Showing posts with label will voice for food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label will voice for food. Show all posts

Friday, December 12, 2008

Local Blogger Wins Lottery

Like most people reduced to an impecunious state, I'm now doing the Lotto. And so far it's paying off! For a two quid stake, I've just won £10! That's eight more pairs of Tesco bloomers! Ironically, my win was courtesy of two matched knackered old jumbos on a Quantum of Solace scratch card. I'll never complain about those blessed training flights again.

Talking of which, did anyone else spot the quote of the week in today's Gazunder? That nice young Kiwi Matt Clarke, who heads up RAF London Kent etc etc, apparently told a meeting of St Lawrence residents: 'Newer planes use less fuel and therefore omit (sic) less noise.' If that's the case, bring back the old Oasis Hong Kong gas guzzlers toute de suite, Matt! Oops, sorry, there I go again.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Corporate B*ll*cks

Bev, my agent, has booked me in for one of those corporate jobs. I'm not normally one to prostitute my art, but the gas bill has just arrived.

On the one or two previous occasions I've presented corporate videos, I've always been struck by the appalling taste in art these large organisations possess. One company had an enormous statue of a naked Greek god proudly standing in front of its revolving doors, greeting all and sundry with the unavoidable sight of its rather over-exaggerated but nonetheless muscular buttocks. But the prize for the best example of arse gratia artis must go to a well-known utility company based in the Home Counties.

When this particular company moved into its shiny new glass palace, the then CEO decided that what it really needed to finish the whole thing off was a statue of a prancing stallion on the roundabout which stood between the east and the west wings. He owned several Ferraris, I seem to recall. However, the artist must have latched on to the testosterone fuelled nature of this commission, and endowed the statue with the heftiest set of equine testicles ever to grace a company forecourt. After a few weeks, and a myriad of complaints, the crestfallen artist was recalled and made to remove the offending spheres with an angle grinder.

The Deputy CEO told me that story, whilst we were waiting for the cameras to be set up. He was a much more amiable cove than the top man, and had therefore been chosen to be the face of the company. His office was on the opposite side of the building to the CEO's. 'He gets to look at the horse's head, and I get to stare at the arse all day,' I remember him saying. 'Shows which way my career's going.' Sure enough, he was history within a year.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

The Voice Of Doom

Bev, my agent, called to say I've been booked for a gig! Apparently one of those disaster committees need to update their emergency messages, you know, 'Remain calm', 'Everything is under control', 'Please drown quietly', that sort of thing, and they picked the old Eastcliff larynx for its 'reassuring quality'!

Not my usual cup of Earl Grey, I admit. I'd like to sneak in a few bon mots, I'm sure I'll be able to persuade them that a spot of humour in adversity is the British way!