The Toppled Bollard: radical direct marketing in practice

Often the Toppled Bollard letters were experimental – in fact you could say the whole approach was experimental.  Just as we ventured into fun at the expense of John Prescott and President Bush the Younger, so we tried other ideas too.

Not all of them worked – and that is something you have to accept if you are trying out different things.  Indeed this piece was one of the less successful letters.

I think in retrospect that the idea of jumping from one issue to another paragraph after paragraph, is just too confusing.   But we tried – and if we hadn’t tried we would never have learned anything.

See what you think.

And don’t forget, if you want to talk about boiled fish, Italian football, or ways of grabbing attention, I’m your man.   01536 399 013, or Tony@Hamilton-house.com

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Juventus played like boiled fish – and how to run a revolution

On reading this headline in an Italian sports paper I wondered – why “boiled” fish?

I don’t know why but it reminds me of a piece by Woody Allen, “On Tripping Through a Copse and Picking Violets” in which he wrote: “This is no fun at all, and I would recommend almost any other activity.  Try visiting a sick friend.”

His point was that the best way to get flowers was to call the florist and order by phone.   “That way,” he concluded, “if an electrical storm comes up or a bee-hive is chanced upon, it will be the florist who is rushed to Mount Sinai.   I have come to the conclusion that for sheer fun it is hard to beat forty-eight hours at Foam Rubber City during the high holidays.”

My own advice, when I am called upon to give it in the Toppled Bollard, is – be revolutionary when writing direct mail.  By and large being a revolutionary is simple – all you need is something to rebel against and then you just find someone who will do the revolting for you.

One of the great things about revolutions is that dress tends to be casual, and time and place are flexible – although of course if you don’t get both sides to agree on time and place then the whole revolution can be something of a walkover.    If neither side turns up, as in the Toppled Bollard Massacre of 2002, then a draw results and the status-quo is deemed the winner.   You also forfeit your deposit.

When running the revolution remember that the status quo is always dull and boring and mostly involves watching paint dry.  For my crusade against sales letters that start “I would like to introduce myself as your new sales representative for this area” I had Billy “The Dog” McGraw leading the revolting, something at which he was a natural.  The campaign, rather like dropped jelly, was completely mould breaking.

Of course it is hard for direct mail copywriters to get much sympathy in the media when they portray themselves as members of  “the oppressed”.  However most of us do go around grumbling a lot and complaining of headaches, which suggests to me that by and large we are on the right lines – so we might have more luck in the future.

Recently in an attempt to resolve the headaches we put all our reports on how you can get better response rates in direct mail by making a few very simple changes to your promotions on the www.hamilton-house.com web site.  You can also do counts and buy lists on line.

The site doesn’t harm your civil liberties although I would advise against calling the owner of the Bollard “Fats”.

Tony Attwood

PS:  The site doesn’t harm your civil liberties although I would advise against calling the owner of the Bollard “Fats”.

During the period of writing the Bollard stories we picked on a few hapless souls in the public eye, and had a little fun at their expense.   An obvious target was George W Bush – and indeed I came to use him again in part of the BadAd series (the stories that have taken over from this series).

Another one was John Prescott, whose use of language in Parliament was often something to behold.   Here’s one of the tales that resulted.  It is one of the first that used the “No horseman” line in the PS.

I introduced the horseman as what I took to be a little poke at daytime TV adverts aimed at senior viewers, making fun of their “no salesman will call” slogan.  But like most of my best laid plans it backfired, and readers thought I meant something in relation to the four horsemen of the apocalypse.   After a couple of weeks I gave up and accepted that this was the meaning, and developed the theme from there.

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Johnny Prescott and the strange case of the magic laundry machine

Last week my dear friend and regular quaffing partner Johnny (“give me the chocolate and nobody gets hurt”) Prescott and direct mail guru Billy “The Dog” McGraw gathered with me at the Toppled Bollard to ponder the latest bizarre twist in Johnny’s personal life.

Billy and I had noticed that Johnny had recently abandoned his traditional pre-industrial shop steward style of clothing and moved over to ill-fitting post-modern chic.  We asked why.

Johnny explained that for years he had been in possession of a unique clothing renewal system.  “Every night I would drop my clothes from the day on the floor in a pile at the foot of the bed. Three days later they would turn up, neatly ironed and folded.  It was perfect.

“But then one month ago the whole system failed.  I’ve checked the carpet.  I even tried changing the place I drop the clothes, but that had no effect.  It’s a mystery.”

We asked what Johnny had done as a result of this strange development.  He explained, “Until now I’ve only ever been in the bedroom and the kitchen chez moi but I discovered a small room equipped with a whole range of machinery the likes of which I have never seen before.  Near the machines was a plastic contraption, which my aides have informed me goes under the bizarre name of ‘laundry basket’.   However it was empty and seemed to have no discernable function.   So still no solution.”

“And does the lady wife have any thoughts on this odd situation?” I asked.

“Sadly no,” said Johnny, looking sad.  “You see she left me about a month ago – just about the time the clothes cleaning system broke down in fact.”

“Why did she leave?” asked Billy with more than his usual aplomb.

“Met a young fellow at her Salsa class who apparently gets his clothing at Gap.  Don’t know why that is important, but she mentioned it as she left.   Anyway I sent out my aides to investigate (it appears to be some sort of shop), and I’ve got a couple of the lads starting Salsa next week – just in case there is some connection with the laundry basket.”

Billy and I found it hard to comment.  Johnny shouted for a fresh round of drinks and 15 packets of crisps.   We drank and ate in silence, contemplating the future of the kingdom.

Tony Attwood

PS:  Contrary to popular belief my colleagues and I do not spend all day at the Toppled Bollard debating the finer points of laundry with our political masters.   We also spend time creating sales letters, supplying mailing lists, undertaking mailings and working continuously to give our customers ever higher response rates to their direct mail.   If you want to know more, please phone 01536 399000.   No horseman will call.

The most extraordinary thing…

Perhaps the most amazing thing about the Toppled Bollard stories is how they are remembered.  Just in the last two days I have had one potential customer on the phone who said that she received Hamilton House promotional materials until about four years ago when she changed jobs.  “I always liked the Toppled Bollard series,” she said.

And remember – these are just direct mail adverts.  No big TV campaign, no posters, no nothing – just direct mail.

Also this week I had a request from a client to reproduce a couple of stories.  They even said which ones they wanted – and gave a brief outline.  One that was requested is a story that has not appeared on this site, so I went looking for it.  It is noted on my computer as being written in December 2004.

So to ram home my point: this story from six years ago, which was published just once as a sales letter, and has never appeared on any internet site, was remembered and could be described six years later.

I put it to you: how many of your sales letters can be remembered six years later?

I am of course deeply flattered by this – but more than anything else – I think it proves my point beyond everything.  Put some humour in your sales letter, put in a hook that it can be remembered by, and you will become a brand and be remembered.

Anyway, to celebrate the request I received today, here’s the story that was requested. And if you want to know more, call me on 01536 399 013.

Tony Attwood

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The strange story of the Bollardière, the jockey and the run up to Christmas

In the days before Christmas each year, staff at Hamilton House join with a number of our close friends and associates from the Toppled Bollard – famed drinking den in the depths of Corby – for a fun day out at Towcester races on the other side of our beloved county of Northamptonshire.

This year over 200 Bollardière (as the quaffing partners of our favoured watering hole are known) mixed with the crème of the Hamiltonians for a solid day’s racing, wining and dining.

All went well until the third race when one of those jolly little fellows who sit on horseback (jockey I think is the technical term) had a slight altercation with my good pal and marketing guru Billy “The Dog” McGraw over the delicate issue of whether the little chap had deliberately failed to win a race in which Billy had some sort of financial interest.

Now Billy has an excellent intellect and a keen mind, and he also knows more about direct marketing than any man I know.   But at 15 stone and 6 feet 2 inches he is not a man to mix it with.   However I am delighted to report that on hearing the diminutive chaps protestations of innocence Billy merely looked down before turning to gather up as many of the company who were still coherent.   Deep and dark conversations ensued.

When the same horse racing fellow appeared bouncing up and down on top of a horse (for that is what they do) at the start of the next race, a roar went up from the Bollardière.  Suddenly a string of sausages flew out from the crowd and hit the jockey on the nose, quickly followed by half a turkey.  At the turn (as the bend in the track is called in racing circles) a box of Christmas Crackers landed on his jaw.  As the jockey glanced up three mince pies hit in him the side of the face.

These events took their toll and the horse dropped back down the field.   When a Christmas pudding settled on the jockey’s cheek and a bottle of sherry caught him on the chin, the animal (who I must say remained oblivious to the whole proceeding) responded by slowing down, and eventually came in a sorry third.

The little fellow, I could tell, was annoyed.   He dismounted (again I use the technical term) and walked up to what I believe are called the stewards and announced he was putting in an appeal.   He had, he said, been well and truly hampered.

Happy Christmas from me, and all my long suffering colleagues at Hamilton House

Tony Attwood

Not every story during the Toppled Bollard period was surreal.  Occasionally I meandered into a rant – but invariably a rant with a purpose.   This one, about Christmas, focussed on the fact that in order to sell you have to be different, and writing to people to tell them what they already know is not likely to achieve that.

It didn’t do much good however.  I wrote this in 2004, and in 2010, as I publish it on this site, the situation is exactly the same, the letters I get are the same.   Thankfully however there are some firms that have taken my advice.  I had one email today about winter solstice – and that made a nice change.

Incidentally, the Bad Ad story is coming on apace – I hope you enjoy that too.

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Why does everyone keep writing to me about Christmas

(and how can I stop them?)

So far this month I have received 25 mailshots at work from companies that one way or another tell me it is nearly Christmas.   If I add the number of mailshots that I got at home that told me how long there was until “that special day”, the number comes to around 40.

Now I am not normally a miserable sort of geezer and I enjoy “this time of year” as much as the next fellow.  But when I talk to people about direct mail, and how to make it work, one of the things we always discuss is differentiation.   As in, how to make your mailshot stand out from all the other mailshots that people receive.

And I can tell you for sure that one way not to differentiate is by sending out a message which contains sentiments virtually identical to those expressed by everyone else.

Strange as it may seem, I don’t need reminding in November that “Christmas is coming”.   I know that.  I have a diary.   I have already gone out and started buying presents for my three daughters.   I’ve chosen the cards that I am going to send to my mates (and rummaged around in the drawers of my desk to see if I have any left over from last year which I can safely re-use without running the risk of sending someone the same card two years running.)    And elsewhere in the company someone has chosen whatever cards we are sending out to our valued and esteemed customers.

So, if you tell me “the festive season is almost upon us” you are telling me something I already know, something that a dozen or more of your competitors are already telling me, and something that does not make me want to read the rest of your promotion.

Put another way, when composing direct mail pieces it is always worth seeing not just what the opposition is up to, it is also worth seeing what everyone else in direct mail is doing.   So, my Christmas message is, gather up all the direct mail that you receive and put anything you have sent out recently in the middle of it.  Then flip through and ask yourself, “Does mine stand out, is it just one among many?”  If the latter, tear it up and start again.

Of course this now leaves me with a great problem.   I’ve just spent 30 lines suggesting that you don’t send out mailshots at the end of the year which talk about Christmas.   So now, in writing to you during the run up to “the season of goodwill” how am I supposed to finish this letter?

Tony Attwood

During the time of writing the Bollard stories I often tried various other bits and pieces, always looking for a new approach that would stop the work getting stale.

I never found it, and so kept on coming back to the Bollard – until ultimately I said to myself, “no more – until I find a new format.

There’s still plenty more Bollardic stories to come on this site, but there is also a new site recording a completely new approach to writing a different sort of approach to direct marketing.   The full story, with the background etc is on www.BadAd.co.uk - I do hope you like it.

Now here’s today’s Bollard…

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The number of children eaten by bears as a result of stepping on the cracks is down by 25%

Last week I was delighted to welcome Sir Mark Thatcher to the Toppled Bollard where he gave a speech at the “Tell It As It Is” awards for people in the public eye who “Tell It As It Is”.

“I was born,” he said, and we all clapped and cheered.   “In 1953,” he continued. “ At Harrow I got three O levels, in map-reading, theatre studies and politics.  I chose not to go to Oxford University with my pal Jeff Archer, but instead decided to become a chartered accountant.”  There were gasps from the audience, and the sound of bottles bouncing on the floor.

“But I was badly advised, and no one told me that there would be exams.  However I told the authorities about my O levels in cooking, car mechanics and elementary surveying, I weighed up the pros and cons and put them in alphabetical order but I failed the exam three times.  I was however undaunted, and immediately set up Mark Thatcher Racing.   We lost lots of money, but in the Sahara I met International Rescue.   But they didn’t have any strings attached so I revealed to the world that Thunderbirds isn’t true – but the newspapers wouldn’t run the story.

“By this time I didn’t have any strings attached either.  The papers next suggested that I was involved in a £300m contract to build a university in Oman, which is an obvious activity for someone with O levels in human anatomy, needlework and environmental studies.   But I moved to Texas and married Diane.  He father has lots of money and cars.  I told him I like to drive, as befits a man with O levels in campanology, criminology and choreography.

“However it seems people in the US don’t like us Brits – I suppose it is because of my naturally retiring nature.  They said I married Diane for her money and I said of course I did.   Then they said that I was involved in racketeering, and there was a big court case.  I said it was all untrue.  I explained I was a man with O levels in ceramics, Welsh and quantum mechanics, and men of that stature don’t do racketeering – whatever that is.

“So Diane and I moved to South Africa where everyone sits by the pool and talks.  I was good at that.  But even there the authorities came after me about a loans scheme.  I said I don’t know anything about loans – I have nothing to loan, unless someone wanted to borrow my O levels in Cream Diversity, Jollifcationalism, and Silicon Technology.   But then Diane took the kids and shot back to Texas, and the South African police arrested me over some sort of coup in Equatorial Guinea.   I told them that a man with O levels in Fox hunting, genealogy and Spaghetti Enhancement does not get involved in Equatorial Guinea – of all places.   So now I feel like a cork floating down the Colorado river.  Even that got misquoted however.  I definitely said ‘cork’.

Tony Attwood

PS:  You can buy mailing lists on line at www.hamilton-house.com You can get blown about on a windy day at the end of Southend Pier, and you can talk about how to get higher response rates in direct mail by calling us on 01536 399 000.    No horseman will call.

Background comments

This is one of the more popular of the Bollard stories from the period 2002-4.  If you read it and wonder what on earth is going on, then the chances are you have not seen any Bollard stories before – and I should explain.

But the time this single page A4 flyer in the form of a sales letter was sent out to some 2500 companies that were either our clients, or had expressed an interest in our services, we had produced maybe 40 Bollard type stories.

The readership were thus fairly familiar with what we were up to, and had got into the notion that the sales letter was indeed there to do nothing other than grab attention.  The selling came from the enclosed leaflets or brochure – or simply because the reader having read picked up the phone.

The advert, as always was in the PS, which everyone read – even those people who started reading and didn’t have a clue what was going on.  And because the offer was free, it worked a dream.

Tony Attwood

The Toppled Bollard launches a new lecture season with a talk on Elvis in Unwinese

It has been my pleasure over the years to take many Hamilton House customers to dine at the Toppled Bollard, our local public house.  Not only is the food unbelievable and the liquor unmentionable, the Bollard has recently instituted a series of lectures on topics of international interest, delivered in Unwinese – a local dialect named after the late Professor Stanley, the county’s most famous inhabitant.

Recently I took a select group of clients to a Bollard Lecture on the topic: Elvis Presley and Northamptonshire.

“Elvis came from the great nation which goes back Abraham Lincladers and Gettysbold,” said the speaker, “and people from half the world for all or some of the time.

“Elvis it was who invented the swivel-hippy and kicking up the lebbers and showed it first with the rhythmic contrapole of the wobbling of the hipper, sideways with the head and tilty, gave him that expression both also with a little doggy-lublike in the eyebold which he conveyed to the smaller femaiload of the specie, coupled with his music because he did trittly-how fine on the strims, helped him along the roamer.

“And it was in a moment of time when this fundamould of expression came from him, and there weren’t many about then.

“Elvis devised a way to communicale to the English-speaking peopload stretched throughout the far flummers of the Earth itself and Northampton.   I heard it first of all on a record in the early mordy: I was doing the shavit-huff with my razor blade, and suddenly he did a little syncopole or a drop-it and how, and caused to jerk it and cut cut cutting blood spurty Sweeny Todd ambulancing and emergency.

“Elvis was topload hittening for the jukebockers although sometimes he recorded sillysongs which his record company did throw in from the old Third Division like Old Shep , but mostly preferring the quick quick of Hound Dog and Jailhouse Rock.

“The question is to be either to listen or to play or to partake and dance in yourself, lifting up the Dright Fantasky and kicking the neighbour up the bocus who treading you on the insteppers with the jive, the Lindy-Hop, the Ceroc, Leroc and every other dancymodal handholding.

“Elvis was there at the starting of the instrumentationals changey with guitar with a concealed microphobia in the mangle although not the washboard’s accomplimode for two of the partakers in this instrumould as they add a fine deep express and a songfold of singit deep from the heart streel, the expression changes on the other sigh ending All Shook Up.”

Tony Attwood

PS  In between attending seminars at the Bollard I wrote “The Five Factors that raise sales when selling to schools”. If any of your clients sell to schools then I think you will find this helpful – not least because it is written in English.    Call me on 01536 399 013 (my direct line) if you would like to talk through any aspect of selling to teachers.

Over the years of his Presidency, George W Bush was a great source of inspiration for the writers of the Toppled Bollard stories, and many people who phoned us to discuss direct mail mentioned these articles in particular.

The whole point (in case you have just arrived on this blog and wonder what on earth it is all about) is that we were sending out direct mail that was utterly different from anything else anyone else was doing.  And yet it was clearly gaining attention (in that the reader was reading.)

We are now preparing a completely new series of such pieces, and they will be hitting you on the head soon, but for now, here’s an early George W story.  If you want to talk about it, my phone number is at the end, or email Tony at hamilton-house.com

“If you teach a child to read, he or her will be able to pass a literacy test.”

George W Bush

At a recent meeting of the Corby and England Advertising Association held in the Toppled Bollard, the key note speech was given by that distinguished copywriter Billy “The Dog” McGraw.   On this occasion Billy had been invited to lead a discussion on the topic of advertising and morality, and he suggested that all advertising should be run according to strict moral principles.   Sadly this proved to be a contentious area, and several delegates sought to counter what they took to be an attack on their own work in a robust and forthright manner.

When matters quietened down Billy was asked for an example with which to back up his claim.  The Dog considered the matter deeply.  Then he stated that in his view a perfect example of a correct moral principle was, “do not threaten the visiting speaker with a poker.”

Many felt that The Dog was being far too clever for his own good – and for the good of advertising in general.  Jack “The Mole” Fitzgibbon spoke for many in saying,  “I don’t understand any of what The Dog says.  I read that we only make use of 10% of our brains anyway.”

“But what about the other 10%?” asked Billy, somewhat unwisely I felt.  It took several minutes for the police to arrive and restore order.

At this point Billy made what I took to be a further error, by circulating some of his own advertisements which, he argued (as far as one could hear him), showed the validity of his position.   The Mole, perhaps a little the worse for wear at this time, took one of the sheets and waved it at the audience, demanding to know what exactly it was supposed to be.    Billy informed him it was a piece of direct mail.  The Mole announced that the writing was very bad and was probably copied anyway.  Trying to defend Billy I told the Mole that you can’t fake bad writing – it was a gift.   The Mole said that both Billy and I ought to learn how to write and speak good English.  I said, “if I ever do learn how to speak good English to whom am I going to speak it?”

There was further disruption at the back of the hall and with that the meeting broke up.

Yours truly,

Tony Attwood

PS: We sell mailing lists and have helped many firms get ever higher response rates from their mailings.  Getting higher response rates often means getting people to read the cover letter in full, so they go on and read the rest of the pack.   If you would like to discuss this, or any other issue relating to direct mail, call me on 01536 399 013.

Why tea with the neighbours can result in the arrival of an armoured personnel vehicle.

Last week I moved into a new house in the area.   The neighbours proved to be kind and friendly, and by my third evening I found myself sitting sharing an evening drink with my next door neighbour, a charming retired lady whose husband had sadly died a few years before.

We had not spent more than 20 minutes or so chatting about the village and its local amenities, when suddenly there was an almighty crash from the back garden.  Looking out the window we spotted what appeared to be burglars, rummaging in the garden shed.

Now I like to offer support, and try to be as brave as the next man, but tackling burglars head on in the dark is not my idea of a relaxing evening out.   So I suggested that perhaps the best move would be to call the police.  Quick as a flash the lady dialled 999, and reported the situation.

Listening in to the conversation I distinctly heard the operator say that the police would get round as soon as they could.

“But I need them now,” said the lady, beginning to get a bit angry.

“I’m sorry madam,” said the operator adopting the tone of voice that telephone operators always do when dealing with a difficult customer.  “We don’t have anyone available at the moment.  We’ll send an officer around when one is available.”

My neighbour was fuming, and I could well understand why.  This is not the sort of response that one expects from our emergency services.  She slammed the phone down, and looked at me.  Then, without a word of explanation, she picked up the receiver and once more dialled 999 and again asked for the police.  “I called a minute ago about burglars in my garden shed,” she reported.   “But there is no need to come.   I’ve shot them.”  And with that she put the phone down.

Three minutes later four police cars and an armoured patrol vehicle arrived, followed moments later by the unmistakeably whirr of a police helicopter, its bright beam illuminating the garden shed, the garden, and indeed most of the village.   Within seconds the police had moved in, and arrested the two young lads who were still rummaging through the bric-a-brac in the shed.

The senior officer approached my neighbour with a stern look.   “I thought you said you had shot them,” he stated.

My neighbour looked a picture of innocence.  “I thought you said you didn’t have anyone available.” She replied.

Tony

PS: Apart from taking tea with my neighbours I am also your representative for xxxxxx.  See the enclosed details and give me a call.

The extraordinary tale of the woolly mammoth and the hair dryer turned out to be one of the most extraordinarily successful sales letters I have ever written.  People would phone the company up and refer to it a year later.  What’s more it brought in sales.

Why was it so successful?

I have to admit I am somewhat unsure.  It was different.  It related to a real situation that quite a few people could relate to, and yet it was bizarre.

The story itself was based on a TV programme about a woolly mammoth that was defrosted with hair dryers – and maybe the fact that there was an element of reality within the piece that made it so successful.

Anyway, it works.  And all these years later it still makes me smile.

The extraordinary tale of the woolly mammoth and the hair dryer

Every now and then people ask me to parties.  Sadly it doesn’t happen as often as I would like, but nevertheless I do get the occasional invitation to dinner, the odd cocktail event, and even the occasional launch of some product or other.

Most people, on meeting a stranger at a party, start their conversation with the inevitable question: “what do you do?”   I used to answer by saying that I work in direct mail, but that tends to result in people telling me that they don’t read all the junk mail that comes through the door, and don’t know why firms keep sending it out.  In vain do I point out that companies wouldn’t use direct mail, and we wouldn’t be in business if it weren’t for the fact that direct mail actually works, and that in effect I spend my time helping people get higher response rates.  But some people can be very prejudiced and often don’t want to listen.

Next I tried saying that I was in advertising, but inevitably people think this means television advertising, and when I start talking about direct mail we get back to the same problem I had in the first place.

So recently I have been telling people that I’m a writer.  This seems to work well.  It has a certain caché and for some reason people often think writers are interesting.

But the problem is still the follow-up question which in this case becomes, “what do you write?”   When I say that I write silly sales letters about the fact that my company has mailing lists of every business in the country,” they never quite know how to reply.  So I fill in the gap by asking, “and what do you do?” because I really do love getting insights into other people’s lives.

And just this last week I got the weirdest answer I have ever had.  The lady I was speaking to told me that she researched woolly mammoths.  It appears that for two months a year she works with a team in Siberia searching for remains of the great beasts.  Then they ship the frozen remains back to a lab near Moscow, and gradually defrost the animal, often uncovering almost complete creatures.

But the oddest thing about this is the way in which the defrosting is done.  In order to preserve as much of the animal as possible it seems that they use hand held hair dryers, working across the frozen remains inch by inch removing all the surrounding mud and stone to reveal the animal itself before delving into the stomach to look for the last meal, testing the hair and tusks and so on.  They do this for ten months a year working in sub-zero temperatures, while awaiting the return of the short Siberian summer, for the next mammoth hunting season.

At the next party I think I am going to change my story.

Yours

Tony Attwood

PS: For details of our mailing lists, please call 01536 399 000.  If you are holding a party of any sorts and would like to invite me, my number is 01536 399 013.

During the writing of the Toppled Bollard stories which appeared as direct mail shots I began to invent some characters who started to appear regularly within the pieces – most noticeably Billy “The Dog” McGraw, the landlord of the Toppled Bollard.   Over time he became not only a publican, but also an Elvis impersonator, and a man who had a dog that spoke Greek.

As technology moved on, and the world of blogs came along, I decided to expand on this devise and have started to introduce eccentric characters into a blog I write on the subject of Arsenal FC.   The blog is there to publicise a couple of books about the club and has, over time, become very popular.  At the time of writing this (August 2010) we get about 330,000 hits a month from the site.

One of the more eccentric characters invented was Bogus Cheese – the name is meaningless and has no significance for Arsenal supporters, and it just popped out of the air one day.

But Bogus has a point he (or is it she?) takes on the critics of the football club.   My site is very pro-Arsenal, and very pro its famous manager, Arsene Wenger.   But there are some football fans who are against him as a manager, and so Bogus Cheese is used to lead the attack against them.  The language is eccentric, and has got more eccentric as time has gone on, with the writer seemingly fixated on naming every cheese that ever existed during the course of the articles.

So does this approach help sell the books?   Not directly, no, but it certainly helps build the audience for the site, and when we return to more serious matters it is then that the sales develop.

The following comes from an edition of the blog from August 2010 – you can read the latest on www.blog.emiratesstadium.info

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My dears! My dears! What a moment, what a day!  Welcome welcome!  Camembert to you all.

One of the many tricks of the Anti-Arsenal Arsenal web sites is to make endless criticisms while making few predictions.

However several of the old “Wenger is an alien, turf him out now” sites did, through the summer, let their guard slip somewhat when they started predicting that huge numbers of Arsenal season ticket holders would not be renewing this season, because of their dislike of our great Lord Wenger, all praise be.

What a slip!  What a Danish Blue!  How could they be so careless?

The sources of this eccentric, strange and frankly bizarre story were simple in themselves…

1:  People had been writing to the blogs saying, “I don’t want this season ticket any more while Wenger is at the club – does anyone else want it?”    Trading in Season Tickets is of course a crime under the Law of the Land, or maybe just the terms of the Season Ticket, but either way it is a Bad Thing.

2: Someone had applied for a season ticket and found he moved up 40,000 places on the waiting list overnight.

3: At every match you see spaces so Arsenal must be lying.

Actually dear reader the “Arsenal must be lying” bit is there anyway, without the first half of the sentence, but the AAA sites felt it a Good Thing to put the two bits together.  Oh Koenigsberg!

Any road up, as we say in Wood Green, their prediction was, the club would at last feel the backlash of all right thinking supporters who have Had Enough of this regime and wanted a return to the days of being honest hearty English lads who give their all and speak the language proper.

So, the prediction is made.

Now I am writing this my dear-i-os before I set off on the long and winding road across town to our spiritual home, but I predict that all around me will be the same old faces.  A little older, a little more wrinkly (and that’s just Pat Rice – what a lad, what a stayer, what a boy!)

The number of season ticket holders who have given up their tickets will be, I predict, under 2000 across the whole ground.  The waiting list really is 10 years (I predict, hand on Cheddar), and the number of empty seats will remain due entirely to people not getting to the games because they live a long way away.

So, my chums, my pals, my dear bit of old Gorgonzola, my Lancashire Blue, why would the AAA make such a wild prediction?

The answer of course is that a lot of the silly smoked Cornish are in fact Man IOU fans who can’t take the fact that in their stadium anyone who wants to can buy a ticket anywhere in the ground, season or daily.  In fact I am told they even take Oyster cards.

(Breaking news is that the Glazers are not paying a penny back on any loans and the cost of the loans is going up again, while the little fella from the far eastern shores where reality is unknown has had enough of Liverpuddle and taken his goats cheese elsewhere).

The world is ours, my old Welsh rarebit, we are one of only three clubby type things that has sold all its seasons, and one of the other two (the very tiny totts) don’t count because their ground is so small that if an ant stamped on it, it wouldn’t even notice.  And anyway who ever heard of people paying for anything at the far end of Seven Sisters?

So thus we march onwards under our glorious Lord, our Leader, our Hero, our Dearest Pal, our Great and Glorious creator of the Unbeaten.

I look forward to exposing another AAA racket next week.  Be there or be square as you hep cats say, what?