WASHED AND READY TO EAT

Beware the puff that goes with the pastry

2012-01-07T14:14:00.000-08:00

Pie in the sky: blarney on the packet had me fooled

What could be tastier than a traditional Irish pie? To be sure, it's a treat that has been celebrated over countless generations from Adare to Youghal. So when I saw in Sainsbury's that it had been revived by a brand called 'Six Hungry Sons', I naturally licked my lips. Pieces of chicken in a rich gravy with a shortcrust pastry base and a puff pastry lid and no punctuation.

This is nothing less than Michael's Chicken and Gravy Pie. I'm not sure who exactly Michael is, but I wonder if I'm looking at his picture in the aged sepia vignettes which have been lovingly dropped into the packaging? This is clearly a pie from the old school.

As an enchanting story begins to unfold, I get the sense that Michael might not actually be one of the little lads pictured. He sounds more like a roving gastronomical expert, travelling to the corners of the earth to uncover age-old recipes and revive them for countless others to enjoy. (Mainly people in the suburbs of London like me, who will gladly pay that little bit extra for olde worlde packaging and a slice of culinary life from the old country.)

The tale is a heart-warming one. An Irish lady called Kathleen sets a fine table and as the author puts down his fork and spoon after a satisfying supper, he can't help but ask the secret of her pie-making prowess. We learn that it's been passed down three generations over the course of more than a century. Which is just as well, as Kathleen has - wait for it - six hungry sons to feed.

As a sentimental tear rolls down my cheek, it falls just below the main body copy, where a disclaimer is printed in smaller type.

Made in the UK using Thai Chicken. By W A Turner of Tunbridge Wells.

Michael, my world is falling in around me. There I am thinking your man is selling me an old-school pie and it turns out to be more of an old-school Thai.

Meanwhile, in a supermarket on the outskirts of Limerick, there's probably someone picking up a green curry made to a traditional recipe passed on by a lady called Pen-Chan.

Copywriters, eh? My mum always warned me about them.

Bob before Blockbusters

2012-01-06T16:30:00.001-08:00

It's not surprising that social media chatter about the death of TV and radio veteran Bob Holness has focused on the popularity of children's quiz show Blockbusters. But as the much-loved host positions himself on the hotspot for perhaps the ultimate in gold runs, it's worth remembering that he had a career before he started playing alphabetti spaghetti.

For me, Bob is forever associated with my childhood growing up in London. As a precocious ten or eleven-year-old, I was addicted to the major commercial radio stations, Capital and LBC. My sex education came from Anna Raeburn and the Capital Doctor on 194 metres medium wave and was supplemented by Philip Hodson on LBC, who hosted a show on 'sexual, marital and emotional problems'. Politics was debated on air during endless phone-in shows, the most famous of which was hosted by the irascible Australian Brian Hayes. The guy was a legend back in the late 70s and took absolutely no prisoners. Unlike current shock jocks who like to wind people up and enter into ding-dong shouting matches, Hayes would just cut callers dead in mid sentence and move to the next line. You called 01 353 8111 at your peril.

Bob Holness started out as an eye-in-the-sky traffic reporter, but soon ended up hosting the AM show with Douglas Cameron, a veteran of BBC Radio 4. They were a great double act and created the kind of show that you just struggle to find anywhere now. Something which gave you serious news, but with a real sense of pace and a complete lack of pretention. There is actually a halfway house between Radio 4 and Radio 5 Live.

Perhaps more than anything, I remember the jingles and commercials.

'On 261 metres medium wave and 97.3 VHF in stereo, this is LBC. Where news comes first.' News, in fact, didn't come first. Because before the news at the top of the hour, there was always the 'early morning call' from Harrods. Other memorable advertisers included the futuristic sounding double-glazing company, Interseal 2000, and Goldrange, who sold clothes from 'the big red building in Petticoat Lane'.

God knows how many radio commercials I heard during my childhood, but I remember getting a job in an ad agency in 1994 and being told in my first week that I had to go to a studio and help produce a radio ad for the retailer Debenhams. I'd never written or produced a radio ad at that point, but I knew EXACTLY what one should sound like. All those years tuned in under the covers had finally paid off.

On Twitter today, a local journalist was making an appeal for anyone in his area who'd been on Blockbusters to get in touch. 'Local man recalls gold run rush,' I joked. 'That's exactly the story I want,' the newshound replied.

Well, there's a story that goes back a little bit further. So if you're interested, here's Bob's partner, Douglas Cameron, recalling their years together on LBC.

I'll have an R and an I and a P please, Bob.

The hard man who's all heart

2012-01-04T05:38:00.000-08:00

Chest joking: British actor Vinnie Jones asks his mates for a dead body to revive

The latest advice for amateur first-aiders is to forget the kiss of life. It's all a bit complicated and too many of us are scared of picking up germs from the unfortunate cardiac victim. As a result, the British Heart Foundation recommends that we should concentrate on chest compressions instead. To promote the message, they've enlisted the help of hard man actor Vinnie Jones, who demonstrates the technique on some geezer he seems to have killed earlier.

It's a funny little commercial, but the thing that intrigues me most is this business of doing the chest compressions to the tune of 'Staying Alive' by the Bee Gees. I'd find it quite hard to get into the right frame of mind quickly enough. I would be starting with that funky guitar riff intro. As you can see from the video below, it's just way too slow to have much effect.

On the other hand, it's probably better than 'Hello' by Lionel Richie. Last time I tried that, the bloke was gone before the paramedics even arrived.

Easy shopping

2011-11-30T08:06:00.001-08:00

Mrs W and I were pondering the fact that kids' clothes in stores are often categorised by age.

Why stop at 14?

Couldn't we have categories such as 21-30 or 55+? It would make shopping so much easier. No more queasy feelings about something being too young or too old for you.

All change please

2011-11-22T15:37:00.000-08:00

Anyone who travels on the London tube will be familiar with the terrible genre of ad that plays around with the familiar underground map. Stations are renamed and embarrassing puns about routes and destinations are linked tenuously back to all manner of brands.

If you've ever wondered how creatives in advertising agencies come up with this crap, there are usually two explanations. The first is that the stuff is done at gunpoint on the instructions of the client. The second is that the copywriters and art directors are at a loss for anything to say about a particular product or service and have been tipped over the edge after their fifth double espresso of the day.

I would therefore formally like to forgive whoever is responsible for the Otrivine nasal spray campaign on the tube right now. But let me make one thing absolutely clear. I am not getting on any train departing from Blocked Nose. Especially when it is being diverted via Little Sneezing, Sniffingham, Stuckin House and Sick-of-Being Hill. And if there's any extension of this campaign, the people responsible for the account will be paying a visit to Much Slapping in the Face.

Are you an extremist?

2011-11-20T01:37:00.001-08:00

An article in The Sunday Times draws my attention to a disturbing phenomenon called 'extreme couponing', which has migrated to the UK from America. According to journalist Kevin Dowling, more and more people are attempting to get bulk purchase discounts by spending up to 40 hours a week researching deals online.

The word sad doesn't really do justice to this. 40 hours a week looking for discounts? Perhaps if the coupon extremists went out to work instead of surfing the web, their groceries and household goods might suddenly seem more affordable?

Believe it or not, one of the interviewees flew out to the States for an extreme couponing training course. Presumably the savings she makes quickly recover the cost of her transatlantic plane travel, workshop fee and accommodation costs. After all, if you come back and bulk buy enough Andrex to last you a year, you'll be quids in.

Think I'm joking? Someone from Greenwich in London claims to have bought 'a year's worth of shaving foam, hair wax and skin lotion', along with cereal, cleaning products and so on. Let's hope the warehouse facilities come cheap, eh?

Perhaps I'm missing a trick here and shelling out hundreds of pounds needlessly. But at least I know that when self-respect was being handed out, I didn't settle for 75% off.

What a load of rubbish

2011-11-05T10:15:00.001-07:00

UK Business Secretary Vince Cable is still probably best known for his parliamentary attack on Gordon Brown, in which he described the transformation of the former Labour Prime Minister from 'Stalin to Mr Bean'. If anyone looks like Mr Bean now, it's surely the Liberal Democrats' bumbling brainbox who represents the leafy suburban constituency of Twickenham in London.

Remember how Cable blurted his mouth out to a couple of undercover female journalists, revealing how he was going to nail Rupert Murdoch? Perhaps you caught the report about Vince's unfortunate backlog of VAT payments? Well, he's now been found discarding confidential documents in recycling bags outside his local office.

Although his Letwinesque approach to data protection did attract some national press coverage, the really interesting detail can only be found in the original Richmond & Twickenham Times scoop.

Waitrose bills found in the paperwork make interesting reading, for instance. Might they reveal Vince's refined tastes? Two packs of wholesome dried cranberries. Alpen - no added sugar. Dressed, layered crab and a six-pack of perfectly ripe plums.

A local Lib Dem supporter - yes, they still seem to exist - will be disappointed to discover that their cheque for £2.00 has been recycled by Shell's former chief economist.

According to Cable's discarded diary, a painter called Henry Mee visited him in March and May to paint his portrait. I wonder if the government minister was depicted amid piles of discarded rubbish? The odd confidential report? A few constituents' personal pleas for help?

Let's hope this joker eventually finds his way into retirement. In the meantime, it's probably best not to drop him a line.

Fracking hell

2011-11-03T14:47:00.000-07:00

If you're promoting an energy technology which results in alarming seismic activity, you have an uphill PR battle to fight. And given the relative unpopularity of earthquakes and self-igniting tap water among the general population, maybe it's a battle you're never going to win. I have a hunch, however, the task might become just slightly easier if the word 'fracking' were buried beneath a pile of subterranean shale rock.Remember, Windscale became Sellafield. Who needs fracking when you could be releasing the potential of pure shale energy?

What a morning

2011-10-03T00:37:00.001-07:00

No fewer than three ads got my mind working overtime as I travelled by train and tube into central London today.

I discovered that Gok Wan is the Vodafone 'World of Difference Ambassador', which bemused me until I realised that the role was all about encouraging people to give up their day jobs for charity. No one is better placed than Mr Wan to persuade us we need to leave the UK and spend a year in a refugee camp on the other side of the world.

First Direct meanwhile are encouraging me to sign up for one of their accounts. I get £100 if I like it and £200 if I don't. I have to admit that I am starting to like them. But I am starting to dislike them about twice as much.

The most disturbing of the ads was the one which told me I can make a purchase 'in less than a second' with Visa Contactless technology. I reckon they're experimenting with neutrinos. Before long, I'll be buying things before I know I want them.

Commuter hell

2011-09-30T09:16:00.000-07:00

The Evening Standard yesterday ran a feature on people who commute outlandish distances to London for work and pay through the nose for the privilege. Julie and Jonathan Shepherd pass through six counties on their way to the UK capital from Nottinghamshire and shell out about twenty grand between them. On principle, Julie refuses to buy a coffee on the train as she thinks she's been fleeced enough already for the ticket by East Coast Main Line. Quite how features hack Jonathan Prynn kept a straight face while he penned the following line though, I really don't know. "The couple have noticed a slow deterioration in the buffet service - they now stock Walkers rather than Tyrrells crisps." It's hard for us to imagine the suffering that is being inflicted on these poor souls, isn't it? Only one step away from hitching a ride on an open-top freight wagon.

Catch up soon

2011-09-26T00:40:00.001-07:00

Excitement at Woodford Towers as a postcard arrives depicting a paradise island in the tropics. In time-honoured fashion, the card bears the legend 'wish you were here?' and shows gleaming white sands and crystal clear blue ocean. Which of our lucky friends could be enjoying such a well-deserved break?

The reverse is something of a disappointment. A fake stamp and one of those 'handwriting' fonts beloved of marketers. The missive is addressed to Jo B Seeker and reads as follows: 'Hi, I heard you were looking for a new job and thought this would be ideal. I have found this great company that publishes lifestyle magazines...'

Turns out that I could be working as a Media Sales Executive for Sheengate publishing. 'Catch up soon...' concludes the gushing copy, as it tells me of phone numbers to call and addresses to email.

I don't know about the job, but one thing's for sure. I pray I never go on holiday with the sad individual who sent the postcard.

Feels so right, it can't be wrong

2011-09-17T03:38:00.000-07:00

News that the Fonz has received an OBE from the Queen will warm the hearts of all those who grew up watching Happy Days.

It appears that actor Henry Winkler has been recognised for the work he's done in highlighting the problems of dyslexia, rather than the hard graft he's been putting in during the British panto season.

The only question, I guess, is who's next for an honour? Anson Williams, perhaps? According to Wikipedia, Potsie now owns a cosmetics company and was last seen addressing the US Patent & Trademark Office's 2008 expo, where he expounded on the importance of intellectual property to small businesses.

Or how about Don Most, who played Ralph Malph? Unfortunately, advisers to the British government might have a harder job making a case for a medal. His Wikipedia entry is rather threadbare. "Most makes a brief appearance," we are told, "3 minutes into the 17th episode of the fifth season of Family Guy titled It Takes a Village Idiot, and I Married One".

The Second Coming of Vladimir

2011-08-31T10:35:00.000-07:00

Ever worried that Jesus is a bit too wimpy? I mean, sure, the guy goes around preaching all this ‘love thy neighbour’ stuff and extols the virtues of turning the other cheek, but he’s also the dude who stands up to ancient Rome and turns over the money tables in the temple. Isn’t it the muscular antics of the Saviour that we should savour? Crazy as it may sound, the ‘feminisation’ of Jesus appears to be a real debate within contemporary Christianity and some people have decided to rebel against it.

According to a recent article in The Guardian, Stephen Sawyer is one of the renegades. He likes to depict the Lord in manly situations. Dusting down his gloves in the boxing ring, perhaps. Revealing his latest biker gang tattoo.

I’m still trying to work out the relationship between Macho Jesus and his more familiar alter ego, Trendy Jesus. The two figures seem to come together in a Christian lads’ mag called Sorted which is endorsed by BBC TV presenter Jeremy Vine and describes itself as ‘a good, wholesome alternative for blokes’. A flick through the columnists’ biogs will give you a flavour of what it’s all about.

Jojo Meadows is involved with the skateboarding/inlining community, while fellow scribe Sam Gibb lists his heroes as ‘the apostle Paul, Alan Shearer and Garfield, though not necessarily in that order’. Reverend Victor Farrell is ‘passionate about communicating the Raw Bible to Real People’ and likes to develop Bible apps.

Although my conversion and salvation are probably a long shot, I do crave the safety, certainty and security of a conservative, well-meaning Jesus who’s distinctly uncool. You won’t find him down at the skateboarding park or the piercing parlour. He’s not lifting weights or riding pillion with the California Highway Patrol.

Am I the only person who’s reminded of another major figure on the world stage? Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin may not be an obvious candidate for the new Messiah, but he likes nothing better than stripping to his waist for a bit of horse-riding on the steppe or rolling around in a macho fashion on the judo mat. Recently he was pictured dressing up in leathers and driving a three-wheel Harley around Novorossiysk.

Bizarrely, this report from May in The Telegraph tells of a female sect in Russia which worships Putin. They believe him to be the apostle Paul – news which is in danger of baffling Sorted’s Sam Gibb. Perhaps the Second Coming is closer than we think? And timed to coincide with the former KGB hardman’s second term as President from 2012?

Shazam Shoulder

2011-08-29T08:44:00.001-07:00

I've noticed that I adopt a very strange posture in the passenger seat of our Peugeot when the kids ask me to Shazam a track on the radio. I stretch forward to place my iPhone close to the speaker with my left hand, while tapping instructions to the music app with my right. I'm wondering whether medics are now being confronted with a bewildering new range of strains and injuries with no obviously identifiable cause.

Intriguing loyalty offer at the Swiss Co-op

2011-08-28T13:37:00.001-07:00

Franc talk in the FT

2011-08-28T13:31:00.000-07:00

I stir things up in the press after being fleeced on holiday in sunny Switzerland. Click on the image to enlarge.

Plastic sculptures and bath toys out of Fairy Liquid? It's Easy...

2011-07-29T14:31:00.000-07:00

Shake it Daddy... when you're spoonfed DIY tips, you'll soon have the perfect unit for your new stereo hi-fi

It's high time that WARTE had a new featured publication and I've plumped for the DIYer's must-have read of the late 1960s, Easy. Styled as 'the magazine that pays for itself', the title is full of handy tips for the man about the house. Some projects are serious (see the desk construction sexual fantasy below), while others are just designed to make life that little bit more fun.

Why not explore 'the full potential of expanded plastics', for instance, and start making sculptures out of polystyrene? One example quoted is a model volcano that gives the 'cine enthusiast' a thrill as he plays with his railway set. Later he's shown creating a plastic swan that 'almost fooled passers-by into feeding it with bread crumbs'.

Bathtime a little bit boring? Not any more. In November 1968, writer Steve Burrows tells us how to create a 'Sub-Aqua-Observation-Craft' out of nothing more than two empty detergent bottles. Blue Peter's Valerie Singleton would no doubt have raved about the ingenuity behind this extraordinary contraption, which is joined together with plastic tubing and a number of one-and-a-half-inch wood screws.

'Release the pressure on the bottle and the diving bell will sink to the ocean depths,' writes Burrows, gushing faster than a cold tap. 'Squeeze the bottle and the bell will rise to the surface. By experimenting with ballast and pressures, a remarkably realistic degree of control can be exercised, which will probably appeal to Father as much as to the kiddies!'

The finished picture of the submersible looks very much like a Fairy Liquid bottle attached to another Fairy Liquid bottle by a bit of tubing. Roll on the 70s, when we could splash in the bath with Matey, eh?

Next time when Washed and Ready to Eat takes it Easy: how to make a ten-minute book trough.

2011-07-29T14:17:00.000-07:00

Mmmm...I hope this really will turn out to be the desk of my dreams...

It's just as I imagined it. But don't tell the wife.

Wolfmen

2011-07-18T05:03:00.001-07:00

Flicking through the London Evening Standard the other day, I read about the arrest of Neil Wallis in the News of the World phone-hacking saga. The former deputy editor of the now-defunct Sunday tabloid was known in press circles as 'The Wolfman' - a moniker which grew out of his bushy beard or, alternatively, his lycanthropic theories about the behaviour of a criminal he was pursuing, depending on which source one turns to.

A few pages later, there's a story about a court case involving friends of renegade rockstar Peter Doherty. One of the people mentioned is Peter 'Wolfman' Wolfe, whose nickname is perhaps easier to fathom than that of Neil Wallis.

Two legal cases in one paper involving Wolfmen? This suggests to me that perhaps it's not the most auspicious of labels.

I wonder if the Bullingdon had a Wolfman? If so, he could be right at the heart of government as I blog.

Cleaning has never been so much fun

2011-07-12T00:54:00.001-07:00

I note that Domestos has a product called 'Total Blast Toilet Gel'.

For someone like me, who's never found cleaning the toilet a very enjoyable experience, it's great to know that the process can, in fact, be a total blast.

Her card was marked

2011-07-04T04:06:00.000-07:00

At my local old folks' hall, which I visit for the mini-Ws' tap-dancing lessons and in mental preparation for my own admission, someone has posted details of the funeral of a former member. After the crematorium service, there will be some food at the hall, followed by a game of bingo in the deceased's memory.

My mind is wandering skywards and I'm thinking of an old lady - freed from the limitations and travails of earthly existence - looking down from the biggest bingo hall of all. With a ghostly hand, she marks her ethereal card and waits for the opportunity to call 'house' one last time.

Paws for thought

2011-07-02T15:16:00.000-07:00

News that scientists are running ad campaigns for monkeys will come as no surprise to those who believe the advertising profession preys on people’s more primal instincts. The bizarre experiment does, however, raise some exciting possibilities. If, as boffins believe, apes can be influenced by sexually provocative billboards to prefer one brand of jello over another, couldn’t the idea be extended further? Fast forward a few years and perhaps dog food will be advertised to the ultimate four-legged consumer rather than his two-legged owner. At this point, we’ll need to check the brand messages and creative approaches with representative targets before the campaign goes live.

“I’ve found two Cocker Spaniels and an Alsatian for the focus group, but we can’t fill our quota of Labradors. They just don’t seem to respond to the usual incentive of Hollings Pigs Ear Strips.”

“Bring back those golden retrievers we used last week. The client won’t know the difference.”

DLT and...er... Aung San Suu Kyi?

2011-06-21T15:31:00.000-07:00

In what must surely be the weirdest news since we learnt that the Nazis trained dogs to speak, it’s been revealed that Burmese figurehead Aung San Suu Kyi was sustained through captivity by radio broadcasts from veteran DJ Dave Lee Travis. After his untimely departure from Radio One in the 1920s or sometime soon after, the Hairy Cornflake seemed to make his way back on air – this time for the BBC World Service. His ‘Jolly Good Show’ made Suu Kyi’s world more ‘complete’ according to reports. For all I know, the feisty democracy campaigner was up for playing snooker on the radio with DLT if the Burmese junta had given her an outside line.

I am bracing myself for further revelations.

Perhaps, in those dark hours when Nelson Mandela was held captive on Robben Island, he was comforted by the sound of Steve Wright in the Afternoon? The south Londoner’s chirpy characters helped him make light of what would otherwise be a grim situation. “It makes me SO ANGRY, I could throw the whole apartheid regime down...” How he laughed.

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn is pacing the icy wastes of the Soviet gulag. Goodness gracious, goodness gracious, guys and girlskis. Could that be the sound of Jimmy Savile, as it ‘appens?

Make the madness stop. Just make it stop. Please. Unless someone from Viz is reading and sees an opportunity for a comic strip.

Richmond? Nah, it wasn't for me...

2011-06-17T14:47:00.000-07:00

Interesting new approach from a local estate agent which I need to report to WARTE readers.

I've previously been sold the line that there's an eager would-be purchaser who's paying the agent a fee to find him a property. This act of insanity and benevolence to potential vendors means that I am able to sell at no charge.

Now, a twist. We are told in a letter addressed to 'The Legal Owner' of Woodford Towers about a named individual - let's save his blushes by calling him Mr Peter Miller - who has expressed a particular wish to move to our street. He used to live here, before heading for nearby Richmond. Now he wants to return to his 'much-loved road'.

"Obviously," writes the agent, "this is a genuine enquiry."

Obviously.

The genuineness of it all was the first thing that struck me. Because people who go to Richmond often realise what a terrible mistake they've made, don't they? The river. The wine bars. The cappuccino.

"Darling, I don't think I can stand it another day here. I promise to bring you back every so often to Max Mara. But I must return to my roots."

Worried that I might not be convinced by the story so far, the estate agent gets out the violin bow for the final sentence.

"We are merely using our best endeavours to find Mr Miller a home."

Shucks. Is that a bit of grit in my eye? I've misjudged the situation. Perhaps Mr Miller moved to Richmond and took on some very large mortgage. He lost his job and is now without a home. Probably camped out by the Thames in a tent and looking to downsize. By selling him my house, I'd not only be doing myself a favour. I'd be helping society too. David Cameron would approve I'm sure.

Cataloguing successes in the crusade for literacy

2011-06-13T12:46:00.001-07:00

In a heartwarming twist to the London Evening Standard's literacy campaign, the little girl who told her teacher the only book she had at home was the Argos catalogue has received big piles of books from benefactors.

Strangely, Argos has got involved too, shelling out £500 to present the young Aurella Brzezowska with a ready-made library. While I can only applaud the retailer's generosity and sense of corporate responsibility, it does seem odd to me that they won't stick up for their catalogue. Who says you can't learn to read from the compendium's bubbly promotional blurb? After all, the Bible was often the only book in a poor Victorian home and formed the basis of an education.

A is for 'air straighteners.

B is for bargain.

Before you fire me, you'll have to hire me.

2011-06-07T03:06:00.000-07:00

I am in big trouble.

Compliance may get involved. My Head of Division at the bank may be informed.

My misdemeanour? The mandatory fire safety training that I was supposed to do is now overdue.

The training people are quite persistent. And the fact that I don't actually work for the bank doesn't deter them from sending further emails.

Where's it all going to end? I can see myself getting sacked from a job I never had. It'll make a great employment tribunal case.

The situation is reminding me a little of the pickle I got myself into a few years ago and recounted on the BBC Radio 4 show Home Truths. I started receiving voicemail messages that were meant for a maintenance guy who worked in a big building. The electrical socket near the paternoster lift on the sixth floor needed fixing. There was a plumbing problem in one of the toilets near main reception. I liked these calls so much that I just allowed them to keep coming, which I guess meant none of these things ever got mended.

Eventually, I managed to work out that the messages emanated from the Ipswich Civic Centre. They stopped abruptly after I'd discussed the issue on national radio.

Who can blame him?

2011-06-07T02:03:00.000-07:00

Further to my earlier observations about the badges people wear at Tesco to identify their hobbies, I noticed a guy in my local store making quite a brave, anti-corporate statement. He tells us that he likes holidays.

Cop out

2011-06-06T14:26:00.000-07:00

I’ve always been amused by the strange formula used by UK police forces to announce the progress of their investigations. They never like to give away people’s names – even when everyone knows who’s involved – so we’re told they’re “questioning a 32-year-old female in connection with an incident in Nottingham city centre” or whatever.

Imagine if British cops had been first to Hitler’s bunker in Berlin during 1945.

“In a statement, police confirmed that they were called to premises beneath the Reich Chancellery yesterday after local residents reported hearing gunfire. The body of a 56-year-old male was recovered. Enquiries are ongoing, but the circumstances are not thought to be suspicious and the police say they are not looking for anyone else in relation to the Second World War.”

Seeing double

2011-06-04T11:09:00.001-07:00

I happened to encounter two identical twins sitting next to each other on the tube the other day. They were fairly atractive young women - Americans, I thought - and were the spit of each other to look at. What was interesting was that they wore exactly the same clothes, but in different colours. Matching checked puffa jackets - one in pink, the other in purple. Tracksuit bottoms, trainers, carefully applied lipstick. Eerily similar, but each with a unique hue. It was almost as if they wanted to make a statement about how they were separate people.

To the keen psychological observer, however, the conscious display of individuality didn't cut any ice. Both girls crossed their right feet over their left feet in exactly the same way and spent the whole trip on the Northern Line in silence, fiddling with their long hair. Biology beats wardrobe every time.

Bag lady

2011-06-03T13:51:00.000-07:00

I'm no dummy: mannequin wraps up warm when sleeping rough in south-west London

If only zay could talk...

2011-05-25T02:04:00.000-07:00

I've always held that truth is stranger than fiction and spend rather too much time on social networks posting links to stories which demonstrate the point. The news, however, that the Nazis planned to train dogs to speak takes us to a brand new level of wtf.

The so-called 'Woofen SS' has been uncovered by a British academic, trawling through archive journals in Germany. Essentially, a contingent of fascist Fidos was trained to imitate human speech - a little like the mutt on That's Life in the 1970s who was able to say 'sausages'. According to reports, the specially-trained canines were taught to tap out messages with their paws and converse about poetry and political matters.

I'm not sure we needed any more evidence about just how barking mad the Nazis were, but this is definitely one to file away for future reference.

Are you a talking hound with something to say about this story? If so, please use the comments button below.

It's all Greek to me

2011-05-20T15:00:00.000-07:00

Loving the ad from EuroMare Forwarding Ltd in The Guardian's special pullout on Greece today. The company provides what it describes as a 'containerised and intermodal transport service' and dramatises this exciting proposition with a number of starbursts and speech bubbles.

"Greek Lemon Juice for your Barbeque"
Yes we can deliver it with Efficiency

"Greek Canned Peach for your desert (sic)"
Yes we can deliver it with maximum safety

"Mediterannean (sic) Cuisine orginating from Greece"
No Problem! will be on time to your plate!

My message to the Thessaloniki-based business is "English Speaker for your advertisement". And best of luck in delivering those peaches safely to the desert.

A good feed in Falmouth

2011-05-19T14:58:00.001-07:00

As regular readers will know, I'm not in the habit of plugging businesses on Washed and Ready to Eat, but I'm happy to make an exception for Clarks Restaurant in Falmouth, Cornwall. The owners - Carolyn and Ian - made me very welcome on a recent business trip and served up a really great meal. If you drop in, tell 'em Phil sent you.

You go to the gym? So do I!

2011-05-18T15:18:00.000-07:00

Every time I visit the checkout at Tesco, I can't help but pity the poor workers who are forced to wear ridiculous badges that tell me the year they joined the team. They are also encouraged to give me details about their hobbies and interests.

What exactly am I supposed to do with this information?

Strike up a conversation?

"You know what, Mike? It is Mike, isn't it? I just couldn't help noticing that you're a keen gardener. The thing is, so am I! I suppose it's what they'd call a coincidence, but isn't it weird that two such keen horticulturalists could end up in exactly the same place at the same time?"

If I worked for Tescoses, I'd want to liven my badge up a bit.

My name is Phil. Joined the team in 2011. I like smashing plates at Greek restaurants. I was on the last G20 demo. I have an obsession with Lady Gaga.

How long will this soap continue to wash?

2011-04-29T15:18:00.000-07:00

I would describe myself as a half-hearted republican. I don't really support the idea of the monarchy, but can't be bothered to turn it into a crusade. One thing I'm absolutely sure about though is that the British Royal Family is one of the strangest real-life soap operas ever invented.

Look at the role of Prince Charles in today's events, for instance. He's out on the balcony with Camilla, while everything about the occasion must naturally remind him of Diana. His daughter-in-law, a few feet away, is of course even wearing the sapphire engagement ring that once announced Charles' own rock-solid commitment to the belle of the Spencer clan. You couldn't make this stuff up.

The Queen, meanwhile, seems pretty good for 85 or whatever she is. I reckon there's a few more years in her yet. By the time her state funeral has been arranged, Charles will be an old man himself and the pressure will be on for him to abdicate in favour of the newly appointed Duke of Cambridge. Today's ceremony only sought to underline the weakness of Charles' position.

As with all good soaps, there are plenty of colourful minor characters who drift in and out of the script over time. Whether it's the latest quip from Prince Philip, the antics of the persona-non-grata Fergie or an intervention by the likes of Mohammed al Fayed or Paul Burrell, there's always someone ready to spice the story up.

The sleb hangers-on are perhaps the weirdest part of the whole business. Today, former West Ham footballer Trevor Brooking rubbed shoulders with Blackadder and Posh and Becks. Elton John - who famously rewrote one of his classic songs as a tribute to Princess Di - seemed strangely reticent about joining in with the hymns. (When it came to 'speak now or forever hold your peace', I was waiting for him to jump up and say that he wanted to kiss the bride.)

All in all, the fairytale pageantry sits uneasily with the recent history of this troubled and slightly preposterous group of figures. And I doubt that we have seen the end of the twists and turns in the ongoing plot.

Grace Bros meets The Good Life

2011-04-27T14:05:00.000-07:00

An addendum to my earlier tribute to Trevor Bannister, star of Are You Being Served? According to my local rag, the former menswear counter assistant died on the roof of an allotment shed in Thames Ditton. He had a hammer in his hand. Perhaps, in his mind's eye, he was about to fix one of the faulty mechanical shopfloor displays that were such a staple of Grace Bros.

Even Mrs Bannister can see the funny side. “I’m afraid the way he died was straight out of Last of the Summer Wine," she's quoted as saying.

Either that or The Good Life.

RIP Trevor.

Waitrose Cookery School

2011-04-27T13:59:00.000-07:00

According to the promotional blurb, it's 'for the cook in all of us'. Waitrose are offering one-day, half-day and evening courses in the culinary arts, run by a 'friendly team of experts'. The events all take place at the Finchley Road store, which kind of figures. My abiding memory of this particular branch is the queue of taxis outside waiting to whisk wealthy shoppers back to their north London pads.

Sit back, relax and enjoy the sound of APR...

2011-04-27T13:34:00.001-07:00

It used to be the case that would-be DJs auditioned for the big time on hospital radio, spinning tunes for a captive audience on the wards. Today, if you want to build a reputation as a rock jock, financial services is the place to be.

Every bank has a studio a bit like that 'ISA ISA baby' one that the Halifax show on the telly. In fact, every time I go into a branch, there's in-store radio playing in the background which must drive the staff truly round the bend. A few days ago, the presenter on HSBC FM was recounting her weekend to me as I waited to pay in a cheque. The monologue went something like this:

"I was out sunbathing over Easter and I felt a bit guilty, as all my neighbours were out doing DIY and home improvement. They were working hard and there was I just relaxing and enjoying myself. Well, if you're thinking of some home improvement, why not talk to HSBC etc etc blah blah blah..."

Do you think the people who read these scripts dare to show their faces in public? What do they tell their friends they do for a living?

On the other hand, I really ought to do some home improvement.

Next up it's Tears for Fears.

You're late, Mr Lucas...

2011-04-21T14:57:00.001-07:00

Sad news a few days ago that another stalwart of the Grace Bros department store is now measuring St Peter's inside leg. Trevor Bannister, who played the cheeky youngster Mr Lucas in the much-loved British sitcom was originally intended to be the star of the show, but was upstaged by the high camp of the late John Inman and Mollie Sugden.

Slowly, but surely, the cast is now being reassembled in the greatest department store of all, where the mannequins are angels and young Mr Grace doesn't have to worry about his ticker as he cavorts with his nursing staff.

Trevor must be grateful that Frank Thornton is still with us here on earth. As he arrives via the celestial lift, there will be no floorwalker to tell him that he's late once again.

2011-04-21T14:52:00.000-07:00

Look, no hands... bizarre advertisement from leading pharmacy company sticks out a mile (see below)

Wherever I lay my hat...

2011-04-21T00:03:00.001-07:00

Still trying to puzzle out an extraordinary ad for Lloyds Pharmacy's theonlinedoc.org service. We see two naked men. One of them is black, quite muscular and has a full head of hair. He is holding a hat in front of him to protect his modesty. A slightly tubby, balding white guy stands next to him. This bloke also has a hat in front of his crown jewels, but he doesn't need his hands to hold it in place. The headline reads: 'Guess which of these men got treatment from our online doctor?'

My mind is boggling and racing. I shall try to supply photographic evidence soon.

Hail the Supreme Commander

2011-04-18T04:12:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just have to admire a person's chutzpah. There's a guy called Yupeng Deng who's been accused in the US of creating his own army unit and recruiting immigrants with the promise of a fast-track to citizenship.

The self-styled Military Forces Special Reserve cost a few hundred dollars to join. It's alleged though that Deng (who called himself the Supreme Commander) charged people extra to progress through the ranks.

In a bid to add authenticity to the military experience, troops were supposedly taken to a decommissioned aircraft carrier in San Diego.

This is one case that WARTE will watch with interest. The local District Attorney's office promises a preliminary hearing soon.

Buttahz

2011-03-14T16:09:00.000-07:00

Belatedly made it to the excellent Evolving English exhibition at the British Library. When I arrived, I found a curator talking to a large group of inner-city London teenagers who'd come with their school.

"How do you spell Butters?" he was asking them.

The kids volunteered different spellings of the slang term. Museum man then posed another question.

"But you don't actually say it like that, do you?"

He was referring, I think, to the glottal stop that replaces the t in London English, although phonetics isn't my strong point.

The youth were sent off to record slang in a booth for posterity and my attention was drawn to another class. This group was much younger and seemed to attend an exclusive private school.

"Joanna! Come over here and listen to a bit of Romeo and Juliet!"

The precocious little kids ran hither and thither, listening to samples of regional dialects on a superb interactive display or speeches from statesmen such as JFK and Nelson Mandela.

On my way out, I read excerpts from Mr Tickle by Roger Hargreaves into a phone. I was told that my dulcet middle-class London tones would be studied by scholars for generations to come.

All in all, a very well staged exhibition with a great range of relevant books for sale outside. One that caught my eye was Das Krapital - the definitive compendium of Viz magazine's Roger's Profanisaurus. I was like bare impressed.

Just desserts?

2011-03-01T12:48:00.001-08:00

On the Novotel sweet menu: 'Blackberry financier with lemon foam'.

Now, I know we don't like bankers or their smartphones, but I'm not sure cannibalism is the answer.

Tough choices

2011-02-28T09:01:00.000-08:00

The Metro in London is asking readers to vote for the most influential woman of the past 100 years. We can choose from a selection of nominees featured in an exhibition at City Hall to celebrate the centenary of International Women's Day.

It's so hard though. Should we go with Margaret Thatcher - first ever PM and giant of the 20th-century political stage - or Justine Roberts, the founder of mumsnet? I am so tempted by leading judge Dame Elizabeth Butler-Sloss, yet keep getting distracted by X-Factor winner, Leona Lewis.

Let's call it a draw. We'll share the prize between Barbara Windsor and singer-songwriter MIA. That way, everybody will be happy. And intellectual life in the UK will have advanced a few paces.

Electronic fix

2011-02-27T03:40:00.001-08:00

A ciggie you charge on a USB? Ain't technology a wonderful thing? But how can they be sure the smoking ban doesn't apply to e-cigarettes? I can't wait for the test case.

Helpful

2011-02-27T03:30:00.000-08:00

This map is a great way to introduce tourists to the complexities of the London Underground, isn't it? I am waiting for the conversation with the next coachload of middle-aged Americans.

"Jiminy Cricket, sir, we're looking for Truth but sure are having a time findin' it. We think it's somewhere between your St Paul's Cathedral and your Notting Hill."

Are you going to the ballet, Viscondessa?

2011-02-22T14:37:00.000-08:00

Visiting the Royal Opera House website, I was required to register in order to access the booking system.

In the field that asks for your title, they're not content with the regular Mr/Mrs/Miss/Dr/Prof choices. This, after all, is a world-renowned centre for dance and operatic performance. I am given the opportunity to register as a Dowager Marchioness, Ambassador, Brigadier or Rabbi among numerous other options. But that's just the start of it. Some of the menu selections are a lot more specific and bizarre.

George Osborne and Angela Merkel will find the website a breeze, as they click on the 'Chancellor' tab, for example. No worries for Camilla Parker Bowles, as she calmly selects 'HRH the Duchess of' and finds herself a seat in the Gods. All kinds of foreign honourables and potentates are catered for too. If you're an HRH Sultan Shah, you'll feel right at home.

Things take a rather extreme turn, however, with 'HRH The Prince', 'HRH The Princess' and 'Queen'. I wonder if the Royals are online right now?

"This website is most irritating, Philip. It requires one to register before purchasing one's tickets. Do you have your Mastercard handy?"

2011-02-15T16:01:00.000-08:00

I like the idea of a 'retro' prawn very much, but isn't there a danger it's a little past its sell-by date?

Will this advertising gamble pay off?

2011-02-15T15:53:00.000-08:00

There is so much I could say about this extraordinary ad. But then there's my sanity to consider. I think it's best I let WARTE readers draw their own conclusions.

Someone's taking the mick

2011-02-13T15:36:00.000-08:00

Do you think the guys responsible for the iPad advertising are trying to poke just a little bit of fun at Twitter users in this poster? Come on, dudes. My tweets are topical, discerning, incisive and witty. And you can read them by following me at @philwoodford.

Now's my time

2011-02-13T15:31:00.000-08:00

Do they still do those strongmen competitions where people rip up phone directories? If so, I think I may now enter. The new design is so dinky, it sits in the palm of my hand.

Sounds like a plan

2011-02-03T06:49:00.001-08:00

I am sitting across from a guy who has a branded jacket promoting 'Plan B Fitness Camps'. Presumably the original fitness camps didn't work out.

How not to write a poster headline

2011-02-03T06:46:00.001-08:00

On the 'neighbourhood' board of a local Starbucks branch, there's a landscape A4 notice from the NHS. Headline: 'Does physical activity affect the risk of vertebral fractures in older adults with osteoporosis?'

What happens when the world of advertising collides with a paper presented to a medical symposium.

Me old china

2011-02-02T08:28:00.001-08:00

It's the little newspaper stories that are often the true subbing gems. Forget The Sun's take on Mubarak's exit speech yesterday ('They sphinx it's all over') and turn instead to page 24 of today's London Evening Standard. We discover that former football legend Jimmy Greaves, who later became partner in punditry of Ian Saint John, is selling his £40k collection of Clarice Cliff porcelain.

The headline? Quaint and Greavsie.

Looking for an expert in isotope ratio determination? Try the Job Centre.

2011-01-31T09:45:00.000-08:00

The people at Job Centre Plus take a full page ad in my local rag showing the range of vacancies they have on offer. Amid the kind of opportunities you'd expect - for Care Workers, Drivers and the odd Butcher's Assistant - one job stands out from the crowd. To apply for the advertised Science Leader Inorganic & IRMS role, all that's required is a PhD in a 'relevant scientific field', knowledge of high accuracy quantification and a passing familiarity with laser ablation.

I'm not sure which amazes me more: the idea of the employer thinking they'll find their mass spectrometrist down at the local labour exchange or the civil servants finding it appropriate to promote the vacancy. Even if we accept there are a number of middle-class professionals who have lost their jobs in the recession and that the Job Centre probably wants to demonstrate it doesn't just deal in cooks and bottle-washers, I think it's safe to say that the number of locals fitting the Science Leader profile will be a little on the low side. In fact, if anyone does have the necessary qualifications locally, they'll already be working for the employer that's advertising.

Eventually, I suspect, the scientists may be forced to take radical measures. Like paying for an ad in a scientific publication or maybe listing their job on a website read by spectrometrists looking for work. In the meantime, I can only imagine the conversations:

"Yes, Mr Jones, I can see from your application that you're very interested in isotope ratio determination. But how exactly did your career in retail management prepare you for it?"

France will never look the same again

2011-01-23T03:02:00.001-08:00

STOP PRESS... A full-page ad in The Sunday Express tells me about a sale of long range, 24x magnification binoculars. So precious is this cargo that sales were embargoed until midnight last night. Did you manage to secure your pair at the unbelievable price of £29.95 + p&p?

The copy tells me that if I were on the cliffs of Dover, France would 'appear to be just ONE MILE AWAY!!!'

Why, that's practically close enough to see the snails frying in the pan and Frenchmen shrugging their shoulders as they exchange onions.

Later on, we're told that we 'can see the expression of the jockeys' faces as they race towards the winning post'. Are these French jockeys, do you think?

Who better?

2011-01-14T16:32:00.001-08:00

Coming up at the London School of Economics in February: 'A Celebration of the Work of Professor Christopher Pissarides'.

The speaker at the event?

Errr... Professor Christopher Pissarides.

Presumably there was no one better qualified.

Airport measured at zero decibels

2011-01-06T11:09:00.000-08:00

Booking an airline ticket online today, I received a message warning me that London City is a 'silent' airport. This apparently means that no announcements are made about arrivals and departures. You're on your own. Just you and the departure boards.

What exactly is the motivation for the silence, do you think? Perhaps the airport is a well-known stop-off point for Trappist monks en route to their Norman monasteries? Or it serves as a major transit hub for people travelling to librarians' conventions?

I very much hope the silence extends to the planes.

"This is your captain not speaking..."

After 60 years, it be time to say goodbye

2011-01-01T10:51:00.000-08:00

In one of the promos the BBC has been running for the 60th anniversary of The Archers, a lady talks about how a particular scene in the yokel radio drama moved her to tears. I must be a lot more sentimental, as I find that I'm crying as soon as the theme tune starts. In fact, the only thing that can stop the pain is reaching for the 'off' button after the first couple of bars.

How can it be that taxpayers' money is still, in 2011, being spent on producing this utter drivel? Radio 4 seems to bumble along in an extraordinary timewarp. As I've noted before, its excruciating dramas, twee parlour games and philosophical university seminars would not pass for acceptable radio output in any other country in the world.

People will no doubt defend shows such as The Archers and Start the Week as being quintessentially British. But this is a vision of Britain drenched in sepia and packaged up in cotton wool. The BBC is expecting a generation brought up on the broadcasting equivalent of takewaways and convenience stores to feast at a formally laid table, complete with fussy fish knives and wine-pouring flunkies.

If you fancy staying up after Midnight, what a treat you have in store. Book of the Week. A couple of shipping forecasts. Highlights from the BBC World Service. By 5.45 am, my Prayer of the Day would be for a heavy dose of barbiturates. Through my drug-induced stupor, I might imagine I heard someone milking cows in a farmyard, taking a walking tour of Tasmania or profiling Prince William.

One day, it will all come to an end. Someone - probably motivated by the need to save public pennies - will pull the plug. And Sandy Toksvig, Arthur Smith, Nicholas Parsons, Harriet Cass and all the rest will go spiralling down the hole with the antedeluvian formats they help to preserve. There would be an outcry, of course, from a vocal group of Radio Fournatics, but I doubt they actually number much more than the population of Ambridge.

Don't get me started

2010-12-21T14:16:00.001-08:00

When I log on to the wireless network at my gym, they kindly offer me some suggested websites to 'get me started'. Coincidentally, the first happens to be the corporate website for the health and fitness chain.

I like the idea that I've come to the gym with my laptop, connected to their wireless network, but I'm a complete novice at this thing called the internet.

Err... what is it that I'm supposed to do now?

If only someone could suggest one of those - what do you call them - web pages? Just to set me off in the right direction.

After a few weeks, I'll be able to move on to other sites. With supervision, of course.

"There's something I wanted to mention, Doc.."

2010-12-21T14:13:00.001-08:00

"Don't make excuses," reads the banner ad from pharmaceutical giant Lilly on my webmail program. "Talk to your doctor about erectile dysfunction."

I'm unclear whether I actually need to be suffering from the condition, or whether I should just have a chat with my GP anyway.

They still have such a long way to go with their targeted marketing, eh?

Going to dewire

2010-12-12T11:31:00.000-08:00

Seasons greetings to Lib Dem MPs

2010-12-09T06:16:00.000-08:00

"It's alright, Santa. Nick Clegg says you can promise whatever you want, but you don't actually have to deliver it."

Roocycle

2010-12-06T11:52:00.001-08:00

I've been pondering the Windows Live Hotmail ad that shows emails being sorted automatically into different folders. There's some girl called Kate and she's already sent us 15 separate messages with photos of her antics in Australia. When a 16th arrives - handily labelled with a kangaroo-related subject header - Hotmail makes the error of adding it to the 'Kate's's Aussie Photos' folder. My argument would be that there's a perfectly good, pre-existing folder called 'Recycle Bin'. And they'd be doing everyone a favour by diverting this young lady's emails directly there. There will be 43 more messages to follow, believe me, so we have to put a stop to her Antipodean deluge before it gets out of hand.

Complete and utter incontinence

2010-12-01T15:45:00.001-08:00

I was watching a few minutes of Colditz on Yesterday yesterday and discovered that the programme is sponsored - along with other 'classic' series - by Tena Pants Discreet. Idents showed middle-aged ladies wandering round a museum and sharing lame jokes with one another.

The juxtaposition of brave British POWs with incontinence products seems a little odd. It got me thinking of another potential tie-up: Tena and Tenko - the ever-popular women's prison camp drama. In fact, what about Tena-ko week? The episodes could be broadcast back-to-back.

"Captured by the Japanese, the women held out for years. Now, at last, relief has arrived."

Glycolic peel, lingerie, prep schools and orthodontists. It could only be Richmond.

2010-11-28T15:07:00.000-08:00

Some years in the future, when a historian is trawling through the ephemeral remains of our early 21st century civilisation, a copy of The Richmond Magazine will surely surface. Delivered door-to-door in the south-west London borough, the glossy publication provides a unique insight into the lives and preoccupations of Britain's wealthy, intellectual elite. Those of us a couple of rungs down the social pecking order, who through a quirk of global positioning are fortunate enough to live within the circulation zone, are merely able to bathe vicariously in the warm glow created by the mag's contents.

Take the December 2010 edition, for example. The offers available to local residents are really quite special. Bodyvie Clinics aren't content with serving champagne and mince pies to clients in the festive season. They also offer a free, 30-minute glycolic peel with all wrinkle reduction and dermal filler treatments.

Rejuvenated by the experience, readers might feel inclined to visit one of fashionable lingerie establishments advertised elsewhere the magazine. Whether it's Via of Teddington, Leia of The Quadrant (opposite Ted Baker) or Sheen Uncovered on the Upper Richmond Road, the ladies of the borough are clearly spoilt for choice. And they don't seem content with lunching as their primary form of entertainment.

A truly bizarre ad has been placed by a firm called Thames Orthodontics. Five women and a man grin toothily towards the camera and challenge us to identify the person among them who is wearing an invisible brace. It's no idle guessing game. If we correctly identify the braced member of staff, we're entitled to a 10% discount on an upper and lower invisible orthodontic treatment with lingual braces. (I'd long been considering orthodontic treatment of this type, but was saying to Mrs W that it was a little on the expensive side. In my heart of hearts, I knew a discount would be forthcoming and am glad that my patience has been vindicated. Unfortunately, I can't tell which of the people is wearing the brace, but feel that if I had the opportunity to slap them mildly a few times, it would quickly become apparent.)

And then, amid the other ads (private prep schools, £1.65m semi-detached houses in Kew, art galleries and period hardwood doors), there's some editorial content. A local divorce lawyer tells you that it may no longer be legal to do private detective work on your partner's finance. Another comments on the recent landmark ruling by the UK Supreme Court on pre-nups. The Bishop of Oxford, who has retired to Barnes, explains why he has started to learn the piano in his mid seventies. The editor, meanwhile, has handed over his 'blog' to a deer called Rudolphus Richmondicus, who pleads for readers to adopt him. Someone needs to tell the editor that a blog is something which appears on the web. I'm not quite sure what they should tell the deer.

I know I ought to be glad to live within shouting distance of this privileged world, but there's something about the magazine that makes me want to jump on the train at Richmond Station and head out towards Dalston. Your teeth can be rearranged in that part of London too, but it doesn't cost so much.

Dead ringer

2010-11-21T16:21:00.000-08:00

In the Woodford Archive, I have a copy of The Sunday Express magazine from the week of Lady Di's wedding in 1981. Alongside ads for the new Lancia Trevi and John Player Special King Size, there's an important announcement from a company called R J Wiltshire. I know it's an important announcement because there's a large headline which reads 'Important Announcement: RJW Commission Leading Hatton Garden manufacturing jeweller to re-create the splendour of... THE ROYAL RING'.

There's a lovely piece of copy which tells us that although a sapphire and real diamonds have been used in this 'ultimate accolade', they are 'not to the same priceless regal proportions' as the original. Despite this disappointment, I can't help being impressed with the 'very special rodium plate finish to the mount'. Rodium, I am reliably informed, is 'a member of the platinum family, so you can see that no expense has been spared in the reproduction of this timeless creation'. I wonder if The Platinum Family got invites to the service at Westminster Abbey?

Watch this space for similar important announcements in 2011.

If this ad had MY name on it, I'd be in hiding...

2010-11-18T15:25:00.000-08:00

As a copywriter, my heart sinks when I see fellow professionals biting off a little more than they can chew. This embarrassing messaging thread between two m8s rings about as true as Nick Clegg's pledges on student tuition fees. When we get towards the end of the correspondence and Rachel's saying "...that new kitchen has MY name on it...", I'm thinking of those cheesy radio commercials where characters repeat telephone numbers to each other.

The only thing missing from the excruciating exchange is a discussion of how gorgeous the Wickes kitchen planner is. How did the creatives miss that particular trick, I wonder?

Urine trouble now

2010-11-15T14:43:00.001-08:00

I can't quite understand why the Samaritans advertise their service above the urinals in the gents at Waterloo station. Clearly people do sadly choose to end it all on the train tracks. But do they always relieve themselves first?

Strange market research rituals

2010-11-15T14:07:00.001-08:00

On the 507 bus to Waterloo this afternoon, a guy asked me to complete a short questionnaire about my journey. I was handed a printed piece of paper - maybe 150 gsm - and one of those little pens they give out in betting shops. It was standing room only on the single-decker, so completing the survey while swinging around and guarding three bags wasn't that easy.

I finished as we drew up at the penultimate stop and I handed my form to the guy.

'Are you getting off here?' he asked.

I told him that I intended to travel one further stop to Waterloo.

'Well, hold on to the form, then.'

Meekly, I agreed, but couldn't help thinking that my answers would be the same at this stop - or any stop - on the route.

50 yards further up the road, the bloke came back and asked me for my form. The same form that I had been forbidden to hand in about 30 seconds earlier.

This is market research OCD style. I expect the forms have now been sorted alphabetically by surname. And the information will be entered 20 times before it looks right on the database.

Old Tricks

2010-11-14T15:23:00.000-08:00

Mrs W loves Garrow's Law, the BBC's period legal drama. Well, I think she loves the bloke who plays William Garrow, if we're completely honest.

The show is supposed to be authentic in its late 18th century historical detail. Garrow did actually exist and the cases are all there in the archives. Tonight's was about the Zong Massacre - a landmark in the struggle to abolish the Atlantic slave trade.

One thing puzzles me though. If it's all so true to life, why is former Detective Inspector Brian Lane from New Tricks there?

I keep expecting Dennis Waterman to pop up too.

"What say you, Detective Sergeant Standing? Should a man bear witness to injustice and corrupton and stand idly by?"

"Do what? If the geezer's a wrong 'un, I think you need to throw the book at him, as it 'appens..."

2010-10-14T09:55:00.001-07:00

On a recent trip to an NHS walk-in centre with mini-W1's asthma, we were treated to the most extraordinary collection of low-budget public information commercials. Mainly sponsored by the local council and other public bodies, they played without sound but still managed to convey a vivid sense of life in the UK today.

We saw children stupidly leaving bikes outside their houses, inviting the attention of casual tea leaves. Older youths messed about on train tracks, while otherwise well-meaning citizens somehow forgot their bag for picking up dog mess.

One of the weirdest ads - God knows how the concept was ever approved, let alone how a budget was found for it - showed a young man driving dangerously without a seatbelt and almost hitting another vehicle. The message was that although he'd survived this particular piece of recklessness, smoking would kill him. Mini-W1 was understandably mystified by the strong suggestion that driving like a loon was ok, as long as you didn't light up a fag.

Our favourite ad had a 'don't judge a book by its cover' theme. Terrifying hoodies turn out to be goodies - helping granny with her shopping in their spare time. Perhaps we shouldn't be so quick to jump to conclusions? Unfortunately, in the next commercial, a hoodie throws a brick through a car window, sending us into a state of profound confusion.

It's an emotional rollercoaster. And that's before you even see the doctor.

That's cheating

2010-10-12T05:18:00.000-07:00

I saw in the Press Association reports of Claire Rayner's death, the agony aunt had informed her family of what she wanted her last words to be: "Tell David Cameron that if he screws up my beloved NHS I'll come back and bloody haunt him."

Noble sentiments that we can only applaud. If she can fit in George Osborne too, we'll all be eternally grateful.

Note the fact, however, that she told her relatives that these were the words she wanted to be remembered as her last ones. In other words, they weren't actually her last words at all.

This is death by press release. Old Claire never lost her chutzpah.

I want it to be known that my last words are a very polished soliloqy from Shakespeare's Hamlet. Not 'Oh f***, that bus is heading right fo....'

Oh yes they have...

2010-10-11T09:17:00.001-07:00

Who says the UK economy is still sluggish? My local theatre in Richmond, south-west London has spared no expense in its panto production this year. Sleeping Beauty will star punmeister Tim Vine and the girl who plays Molly Montgomery in Hollyoaks.

Know of an even more star-studded Christmas show? Email me at phil@philwoodford.com and I'll spill the beans. Or should that be beanstalk?

Taking the p***

2010-10-11T05:10:00.001-07:00

Just listening to a college student on a train travelling into central London. She claims to have an NHS card that entitles her by law to use any toilet on demand. Can such a thing really exist? Presumably she has some medical condition that leads her to get caught short a little more frequently than the average person. She confided to her friend that her pass comes in useful on nights out clubbing.

2010-10-03T15:16:00.000-07:00

My parents - Mr and Mrs W Snr - have recently bought a small 1970s house in the London suburbs. They removed the old gas fire which dated from the original build, as it was an aesthetic nightmare and most probably some kind of potential carbon monoxide risk too. The previous owner had, however, very kindly left some leaflets about the product, which is called the New World Highspeed G740. I naively assumed these might be instructions, but they're actually marketing blurb.

After telling us about the heater's high-performance duplex burner and its 'warm comforting glow', the copywriter very quickly starts to lose his grip on reality.

'The Highspeed G740 looks good, too,' he writes. 'It has a mellow teak veneered case, beautifully styled by the designers of G-Plan furniture, with a gently curving front and rounded corners. Its good looks make it the focal point of any room.'

Now, I know the 70s were a bleak period. We had the four-day week and re-runs of It's a Knockout on the telly. All the same, I think even Rigsby from Rising Damp would have questioned the radiator becoming the centre piece of the front room.

Gotta love the mood shot on the leaflet though, eh? Look at the table in the foreground. The open packet of Benson & Hedges alongside a gold lighter. The chic grey and brown coffee cup. Some strange cuboid radio alarm clock. Over on the right, we see the hi-fi turntable, no doubt connected to speakers producing stereo sound. Is that Gladys Knight & The Pips I can hear?

Toast with the most

2010-10-02T14:38:00.000-07:00

Props to my Facebook friend Ann Godridge for this one.

An entrepreneur in the States noticed how people love to find images of religious icons in crisps, cream crackers, vegetables and so on. Usually these items attract some brief press coverage before generating a bidding war on internet auction sites.

Now, thanks to Jesus Toasters, we can all have a slice of the action.

In his own words...

2010-10-02T14:28:00.000-07:00

Lord Young, the former Tory Cabinet Minister, has been put in charge of dismantling Britain's health and safety regulations and the compensation culture that accompanies them. He was quoted in the press today as follows:

"Frankly if I want to do something stupid and break my leg or neck, that's up to me. I don't need a council to tell me not to be an idiot. I can be an idiot all by myself."

You can't argue with that.

Cereal offenders

2010-09-30T15:04:00.000-07:00

Although the minis are at an age when they're more than capable of making their own breakfasts, they don't. They still expect their poor old parents to wait on them hand and foot in the morning, serving up bowls of cereal and slices of toast as if we're hard-pressed proprietors of a Tourist Board endorsed B&B.

Sometimes we try to sneak our own breakfasts before serving the kids. Mrs W calls this the 'oxygen mask principle'. Make sure you've fitted your own mask before offering assistance to anyone else.

Feeling your age?

2010-09-30T14:46:00.000-07:00

Wandering around one of the local secondary schools with a view to furthering the education of mini-W1, Mrs W and I were very struck by the curriculum. GCSE Food was not something on offer in our day. Neither, for that matter, was 'Music of the 80s' - a topic offered as part of a GCSE course alongside baroque.

"Ok, class. Open your books at page 24. Today we'll be looking at Howard Jones."

White on

2010-09-16T02:39:00.001-07:00

Mini-W1 was talking to me about paint samples the other day, as she is thinking about decorating her room at the new Woodford Towers we're in the process of buying. She was describing the brilliant, pristine environments associated with dental surgeries and suggested the name 'Clinic White'. I wonder if any paint company already uses this?

2010-09-16T02:30:00.001-07:00

Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

2010-09-06T01:54:00.000-07:00

According to the on-bottle blurb, Domestos offers me 24-hour protection against 'flying toilet rim germs'. I prefer to shoot the little blighters.

'Germs at 10 o'clock high! Scramble!'

2010-08-29T04:20:00.000-07:00

Lapping it up: The Independent likes my take on their recent report on exotic dancing

They missed a trick

2010-08-24T14:45:00.000-07:00

Saw someone with a Ben Nevis t-shirt at Euston station earlier today. The message was 'Been there, done that...'

While I admire the adventurous spirit and mountaineering prowess of the owner, I can't help feeling that the author of the slogan was a little slow. Surely it should read 'Ben there'?

Time to jack it in?

2010-08-20T10:14:00.001-07:00

If the copywriter responsible for putting poetry on the back of Fairy washing powder is in town, here's my message: Non Bio Creek ain't big enough for the two of us. You have until sundown tomorrow to make tracks or I'll be spinning you out and hanging you up to dry.

The latest effort:

Jack and Jill went up the hill,
For nap time after nursery,
Tucked softly in, Mum did begin,
A free Timmy Time book from Fairy.

Jesus H Christ. My nine-year-old could do better than that. Just as well I don't choose my fast-moving consumer goods on the basis of packaging verse.

Dental or mental?

2010-08-18T09:10:00.001-07:00

I had a truly bizarre dream last night in which I was being paid on a part-time basis to undertake dental work. All procedures took place in a large hall - a bit like some kind of field hospital - where maybe a dozen people were being treated simultaneously by different teams of dentists and assistants. I knew that I was not very well qualified for dentistry, but felt that if they were happy to employ me, I should just go with the flow. The problem was that none of the patients appeared to need straightforward work on their gnashers. Most had life-threatening conditions that really required urgent medical intervention by an ER crash team.

The chief dentist was expecting me to extract fluid from someone's lungs, say, and would guide me through the process. (I think this relates back to a film called Ladder 49 which I'd started to watch before I went to bed. In the movie, a rookie firefighter is coaxed through his early shifts by his station captain, John Travolta.)

I did eat blue cheese at dinner.

Fight the battle or concede defeat. But for God's sake, don't enter into talks.

2010-08-17T14:53:00.001-07:00

Difficult to know whether to laugh or cry over the proposal from the Taliban for a joint commission with NATO to investigate civilian deaths in Afghanistan. Would this be the same Taliban which recently stoned a couple to death for alleged adultery? The same bunch of fundamentalist extremists who deny education to girls, stop people listening to music and who previously acted as minders for Osama bin Laden?

Unbelievably, The Guardian reports that the cynical propaganda ploy is actually being taken seriously by the western military forces in the region. What a pathetic and contemptible concession. Perhaps we should have teamed up with the Nazis in World War II to see whether we'd bombed some of their cities a little bit too hard?

When will we ever learn? We get nowhere by appeasing people who have a complete disregard for human rights.

If we don't think we can beat the Taliban and want to concede defeat, by all means let's bring our troops home. But let's not shame ourselves by sitting around a table with them.

Great thinking, Dr Miriam

2010-08-15T05:13:00.001-07:00

Sign in the restaurant at Debenhams, Eastbourne: 'We retain Dr Miriam Stoppard as a nutritional advisor on all our children's meals and every meal comes with a free piece of fruit...'

I wonder how much this retainer is worth? Dr Miriam also seems happy for the kids' meals to contain jam sandwiches on white bread, Quavers and KitKats. But these concessions to children's tastes don't appear to be trumpeted on the poster though. Strange, that.

Why stop at speed cameras?

2010-08-10T16:02:00.000-07:00

I greatly enjoyed the comments of Julie Spence - the outgoing Chief Constable of the Cambridgeshire police force - who claimed that 'speeding is middle class anti-social behaviour'. Too bloody right.

Her intervention was prompted by the current trend towards turning off speed cameras on our roads, which is driven by the desire to save money and a crazy ideological objection to the idea of 'snooping'. One of my favourite journalists, David Aaronovitch of The Times, pulled this nonsense apart the other day in his column. If these cameras are so expensive, how come their opponents have always criticised them for being a money-making venture? The 'cost' is a complete and utter red herring. What the pro-speed lobby actually wants is the ability to break the law with impunity. Supporters believe, in their arrogance, that once they are behind the wheel of their car, they should be free to drive at whatever speed they wish, regardless of the consequence to wider society.

We can spend all day arguing about how many lives are saved by speed cameras or how much more deadly a car is at, say, 40 mph than it is at 30. There is, however, a much more fundamental point, which is that society has the right to regulate the behaviour of its citizens and the state should be able to take reasonable steps to enforce the law. Not draconian and extreme steps. Reasonable steps, such as the gathering of photographic evidence that can aid a prosecution.

If we accept the argument that councils have no right to check whether people are speeding, we have to ask ourselves whether we believe in regulating speeding at all. (Historically, on German Autobahns, for instance, people have been able to drive as fast as they like. Perhaps this is what we secretly crave?)

And if we don't want to regulate speeding, why bother with other rules about Zebra and pedestrian crossings? Aren't they a terrible infringement of the motorist's right to drive? In fact, why have a driving test in the first place? Isn't it disgraceful that the state imposes its own particular view about how people should reverse around a corner or approach a roundabout?

I'm reminded of the barmy chainsmoking Thatcherite, Nicholas Ridley, who while Secretary of State for Transport in the early 1980s was reported to believe that traffic lights impeded the flow of vehicles.

I cannot abide the sanctimonious hypocrisy and bleating of the motoring lobby and the Top Gear junkies who love to regale us with stories of doing 120 down the M1. And, to be fair, I have equal contempt for the cyclists who believe that they are somehow exempt from stopping at junctions or obeying any rules of the road. Both show a complete disregard for others and I personally don't mind if the government sticks a few cameras up to stop them. In fact, I have some good suggestions about where to stick the cameras.

The difference between me and Mrs W

2010-08-06T13:27:00.000-07:00

She told me that she's ordered an audiobook of Les Miserables from the local library. I'd go with We Will Rock You or Mamma Mia.

Keep it simple

2010-08-05T15:31:00.001-07:00

The State of Kuwait advertised in The Times today for specialists to work in a new department of paediatric surgery. The copy reads: 'Successful candidates will be expected to provide up-to-date service and manage all problems in their field including the complicated ones...'

Being a specialist just gets harder and harder, doesn't it?

Greyline School sounds good. But how much will the uniform cost?

2010-07-18T15:48:00.000-07:00

For my 800th post on Washed and Ready to Eat, I return to one of my favourite featured books - Ronald Pelham's How shall I word it? Published in 1948, it provides templated letters designed to help the reader respond to any conceivable situation. Whether you're a butler applying 'for situation', a bridesmaid writing a thank you letter to a bridegroom or a store selling salvage stock after a fire, Mr Pelham knows exactly what you ought to say.

Imagine this scenario. You have received a selection of brochures from scholastic agents providing information about boarding schools. From your cottage in Somerley, you write to the educational establishment of your choice, Greyline School in Heacham.

"MADAM

Your brochure has been sent to me by Messrs. ________________ & _____________, and I am very interested in the school for my daughter, aged nine. Her education so far has been acquired at a private school, but my wife and I feel that the time has now come for her to be taken in hand seriously for her future educational development.

Your brochure does not include a list of clothes that she will need or the cost, nor does it say whether there is a resident qualified nurse.

My wife and I would like to come down and see the school at some convenient week-end, and if you suggest a date we will let you know whether it is a convenient one for us. In your reply would you please state whether a vacancy exists after the summer holidays?

Thanking you,
Yours faithfully,
A. G. Taggart

No, thanking you, Mr Pelham. Once again, you've helped us out of a tricky situation and have paid great attention to detail. It's a little odd that you know about the potential absence of the resident qualified nurse, but can't remember the names of the scholastic agents who sent you the brochures. All the same, we're very grateful for your advice.

Next time on How should I word it?... a shirt and white tablecloth that haven't come back from the laundry.

Winging it

2010-07-06T00:18:00.001-07:00

When I stopped off at WHSmith yesterday to buy some chocolate, I was handed a voucher which offered me a free bird bath if I joined the RSPB. This marketing strategy is so flawed that I am temporarily lost for words.

The bird bath looks great at Woodford Towers though.

A lesson in the birds and the bees

2010-07-06T00:12:00.001-07:00

I was reading in The Metro about a village called Firhall in the highlands of Scotland which seems to ban children. According to hack Ross McGuinness, residents of the creepy hamlet - which also tells people not to start their cars before 7am or hang out their washing - is like 'Britain 30 years ago'.

What a load of horses**t.

Younger WARTE readers will have to take my word for the fact that people did start cars and hang out washing in 1980. And if there weren't any kids back then, we can only assume the good burghers of Firhall were delivered in adult form to their Stepford-style community by a stork.

Bath time

2010-07-02T02:35:00.001-07:00

According to London's Metro, drought conditions are likely to hit the UK next year for the first time since 1976. Experts warn that we'll have to share baths. As I was a kid during the last water crisis, I can't remember the rules. Do you get to choose who you share with? Or are you just told?

Now, where did I leave my teeth?

2010-06-28T09:42:00.000-07:00

When the Woodfords are on the move in the motor, Radio Jackie is our station of choice. The Sound of South-West London not only plays a fine selection of tunes - ranging from the contemporary to the classic - but it also has some of the most entertaining commercials around.

Mini-W1 had me in stitches the other day when she picked up on the rather unfortunate script for a local dental surgery. There's a monologue in which a character tells us what a terrible state his teeth were in until he decided to 'put them in the hands of Sutton Orthodontic Practice'. One can only hope that the patient cleaned them and wrapped them up before delivery. (The double meaning reminds me of the old ad for the £9.99 shoes that used to appear in catalogues and magazines. 'We dare you to wear them out!')

An ad the kids can almost recite verbatim is for a place called Lynwood Aquatics. If we're to believe the spiel, this self-styled Aladdin's cave is the biggest centre of its kind in the south of England and perfect for the 'fish fan' in your life. All 'hard goods' - your guess is as good as mine - are fully guaranteed. They stress in the commercial that it's 'Lynwood with a y' in case you might confuse it with another marine-related Aladdin's cave off Hook Rise South, near Tolworth.

Whenever I think tiles, I now think Versatile of Chessington. This is because I have been hypnotised by a tagline which is whispered in the manner of the Garnier 'Take Care' slogan. Think tiles. Think Versatile. While the Garnier line is known throughout the UK and continental Europe as a reassuring reinforcement of the health benefits of a major brand, Versatile's message might, on a good day, travel as far as New Addington. Think crap ad. Think Radio Jackie.

Perhaps my favourite is one that begins with a character delivering the following memorable line: 'I have very high standards, which is why it's taken me so long to find a natural stone paving company.' I know the feeling, mate. Unfortunately, your high standards didn't extend to radio production budgets. Never mind. Your patio has come up a treat.

Fancy a massage? Have an ice cream instead.

2010-06-26T14:50:00.001-07:00

Ever since parlours disappeared from homes, they've only really been associated with massages, tattoos and poodles. As a respectable kind of guy without a dog, I don't have much reason to frequent these establishments. So imagine my delight at the opening of a new outlet close to Woodford Towers selling posh Italian ice cream. If I'm not mistaken, this will qualify officially as a parlour too. And Mrs W won't mind if I pay the occasional visit.

Mais oui, je travaille a Tescoses.

2010-06-24T16:56:00.000-07:00

I don't know whether you've noticed, but staff on the Tesco check-out are required to wear large badges which tell you when they joined the company and some interesting fact about themselves. This might be that they like football, for instance, or enjoy gardening.

Yesterday, as I packed up my family shop, I read that the lady on the till spoke French. This didn't strike me as hugely surprising, as she had a French name. My first instinct was that English would be more useful in the outer reaches of south-west London, but I've been reflecting. Most of the customers at my local store probably buy the Finest range, where the items are prepared au jus or à gratin.

"Sebastian! Run down to the lady at the check-out, there's a good boy. Ask her if the bouillon in the bisque is vegetarian, would you?"