Nobody has ever given me a nickname, so you may as well call me Chris Waters.
I am co-founder, copywriter and part-time accountant at Condiment, a fabulous creative agency in Ipswich.
There are many terrible cliches that lurk like sewer rats in the daily effluent of the advertising industry. And much like sewer rats they are always close to the surface, wholly unpleasant and bloody difficult to eradicate.
Cracking first paragraph from t’other day’s post on Adliterate. The word ‘lurk’ is key. Those cliches are there, and they’re ready to ambush you. They can see you, but you can’t see them. Give up. You’re helpless.
Great stuff.
Ever bought a book just because the front cover looked pretty?
Never? Liar.
This is great. Delightful interface: big and simple. Still not as good as going to a bookshop, but they’re getting closer.
Yesterday lunchtime, four of us popped into Lowestoft to hire suits for a swanky awards dinner we’re off to. After finding suitably-sized DJs, everyone except me was feeling peckish.
Rob and Glen decided to go to Subway, while Alex fancied going to Mama’s – a little independent sandwich shop that had recently moved to new premises.
To even the numbers up, I went with Alex. He got the massive fresh sandwich he desired, but also a friendly chat with the lady owner. He even got a free Wispa bar because she remembered him and wanted to show her appreciation of his loyalty.
Meanwhile, Glen and Rob had given up waiting in Subway’s queue and gone to McDonald’s instead.
Smaller doesn’t mean worse, just less big. Often, it’s better.
If you go to the PizzaExpress (really, is a space between words that ghastly these days?) website, you’ll note two immediate options: our restaurants and our food.
It’s a shame they’ve overlooked another vital part of the dining experience: service. After all, the service you receive at a restaurant can really make or break your evening – especially when you’re eating something as simple as a pizza.
After my visit to the new Pizza Express – sorry, PizzaExpress – at Regatta Quay, I’m disappointed to report that it’s not only on their website that they’ve overlooked the service.
Q. When does a catalogue that should be selling you stuff become a book you want to read?
A. When the people at Howies write it.
A sausage and bacon baguette from the butcher ’round the corner, a packet of McCoys, a Twix, and a bottle of Coke.
And yes, that’s a man lunch.
You know you’re old when it’s laughable to think of a telephone box as anything other than a place for sweaty smackheads to score.
Still, at least they look pretty.
Home Making in Colour is a rather cool-looking book from the 1960s. I scored this copy on Sunday at an antiques fair in Dedham.
As yet, I haven’t had a chance to take a good read. A quick flick through indicates that it might not only be a nifty piece of ’60s design, but also useful and entertaining.
Stay tuned.
I’d prescribe a healthy dose of The Ad Contrarian to anyone looking to wipe the corporate bullshit from their shoes. TAC – Bob Hoffman to his friends – even sent me a book. All the way from San Francisco. I’ve read it, and I’ll read it again. Good books are always worth reading again.
In Friday’s post, he mentioned the word ‘iconic’ and how its use has jumped the shark. I’m going to agree and apologise. Because as a copywriter, perhaps I’ve used the word ‘iconic’ like fat people use ketchup. Too often.
Maybe iconic is the new solution. And if it is… well, prepare yourself for the avalanche.
After all, where’s the shame in calling yourself a gardener?
I’m a sucker for cute ’50s Americana, so when I noticed a beautiful ice cream van in the latest issue of Vice magazine, it was like a 99-fuelled sugar rush – only much healthier.
The van appears in a strangely moving collection of snaps by photojournalist James Ball. ‘Bring Me Sunshine‘ captures the modest resurgence of Morecambe – a quintessentially English seaside town – in 22 splendid shots.
The ice cream van in question is owned by Kate Drummond, a graphic designer (hence the sexy menu, above). You’ll find the Sunset Ices van next to the Midland Hotel; you can’t miss it – it’s the one with the slogan (and this is the masterstroke) everyday is like sundae.