Sometimes I wonder whether I should stop doing this blog. It takes up time that I don’t have, it’s increasingly out-of-kilter with my career and the idea of going out in a blaze of glory or just ending the whole thing (I’m talking about my hosting here) is kinda attractive. And then I see a terrible advert. This Virgin Media Inspired advert, for example.
Here’s what happens when I write virtually every post on here – sometimes after a couple of days, sometimes after a week or the best part of a month. I see an advert for the first time and it so enrages me that I feel unable to let it pass. Somehow someone, somewhere must strike a blow – however small, pointless and insignificant – against the rank awfulness that has just taken place. Maybe – in some infinitesimal way – confronting these cosmic evils redresses the balance of the universe.
Earlier I browsed around a market – I bought a cushion, some prints of countryside scenes, lemon curd and pork pie. Then I went for a walk and saw a Hummingbird Hawk-Moth. Then I had a few pints. Then I had a rabbit and black pudding pie. Then I had some more pints. Then I watched Doctor Who. Then I watched a repeat of The Tick Of It. I was having a really good day.
I mean, admittedly, right now I should be doing some work. I’ve got some work to do for tomorrow, some work to do for Monday and some work to do for Friday. I really have to do all these bits of work and they have to be on time. After the pie and moths and pints and telly I really should have done an hour’s work. I’ve got a rare couple of hours, in which I haven’t pencilled in travelling, sleeping, working or recovering from all that other stuff. So I really should be doing work. And then what? This fucking Virgin Media advert.
If you’re actually showing your child videos of Emmeline Pankhurst on an iPad then you either don’t exist or you’re a twat. If you Google the words ‘women who rock’ you’re a twat. If you somehow compare Paloma Faith – a lady who sings songs – with the aforementioned Pankhurst then you’re mental, frankly.
If you want to use Fleur East singing Girl On Fire to accompany someone doing Google searches you have a pretty big disconnect between use of the phrase ‘on fire’ and listlessly WWILFing on a tablet.
If you want to imply – even in a roundabout way – that women got themselves smashed into the ground under the hooves of horses so people could download porn, Game Of Sodding Thrones and the latest episode of The Great British Wank Off a bit faster then fuck you, basically. And take your naff little Girl Power parable and shove it up your coke-pickled rectum.
No, it’s fair to say I didn’t enjoy it. But I do feel slightly better for the vaguest, slightest hope that I might make someone, somewhere, somehow think about they’ve done. And if that isn’t the real power of the internet I don’t know what is.