Stanley Penn

In the late 1970's I wrote an article for Creative Review Magazine about Stanley Penn who had been responsible for writing Guinness advertisements for around 30 years.

He was a lovely old chap of around 80 when I met him and I discovered he had been hugely talented. His home was absolutely full of Guinness memorabilia. I got paid £50 for the article and blew the lot by taking him and his son out to lunch.

A few years later he passed away. The story as told to me was that his wife died and he was absolutely brokenhearted. A couple of weeks later he went to his local pub, bought everyone a drink and said "Goodbye". The locals thought he was going away somewhere.

In a sense he was. He went home, got into bed and closed his eyes.

The post mortem gave cause of death as "natural causes".

Sing up England

I watched the Italian football team take to the pitch in Cape Town tonight. When the national anthem was played, the team linked arms and sang it with passion.

Contrast that with the England players a few days earlier. No linking of arms. No passion. I can't be sure that they even knew the words.

What does this say about our footballers? They should be proud to represent their country and they should darn well show it.

Just as well I'm not Fabio Capello. Because I wouldn't play anyone if they didn't sing the anthem out loud.

And what do you do for a living?

At a drinks party on Saturday I asked a guest what he did for a living.

He told me he was a solicitor and went on to say that very often people would hear that reply and go on to ask for advice.

A computer engineer who came to the house today confirmed that whenever he admitted his job to strangers, they frequently asked what they should do about a problem with their PC.

I suspect this is a common practice and I don't need to guess what happens when someone admits to being a Doctor.

When I worked in advertsing and admitted as such, people always had the same question for me. Not can you advise me but "Tell me something you have written." When I told them, they used to shake their heads.

It made me very cross. Because it confirmed in my mind that despite my wish to become a world famous copywriter producing memorable campaigns...I never quite made it.

Memories

It's only party true that you can remember what you did years ago but haven't a clue what you did yesterday.

I have a problem remembering the 1970 Isle of Wight Rock Festival. So I thought a side trip whilst on the island would help me remember the event. Some hope!

Despite the fact that no drugs or alcohol were involved, I have no idea how I got to the festival site, where I slept, what I ate or indeed who I saw (except Hawkwind who played in a tent).

I do remember that Hendrix came on at some ridiculous hour before dawn and I slept through the entire set.

After walking the coastal path, I went to Dimbola Lodge at Freshwater Bay to view the Festival exhibition there. It stirred no memories although I was stunned to read the line up and realise who it was I just can't remember seeing.

As I drove the car ferrywards, I looked to the right at East Afton Down. Here was the festival site. I just knew. I remembered the high ridge towering above so very clearly.

A shame that nothing else sprang to mind.

Disappearing Britain

Well Isle of Wight actually. I've just returned from walking the Isle of Wight coastal Path and was rather shocked.

An awful lot of it isn't there.

In my research for the walk I had heard that this was an area of coastal erosion but I had no idea just how bad the problem is.

Fences hover in mid air. Detours are not uusual. In places the sea is a mud colour where earth has plummeted down. Close to Freshwater bay, there is now only a part of a car park left. The rest is no more.

The cause is the weather. Just one more example of global warming. Amazingly there are still doubters.

You Couldn't Make It Up #2

Having had a little, no massive pain on the joint of my big toe, the good Doctor decided to offer me some painkillers should this occasional occurence visit me again.

Naproxen tablets is what she recommended. Before a prescription could be printed, I asked if they were available over the counter as it might save a few bob.

Indeed they were. So off I trotted to the chemist who promptly refused to serve me.

It turns out that Naproxen are exactly and I do mean exactly the same tablets used to relieve period pain. Yet they are not to be dished out to all and sundry. Just to women in need.

She made the point that I didn't appear to be showing any signs of menstrual tension (admittedly difficult in the case of a grumpy old man). Which I suppose was my opportunity to say "While I'm here, I'll have a pack of Feminax for my wife"

But even if had chosen this option, there's always the possibilty of an embarassing moment down the pub... your big toe starts throbbing and in front of all your mates, you reach for the Feminax.

Not quite the solution I was looking for.

American English

America and Britain are two nations divided by a common language. It's been said many times and once again we have proof.

This time it comes from a U.S. Government spokesman at a press conference regarding the attempted bombing in Times Square.

He said "This investigation is ongoing, multi-faceted and aggressive."

Well I'm sure it is. Although I can't help feeling that this statement of the bleeding obvious doesn't really give much away.

Plain speaking that's what we need. Or do we? The Labour candidate for Norfolk North West who in the same news bulletin, calls Gordon Brown "Britain's worst ever Prime Minister" has left no room for ambiguity. Interesting timing though