Couldn’t believe this when I read it, but it turns out that the contents of Evan Brown‘s brain belongs to the company which fired him.
This is the kind of thing I’ve been waiting until I was 30 to do. Oh yes, it seemed that the only folk who made a complaint over a tv advert or programme were those no-life, middle aged know it all’s with nothing better to do.
Granted, I did have something better to do, but now that you can complain online I decided to give it a whirl.
The offending advert is the current campaign that Channel 4 have going to publicise their current line up of U.S. sitcoms. This would normally be fine – I do happen to watch a couple of those recycled U.S. sitcoms, however, this advert they have makes fun of the Police Could You? campaign. I think it’s in very poor taste to parody a very serious recruitment effort – the police are obviously struggling for numbers and trivialising their recruitment drive with Keith Harris (of all people – why not just use bloody Orville!?) is ill advised at best.
So I complained.
Not sure how I feel about it now – kind of glad I made the effort in a way, but a little dismayed that I let a tv advert bug me to the point where I complained. The reason I done it was probably an article on Jeremy‘s site a few months back which brought to my attention another example of poor behaviour on the part of Channel 4.
The ITC have already acknowledged my complaint and will apparently keep me notified of what happens as a result. As is the case with these things, it would take a few more folk than me to complain in order for anything major to happen, but at least I made a stand for once.
At just before 4am this morning I discovered that owning a nice new car doesn’t come without the odd hiccup. For reasons best known to itself, the car’s alarm decided to go off on a 30 second scream-fest, waking me and I suspect the neighbours too, at a time when I’m sure everyone would have prefered to be asleep.
By the time I had grasped that it was my alarm and struggled to the upright position, the smegger had shut up. In my foggy state of mind I slipped back into bed wondering why it had chosen to wake me at this unearthly hour. That’s when the paranoia started to work its magic.
Was there some scally prying out the CD player as I lay there taking the easy option?
Were the windows shattered to powder and the tyres cut to ribbons?
Did the above automobile assailant have designs on the house when he was done with the car?
With Fliss snoring away beside me like Darth Vader having an asthma attack in a gas mask, I decided I wasn’t going to get back to sleep in the near future anyway and like in all the best horror movies I set off in the dark to the ground floor to investigate.
It came as a reasonable relief, but not great surprize, that the car was completely unharmed and showed no evidence of why it had chosen to seek attention like a crying child in the middle of the night.
On a more positive note, does this show that my parental instincts are intact? I mean, I heard the cries for help while Fliss slept on. :o)