I’m feeling the pressure this morning.

My post last week about the ad campaign for Cadbury chocolate buttons went a little bit mad on Facebook, and has had more views in the last week than any post I’ve ever written. It just goes to show that you can spend hours crafting something informative and interesting, or you can bash out a 10 minute rant about chocolate buttons, and you’ll never really know what’s going to capture people’s imagination.

The trouble is, that never really having had a post blow up like that, I don’t know what to do next. I feel like I should be able to craft something hilarious and newsworthy, something that will make people say ‘we thought that post about the buttons was good but this, this is brilliant!’

Unfortunately I don’t have anything along those lines, and the more I try to come up with something, the worse it gets. Seriously, I’m staring at the screen and all I can think about is laundry. Why laundry? Or my last water bill. I had that through the other day and we were slightly in credit, so that was nice.

I’m also not used to attracting so much comment, and it made me realise why I normally tend to avoid controversy wherever possible. I didn’t personally think that writing about a Cadbury button poster was controversial, but apparently, on Facebook, you can upset anyone. 
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Walking through town to my office yesterday morning, I came across an advert on the side of a bus stop that left me feeling a little baffled.

Here it is:

Cadbury Button ad

Now first up, before I start ranting, I want to make it clear that:

  • I think it’s a very sweet and lovely photo
  • I love Cadbury in any form, buttons or otherwise

Right, now that’s clear…

What the actual f**k?

I don’t know about you, but having a small child clamber on me, whilst trying to poke me in the eye with my own glasses, is one of my least favourite things. It is definitely NOT one of those moments where I think ‘Ahhh! This is what having kids is all about! This is better than Cadbury buttons!’ I think back to Belle when she was younger – I would have been more likely thinking ‘Argh! When will I ever be allowed my own personal space? Why can this idiot child not even understand how to put on glasses?!’

I can only assume that the planning for this advertising campaign went something like this:

SCENE: Six 21 year olds sit around a glass table, sipping skinny lattes

1ST 21 YEAR OLD: Guys, we should totally capture the joy of parenting, and give people a warm fuzzy feeling.

2ND 21 YEAR OLD (looks up briefly from SnapChat): Dude, great plan! What exactly ARE the joys of parenting?

3RD 21 YEAR OLD: Err… Those special moments innit? Where your kid is all up in your face?

CHORUS OF 21 YEAR OLDS: Yeah, great brainstorming guys.

Because surely if you actually HAD children, you would understand that having your eye poked out by an overactive toddler is NOT FUN.

Some alternative campaign ideas that spark similar feelings for me:

  • Waiting for ages in a car park for a space and then having some dick in a BMW whizz in front of you
  • Banging your toe really hard against a doorframe
  • Trying to do some work at home and being forced to watch ‘a show’ from your children. Twice.

If Cadbury really want to connect with mums, and create a special, warm feeling, may I suggest the following:

  • Picture of a mum, locked in the bathroom, pretending to do a poo whilst secretly eating buttons and looking at Instagram
  • Picture of a mum, back to the camera, facing an open fridge, pretending that she is considering what to make for dinner but actually snuffling buttons out of an open bag in the fridge door.
  • Picture of a mum, with buttons hidden in an empty tub of vitamins, telling toddler they can’t have any because they are ‘mummy’s special medicine’.

I would be down with any of these.

You’re welcome Cadbury.

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A couple of new signs have appeared recently on my little stretch of the M5 – the bit between Taunton and Bristol. They are identical, at about a ten mile interval? They annoy me every time I drive past them, to the point where this weekend I made fiancé drive past extra slowly so that I could take a picture and rant about them.

This is it:

motorway petrol price sign M5

This sign tells me three things:

One – someone, somewhere, had a massively underspent motorway road sign budget. How else can you justify it? How much must it cost to have made this sign, connected it up with the petrol stations, get it set up, and then maintain it? And to what end?? (See points two and three.)

Two – petrol on the motorway is a complete rip off. If you have been foolish enough to leave your refuelling until you’re on the M5, (which is me obviously), this sign acts as a helpful reminder of what an idiot you are. 

Three – just in case you weren’t now depressed enough, it then goes on to let you know that there’s no point even hanging on a bit longer, as you will be ripped off by exactly the same amount for the next 39 miles. Haha! You feel really stupid now don’t you? View Post

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I thought I would jump on the EU referendum wagon today, for a short rant, not because I am hugely political, but because I saw this outside Wetherspoons on my way to work:

Wertherspoons EU referendum Brexit

Let’s take a minute shall we?

“Only Wetherspoon can gather the facts…”

Now I’m no expert, but instinctively, this doesn’t feel true. Surely there are people other than Wetherspoon, better qualified, more experienced perhaps, who might be in a slightly better position to gather the facts about the EU referendum for me? 

In response, someone on Twitter shared this picture with me, which I hadn’t seen, but is also very funny. This one is true. 

 

You could argue I suppose that when it comes down to it, Wetherspoon may be as well informed as anyone else who will be voting, and this is the bit that really annoys me – why is this even a referendum? Most of us, myself included, are just too stupid to be able to make an informed decision about this. This is an example of why we have an elected government – we have picked people to find out about stuff, and make these sort of decisions for us. The fact that we, the ignorant masses, have been put in charge of this terrifies me. It feels like a parent letting a toddler gorge themselves on Haribo, knowing they are going to be sick – someone needs to step in.

We can’t be trusted.

The majority of us will be voting based on fear, or misunderstanding, or because the newspaper we read tells us to, or because a celebrity we admire has said they are voting in a particular way. I have a economics degree, and yet I will be voting to stay in mainly because Boris Johnson wants out, and I feel like I have to disagree with everything he stands for on some kind of principle, the very foundations of which I’m not entirely sure about.

We are not informed enough to make these sorts of choices.

Have the government not taken a moment to look around them and realise this? We go out in flip flops the minute the sun pokes through the clouds, we eat ourselves to the point of obesity just because sugar is fun, we watch X Factor year after year even though it’s ridiculous, we eat in Wetherspoons for heaven’s sake.

We are not clever enough for this shit. 

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For about two months now, I’ve had a huge cardboard box in the middle of my living room. It originally had two large barstools in it, so it really is massive. Since having the barstools taken out though, it has been converted into a ‘den’. It has working lights, a welcome mat, and is covered by a blanket.

Now, I wouldn’t mind so much if Belle spent every evening sat in it, amusing herself with old-fashioned past times, stitching herself a little blanket or writing stories or something, but she has been in it perhaps once in the last three weeks.

“Do you think we could get rid of your cardboard box house now?” I ask, only vaguely hopeful that the answer will be yes.

“NO!’ says Belle, aghast. “I love it!”

“But you don’t play in it?”

“Yes I do! All the time!”

Then of course she will spend half an hour in it, just to make the point. 

You would think after 20 years of parenting that I would be past the stage of having to pretend to like things made out of old cardboard boxes, but apparently this particular avenue of pleasure is still well and truly open for me. You might think, if nothing else, that the cardboard box creations would at least have become more discreet, but no, this den is as big as an armchair. 

If it was a robot, made out of old egg boxes, I could far more easily hide it on top of the fridge to test to see if Belle would miss it. That’s always a good tactic – ‘Oh, that super cool space craft you made? Oh yes, I just popped that on top of the fridge to display it – I wanted to be able to see it from my height more easily.’ If they don’t notice – which they normally don’t – you can then move from stage 1 (top of fridge) to stage 2 (outside bin) after a couple of weeks.

What is the fascination?!? It’s a cardboard box for heaven’s sake. Why to kids always want to keep rubbish? Why can’t you just put the cereal box in the recycling like a normal person?

I found this picture, showing a mum smiling fondly in the background – this is clearly a mum who is new to parenting, for whom the novelty of having a house full of crap has yet to wear off. ‘It’s so sweet,’ she says lovingly to friends, ‘he unwraps his gifts and is always more interested in the box!’
child in a cardboard box

The one thing that Belle’s den has in its favour at least is that it is well put together. (You’d hope though, to be fair, that by the age of 13 you could build a decent box den.) With smaller children, the added frustration is that most of what they make is actually just rubbish. They have no skill, no flair. Yeah, yeah, it’s all about the creativity and having fun, sure, but come on kids, get it together – it’s really hard to gush enthusiastically when you’ve literally just stuck together a few toilet rolls. 

If, when they built a robot, it looked something like this, or could actually do something useful, like the hoovering, then perhaps as parents we’d feel less like driving it immediately to the tip or crying into a chocolate cake quietly in our bedrooms, wondering when our homes stopped being things of beauty, filled with flowers and books and hopes and dreams, and turned into a giant recycling truck.

Or perhaps that’s just me?

cardboard robot

Images – Evgeny Atamanenko and Sunny studio from shutterstock.

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