Spitting fire

Babble on.

My intrepid Barrie Correspondent - the one who's never seen a bus window he didn't want to put his ass through, at great personal expense to me - has e-mailed me photos from a most unique beer ad campaign. Here's one of them:



My friend had been led to believe this was a World Cup publicity push...

What? All right, if you're one of those poor desolate souls who aren't following the bouncing ball here, the World Cup...*sigh*...of soccer...is being held in Germany this year. Right now, as I type this, in fact. Get it? Good, now stay with the tour, and try to keep up.

As I was saying, although my friend had been led to believe the Spitfire beer ads were released in time for the World Cup this year, it turns out they've been around since at least 2000, and maybe as far back as a decade ago.

Here's my question: are the ads funny and clever, are they hateful and offensive, or do they fall somewhere in between those two extremes?

The rest of that campaign can be found here, with subsequent campaigns here, here, here (please tell me someone else gets the brilliant "Fantasy Eleven" reference), and here.

It's interesting to note that formal complaints were filed about some of the ads, they were pulled from the Underground, but both the German embassy and the Advertising Standards Authority in the UK didn't object to the content.

Personally, I think they dance right on the line between 'funny' and 'in poor taste'. The "downed all over Kent" line made me laugh out loud. The SS lightning bolts, not so much.

But the real tipping point for me is that some of the proceeds from the sale of the 'Bottle of Britain' go to to the RAF Benevolent Fund and other charities:

Spitfire's success has soared since it was introduced as a charity beer in 1990, marking the 50th anniversary of RAF's defeat of the Luftwaffe. The beer's huge popularity has seen it raise over £100,000 for various charities to date.

Tallyho, gents.

Babble off.

Scattered thoughts on a workoliday

Babble on.

Well, despite the fact that we boarded and de-boarded six flights in twelve days and the fact that twelve days away from the kids was too long for both me and Litlbit, we enjoyed the British Isles.

Various half-thoughts on the trip:

• It was absolutely awe-inspiring to visit one of the few true repositories of Western knowledge at Trinity College in Dublin. The smell of old books on old wooden shelves is intoxicating to me.


• Those who like Guiness tell me the stuff in Dublin is much better than the stuff we get over here. And for folks like me who can take Guiness or leave it, there's Magners. Oh yes, there's Magners enough for all of us, as long as I get my pint first.


• The pros are going to tear up the course at the Ryder Cup this year. The K Club has a few fantastic holes (eighteen on the Palmer Course is a wonderful finisher), but while it proved more than a challenge for this poor hack, I fear it won't for the best golfers the world can throw at it.


• Only while visiting in-laws overseas can a man get dragged down to a snooker pub on the morning of his wedding anniversary, have pints of Tennent's poured down his gullet, meet up with his wife after church three-quarters in the bag, and still be married by the end of the day.


• If Harrods isn't numbered among the Wonders of the World, it damned well should be - on the prices alone.


• After becoming, ahem, distracted and turning off a nil-nil Germany vs. Poland match 85 minutes in, my wife and I were somewhat surprised to learn of Germany's late game-winnner by way of a roar through the open window of our London hotel room. Before I got too chuffed, my wife assured me the cheers were for the football match, and not for me. I must say, it was fun being in a place where football is taken so seriously for the start of the World Cup.

The work portion of the trip was productive, although hectic. The holiday was fun, but also hectic. Now that we're back, the spectre of our impending relocation hovers ominously over the next two weeks. Blogging will accordingly be light to invisible while we pack, move everything fifty klicks west, and unpack.

Babble off.

Later, gator

Babble on.

I'm out of here for a couple of weeks.



You guys know where everything is. Keep your shoes off the bed, throw the pizza out when it starts to smell, and return your empties.

I'll turn comments back on when I get back. I mean, I trust you and all, but contrary to popular belief, I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday. You have to get up pretty early in the afternoon to get one past me.

Until then, cheers.

Babble off.

Sea Kings to Afghanistan?

Babble on.

Not bloody likely.

In fact, not even realistically possible until the resourceful Maj Shaw can get some sort of Engine Air Particle Separators installed.

Babble off.