Hive Health

How our industry is seen is a present annoyance for me.  I was forced by to go to a recent boys charity do and with a load of  bankers – I was turned on with multiple questions on the solid nature of what I do. Apparently ‘Media’ (said with a lightness of voice – try Frank Spencer/crossed with Dale Winton) as a sector is just nonsense. Not real work. Staggering my fellow charity goers all are in derivatives traders – pot – kettle – noir I said – infuriating them further.

I can understand this portrayal of what we do as airy-fairy-nonsense. Last night I tried to explain branding to our old IT guy Tony, who errs on the side of functional to say the least.  He just wasn’t convinced. Despite wearing Nike, carrying blackberry, and swearing by Persil, outside The Blue Posts it became apparent that I was never going to convince him on any decision making other that rational. It was the source of some frustration and much cider. But then he loves Carling because its tastes better than any other lager. (A belief I am still staggered by)

Returning to the bankers, it’s possible the view of the man in the (city) street is of the Gucci loafer wearing, Hoxton types, designing for an hour a day in-between their table fussball games that they really object to. I think also it’s the thought of a group of individuals earning  ”footballer wages” (sic), miles always from any market forces that further angered these guys. These guys just didn’t get what it’s all for. Yet when you speak to them about ads – these seem to be a result of some higher power – that clearly has never been near to a fussball tournament or infantile hand shake.

We need to dissect the elements of creativity, how a piece works, which elements are working  which need work. Assessing ideas requires words borrowed from an emotive/artistic dictionary. Which is why a collection of (daft) terms surrounds us and why often this collection of terms makes very little sense to the un-initiated.  We are immersed in tone, value, emotion, function, all elements of an idea that does something to its viewers. Perhaps this is “not the sort of thing anyone believes for a nanosecond in the real world”. but it’s a reality of our life we need the words to do the job.  I have a feeling that these are totally important to us, it’s their public outings that tend to persuade non – industry bods that what we do is just nonsense. Looking around the 5,000 member Facebook group – “Don’t tell my mum I’m in advertising – she thinks I play piano in a brothel” perhaps sums it up. A good indication of the shame those in our industry feel. Perhaps?  Perhaps not?

Why we shy away from just telling it like it is I don’t really know. Basically all that stuff we talk is for one real aim – to better connect in some way with an audience. The creation of an idea is about savings, it’s budgetary. Really it is.  Whether you are a planner, creative or suit, the business is about efficiency. We just seem reticent to tell others that by doing it this way we connect cheaper. We find ways of developing  relationships with audiences and brands that would otherwise cost more. Agree or disagree, I am not sure why the industry continues to be scared of this – hire us we will save you money seems a blinding recessionary position.

Simple as that.

Ps. No rhyming slang has been used in this blog.

We’ve seen some rotten sporting decisions. We’ve touched the shame of Wayne. We admired Fabio in his sharp M&S suit. We watched the neglected Crouchy bobbing around in the warm up area. We met Mick McCarthy. We felt the loyalty of the fans undulating like a Mexican wave. We did it on South African soil, around the very grass that still steams with hot English tears.

Sorry, it’s not a good time to boast. I assure you, the sorrow of England’s crummy demise was ever more excruciatingly felt at close range. But it’s still wonderful being in South Africa. This is my first home, though my tickets were for England.

We got here the morning of the match vs USA. My little old car, now used by my brother in law’s mum, had been returned for my arrival. It was plumed with two flags: a big SA one and a little England one. You soon get used to the mad flapping noise. Everyone has them. The South African supporters also sport little mittens on the backs of their wing mirrors.

In Rustenburg I was almost decapitated by the volume of the vuvuzelas. Them Americans and Englishers can blow like pro’s. I was fresh off a plane, no sleep, wasn’t ready. Then I got my own vuvuzela.

Everyone’s itching to hit the stands. You get in a line, you get on a bus, you wish you’d remembered earplugs. You enter the stadium and arm yourself with a hysterically expensive Budweiser. You talk to people, exchange numbers,  you do a weird American bottom-bumping things in the air. You float in and out of the sponsors’ tents. You get to know the songs. The best one is “Give me freedom”  used by Coke. Is this on in the UK?  You should have seen me getting down. They have a great ad too of a little boy on the shoulders of giant deft-footed robots.

The local war cry is AYOBA which means something like “Hell yeah!” or “Let’s go!” The atmos is tremendous, and then it’s time. Here come the flags, laid religiously on the pitch. Then the streams of the teams and their little marching mascots. Then everything kicks off and actually it’s a bit boring. Then it’s really good. Then it’s a bit boring. But then it’s good.

There are also fan parks. We first experienced one of these in Cape Town. They feel like a tiny concrete festival. They are free to enter, with security as hefty as at the stadiums. The finger of Bud has rubbed the branding off every can of lager. It’s the local Castle lager, with the simple moniker “South African Beer.”

People stand around draped in their flags, cradling their unbranded lager, worshipping the big screens. On the stage, some lunatic in a yellow boilersuit stirs up the crowd. Another guy walks around offering sticks of dried sausage. In half time there are games to play – such as, the screen becomes an interactive pitch, with footballs falling from the top. The crowd waves and jumps to knock the balls into the opponents’ goal.

If you’re not getting a bus back straight away, you walk miles to the pub with your new friends, singing songs by the Smiths and the Jam. Everyone gets along and invites you to come. Met a nice German fellow travelling with two British backpackers. No aggro. I did find the jingoism of some of the English songs a bit distasteful. Far more fun sometimes to stick with the Saffers and watch them convert a vuvuzela into a device for administering pints.  “Smash it down your beak, bru”, is the invitation.  No thanks, pal.

In between games, there is gentle sunshine, wildlife, family, and plenty of food. It’s fantastic in South Africa. You should all visit here most definitively. Until then,  I’m hoping that heatwave is fast evaporating those tears.

There we were, gathered round a TV, looking to see one of our writers, famous for a second on the TV. You see she’s travelled all the way home just to go to a couple of sporting events that coincide with her holiday. Our eyes peeled, the whole office (well a few who understood what was going on and weren’t talking to clients) agreed to hold out for the whole 90 minutes of play just in case she cropped up blowing her vuvuzela. Sadly, no Debbie, we’ll have to try again at her next game. Incidentally, there were a lot of worried faces for the last 10 minutes as a group of highly paid professionals gave us all high blood pressure, but 1 is enough, through to the knock outs. Come on England, we know your there with Debbie somewhere…

It’s that time of year for us here where we finish quick sharpish at 5.30 and head up to Regents Park for the annual Taste of London pilgrimage.

Its a great night, and we would recommend anyone remotely foodie heading there, loading up on crowns (the TofL currency), and chowing down.

Favourite Hive dishes included Fino‘s Suckling pig, Club Gascon’s Octopus and scallops, and the Yauatcha‘s Dim Sum were mind blowing. As usual Atul Kothhur’s (Benares) Lamb chops were a destination for us all. Minty pleasure.

Also consumed on mass was Sussex Champagne NyeTimber which still kicks the ass of all the French pretenders present, and as always Chapel Down’s, vintage Reserve Brut and accompanying oysters proved a great starting point.

This year saw 25 of us from agency and client side hit the stands hard. We were also joined by two of our new recruits midway through their notice periods who excelled in their first hive experience.

Fuelled by foie gras and bubbles the resulting bag a celebrity chef  photograph competion kicked off. The winners being the boys who managed to bag Gary ‘Lamb’ Rhodes  in what I am sure you will agree is a good side profile poise by Gary.