If You Can't Stand the Heat, Go Back in the Kitchen

Back in July the Birmingham Post asked me to write an article about the Silly Season for their Media Types column. Here it is to remind us of that hour and a half of British summer.

Where did the summer go?

Who wants to type articles on a day like this? Nothing’s moving except for a few freelance bumblebees. They don’t seem bothered that what they’re doing is impossible, and the noise they make is providing a nice counterpoint to the crack of lighter fluid on charcoal. One advantage of advancing years is that your kids can run the barbecue.

A blank screen stares accusingly back. Might as well neck what’s left of the Chablis before it gets too warm.

The mind wanders…

A friend of mine has built a multi-million pound business on the ethos that if you’re too busy you’re doing something wrong. His home village boasts an annual presentation of the Stoke Albany Lazy Bastards Award. He was devastated to come second last year; apparently he was seen entering his office before ten o’clock on two consecutive months.

It’s a talent we all need to emulate. If becoming more successful means becoming more busy, what’s going wrong? I haven’t mastered the technique, but believe me I’m willing to learn.

There’s a frog poking its head out of the pond. A fly lands six inches from its head. No response, not a flicker. It’s too hot; another fly’s bound to land closer. Just be patient.

It’s that elusive easy life. We all want it. Quite possibly, we want it more than anything else on earth. One of my clients is just starting a marketing campaign based on a deckchair. What are they selling? That’s right… accountancy. And it works. It works because you choose your accountant because of what he takes away, not because of what he gives you. Do you want leading edge tax consultancy, or would you prefer a drink in that deckchair over there. Stop worrying. Leave it all to me.

Was that thunder?

A raindrop the size of a whisky measure in a Scottish pub hits the laptop keyboard. The barbecue crackles its annoyance, engulfing the patio in a fog bank that should have a sneaky French frigate hiding inside it. Russell Crowe dives behind a bulkhead just in case. It’s all dreams.

So where’s the marketing moral in all this? Make up your own – I’ve got this article to write. On the other hand, if it’s silly season for the press, why not for media types? Why keep writing when the next cork could be creaking out of its bottle?

Lazy Bastards Award: you will be mine.