Charl. What kind of name is that for a golfer. What kind of name is that, period. The short form for Charles is Charlie, Chaz, Chuck or, at a push Chazarooney. But not Charl for heaven's sake. I wish golfers would go back to the proper names they had when I was a lad. Like Payne, Curtis and Fuzzy.
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Candy Cabs. I know it's been said already but could it be any more of a rip off of Carry On Cabbie? I realise that the BBC's remit is to always have at least one gritty Northern drama-com featuring tart-with-a-heart Scousers in the schedules at all times, otherwise it will lose its Public Service Broadcasting charter or something.
But this is rubbish.
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Happy 40th birthday to my baby brother, Dave. Or David as we call him. He's an odd lad. The only Solomons to ever go to university so he went twice just to rub it in. Though it was a good way of keeping him out of the real world. Part-time rapper called Triggah, father of two kids which he only gets access to occasionally, and now back working on the oil rigs, he's also the only member of my family to support Arsenal. As I said, an odd lad but good luck to him. I sometimes suspect he'll never quite be totally happy though I hope he will.
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A great night at the NAPA Awards, that's the National Association of Press Agencies of whom I'm a member. There is also the wine valley by the same name and, I have found, the National Asphalt Paving Association. But I bet our do was better.
We had Greg Dyke as the guest talker. He spoke openly about his time at the BBC and how he feels Alastair Campbell has ruined the relationship between journalism and politics.
But he was also quite funny. When he was forced to resign from the Beeb, he revealed he got 6,000 emails of support. However, the one he remembers the most is the one that said: 'Fuck off Dyke, I never liked you anyway.'
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There are many press agencies all over the country doing a fantastic job. But on occasions they let slip some of the tricks of the trade. For instance, whenever there is a burst of sunshine, all those agencies who are based near a beach try and get their pictures of sunbathing beauties into the papers. You know the kind - girls splashing in Blythe, or cuties in the surf at Brighton or Bournemouth and so on. One agency has a deal with the local lap dancing club. As soon as they know the weather is going to be good, they grab four girls, put them in bikinis and photo them bouncing around on the beach (they then get described in the papers as 'student Lucy, 19' and so on.)
The girls get paid, so does the agency, and everyone's happy.
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Jeez, some of the rubbish I get sent at work. A PR company who shall remain nameless, sent me a release on behalf of their client - a financial institution - that said a survey of the bank's customers revealed that 92 per cent of them were satisfied or very happy. So therefore they're great!
Tomorrow BT will tell me that a survey shows talking on the phone makes your knob bigger and the day after Mars will do a survey to show that there are people who like chocolate.
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Have you ever noticed how many people talk bollocks, almost incessantly. And not just politicians, estate agents and journalists. At least 90 per cent of what you read on Twitter for instance, anything ever said or written by Paolo Coelho, even some of the utterings of the Dalai Lama who seems under such pressure to say something wise that he comes up with the first thing that comes into his head.
And, of course, almost anyone who blogs for fun.
Thanks for reading...Solly
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