4 Fuks Saké

Cyrus, Jacklin, Higgs & Dignity

There are three stories from the past couple of weeks that are worthy of pulling together.

Cyrus / O’Connor

It’s been seven hours and fifteen days (approximately) since Miley Cyrus and Sinead O’Connor exchanged open letters on the subject of mental disintegration. Within a couple of weeks, Cyrus has transformed herself into a breathing version of Razzle, and reached the global Premier League of celebrity. Hard work? Music? Forget it. The 'tits out and trend' strategy pays an instant dividend, even if she’ll end up in rehab on Sinead O’Connor’s old ward in a year or two. 

Jacklin

Tony Jacklin – a man who would feature prominently in a review of the 20^th Century of European golf – wore purple glitter and was humiliated in front of nine million people watching Strictly Come Dancing. Richard Gillis, who in his own words "likes to take a          (pause)                 (arch eyebrow)                ‘sideways look’ at the sports industry”; picked up on a Tony Jacklin Q&A in Golf International magazine. “I’m told that these days you need to keep on reinventing yourself, to let people know you’re still alive and kicking.”

Higgs

Peter Higgs of Higgs-Boson has won the Nobel Prize in Physics. His response? To go on holiday, leave his mobile on the kitchen table and tell no-one where he’s gone. We won’t be seeing him in the Jungle this winter.

Questions. What has happened to the concept of dignity in the entertainment business? Is it possible for people who crave attention to still do so, and retain a sense of self-worth?

If your output is shit, perhaps it’s a struggle. A listen to the incidental part of Cyrus’s career – her music – would explain why she’s got them out.

Jacklin however, has stories no-one should tire of listening to or learning from (ref: Birkdale, Lytham, the Belfry, Seve). These carry value. The last thing that man, or any of us need, is reinvention. My advice Tony – take a look at the example being set to you by Peter. Less is (commercially) more.

The Economics Of Prostitution

The prostitution industry has had a good couple of months. The pendulum of tabloid coverage swings ferociously from heroin-addled serial killer victims to posh, classy girls earning well off the rich. The industry walks a constant tightrope as it attempts to attract talent to its workforce, and income from its customer base. Of late, we're seeing a lot more of the Sophias and Fionas and fewer Joannes and Paulines who 'sadly grew apart from their families.'

Amongst all the super injunction bits and pieces, various news outlets have reported a short story about "Wayne Rooney vice girl Helen Wood." Helen, 24, appears to be super-injuncted and as a result has suggested she may head to the US, steer clear of UK libel laws, and get a book published. Helen, it is reported, was paid £195 for sex with someone. 

I have never gone commercial, nor have any plans to do so. However, £195 feels an obtainable sum for a mainstream customer let alone someone rich and famous. For Helen the supplier, it seems the margins are starting to slim. After all, I recall Helen's ancestors - women like Heather Mills - who it was reported earned thousands a session, and comfortably six-figure annual salaries.

Clearly the business model is changing. Much like the video games industry or the mobile industry it seems simple. Cut the price at entry level (free phone, cheap console; in the case of prostitution just under £200 for the full English).  Then once they're in, rake it in. In video games that's software; in mobiles, data.  In Helen's case, £195 opens up a world of book deals, tip-off fees, PAs and then finally compensation from News International for having hacked her phone in the first place. 

This Is The Self-Delusional Society

 
Is Bryan Ferry alive or just a high res jpg?

Ferry - to whom you can add Jo Wood, Ed Vaizey, Tamara Mellon, Time, CNN, airline gold cards, and the phrase "I just can't live without my iPod Nano" - all operate in the parallel universe that is business travel lifestyle. It's a place that has no relation with reality. It is a phrase that is the definition of an oxymoron.

Travelling on Eurostar this evening, I look at my bag on the rack and have to ask myself the uncomfortable question - why have I got a Cathay Pacific gold luggage tag attached to it? I haven't lived in Hong Kong for four years. I'm clearly no longer 'gold.' Marcus Wareing's face smiles benignly at me from the cover of Metropolitan magazine. Looks interesting - 'I wonder what his latest "pioneering restaurant venture," will be?' Or do I. Do I fuck in fact. Marcus sorry pal, off to Nando's with the kids on Saturday. And actually I've no idea who you are.  

Amongst all this, it's not abundantly clear that any woman has ever travelled. Boys collect football stickers, then they get a career and collect air miles. It's only men who wear airline luggage tags on their business. It's only men who absorb all this then subsequently have mid life crises. It's probably the reason Tiger Woods lost it - believed his own Accenture airport billboards.

Publishers - there is a gap here for someone to fill. I give you some leeway - you can create an iPad version if you like. But how about a title that is more reflective of the reality?

Boredom. Poor phone receptions. Dinners for one. Dinners with men you don't know very well. Propositions at 2am next to lifts. Unnecessary or unwanted drinking. The darkness behind a hotel room door. 

Probably not the most uplifting of reads - but then again, I enjoyed Nil By Mouth. 

31ThirtyOne

Matt Humphrey's 31ThirtyOne.

31 portraits in 31 days, in aid of NACC. Kick off August 1. 

Matt's looking for subjects (and funding).

The Only Gay In Football's Village

 Justin Fashanu is the only gay footballer that has ever played professional football in England. That's right - the only one, ever. This brief blight on football's landscape happened for a few seasons in the early 1980s. He notched a goal of the season, got hounded out of a few football clubs, was disowned by his brother and hanged himself.

Fortunately nobody gay has ever played football professionally before or since. 

Yesterday, the FA pulled out of a launch of a new film created by Ogilvy to raise awareness of homophobia in football. A promising, if somewhat eye-watering sounding script was canned. Someone got cold feet. 

Whilst those involved in the project have been discussing the merits or (lack of) in the film, the more depressing aspect is that a sport which is institutionally homophobic remains institutionally homophobic through more inactivity. The FA couldn't decide what it wants for lunch without resorting to a bout of politicking and bickering - eventually settling on starvation via inertia. It's taken two years to get to yesterday's cancellation - and the budget set aside for the project would buy you an hour of John Terry's time.

And all the while the familiar, tedious debate around the concept of the 'role model' continues. Another week passes of hot air and news print around nothing. A model works her way through Terry and his mates, 50,000 sing "Chelsea legend," whilst the lonely corpse of Justin Fashanu continues to swing under a bridge. 

Poor. 

Beauty & The Bollocks

According to The Guardian yesterday this was ninth in one global viral video chart. 80% of people who watched this film in the US, said they were less likely to text when driving. It cost £10,000 and was made by a film maker and local students in Gwent.

How much did Diageo pay to shoot 7 minutes of Robert Carlyle's beautiful looking whisky epic? How much money will they spend on media, on seeding costs, on promotion and PR of said film? How much time was spent in meetings, presentations, focus groups and rounds of research to produce it? How much more whisky will be sold as a result?

1. Which do you think is the most effective piece of work?

2. Who are the winners and losers here?

Big Business

Big Brother "axed" says The Sun. Before you take the piss, was it your idea to knock up a portakabin and then make £25million a year? The format deserves to go down as one of the great business achievements in television history.

Channel 4 and Endemol deserve nothing but respect for devising a format that is commercially stupendous, and still looks ahead of its time, (even if the content it produces has become just a little predictable). Its simplicity is everything. Stick some people in a box, peer at them via your TV, mobile, computer or tabloid newspaper and then persuade people to spend more money sending texts, making calls, buying the sponsor's products. People do.

Endemol CEO Tim Hincks says Big Brother "is the only really convincing multiplatform idea and format in the UK". He could add the world - the format has been exported to over 70 countries. In reality, there are shit loads of them - but Hincks' people showed them the path to gold.

Can't wait to see the back of it myself. And that's nothing but pure jealousy.

The Prince's Rainforests Project

In the next 24 hours, deforestation will release as much CO2 into the atmosphere as 8 million people flying from London to New York. On that basis, add your signature and ask influential people to do something about it.

Then, return to 4 Fuks Saké and we'll stick to lighter matters.

The Swayze And Wenger Legacies

We now have confirmation courtesy of yesterday's 'Swayze Dead' Twitter trending, that your Mum & Dad will be on Twitter by the end of the year. Not that we were far off anyway. Reading Women's Weekly last night, I couldn't help but notice the magazine take a virulent stand against @schofe for 'tweeting' on his 'Memorial For Dad Weekend Mini-Break'.

Rumour is the most effective vehicle to promote a new communication channel or device. There is a precedent in email.

Yesterday's 'trending' took us all back to the mid 90s, and a tasteful song that stays with us to this day. Generally, a Man United v Arsenal fixture at Old Trafford isn't complete without a 5 minute chant of "Sit down you paedophile," sung vile-ly at Arsene Wenger.

Back in 1996, the UK was on the cusp of embracing email. Only senior management or people you didn't really know, had email addresses. We didn't really get it. Those that did - and the finger at the time was pointed to blokes in the City - recognised you could shuttle information around at rapid pace whether it was true or not.

At 2pm on a random Tuesday I was faxing press releases directly to bins in newsrooms. By 2.30pm, Ian Lessey in accounts was running around the office telling everyone that Wenger had apparently been "busted by cops in a hotel room." By 2.45pm William Hill had stopped taking bets on him being fired and by 4pm, he was on the steps of Highbury issuing a full denial.

By 5pm everyone realised it was total bollocks, was a bit confused, but wanted 'in' on this email thing.

Now everyone knows a little more about how Twitter works. I'm sure it's what Patrick would have wanted.

Prince. Frog. Rainforests. Save Them