Well it’s about 3pm and I’m looking forward to seeing whether or not Mr Hancock meets his testing target of 100,000 by today. If he does I’ll stand at the front door wearing lipstick and applaud him loudly tonight. I bet he’s not even presenting the daily briefing. Anyway I’ve had more than enough to say on the subject of politicians recently so I thought I’d talk about something else. Voiceovers.
Well I thought it might be time for a change in subject matter and whilst I don’t want to alienate my many (ahem) female readers, I thought it was about time to talk sport.
So last week-end we had a busy old schedule; a drive up to Northwich, Cheshire on Saturday for the marriage of C’s neice which was designed and entirely produced by lovely G and her top husband M on the theme of a retro afternoon tea party – brilliant. Then a blast back down to Colchester in Essex on Sunday to my lovely cousin K and cool husband A’s place as they were hosting a barbie for my dad Bob, who happened to be having a holiday in Westcliffe. It was a bit of a surprise do as Bob wasn’t aware that we and all our daughters and grandkids were attending as well as my cousin C and her daughters. It was a real gathering of the southern and rapidly expanding section of my family. I have to say that at both events, separated by hours of yet more week-end motorway traffic, we had a really super time. Both events were bloody fab. Continue reading
Oh joy of joys. Did you hear that that great homophobe/misogynist Mr Potato Head is making a comeback on radio? I know seems unlikely after t’Yerkshire gimp was kicked out of Radio 1 three years ago for calling a spade a gay shovel and failing to cut it as a stage actor (titter) or tv sleb. But now Xfm Radio has been re-launched as Blerks’ RadioX and 42 year old PH (or to give him his native American name, Dresses Like a Farmer, Eats Like a Pig) has been recruited to do his dj thang once again playing music and discussing topics with no appeal whatsoever to the ladeez. Like Vindaloo and Leeds Utd’s most admirable managers. Oh and they’ve recruited Chris Moyles too.
I’m drawn to listening to Talksport radio. My wife hates it and my daughters too; it must be all that blokeish bickering about whether it was a penalty or not. I know what they mean to me honest; it’s full of inane chat and despite having schedules full of ex-footballers/managers it rarely delivers any insight. You could listen to messrs Quinn, Gould, Cundy and Warnock for a 100 hours apiece and never get beyond the cliche-ridden level of comment. It’s like being trapped in a conversation with Alan Shearer but with some cackling thrown in for good measure. So why do I listen to it? Because I love words and phrasing and there’s something compelling about the way footballers talk, the little expressions they use and have all adopted. The undisputed master of the footie jargon is the man with the most endearing rhotic speech mannerism Ray Parlour, often referred to as the Romford Pele, or as Ray would introduce himself Way Pahwer, the Womfud Pehwy. Continue reading
So this Easter weekend we headed to our old friends L&S up in Wetherby to help with the re-laying of their patio. Hard work but it turned out pretty well and we had a swell time as ever. Anyway it was a longish drive and we didn’t get away until after 4.30pm as daughter R has landed herself a great little work experience project in a famous little cafe/restaurant overlooking the river (very proud parents). I love to drive with the radio on and it has to be talk-based for me but the girls hate it. So after an hour or so of 5 live and a bit of Radio 4 I had to bow to the inevitable and tune in to something, anything, music-based. Groan.
After a busyish sort of day I’ve had a couple of hours just to myself this afternoon, and I’ve done nothing other than sit here and just think about, well, unimportant things – blissful. Regular readers will recognise this tendency of mine to muse on life’s big issues and today I’ve been giving thought to the Co-op and more specifically to their strap-line ‘Good with food’.
It’s one of those snappy little brand phrases which is almost perfect. It sums up the essence of the supermarket and looks great written down because of the repetition of the ‘ood’ expression. It’s tempting to say ‘nice assonance’ but the English language is nothing if not contrary and wouldn’t you know it, the words good and food are pronounced slightly differently. Perfidious Albion eh. It’s the most powerful language on earth but it must drive new learners to absolute distraction. But that’s why I find it so utterly intriguing. To be truly perfect, food would need to be pronounced as fud but of course it isn’t. So the canny Co-op have employed the fine Scottish actor John Hannah, who has a distinctive S. Lanarkshire accent, to do the voice-over in their adverts. So that when you hear the line it sounds like ‘Guid with Fuid’.
Hats off; they nearly pull it off. But I still see one thing and yet I want to hear ‘good with fud’ which just makes me smile. Don’t you love it when things that are almost brilliant but slightly imperfect? As John Hannah might say ‘wuds are guid’. Typical Scots; English mashers!
Regular readers will know that from time to time I’ll write something complimentary about people in the media spotlight. And sometimes I might write something which is a little less flattering about celebrity A or politician B or desperate wannabee/has been C (surely not, I hear you cry). And just occasionally the targets of my acidic little critiques will stumble across my posting as they Google their name, no doubt in the vain search for public adoration. And a few are confident enough to come back and give as much as they get via the comments box. I love that. Continue reading