I've been raised from my cold-induced mental slumber today by watching Mission: Impossible. It was one of my favourite episodes, with a young Martin Sheen playing the part of a hapless cliched Eastern Bloc military officer manipulated into essentially murdering his own boss. Great stuff.
But it was not the sterling efforts of Peter Graves, Martin Landau et al that got my bile flowing. No, it was the poxy fucking adverts.
A friend of mine never watches TV. Ever, she tells me. I admire that and think I should take a similar stance due to two adverts in particular. The first is those efforts with the plank kitted up as an opera singer with the stupid facial hair. I did hear a rumour that the actor in question is very well paid, which is just as well as I'd like to think when he shows his face in public, he is chased down the street by an angry mob intent of performing surgery with the aid of a selection of power tools.
The second is absolutely anything associated with a certain company who'll buy your wheels off you. At the moment, they have a series where some poor sap isn't at a certain social function because he can't flog his car, so his (apparent) friends ring him up to extol the virtues of a website who will take it off his hands.
Taking aside that I'm informed that this company offer little more than peanuts, the advert is based on a huge lie. Because let's face it, if your friends did that to you, there would be no other option but to go round to the party with a huge tank of anthrax and exterminate the fuckers for the good of your own sanity and the greater benefit of the human race.
Now, after that refreshing rant, I will have a beer and enjoy the music of the coolest man who ever lived, Mr John Lee Hooker.
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