Stick it in a box, that’ll be a good idea. Or make it a 3D thingy.

Stick it in a box, that’ll be a good idea. Or make it a 3D


You know the sort of thing: a pop-up parrot or a plastic encapsulated

banana. That’ll have impact. And why not make it a hand-tooled leather

box? Or even an ever so stylish brushed aluminium one? And while we’re

at it, let’s fill it with that packaging straw stuff. That’ll stand


No actually, it bloody won’t!

What am I on about? Those rotten business-to-business mailings which

substitute thinking for fiddly, gimmicky, production-rich, showy-offy

bollocks. That’s what.

Literal show-and-tell executions that if they were printed ads wouldn’t

even get off the layout pad belonging to the most junior team


But they seem to pervade the murky world of business-to-business direct

mail. And I bloody hate them.

But where do they come from? Who do we need to pillory? To drum out of

town naked with fetid fruit hanging around their necks? Direct marketing

agencies? Sales promotion agencies? Media neutral holisticy bollocky

new-age ideas bistros? No. I’m sad to say that on the whole, the main

culprits appear to be the ’traditional advertising’ agencies gamefully

having a go at the strange and secret craft of ’postal advertising’, or

whatever they call it.

Well, let me tell you Mr Johnny Ponytail Groucho Club bloke, it won’t

wash. Leave it alone. You’ve been rumbled.

For years and years the stuff that wins the yellow pencils in the

directy-type categories has inevitably been some hand-carved ivory dildo

affair packed in a velvet-lined Asprey leather box. Which, granted, may

look extremely nice and may have cost the equivalent of Belize’s GDP,

but has no idea behind it.

You know, ideas. Those things that make UK advertising the best in the

sodding world. Those things that, according to the great Mr Abbott,

’it’s all about’. Those things that creative types painfully try and

generate by some weird mystical alchemy involving fine Burgundy, foie

gras and lager.

Come on Mr Advertising, if you’re going to bombard my desk, put some

real ideas on it and not some boxy and poxy half-cocked self-indulgent

objet d’art.

Unless, of course, I can drink it.