An Open Letter to the Makers of Lynx...

Customer Care

Unilever UK
FREEPOST
Admail 1000
London
SW1A 2XX

Dear sir/madam,
I recently undertook to purchase what one may well term a 'can' of your Lynx Excite product - I, a congenital imbecile, found your flashy advert with its Italian setting, bellicose operatic score and attractive, winged woman falling from the very skies utterly impossible to resist. Lynx Excite: Even Angels Will Fall. What on earth could possibly be more exciting, I ask you? A look at the can assures me in diagramatic form that should I combine the corresponding shower gel with my recently purchased spray, I will receive bikini clad women to the power of two. I'm no mathematician, but even I can well see that this represents a frankly unbelievable exponential return. Fibernace would indeed be proud.

So, what, you may be wondering is the problem with said body spray? Now, I have always been taught not to take adverts too literally, so you can well imagine my surprise when, after a liberal application of your fragrant chemicals, in fact an angel did tumble from the heavens. So far, so good, you may be thinking, but you can imagination my current consternation when I go on to explain that the previously mentioned celestial being landed square on top of me, having reached something approaching terminal velocity. She made no attempt whatsoever to utilise the wings that were gifted to her by God, presumably to avoid exactly this kind of eventuality.

I have sustained what my lawyers have asked me to refer to as 'not inconsiderable bruising', 'minor lacerations' and 'a nearly slipped disc'. Even writing this letter of complaint results in a shooting pain around the knuckle (is it a knuckle?) of my right thumb, which was badly sprained as a result of your celestial tomfoolery. Needless to say, I shall be commencing legal proceedings but felt compelled to provide a letter, in addition to my solicitor serving you court summons, allowing me to express some suggestions for a new marketing and indeed product creation direction.

I ask that you immediately rethink your advertising campaign. Perhaps have a single figure with a white backdrop simply explain to the audience that the humble act of spraying a mixture of potent hydrocarbons onto one's sallow flesh will not make one irresistable to women and may even result in what my solicitor and medical practitioners have termed 'intermediate discomfort'. Spraying something not entirely removed from simple natural gas onto oneself will not transport one to Italy and while it may well cause a phenomenon not dissimilar from your 'angels will fall' scenario, it is certainly a far less attractive proposition. Furthermore, I suggest that your lab produces a new product - perhaps call it 'Lynx Chemical Spray'- that in no way makes an immediate connection between spraying said concoction and dozens of models literally sprinting from far and wide to service your every sexual need. Nor shall you imply that the inocuous act of applying the spray will result in any women in the direct vicinity losing their clothes.

A bizarre mixture of false and some slightly (unpredictably, in fact) less false advertising have conspired to cause me not un-serious medical harm and I urge you to take steps to prevent further tragedy.

See you in court,
Outraged (and limping) of Marston Bigot

Still Got the Blues...

Allow me, if I may, to discuss somewhat of a passion of mine. I can't quite pinpoint the first moment that I realised I loved this genre. Whether it was Clapton's uptempo interpretations or that first thundering riff of Muddy Waters' 'Mannish Boy' or the folky, bellowing sound of Lead Belly belting out 'Midnight Special' or perhaps even the exoticism of the idea of Robert Johnson selling his soul to the devil at a lonely crossroads in return from becoming the greatest bluesman in history, I'm still uncertain. What I do know however is that the blues never fails to sweep me up in its fervour and power. To hear Blind Willie Johnson humming in unison with his Open D-tuned acoustic on 'Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground' is to hear the very 'soul of a man' (another of his compositions, incidentally). That moment of intense spiritual torment met with raw bottleneck slide guitar cuts a fine line between blues and gospel but the blues is all the better for its versatility. From throaty anti-recession shouts on Jimmy Witherspoon's 'Times Gettin' Tougher Than Tough' to the wailing, aching guitar licks of the late Gary Moore to the innuendo and raucous comedy of Wynonie Harris' 'Quiet Whiskey', the blues covers the full gamut of human emotion. Many see the blues as a music of pain or tragedy, but, at its heart, the blues is about having the last laugh over adversity.

So what, you may be wondering, does an Oxbridge-educated English comedian who went on to become the highest paid actor on American television have in common with a Depression-era preacher blinded by a handful of lye flung in anger or a Chicago Blues innovator dogged by alcoholism until dying penniless some 50 years after recording his first hits or the ex-con with the booming voice who died of Lou Gehrig's Disease before he ever saw the fruits of his extensive influence or the Texas boy who brought the blues kicking and screaming into the 1980s and was just free of his crippling drug addiction when he was killed tragically in a helicopter crash? Well, our very own Hugh Laurie has recorded a blues album and on Wednesday afternoon he performed several tracks from 'Let Them Talk' for a live-stream on the Guardian website.

Yes, Hugh Laurie out of Jeeves and Wooster and 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie'. He's done a blues album. Of blues songs. Yes, out of Blackadder and the... ahem... Stuart Little films. He's done an album.

Now, if you're expecting me to rant and complain about why a successful English actor and comedian shouldn't be recording a blues album, you're actually going to be disappointed. There's no doubt that Laurie is a talented musician, a multi-instumentalist in fact. Anyone who's seen 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie' will remember his brilliant parody and comic songs...

Actually, permit me to go off on somewhat of a tangent. It worries me that there will soon, or perhaps already is a generation of people who only know Stephen Fry as the convivial and intensely knowledgable host of QI and a foremost tweeter and technophile and Hugh Laurie as an American diagnostician. For my money, 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie' contains some of the greatest sketches ever committed to celluloid. From the louche critics running the rule over their own work to the brilliant piece of high concept comedy resulting in a magnificent topper about the comic timing of Paul Eddington, the four series are all packed with absolutely stunning pieces of wit and silliness. Ooh, Peter and John, how could I have ommitted them... and the voxpops! Ah, basically just buy the DVD boxset...

Anyway, back to the subject. Naturally Laurie has come in for some criticism for his latest venture. A quick glance at the comments made during the live streamed gig reveal that his latest career turn could best be described as... divisive. Many take the Onion-style 'affluent white man enjoys blues' angle, but the wonderful thing about blues is it's an ownerless concept. If you can hear anyone from Skip James to Stevie Ray Vaughn to Joe Bonamassa or Joanne Shaw Taylor and have that music resonate within you, it's achieved its aim. The blues will be there for you at your lowest to help you conquer that grief.

But the blues isn't afraid of challenging major socio-political issues too. J.B. Lenoir's 'Eisenhower Blues' album covers issues including but not limited to the Vietnam War and Civil and Women's Rights. And while we cannot all directly relate to songs like the heartbreaking 'Strange Fruit' by the unparallelled Billie Holliday they remain as tangible cultural edifices representative of the outpouring of grief at the time. Naturally for someone like Hugh Laurie to claim to be able relate to that literally would seem crass but he's not doing that. He's in the fortunate position of being able to record music in a style that he loves without having to worry about the figures. Very few Bluesmen have lived to see their records make money, but finance was not chief among their motivations. They had something to say or they wanted to move people or even just wanted to spin a good old yarn.

Laurie openly acknowledges his 'trespassing on the music and myth of the American South' but to criticise a blues musician for being a white, middle-class Englishman is utterly ridiculous. Are we to brand Eric Clapton and Jimmy Page 'shameless thieves of African American culture'? Blues is infectious- it makes your feet tap, your hands clap and brings a smile to your face if it wants to and that effect does not discriminate. Laurie isn't asking us to lie down and proclaim him the new Mississippi John Hurt. The blues survives thanks to new blood, new interpretations of classics, new songs entered into the great tome of the Delta but most of all it survives through being played. By anyone. From a poor Alabama slave boy to a fat, middle-aged axe-man in a working men's club in Bolton. Laurie wants to use his influence to keep the blues alive and disseminate its power to as many people as possible. And what, I ask you, is wrong with that?

A Couple of Words, If You Don't Mind...

Well, hasn't the world changed since we last met, eh? Murdoch's intolerable expansionist endeavours have been enabled by Jeremy Hunt, the Culture Secretary (that's his name, isn't it, James Naughtie...?), Kolo Toure has tested positive for Charlie Sheen and faces suspension (or at least I think that's what's happened) and everyone's favourite melty-faced dictator Colonel Muammar Gaddaffi has clung onto his stranglehold of the Libyan people with renewed vigour and ever more dodgy soundbites... and TV appearances where he sits in a car with an umbrella. Oh! And the Lib Dems lost their deposit in the Barnsley by-election (finishing 6th behind the BNP and an independent no-hoper).

But instead of musing on whether troubled actor Charlie Sheen (as we're contractually obliged to call him- a bit like 'The Actor Kevin Eldon') is a tragic case of celebrity excess taking its toll or a ludicrous genius finally saying the things we're all thinking; or whether the people of Libya will ever know freedom, I'm going to bring up a couple of personal causes (well, sort of personal).

Winning!: The rantings of a lunatic or the single greatest philosophical statement of the century so far?

First cause. For some reason Auntie Beeb (who is incidentally involved in both of these) has seen fit to axe the sitcom Whites. You remember Whites. It starred Alan Davies as a thinly-veiled parody of semi-celeb chefs (the kind you would see on Great British Menu) and was notable for its marvellous characterisation, super-sharp script and scene-stealing cameos from co-writer Matt King. Well, for some reason, BBC Comedy has decided that Whites was less able to inform, educate and entertain than, say, BBC Three's Coming of Age or Lunch Monkeys. Just muse on that for a while. Anyway, if you happen to be on Twitter then you can hurl abuse (but in a sort of semi-constructive way) at @bbccomedy with the hashtag #bringbackWhites.

Second cause. If you're a radio-loving insomniac like me, there's a good chance you will have heard some of 5Live's Up All Night with Rhod Sharp/Dotun Adebayo. A marathon of global news, features, phone-ins and everything you could ever want between the hours of 1 and 5 in the morning. On Tuesdays at 2.30 is the American TV slot and Rhod goes live (via the magic of Skype) to the living room of one Cash Peters, TV swami, author and alternative health guru who delivers a wonderful half hour of badinage, results of his latest health experiments and even some TV reviews if we have time. Now, what does this have to do with anything? Well, there's specualtion that Cash may have made his last utterance of the brilliance of Oprah's TV station on 5Live.

It's difficult to understand the magic of the Cash/Rhod relationship without actually listening to it, but suffice to say it's brilliantly entertaining and one of few things that can make me laugh out loud at near enough 3 o'clock in the morning. Broadcasts aside, Cash is somewhat of a cult hero inspiring fierce loyalty in members of The List (you may not know what that is, but I know for a fact you want to be on it now) and providing marvellous blog posts on his website (www.cashpeters.com), as well as providing spiritual guidance to those in need (myself included). His jolly and yet grizzled tones have helped people through exams, dissertations and probably even childbirth (almost certainly... probably). The fact is that Up All Night, 5Live and indeed all British late-night radio will be a poorer place if Cash has in fact made his last appearance.

So, I urge you, do what you can to keep Cash Peters Up All Night!