Before PlayStations, crack cocaine and Wispa's return, Britain was a simpler place.

Folk were easily amused, getting hours of fun from grainy clips of squirrels on miniature surfboards or dogs in comedy sunglasses smoking a fag. How we laughed as little Nutkin slipped from his board into the murky depths, as Fido gamely wheezed through his twentieth Benson of the day.

The Happy Egg Co's TV début taps the indescribable joy of a free-range chicken riding a quad-bike. Its ethical credentials are torpedoed somewhat by the chook not wearing a crash helmet or seatbelt, but the image of its beady eyes gleaming with delight like a velociraptor at feeding time is pure poultry in motion.

'Happy hens lay tasty eggs' goes the spiel - and with ads like this, even militant tree-huggers will be whistling gaily into their omelettes. Abortive bird foetuses have never tasted so guilt-free.