PRIVATE VIEW: Malcolm Duffy, the creative director at Miles Calcraft Briginshaw Duffy

Rumours of a downturn in adland seem to have done nothing to dampen the spirits of the creative village. There's some mad work out there.

The Chicago Town Pizza Company serves up a vertically challenged, face-pulling bellboy who delivers pizzas to a bemused punter in some very odd places, including a sauna bath and at the dentist. The aim of the ads seems to be that you can eat these pizzas whenever you like, I guess, as long as you happen to be carrying a microwave with you. The stunned customer does a good job of looking stunned, but the ageing bellboy grates and the scripts could do with re-heating. It's one of the pitfalls of taking the wacky route. Unless you really go for it, someone will out-wacky you, and your moment of zaniness will come across as a bit limp. In the world of truly mad ads, these are only mildly schizophrenic.

While on the topic of strange behaviour, we have Billy Connolly shouting his way through a series of ads to launch some new games for the newly named Lotto. The Big Yin might be right for the target audience but he does little for me. His comedy (I use the word loosely) seems well past its sell-by date and maybe it's the money they pay him, but in every shot he looks as if he's about to die of a smugness overdose.

Olympus has been a bit cheeky and compared its E20P SLR camera with God.

But while God's right up there, this ad isn't. There are a ton of facts about the camera hidden in the copy, any one of which could have made for a better ad. It's all a bit slow and laborious. Not up to Olympus' usual high standards.

The Pernod team look as though they've been sampling a bit too much of their product. They have taken cheesy shots from the 70s, some left-over bubbles from an old Gordon's ad, a bit of typography from a John Bull printing kit, and added a warning sticker to try to bring it up to date. Amazing, but for all the wrong reasons. I think it's a case of back to the lab with this one.

The secret society known as Mother conjures up more dottiness in the name of Pimm's. We have a nice-but-dim character who somehow finds himself in the woods with a gang of crooks, and on the street with a bunch of hookers. He sees this as the perfect occasion to flip open his hamper and make a great big jug of Pimm's for his new-found friends. Completely bonkers, but great fun.

And on the subject of bonkers, it's Club 18-30 time. Having gone on a Club 18-30 holiday several moons ago, I finally worked out where the company gets its name.

You go feeling 18, you come back feeling 30. These ads are spot on. We start with a cinema ad featuring the sound of a girl moaning and the curtains slowly opening. That's the cleanest of the three. Then there's an ad based around dead rabbits and masturbation. And finally, there's a shagging dog story, where a dog at a Club 18-30 resort gets lots of bonking ideas by watching the holiday-makers' bedroom antics. Great stuff, and I bet the target audience laps it up. But I'm afraid not the sort of thing I can fully explain in a magazine of this sort.

I made my excuses and left.