Meet six of The Staff Republic family and discover their pasts and passions! Here they've created all the collages, blogs and online content to show you why they're so good at what they do, and why people remember talking to them.
Pawan is the film buff of the family, and has honed his encyclopedic knowledge through hours in front of the big screen and time working as both a screenwriter and a cameraman. A creative writing graduate, and devoted fan of giraffes, Pawan tells us that his favourite person is now either Arnie or Bananaman - both of whom he thinks would make first class promotional colleagues.
Okay, just a quick one. Not a wee. Well, kind of. Okay, let me explain…
As I was humbly preparing myself for a day full of promotional joy with a large skinny vanilla, I picked up the Daily Mirror (under no other circumstances, you understand) and flicked idly through. Sandwiched somewhere in the middle of eighteen pages of Cheryl Cole’s nine-hour tryst with her hunky dancer confident, was a tiny story about Thorpe Park‘s new horror ride. Apparently and allegedly, the park’s bosses are asking visitors to donate - and I quote - “smelly wee” to give it a distinctive whiff.
Is this the smell of fear? Can somebody ask Leslie Nielsen? As marketing goes it’s certainly an interesting one.
The title refers to the seminal comedy performance by the great Robin Williams in the early 1990s - Live at the Met. It was a great performance and one that summed up the era perfectly, with this quote referring to the fashion police.
“But how does this tie in with field marketing?” I hear you ask. Well, I can tell you this with gusto: extremely tenuously.
I’ve been Team Leader for The Staff Republic’s ID Smart campaign, meeting independent business owners face-to-face to discuss the roll-out of the new National Identity Cards which are now available to people living and working in the North West, as well as 16-24 year olds in London. Naturally there are some questions from some business, but many bars, clubs and newsagents take ID really seriously so in general the response has been really positive. Happy Days!
As yet nobody’s tried to get me sucked in to a political debate, but many people are interested in the near fool-proof security features (both biometric and visual checks), not to mention the fact that the National Identity Card (one of three kinds available, depending on situation et al) can be used as a passport within the European Economic Area and Switzerland. Although you couldn’t go to see Robin Williams in Los Angeles (you see what I’ve done there?) it’s much more handy than having a bulky passport to worry about. If you fancy shelling out £30 for one, you can enquire on 0300 330 0000.
It’s usual after Christmas to see loads of fitness dvds, diet books and healthy lifestyle programs. However, I didn’t know that February was National Heart Month – until this year.
I’ve spent February working on a campaign for the British Heart Foundation and learned loads of useful information not just about maintaining heart health but also the help that is out there if you or a loved one do have any heart concerns. For one, I was amazed at just what is a “heart concern”. Angina, diabetes, high cholesterol or blood pressure, smoking (you are 50% more likely to suffer from a serious heart condition if you smoke!) and things like family history of heart disease.
You’ve probably seen the adverts on TV this month, and I urge you to give the website a look. It’s great when you are involved in field marketing that you learn from and can actually benefit you. I gave up smoking this year and, after seeing some of the things and hearing some of the stories on this campaign, I can safely say that I’m never going to pick up another cigarette again.
It’s a bit after the fact, but I thought it was such a clever, poignant idea that it was worth mentioning.
On 7th December Starbucks organised a worldwide sing-along, signing people up in every single country around the world to record All You Need Is Love, by The Beatles on camera. The aim was to raise awareness for AIDS in Africa, which still blights millions on the continent. The message is clear - that while it’s easy to get your head in a newspaper and a caramel latte, if we truly want to get out of this mess there can be only one thing that will help us rise above the bilge.
It’s called the Starbucks Love Project and as event marketing goes the result is truly amazing. The videos edited together show how easy it is in the global village to connect with an audience, and who wouldn’t want their brand to be associated with such an important message. So, once you’ve watched the video and been moved to tears (and check out how cool the group from Indonesia is – I’m thinking the guy on the right hand side with the massive hair. Genius.) you can record your own version and upload it to the website http://starbucksloveproject.com/#/addvoice/ along with others from around the globe.
I mean, if a group of people in Afghanistan can record a version, surely you can, right? Starbucks will donate a massive 5 cents for every submission (maximum 1 million submissions), coming to a total of $50,000 to fight AIDS. And this from a company that earned $6.4billion in revenue in 2008.
So, while I’ll still be getting my morning cappuccino from Café Nero, have a look and dare yourself not to get a lump in your throat and then get together with some friends or colleagues and share something. After all, that is the whole point.
In the world of event marketing there is no bigger event than the Super Bowl. Well, in the U.S. at least. You could even say that it’s bigger than Jesus.
Now, before you go at it like a crazed Mary Witehouse, just bear with me and all will become clear.
To us, the Super Bowl seems like a fraidycat’s game of rugby, but it is the most-watched event Stateside, having an audience nearly twice as large as the World Series. It’s no surprise, then, that advertising costs are eye-watering – around $2.5million for a thirty second slot. But the marketing around the event itself has traditionally lent on the light-hearted fence and, much like the best promo gigs we get, is all about having fun.
Enter Tim Tebow, darling of the college football fraternity and already a nationwide star, who stars in an anti-abortion advert funded by Christian group Focus on the Family that has been preliminarily accepted by broadcaster CBS. The perfect subject for such a campaign (Tebow was nearly aborted by his mother by the recommendation of consultants), he wears make-up citing biblical passages during a game.
Which is all well and good - and I’m not even going to go into the freedom of speech equals freedom to choose debate – but as Gregg Doyel wrote of his own network, “[this] is simply not the day to have that discussion”. After all, The Who are playing at half time. Can you imagine Pete Townshend coming on the mic (no pun intended) and leering, “And remember kids, don’t wear a condom”? Like any brief that we’ll get, certain rules like no sexual innuendo have to be heeded for very good reason. I mean, in no sense could a discussion on abortion be anywhere part of a 5-Star brand experience. Could it?
Wow. What a year. I’ve never been busier, and this despite the economic downturn. It started slowly, built momentum and snowballed into one crazy-ass avalanche of events. The Christmas period is busy, busy, busy for the world of event marketing, anyway. I mean, what bigger event than Christmas, right? So with parties, reunions, get-togethers, rubbish football results, shopping, wrapping, card-sending, Christmas dinners (two dinners for me. That’s right. Two.) New Years plans there hardly seemed time for work. Yet somehow we squeeze it in. High five!
For those of you with whom I was lucky enough to work this year I give you thanks for some good times and great memories. For the many of you that I did not, I count myself unlucky but – and it is a big but (must be all those mince pies) - the big wheel is about to turn once more. It’s New Years Eve and the advent of more possibility, more hope, more expectation, more opportunity. So here’s to more, to all of you. A la Noel Edmonds, may the universe bring you all you desire, be it work, love or laughter.
After the season of excess, I was pondering my resolutions and saw this, which, for me, has to be the single greatest name for any product ever. For all the wrong reasons. Still, I think I’ll be needing some come January.
I didn’t manage to catch Roland Emmerich’s effects-riddled $200million bonanza, but plenty of others did. The picture pretty much broke even on its first weekend, grossing $225million worldwide. Given that marketing costs of these movies generally end up being around a third of the budget, the next few weeks’ activity will see Sony Pictures soar into profit for this release.
It’s not that I didn’t want to watch it. These blockbusters are exactly the kind to see at the cinema, blown-up to eye-watering degree. I was, however, taking a slice of that event marketing pie. To tie in with the movie’s release, myself and a colleague were part of an elite task force (okay, I’m jazzing it up like a twisted Miles Davis) projecting a mini-teaser in and around the auditorium, foyer and outside the cinema.
Given the nature of our beast, we had quite a few questions directed our way, to which we would reply with a John Cusack smile and a voice like gravel:
My God! What a week! Not that I’m complaining. Business cometh and goeth, so when it cometh thou shalt not bloweth in its face, sayeth the man who puts “eth” as a suffix to everything. Eth. Thems the rules, baby cakes (on a slight tangent, what are baby cakes? Are they those bitesize mini-muffins you can get? Or is it the doings of some evil lady in a gingerbread house in the forest?).
Anyway…Beyonce. Her and I go way back. Well, way back to last week in fact. I was a team leader with the wind in my hair and the world at my feet. She was a Diva with massive hair and an ego writing cheques her body had absolutely no problem whatsoever in cashing.
I stood there, marshalling my More! troops when a gust of wind blew the doors of the Echo Arena open when there she was. She looked right into my brown eyes, before telling me that she was crazy in love with me. If I were a boy, rather than a happily married man, I would have crowd-surfed across to her pleading arms. As it was, I had to leave her a broken-hearted girl with a fever, left to mingle with the other single ladies.
Okay, you got me. It’s all fantasy. Well, the part about me being there with More! promotional staff is true. Pretty much everything else is lies. Have I got anything left in the tenuous barrel to suggest that I’m just a beautiful liar?
I received an alert from Shooting People regarding Penny Woolcock’s latest film, 1 Day, which rolls out across 84 UK cinemas this Friday. It’s a provocative drama based around gang life in inner city Birmingham, and in which Woolcock decided many of the cast should, where possible, come from within the realities that the film portrays.
So far so good. But then arrives the time to exhibit of the movie, which is a deep and involved process in any circumstance, but even more so when tackling such potentially far-reaching subjects. Having gone through months of consultation and achieving a 15 certificate from the BBFC you’d think that all the boxes had been ticked and audiences nationwide could sit down to make up their own minds about the movie (we do live in a democracy, after all).
Wrong.
In all of the planned screening venues across the region the West Midlands police warned the owners against screening the film. This is despite having told Woolcock at a private screening that the film should be shown in every school across the UK.
When Woolcock finally managed to organise a screening at The Custard Factory the police turned up 15 minutes into the film, stopped it, “counted” the audience and took all the film crews details.
The next day, when challenged by Woolcock on Radio 5 Live, the superintendent claimed that his officers had turned up “because we heard there were problems with the projector”. This is despite the fact that the film was not projected, but shown on DVD.
The question remains at what point did the police decide for themselves that the film was a danger to public health and safety, without consultation with the filmmakers and despite being passed by the BBFC? At what point are democracy and free speech suppressed for “The Greater Good” as decided by some guy sitting at a desk somewhere? Is this Terry Gilliam’s Brazil? Are we in 1984? If so, why is Nick Griffin allowed to appear on Question Time to defend his racist views? Surely for parity we could have expected to see angry constables marching onto the set and barging David Dimbleby out of the way before carting Griffin off and hurling him in the back of a van before “counting” the audience.
The beauty of all this is that the subsequent publicity has heaped exposure upon 1 Day. In attempting to quash this film, the West Midlands police have only helped to make it stronger. To paraphrase a classic, “If you shall strike [it] down now, [it] shall only become more powerful”. I urge every single one of you to go and watch 1 Day. It rests upon one of the pillars of our society. Don’t help to knock it down.
There’s something endemically wrong with mystery shopping when the great thing about it isn’t necessarily the mystery. Let’s face facts: it sounds a tad more glamorous than is actually the case. The term lends connotations to sitting in a shop somewhere, dressed in a Mac, hat and dark glasses, holding up a copy of the Guardian with holes cut out so your eyes can peer through. Or, even better, Private Eye.
I’m fairly certain that 99% of the people reading these bogs will know that 99% of the time that is just not the case, apart from those rare occasions when the MOD needs to check up on its operatives. I could tell you when and where to get these assignments, but then I’d obviously have to kill you. There are only so many gold-painted ladies to go round, you know.
So for the most part we shall have to content ourselves with occasionally getting to eat for free, maybe buy a beanie hat from a well-known high street store or staying overnight somewhere that you would normally never consider. There’s a pun in there somewhere about Dire Straights, but I’ll let you find your own. Otherwise, where’s the fun?
Muchos grassy ass to Liam for his how to guide on Twitter (September 8th), for I am now also a convert. I can see how most tweets are down to a fraction of tweeters – it took me ages to find the words for my first one (what do you mean, you can’t believe it?).
I think the reason why can only be due to the press that Twitter has been attracting. Like Liam says, it’s a great marketing tool, but, just like Facebook, it has it’s pitfalls.
Having been subjected to some jocularity from his teammates a “fan” decided to upload a less-than-flattering image of him with an expanded waistband. Bresnan’s retort on Twitter got him into water that you could have made your coffee with.
Likewise Lily Allen, although to a somewhat less-villified and much more reasonable degree, had a pop at all those filesharers out there who fancy getting their hands on music for free on her MySpace blog:
This is the beauty of the digital age. If it’s worldwide immediacy you’re after, here’s your chance. Clearly someone with Allen’s profile has a perfect platform from which to launch such a tirade. Will it make a difference? Frankly, I doubt it. There will always be people out there who want to get something for nothing and, to paraphrase Portishead, those trying to stop them might have to try a little harder.
So for you and I, the pawns of this galactic game, I guess the bottom line is this: if you’ve had a bad day at the office, just remember that on Twitter everybody can hear you scream.
A thousand people bouncing to the sound of the beats thrown out from the flaming lips of the man on stage; a crowd wowed by the twilight sounds, feet skating on the floor as though they were in the clouds; promotion people serving Sourz like it was going out of fashion - their only vow for the hours that flew like minutes to make that first moment Zing to the last. And boy did they do that.
My sister drew my attention to this slice of marketing that arrived through her letterbox (experiential marketing right to your door!).
It was addressed to her so naturally she opened it, raising her eyebrows at the luxurious nature of the envelope. Nowhere near her birthday or Christmas, so who could be sending her such an opulent card?
Who? Dominic West, that’s who!
Every fan of The Wire (only the best darn cop show that’s ever been broadcast) will splutter into their coffee when they read this next bit:
Amazing! Obviously I had to have a peek. I’m a red-blooded male, but even I couldn’t resist being read love scenes from a mix of classic, modern and emerging novels. I know you guys would feel the same, so I include the link for you here. Please, please check it out. If only for the smirk on Mr. West’s face.
Imagine getting this through your letterbox. Imagine. Definitely one for your aromatic pocket.
For the marketing guys at Carte Noire it may seem as though I’m not taking this entirely seriously. If it’s any compensation, the coffee does have a deliciously smooth and luxuriously rich flavour.
What a weekend! It was the first in our Add Some Zing! campaign for Sourz, that lip-smackin’ liquour that let’s you know you’ve had a drink. This time, however, as a long drink.
‘But wait,” they said, “you want us to have it with a mixer?” In fact, not everybody said this – quite a few Liverpool folk already partook in this particular method of drinkage - and, having worked away on a road show all summer for most weekends, I forgot just how much this town likes to party. In the words of Fedde le Grand, “I love this city!”
There’s a song adapted by the Kop faithful for the one and only Dirk Kuyt (as in “put your hands up for Dirk Kuyt!”)
Sorry, went off on a bit of a tangerine there, but seeing as it’s such an amezzin videoI thought it should be included.
Anyway – back to the blog! After such a good weekend I thought I’d share a few pics with you guys from the weekend. After all, how often do promotional people get to be party people? If you fancy being part of the party get on down to Mood on Fleet Street on the 19th September. It’s gonna be awesome.
With only a fleeting attempt to claim that it is one hundred percent related to a) field marketing and b) my earlier post (13.07.09) I’d like to point everybody in the direction of this clip from You Tube. It’s a great example of viral marketing and plays very nicely on stereotypes.
In my earlier post I embodied quintessential England with a picture of Morris Dancers. It follows naturally, then, that when considering Wales it should be based around sheep (before the letters to Points Of View start, I should point out that I am essentially Welsh myself, living in it’s beautiful hills most of my life).
During my last roadshow tour we saw a fellow from Swansea who herded geese with two of these sheepdogs, but unfortunately I don’t have any video of that so you’ll just have to close your eyes and imagine it. I know how creative you guys are, though, so it’ll just come naturally.
Promotion staff, striking from the base of a roadshow unit, recorded many victories in county shows and city centres alike.
During the moments of engaging with the public, the promo people delivered many key messages, and managed to obtain photographic evidence of cool marketing ploys and ideas.
Pursued by other agencies, Pawan Mather raced home on board his company issue Skoda Fabia, custodian of the pictures that he could use for his blog.
Armed with this experience and a picture of a giraffe-coloured mini, he heads into the unknown, or rather into a new experience of the known but not yet experienced. The unknown knowns, as Donald Rumsfeld might label them. All of which could be used and regaled to his people – the people of The Staff Republic.
Imagine my amazement when I witnessed the resurgence of an old Milky Way commercial – it took me right back to my salad days, when I might catch such a classic ad in between episodes of He-Man and Thundercats.
Another classic of back then was Bananaman. I loooooooved Bananaman, not least because it was so tongue-in cheek. What a hero! During my stag-do in Birmingham I dressed up as Bananaman (not on my behest, I hasten to add, but I did love it!).
You’ve had a sneaky glimpse of the banana on my head on my Staff Republic Profile, but here, for you guys, I’ll lay it right on the line for you:
For all you Brummies out there, thanks for making my stag-do so memorable. You really want to hear drunken Brummies say Bananaman. It’s hirr-arious!
P.S. If you haven’t already, click on the Thundercats link above for more hirr-arity.
Regarding my earlier post, No Such Thing As Bad Publicity (20.07.09), it seems as though I was a tad premature (no comments, please). I missed this piece of gold when it was originally on the news, but it’s definitely worth a watch even a couple of weeks after airing.
Bad publicity, it seems, can be very harmful indeed. United Airlines eventually offered $3,000 to Dave Carroll as recompense for their baggage handlers ruining his guitar (which they also deigned to fix), but only after having 10% wiped off their share value - around $180million! Dave, from Sons Of Maxwell, is donating the money to charity, and his song has received over 4.6million hits on You Tube, breathing life into his career.
At the risk of being pelted with abuse, United Airlines told CNN that they are using the incident internally to improve customer services. Bad publicity, it seems, can be very bad indeed.
Dave, meanwhile, is planning to release another two songs about the experience. Look out, United!
I’ve just finished reading a book that I can heartily recommend to anybody with any interest in the world and the meaning of life. It’s called Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert M. Pirsig (not a French Fancy to be seen).
It’s basically a story of a man trying to find a solution to the eternal “mind versus matter” struggle - objectivity versus subjectivity. The finer details are far too mindboggling to go into in any great detail here, but the whole principle rests around Quality. What is quality? How do we recognise it? I score myself as a 9 on You Gov’s brand index scale of how brand aware a person is, and would like to think that I can recognise quality - or Quality - being Good and worthy of the capital letters.
The lead character in the book believes that Quality is not something that exists within objects, but neither is it something that is subjective, as often numerous individuals recognise the notion of quality around the same things. Therefore it exists independently of us and guides us to make the decisions we do and have the feelings we have.
A good example of this in marketing terms is the fact that despite the economic downturn “the top 100 global brands have increased in value by 2% over the past year”, according to The Executive Marketing Blog.
One of the featured brands is Apple and - being an Apple convert myself and with all the negative press around Windows Vista in particular and Microsoft in general – any Apple user will tell you that there is something about Apple that screams Quality. They seem to have thought of every detail from an end-user perspective. That’s where the Quality comes in: no separation of object-subject, producer-consumer. An organisation can strive for Quality, but it must realise the value of Quality during the process. Like Pirsig’s lead realises, the only Zen you find at the top of a mountain is the Zen that you take up there with you.
P.S. If you can sit all the way through this ad please post and let me know.
You’re shopping around you’re favourite supermarket. You’ve got your loaf, your curry paste and your French Fancies. You’re about to get something Spanish and tasty to go with your meal when you spot a couple of promotional staff giving out some samples. ‘Hmmm,’ you think, “this could be just what I’m after for this evening.”
You head on up, smiling, when one of the marketeers beams, “Fancy making your guts bleed out through your nose? Then this is the stuff for you!”
What do you think? Would you buy it? Would you be bound by some horrific fascination as to whether it really would make your guts bleed out through your nose? Is that even possible? If so, would you invite the ex round for one last “chat” to get everything off your chest (and out of theirs)?
It’s this fascination that propels us to watch movies like Lars Von Trier’s Antichrist, which has received an enormous amount of publicity since its debut at the Cannes Film Festival in May. It arrives in the UK this Friday amidst such a fanfare of controversy that it is impossible to imagine hordes of viewers not going to see it and hordes of protesters, well…protesting. The only question that does remain is whether the British Board of Film Classification will pass it uncut. I, for one - and in the name of freedom of speech and artistic intent - hope that they do. However, given the graphic nature of some of the scenes (which you’re probably best off researching yourself), I think I’ll bypass the Pic ‘n’ Mix on the way in.
The old adage goes that people who talk about the weather have nothing interesting to say. Others claim that we Brits talk of nothing else. I refute both of these heartily. Only last week a friend and I conducted a healthy debate about fashion preferences: brollies or wellies?
My old mate Josh touched on this in mid June, when it did indeed seem like we were heading for a heat wave akin to that in Predator 2 (although we hoped without the ensuing shenanigans). However, Wimbledon came and, as though reminded of a chore by a vaguely related incident, the rain soon followed, excusing itself for being late and brushing the crumbs from its trousers.
Just when you think it’s going well old Blighty blights us with the latest bout of rain/hail/storms/floods/cats/dogs. In such an environment it’s amazing that our tourist industry survives at all. With this in mind I thought it would be fun to do a little digging and see just how it is that our tourist boards manage to get people to set foot on our blessed isle at all.
Let’s start with England.
The official website for breaks and days out in England highlights its use of the English Rose symbol. Anywhere you see it means that you are “assured that all attractions showing this logo have, themselves, been quality assured in England’s only independent quality scheme for all attractions.” Therefore quality is something to be guaranteed, despite external forces. The site also advises that you grab your sunscreen and on the following link neatly sidesteps the issue by saying: “England is hard to beat when the sun shines.” This is a tidy tactic, like a wizened matador deftly sidestepping an onrushing bull. Pepper these pleasantries with a wash of pictures of bikini-clad cartwheelers on sandy beaches, sun-drenched stately homes and reflections of Victorian railway arches in pristine lakes and we are handed something better than the truth: the idea of perfection.
This is experiential marketing without the experience, a magic trick with no cards. Yet we are left with more than a beautiful assistant. Instead we succumb freely to a paradise of the mind precisely because we are so eager to believe it: the mythos of England’s green and pleasant land.
(If you’re reading this, Enjoy England, you can reach me on 0151 55378008).
I know this is my second blog this week, but right now the inspiration keeps on coming. This particular one is an advert for webuyanycar.com and, for anyone who hasn’t seen it, once you watch it you’ll know exactly what I mean.
In terms of marketing it’s pretty obvious, but my mind harks back to Sralan on the apprentice - last year I think – complaining in his delightfully idiosyncratic manner that at no point during a particular advert was the product slammed in the face of the viewer.
This is an accusation that cannot be levelled at webuyanycar.com. Can you imagine the pitching sessions? Marketing gurus hula-ing around the office…“So, what is our key message?”…while listening to some funky Eurobeat tunes that are normally reserved for the beaches of Magaluf.
The effect is strangely pleasing and, like I said, inspiring. I find myself opening the fridge, shoulders jigging from side to side in rhythmic accompaniment to my mind which - as my hand aptly picks up a block of cheese - replaces the burning question of what to make for dinner with…
The fields roll by like rose-petal confetti as the sun winks its last goodbye of the day. Much like Sam Beckett this leap is not going to be the leap home, but a leap into the unknown. Okay semi-known - I’ve been here before on an experiential marketing roadshow for E-On called Brand Transition. To emphasise E-On’s switch to renewable sources (they were then in the process of developing one of the largest wind farms in Europe) we created a buzz around saving energy, with a prize to have a bash at a game called Wind of Change (a la The Crystal Maze only without Richard O’Brian doing his Norman Bates bit about Mumsie. which would, let’s face it, have given the kiddies a bit of a scare).
Anyhoo, I digress. I was thinking about this roadshow and particularly it’s title as I read an article about plans to build a solar power station in the Sahara. Twenty blue chip German companies (of which E-On is one) are debating a £400 billion investment to cover 0.3% of the Sahara with Solar panels – enough to provide electricity for the whole of Europe.
Twenty blue chip German companies (of which E-On is one) are debating a £400 billion investment to cover 0.3% of the Sahara with Solar panels – enough to provide electricity for the whole of Europe.
I for one, and I’m sure a lot of you guys reading this will agree with me, hope this goes ahead. We are fast approaching the tipping point as far as climate change goes, and a direct current link to a sea of solar panels in one of the hottest and brightest areas of the earth is something that leading environmentalists like George Monbiot have been urging for years. Finally leading energy firms are seeing the value of such an enterprise. Even if you have your business hat on and forget the ethics of renewable energy sources, imagine the positive marketing opportunities for energy suppliers who can confidently lay claim to being responsible for saving the planet? Whichever hat you have on (and you can leave it on if you’re wafting it coquettishly at a slathering audience) this could truly herald a wind of change.
Now what sort of football fan would I be if I let the transfer of the summer slide by with absolutely no comment at all? Being an ardent Liverpool fan I was obviously overjoyed to see Ronaldo make plans to disappear from these shores, if only for the purely selfish reason that it might give us a greater chance of winning the Premier League.
Imagine my alarm, then, when I see reports this morning that Ronaldo’s agent is wrangling for improved personal terms. Apparently £200,000 per week after tax isn’t quite enough for Rocket Ronnie. He is allegedly demanding 55% of his image rights (Real Madrid normally only go as high as 50%) to potentially take his earnings to over £550,000 per week.
It is hardly a rude awakening (for all you old-school wrestling fans, I’m sure you’ll see the similarity between Ronaldo and Ravishing Rick Rude, below) that football clubs in the top divisions are no longer just that. They are global brands competing in a free market to attract new support, new business and ultimately new success. This is the whole ethos behind Real Madrid’s Galactico policy. Madrid’s President Florentino Perez understands the high marketing potential of world famous players playing in the same team. Given the nature of Ronaldo’s fresh demands, the questions remain: Will Ronaldo’s team mates take kindly to his lofty opinion of himself? Will Real’s captain, Raul, allow Ronaldo to take his number 7 shirt? Can these two huge brands gel? Come August when the season starts we’ll certainly find out.
For those of you who are already slightly alarmed, I quote the great Gary Johnston:
“I promise I will never die”.
But it was another Matt Stone and Trey Parker creation that had me buzzing when I got home after a marathon train journey on Sunday night. After a hard time in Brighton suffering problems that not even those dudes who took refuge in the Los Angeles underground could solve (they still exist there today as soldiers of fortune, you know) I was glad to be going home.
Yet, as my fellow blogger Liam says, the thing about event marketing is that you make the best of it and, if making the best of it takes it out of you, the South Park boys will whip you up in a comedy maelstrom so you not only pack up your troubles in your old kit bag but you give them a hefty kick out of the window for good measure. I am, of course, referring to soggy old Gregory’s fine call to arms.
For anyone who hasn’t seen the film I include the link below, but for those of you unaware of South Park or have sensibilities that are easily offended I should probably add a word of caution (although by their standards this is pretty tame stuff. Just ask John Travolta and Tom Cruise).
So though the rain comes down
In buckets on my head
And we don’t hear a sound
As the promenade is dead
And when the calls abound
As to what is going on
Though we cry The Republic lives on.
Such is the life of promotional staff. I arrived at our hotel in Brighton after a tough day – our agreed site turned out to be too small for our trailer; the second choice we couldn’t fit the wagon through; it seemed as though the security staff hadn’t got the message that we had moved to a third.
Luckily they arrived, so by then a meal and a few well-earned drinks were high on the agenda (not too many, obviously. I still had an event to run in the morning, after all). When we got back to the hotel and they were playing Portishead in the bar, the music sifting eerily up to my room on the first floor, and the barman (who, incidentally, looks like a strange cross betwixt Johnny Depp and Richard O’Brian) tells me that there iss no lime for my corona. There is, however, lime cordial. Many people prefer it, he tells me. “Not that I’m saying you’re weird,” he adds. I’m speechless, given that the lasting impression of the hotel is more than a little Jack Torrence.
All Corona And No Lime Makes Pawan A Dull Boy.
By now (and I’m sure you can empathise with me here) I’m wondering exactly what the hell is going on. As direct marketing goes, it doesn’t exactly grab you by the lapels. As I notice a Picasso print eyeing me in that second-hand way that they seem to manage, and as Portishead floats into my mind, a chap assures me that he’s local and only has a short cab ride home. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m a character in a Raymond Chandler novel. At what point do the dots converge? Answers on a postcard please….
I’m not a fan of the Black Eyed Peas. Or, at least, I’m not a huge fan. Well…until now. I refer to an article by Angus Batey in last Friday’s Guardian (yes, last Friday. I’m so 3000 and late, as Fergie from The Peas would say) about their latest single, Boom Boom Pow. I’m not sure I love the song – love is a strong word – but the idea behind the song is the future, and it tastes a lot like garlic bread.
Read the article and it’ll let you know know, know-know know know, know-know know know, know-know there’s no limit. The single is currently number two in the U.K. charts and has a number of remixes already – as does every other album track – which will be released through will.i.am’s social networking site Dipdive.com.
Fans are encouraged to turn in their own remixes, videos and variations thereof will be uploaded to Dipdive and thus become part of the release of the original version, while the same goes for the other album tracks. According to Will, The Peas “wanna use the blogging, the uploading, the sharing, the interaction, the refreshing, the updating, the remixing - that’s the album. What we used to know as the album now is just the brochure for the commercial of the experience.”
At the risk of concocting a heady brew (at least 7% ABV, I would say) consisting of The Black Eyed Peas, The Guardian, 2 Unlimited and Star Trek, you’ve got to say that it’s an album, Jim, but not as we know it. I’m just waiting for the guy with the pointy ears to show up and it’s a done deal.
You know what it’s like – you head to the supermarket, meandering meekly about your business when you spy them looking at you. They dare you to stop drooling, pick them up and take them home to be devoured. I am, of course, talking about Mr. Kipling’s French Fancies. Once home you bite into one of the succulent little devils and ease into a quivering mass of contented noises and rolled-back eyes. This, as they say, is as good as it gets. Well, for a pound, anyway. Imagine how gutted you would be if it were stale? Or salty? Out the window goes Mr. Kipling, rubbing his rump from the kick that you gave him.
The same goes for promotional staff, methinks. Obviously, you don’t eat them. Not unless they’re very good. But they should still give you that tingle of anticipation, that feeling that life is good, fun and tasty. Heading to a mystery shop recently I had just that tingle. I was ready to be wowed, wooed and to wonder. Alas, it was not to be. Not quite stale or salty, but let’s just say that I consoled myself on the way home by tearing into some French Fancies. Those I could rely on, at least.
This weekend we wrapped up the North West instalment of the Open Day tour of the RAF Regiment. As you could expect from a bunch of service lads there was great banter abound, and (as you may imagine!) the guys from Liverpool and Manchester weren’t scared to get involved. With a Chinook, Tornado and Combat Training Simulator as back up, the Boys and Girls from The Staff Republic ploughed forth a field marketing furrow of fun, and managed to mix it in with physical exercise – the record over the two events from any guy who stepped up to the plate was 91 press-ups in a minute. And that was just my record.
To top it all off I also got to spar with Les Dennis and met my Doppelganger. Neither were up for the Regiment, mind, but they were both good sports all the same.
I’m not from London. I’m a northern chap, so the shininess of the place still grabs me by the eyelids and leaps playfully inside. For Londoners, at 8:30am, the tube isn’t full. It’s a challenge. I can’t help but smile at the normality of it all, and the ease in which everybody accepts that this is the norm. I think it’s weird that nobody else is smiling! This is sardines! On the way to work! What a great way to start the day.
As the tube rolls away I notice a wall poster for State of Play, Russel Crowe’s new movie, positioned perfectly so that the title slides past the window. “That’s clever,” I think as I try to guess what the guy standing in front of me has had for breakfast. I think it was something with egg in.
Monsters v Aliens, the new feature from animation supremo, Dreamworks, has joined forces with Cadburys to bring the audience a new kind of experiential fun – an interactive game that plays before the trailers based on Cadburys’ latest advertising sensation – those scary kids with their wiggling eyebrows.
As eyebrows fall on either side of the screen the audience is captured on a motion-sensor webcam waving their arms around like crazy and catch the eyebrows, earning points and potentially a prize at the end of the picture. The kids in the audience loved it (and, let’s face it, so did I and so did some of the other “adults” - you know who you are!). This is interactive marketing at its very best…but the chocolate prize obviously helps.
