe & Son, I imagine that all of London once looked like this.




Another snatched glimpse of a London landmark from the upper deck of the bus: this time the London Eye.

1030
Turn on computer. Am saddened to learn the news that Alan 'Fluff' Freeman has died. Office colleagues don't know who he is so I do a 'Not 'arf!' impression. They still don't know who he is.

1215
This isn't the place to go into the reasons, but I need to find an example of a cover from a magazine. My initial google image search doesn't get me what I want. But it does help with something else. Do you ever forget how to measure vertical curves? I know I do. Well, here's the solution.

The rest of the day
Erm, nothing else of note. Had a very amusing chat with Gaz about a new idea for a blog entry. Continued my battle with the mice (one dead, one released far away, the war goes on). The electro thing was sent back yesterday to get a refund and today I tried using chocolate cookie in the humane trap.


*stared at

Gon-ads

I'm encroaching onto Munch's territory here but I have some advert thoughts and wanted to get them down.

1. Nappy adverts. When did they stop showing baby's asses being stroked? You know, to show that the baby is dry. I saw a nappy ad the other day and just wondered when the plug was pulled on that shot selection. Calm down, I'm no Pete Townsend (will that book be out in time for Christmas?). I just wondered - when did the penny drop that that was actually a bit weird?

2. That Virgin Trains ad. What's his big idea then, eh? The only thoughts I get on a train are "Isn't this supposed to be the quiet carriage?" and "Where is that smell of sick coming from?"
Well, I've taped the advert and run it back frame by frame. I can reveal what is contained within his frenzied scribbles. Something so mind-blowing that it causes a tribe of Red Indians to emerge from the British countryside and attack a train moving at 140mph.

Tombolablog: making myself look a dick for your amusement

In subtle ways, blogging has changed my life. Not drastically - I'm yet to receive a call from a media tycoon who's stumbled across it and wants to pay me for my work - but in little ways that mean I've ended up doing things that I wouldn't normally do. For instance, I often have daft little ideas for things. Previously, I would maybe have just mentioned them to a couple of people, or, more likely, done nothing and quickly forgotten about them. But recently that changed. Now I'm tending to think along the lines of 'That's quite funny. I should do it and see what happens. And then blog it.' As I write this opening salvo, I'm starting to worry a little bit - Tombolablog was created as a reflection of what I get up to...but if it's very being is actually determining what I get up to, then the whole thing is just a charade....

Oh man...this wasn't what I was intending to write at all. Back to the start. Some weeks back I was in Regents Park with C-P30. We went to Pizza Express for tea before she got on the train back north. I can't remember the exact thought process involved but I started to think that Pizza Express were missing a trick by not building an advertising campaign around the song 'National Express' by the Divine Comedy. As I said, usually ideas like that pop into my head and then die a natural death. But the existence of Tombolablog is now acting as a kind of life-support machine for my stupid whims. I thought up some highly intelligent lyrics. I composed a letter. I looked up the address for Pizza Express HQ. I then wondered that maybe the Pizza Express HQ folk might not know the song so I went and put it on a CD ESPECIALLY FOR THEM:

And I put it in an envelope, accompanied by the following letter:



MY ADDRESS*

London

22nd September, 2006


Dear Sir/Madam,

I am a regular diner at Pizza Express restaurants and while in one of your London branches recently I had an idea for an advertising campaign. I know this might seem like an unusual letter, but instead of just forgetting about it I thought I would drop you a line in case it might be of interest.

Basically, the advert centres on the use of the song ‘National Express’ by ‘The Divine Comedy’. The song is about different kinds of people who ride on the National Express and with a bit of thought the lyrics can easily be changed to suit a possible advert. Obviously it helps if you are familiar with the song, so I have enclosed a CD so that you can hear it. The song reached no.8 in the UK charts in February, 1999.

After a few minutes of playing around with the lyrics I had come up with this example:

“From the businessman,
with pepperoni and ham,
and a glass of wine.

To the newlyweds,
sharing garlic bread
at suppertime.

We’re going where the pizza’s great

Pizza Express, Pizza Express, Pizza Express [fade]

The song is very catchy and I have no doubt that a campaign on TV and radio would make an impact. I’m sure that different versions could be done along the same theme, using different people/menu items. I don’t recall ever seeing or hearing an advert for Pizza Express and believe that this could work. The potential stumbling block would of course be obtaining the permission of The Divine Comedy/Neil Hannon who wrote the song.

I hope that this letter is of interest, and at the very least has provided an entertaining distraction. I’d love to hear what you make of the idea.

With best wishes,
Yours faithfully,



MY NAME**

_____

Stop laughing. It's a great idea and those lyrics fit really well!

Have I had a response? Have I buggery. Miserable sods didn't even have the courtesy to reply. After I made them a CD as well! I thought at the very least they could have said 'thanks. and don't ever contact us again'. If it wasn't rancid I would seriously consider going to Pizza Hut for my flat, open-faced baked pie*** sustenance instead. Despite being shunned, I reckon I might try this sort of thing again. Or not, depending on the ridicule I get following this admission.

* Of course I didn't write 'My address'. That would be stupid. I've deliberately censored the letter so I don't get internet weirdos coming after me. Like that nutjob who's just been done for coming at someone with a pickaxe after a row in a chatroom.

** See point *, above.

*** Have you ever thought of a pizza as an open-faced baked pie? I certainly hadn't. But that's what it is.

Deja voodoo

In amongst the handful of takeaway menus to fall through our letterbox last week - we seem to get more here than when I lived in the most studenty areas of Leeds - was this card:

Where to begin eh? I like the increasingly histrionic use of capitals but my favourite part has to be the penultimate sentence. It sounds like something from a Bond film:

[Bond strapped to a table, in a dark, grimy cell. Head Villain strolls around the room, brandishing a pair of pliers and a blowtorch.]

Bond: "Your plan will never succeed, Mr Suwareh!"

Mr Suwareh: "Your pain is my responsibility 007....you will not be disappointed [evil cackle]"

Having said that, if he really can solve my problems in a few days then he could be worth a call. Wonder if the power of Kahteem has much to say about academic careers?

EDIT:

Have just looked on google to try and learn about the power of Kahteem. The only link to come up was this: http://www-us.flickr.com/photos/schnappi/37861589/in/set-138866/. Mr Suwareh evidently has an accomplice!