Excuse the smell. I’ve been brought back from beyond the grave to make a TV ad for Sainsbury’s. You may have seen it. After watching this symphony of mawk I’m quite happy to forego my other eight lives.
Forgive the cattiness, but I was lured back by promises of stardom and the benefits to charidee without which no self-respecting artiste will leave the litter tray. “One year we had it directed by Kevin Macdonald,” they said, “and he’s got an Oscar”. Which is catfood, where I come from.
Well all Moggins here got was a bunch of pimply CGI nerds and some fragrant simpering marketeuses from Holborn banging on about infomediaries and cross-platform content architecture. And collateralizing emotive response. Which I think is Bullshit for flogging a dead horse (or in this case, cat) to little Clarissa and Oliver and getting them to drag mummy out of Waitrose for long enough to splooge the household booze budget in Saino’s.
Trouble is, said supermarket “unexpectedly” ran out of stuffed facsimiles of me after a record-breaking 12 minutes, and “unaccountably” created another PR story in so doing. But there’s me again, going all Scroogey-puss and forgetting the funds raised for good causes. And the £350K on the ITV rate card it costs to stick this drivel seamlessly into the middle of Corrie.
Add that to the production costs of Acne Anonymous and the Prosecco Set and you have a seven-figure sum that might just potentially have found a better cause than lubricating the tills of every bar in Covent Garden. It’s enough to turn a puss sour. Still at least it wasn’t the even more emetic Old Man in the Moon. Give me death every time. And him. Oh, and Merry Christmas.