Showing posts with label Kerry Katona. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kerry Katona. Show all posts
Friday, 28 November 2008
The Missing Link
Lay everything bare. That's the way in 2008. Kyle, Katona, Price, Brand, Ross and a homogeneous cast of thousands have all become dramatis personae in the spouting of the trivial and the dysfunctional. There is a time for diplomacy and a time for tact. That time is 4.54pm as I compose this blog entry. The organisation I am about to direct a tirade at shall remain nameless. I would say they know who they are, but I fear they don't. I come away with the distinct impression that not only does their right hand not know what their left hand is doing, the left hand believes its opposite number never existed in the first place. As a business, we have spent the best part of a year meeting various figureheads from this organisation and asking who it would be best to speak to given our line of work and how it will enhance theirs beyond question. Usually it's a "drop me an email and I'll point you in the right direction". Then the email only returns after 2 prompts over a 2 to 3 week period and even then it usually results in the same thing.Nada. Sometimes you'll get a name and a direct number. But they tend to be the wrong person too. It's a shambles. From top to bottom. Side to side. Would you be surprised if I told you public money pays for this organisation? Thought not.
Wednesday, 30 July 2008
Call me old fashioned
Who do we "thank".....Jung, Freud, Kerry Katona ? Society has become fixated with once private detail. Whether it's a house being sold by lesbians or what kind of anti depressant some ubiquitous celebrity is on. For the perennially curious, Ms Katona favours an acuphase salad on a bed of seroxat.
As a child of the '70s, I wasn't especially aware of any Victorian overtones to my generation. Our Dads were always better than the next and there was, of course, the inevitable comparison of Grifter and Chopper. Beyond that,it seemed to me people largely kept their private life, well - private. I'm not just thinking of seamy boudoir practices here, although Dave Allen would have brushed his trouser leg with some disquiet had he been privy to the shenanigans of a certain Mr Brand. Nothing is sacred. For any self respecting messy-haired sex addict, the devil's in the detail. Lay it all bare, hold the mystique and peg out your dirty laundry for some easy press coverage and capacious book sales.
My coping mechanisms have become largely de sensitised to this exhibitionism and self publicising nonsense, yet I insist on the re reinstatement of one former taboo. Money. I never fail to be shaken by the brazen bragging which centres around salaries. My colleague was recently subjected to an unsolicited boast of a friend's new radio contract.
"50 thousand a year", she declared without a trace of self awareness or dignity.
In this era of globalisation, company turnovers, profit, share prices and other financial minutiae are inevitable, but the personal stuff - keep it personal. I don't want your coarse, vulgar and avaricious preening.
As a child of the '70s, I wasn't especially aware of any Victorian overtones to my generation. Our Dads were always better than the next and there was, of course, the inevitable comparison of Grifter and Chopper. Beyond that,it seemed to me people largely kept their private life, well - private. I'm not just thinking of seamy boudoir practices here, although Dave Allen would have brushed his trouser leg with some disquiet had he been privy to the shenanigans of a certain Mr Brand. Nothing is sacred. For any self respecting messy-haired sex addict, the devil's in the detail. Lay it all bare, hold the mystique and peg out your dirty laundry for some easy press coverage and capacious book sales.
My coping mechanisms have become largely de sensitised to this exhibitionism and self publicising nonsense, yet I insist on the re reinstatement of one former taboo. Money. I never fail to be shaken by the brazen bragging which centres around salaries. My colleague was recently subjected to an unsolicited boast of a friend's new radio contract.
"50 thousand a year", she declared without a trace of self awareness or dignity.
In this era of globalisation, company turnovers, profit, share prices and other financial minutiae are inevitable, but the personal stuff - keep it personal. I don't want your coarse, vulgar and avaricious preening.
Tuesday, 1 July 2008
A nice, fat steaming blog
Well I promised you London chapter and verse on Monday, but other desperately important Wonkana paraphernalia took me away from the keyboard. So return I will to our escapade in The Smoke. The original intention was to bombard innumerable PR agencies with our portfolio of podcasting. In the end, Aussie Col and I structured our day around a trip to Primrose Hill. That and the pub. And Pret A Manger. And another pub.
Good old Primmers, that bastion of creativity and refuge of myriad thesps. Sean Bean lives there. And to Boromir a well known phrase, "if it's good enough for Sheffield's most famous son, it's good enough for Wonkana".
The inner sanctum of Hart Media, promoters par excellence, was a Bohemian affair with a strong sense of bonhomie. One of their affable number was taking a quick tea break on the sun drenched terrace, whilst another deftly brewed coffee just to my liking. I know that blogs are often viewed as even more vivid than the dysfunctional merry go round of Kerry Katona's, but I shall exercise restraint and desist from a blow by blow account. This much I will say; the music industry would struggle to find a more genuine figure than Toby at said company. Call me old fashioned, but I believe the contents of a meeting are sacrosanct.
Now, when's that OK centre spread?
Good old Primmers, that bastion of creativity and refuge of myriad thesps. Sean Bean lives there. And to Boromir a well known phrase, "if it's good enough for Sheffield's most famous son, it's good enough for Wonkana".
The inner sanctum of Hart Media, promoters par excellence, was a Bohemian affair with a strong sense of bonhomie. One of their affable number was taking a quick tea break on the sun drenched terrace, whilst another deftly brewed coffee just to my liking. I know that blogs are often viewed as even more vivid than the dysfunctional merry go round of Kerry Katona's, but I shall exercise restraint and desist from a blow by blow account. This much I will say; the music industry would struggle to find a more genuine figure than Toby at said company. Call me old fashioned, but I believe the contents of a meeting are sacrosanct.
Now, when's that OK centre spread?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
