Bulmer’s cider

Cider seems to have made a bit of a comeback in recent years, by virtue of a bit of branding that has restyled it as a bit of a cool alcopop and the Stella phenomenon – charging an arm and a leg for something horrible to dupe people into thinking it’s not horrible.

Bulmers – along with Irish brewer Magners (also, confusingly sold as Bulmers) – has cornered the market in charging over the odds for their product, as anyone whose heart has sunk upon learning that some idiot in the round wants a pint of ice and some fizzy apple pop will know.

Just to reinforce its Britishness, Bulmer’s has released a terrible advert that’s omnipresent all summer pushing its sweet fizzy pop with a terrible poem that’s a kind of low-rent equivalent of If, itself a poem that Kipling thought was rubbish.

’30 degrees, knob-ly knees!’ and a load of other stupid supposedly British cliches that make me want to retch. There are lots of shots of people doing stupid, supposedly British things and we’re all supposed to smile in recognition of how bloody ridiculous but loveable we all are.

It’s frankly nauseating, and bloody irritating and patronising. It’s an idea of Britain straight out of The Sun, so bland it could have been dreamed up by Jo Whiley and so right-on it’s like a David bloody Cameron speech.

‘Glorious, magnificent, eccentric and ours!’ It’s a mantra born of a focus group, the empty rallying cry of a telecommunications brand evangelist, the ersatz motif of a society that doesn’t really exist. It’s fucking shit.