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Go Compare Advert Proves Advertising Doesn’t Work

go compare advert

Yes it's another Go Compare advert. I thought a long time ago I had nothing left to say about them and, indeed, there's not much new to this latest effort featuring Gio Compario wingwalking over English landmarks with some musicians because blah.

Astonishingly and worryingly this advert has been on Youtube at the time of writing - and it has 2.5 million views. Two-and-a-half million people - 2.49m more than vote in local elections - have decided that they wanted to spend a minute of their time watching the latest Go Compare advert. I mean I know people actually voted for Brexit and Trump but this is on a whole different level.

"Ah but you watch the adverts!" someone usually claims in response to these missives, as if they've discovered the Ark of the Covenant and solved Fermat's Last Theorem in one fell swoop. Well yes, I have. Twice in fact. But I suffer for the good of humanity, like those people who sting themselves so they can research the effects of your arm turning into rotting offal and sliding off your body like a fried egg hitting a window.

go compare advert £2bn

Anyway, something did catch my eye that I thought was interesting. This advert is about the amount of money there is out there being wasted because people don't switch. They don't switch energy suppliers, home insurance, car insurance... and £2bn a year goes into the pockets of utilities companies who, as we all know, barely have a pot to piss in.

Four out of five don't bother - in the knowledge that it could save them around £100 a year. Imagine that. Someone says 'if you fill in a couple of forms on the internet I'll give you a ton' and they shrug and go and watch Love Island on catch-up.

Why is this significant? Because it throws into doubt the efficacy of all sorts of things: privatisation of utilities being better for consumers, the invisible hand of the market, advertising...

So there you have it. You were good for something Gio - proving your own uselessness. Now fuck off.

  • The Night Rider

    Something’s not right with the viewcount on that video. It only has 160 likes for 2.5 million views. And 80 dislikes. They’ve ‘botted’ the views.

    • hardjackson

      Hmm. Good spot.

  • Ventus

    I had made my peace with Gio Compario. All those years, all those adverts, all that vented bile. I eventually came to accept that whilst annoying, there were still a number of more irritating adverts out there. And so, we reached reluctant truce. Worn down over time I had learned to tolerate and eventually accept with grace the character I had once loathed. More than that, I had conditioned myself to not see him when his adverts came on.

    But now with this latest monstrosity our fragile armistice has collapsed. This abomination panders to all that union flag waving imagery that gives Daily Heil reading Brexiters their wet dreams:

    “It’s Edward Elgar, Vaughan Williams, the White Cliffs of Dover, “Papers please” (only blue passports may pass), “We will fight them on the beaches”. It’s the rolling green English countryside (little In-ger-land), running through fields of wheat, cricket on the village green, Pimms on the lawn, ‘more tea Vicar?’, jam and Jerusalem, the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, cheeky, cockney, salt o’ the erff cabbies, St Paul’s Cathedral, Tower Bridge with a red, white and blue fly past, Dam Busters, spirit of the Blitz, for a red, white and blue Brexit. And of course, Brexit means Brexit. We had our vote, we won, suck It up. Democracy? Don’t you know democracy ended after the vote?

    Taking back control, taking back sovereignty, [Mood change, cue Samuel Barber – Wasn’t he American? Never mind, they’re our only friends now], government seizing executive powers in rigged committees, taking away citizens’ rights and making them believe it is for their own good. Taking fundamental rights is fine if it gives freedom from the EU – there is no greater freedom [but not freedom of movement], the world is one magnificent fucking oyster, our oyster, our cake, we can have our cake and eat it (and anyone who disagrees can go whistle), cakes and cherries, cherry picking a trade deal will be the easiest thing in the world, easy, like selling ice to Eskimos, flip flops and sunglasses to the Spanish, I believe it will be easy, so easy. Too easy. But you don’t, do you? You don’t even believe in Britain, God I don’t want any imports ever again.

    Buy British? We’ll have to! Established British favourites will become elitist delicacies. There’ll be no more tea-bags, no potatoes, no strawberries [there’ll be nobody to pick them], no cream [no Wimbledon?]. Jesus Christ, there’ll be no more cheap labour, no more immigrants. Wrong shade of skin? Wrong accent? Then get out! They’ll disappear from Brexitland so that the jobs only they will do can be given to those who don’t want them. That’s fine, we can live on tinned spaghetti, baked beans and sausages (British ones mind, with less than 40% meat). Thick as mince? “Half a pound” (ration book please), brawn (and maybe brains, but not for thinking) bully beef, powdered egg and spam, spam, spam, spam, spam!

    Welcome to the new Empire, Goodbye metric [and your clarity, your logical ways], hello once again Imperial! Pounds and ounces, pounds, shillings and pence (I want my l, s & d) [Oh fuck give me LSD!].

    British exports? Growing trade deficit, no trade deal, no hope of replacement. WTO Rules? Wot rules? [Does Britannia rules the waves, or waive the rules?]. Ruling the waves? That’s a laugh, when imports back up at ports, the food runs out and instead rots on the docks. The right to one’s chosen brand will be denied.

    Tumbling pound, rising import prices. People won’t be able to afford their food, their fuel. They’ll not be able to fill their cars, and people love their cars (but not the German ones, buy British, buy Jaguar, buy Rolls Royce) [But aren’t they made from imported parts?]. They’ll have to sweat all day in some stinking factory making their own electronic cigarettes, and by Christ they’ll be entitled to them.

    They’re entitled to their smart phones and smart televisions, smart fridges and smart microwaves, smart clothes, smart shoes, smart Alecs, smart Foxes, smart Mays, Johnsons, Goves and Davises. Smug Davises (just not smart decisions). Can’t afford the basics? Can’t afford the latest tech? No problem, they’re entitled to them. How’ll they pay? There’s finance for that [based in Paris, Frankfurt, Dublin] – We’ll worry about that later. People are entitled to their electric toothbrushes and toothpaste with four new ingredients. Why should anyone have to clean their teeth without four new ingredients?

    They’re entitled to read what they like, and like what they read as long as it’s right-wing rags spewing hate and rhetoric. They’re entitled to be told what to read, and anyone having the temerity to speak out against them is entitled to be branded an enemy of the people and a traitor. They’re entitled to be told what to watch by the media, their X-Factor, Y-chromosome, pissant Z-list celebrities decrying their treatment, eating kangaroo cocks and spider faeces, and demanding someone get them fucking out of there. [Hell, get me the fuck out of here!].

    They’re entitled to be duped into voting for a government of false prophets whose false promises grace the side of a bus (a red London bus?), a government whose only interest is self-aggrandizement at the expense of the electorate, and when that government fails to secure their mandate, to use the electorate’s taxes to prop it up with a dubious deal, and be DUPed yet again.

    And why not? Why shouldn’t they have their DUP? How dare some smutty Marxist carbuncle presume to deny them of it? They love their DUP, they want it, they need it, they positively adore it! And by Christ they got it. They would’ve shoved another billion into their guns [but no. not butter] if necessary. They would shove vitamins in their toilet rolls and bullets up their assholes if it would grant them another five years. If happiness means standing on a double layer of the masses of the downtrodden, we’ll see that they get it. We’ll give them everything and anything they ever want. By God, they’ll not cease until their new Tory utopia is builded here on In-ger-land’s green and once pleasant land.

    Oh, god, what have we done?”

    …And that’s what I think of this advert.

    I don’t hate my country, I hate what it has become, and this advert is the epitome of the narrow mindedness and absence of independent thought that has led us to where we are now.

    Nb: Recognition should be given to the film ‘How to get ahead in advertising’, whose closing monologue I have (appropriately, I feel) paraphrased.

  • Paul LJ Catlow

    And people on the ground are cheering this? Where’s Sue Barker with a surface-to-air missile when you need her?

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