It's arguably one of the most exciting and emotive products for advertisers to sell. But when was the last time you saw a great ad about money?

I've been an advertising copywriter for more years than I'd comfortably own up to, and a good proportion of that time - perhaps 25% - has been devoted to the area of financial services. It's an arena known, not for its creativity, so much as its lack of it. It's one of those few sectors that for some curious reason, makes many copywriters go all weak at the knees at the prospect of taking a brief. Yet, we copywriters are always looking for angles on products and services that will enhance the customer’s life in some small way. And money, unlike so many other things in life, really can change our lives. Products like pensions and life assurance, for instance, offer the creative team incredibly powerful and emotive propositions to play with. After all, a yoghurt or chocolate bar can only do so much to make us feel good. A pension, on the other hand, will quite literally affect the quality of our lives for a good 20 years or more. And a life policy will pay for our wives, partners and kids to have a comfortable life, even if we’re not around to enjoy it with them. These are powerful, deeply profound and wholly tangible product benefits that should, one would have thought, lead to powerful and creative advertising campaigns. And yet there are so few memorable financial campaigns one can think of.

Banks have traditionally had sizeable marketing budgets with which to flog their wares, but the commercial that seems to be gracing our screens more than ever at the moment is a banal beach scene in which we see horses galloping through the waves choreographed to equally bland musak. The only attempt at any messaging is conveyed at the end with the words ‘By your side.’ This form of advertising is so devoid of any idea or meaning that you have to wonder what it is that Lloyds Bank is trying to achieve here, other than bringing their logo to life, and having hordes of mindless people adulating it for no apparent reason.

Barclays admittedly has been known to knock out the occasional good commercial. Their current online security commercial isn’t a bad effort. But you have to go back 18 years to see the famous ‘Big’ commercial featuring Anthony Hopkins, which delivered a simple chest-beating message with a certain panache and entirely excusable chutzpah.

The only other decent bank advertising I can recall was HSBC’s ‘The world’s local bank’campaign, which demonstrated the bank’s understanding of global markets with cleverly scripted vignettes of Western businessmen failing to understand the customs of foreign clients when abroad.

In the area of insurance and investment, one struggles even harder to think of good work. Back in the 80s a couple of good friends created a nice TV commercial for Legal & General about the very few investments that hadn't worked out for the company. One involved an oil rig in Mukluk, Alaska that drilled water, and carried the immortal line 'not much luck in Mukluk.' The end line was 'Only 99% certain of getting it right.' It was a brave commercial that gave L&G a human face and arguably made the company stand out from the dross.

Then, of course, there’s the Albany Life press campaign; easily the best press advertising campaign for a life company ever created. The irony is that Albany Life wasn’t a brilliant life assurance company despite its beautifully written and art directed press ads, and the company no longer exists.

Other notable financial advertising campaigns have included Egg, Commercial Union, More Than’s car driving dog, an intelligent press campaign for M&G and a series of well written press ads for Nationwide Building Society back in the ‘80s.

It represents such a tiny drop in a vast ocean of bland communications. So why is this? Personally, I think it’s almost certainly down to the inherent character of these organisations’ marketing departments that tend to err on the side of caution; and let's face it, most ads that do that are infinitely forgettable. From my own experience, most companies in the area of financial services take themselves far too seriously; refuse to let their advertising agencies convey messages that are in any way negative; and view humour as being wholly flippant and something that will denigrate the company’s brand values. There has also been a trend since the late 90s for financial services to pay heed to their design agencies more attentively than their advertsing agencies, which I have never really understood. But I suppose if I were to invest vast sums in a comprehensive set of design guidelines, I'd feel compelled to adhere to these guidelines rigidly and at all costs. The problem is, of course, that such guidelines are so compehensive that they tread on the toes of the advertising agencies by stipulating the brand's tone of voice.

At the end of the day, humour and negativity are, in my view, two of the most valuable weapons in the creative team’s armoury. Take them away and it’s possible to see how we end up with asinine commercials featuring galloping horses and straplines that say absolutely nothing.

Alex Pearl is the owner of Alex Pearl Ltd

'First Man'​ - one man's journey into his own personal space

I went to our wonderful local fleapit The Phoenix at the weekend with the scientist in the family, our son, to view 'First Man' directed by Damien Chazelle who gave us 'Whiplash' and 'La La land.'

This is a far more ambitious movie in that it attempts to recreate the late 1960s - a challenging period of American history in which the US struggled with its foreign policy over Vietnam while also desperately trying to win the war with Russia over conquering space.

Against this backdrop, which Chazelle portrays with much authenticity, this film focuses not on the extraordinary human achievement and the triumph of a nation, so much as the rather solitary and moving journey of the narrative's chief achitect, Neil Armstrong.

Armstrong, by all accounts, was a fairly solitary and modest figure who, following his colossal achievement, shrugged off all publicity for a quiet life of academia. His own family described him as 'a reluctant hero.' And it's this side of the moon landing story that Chazelle chooses to show us. Unlike the brazen Buzz Aldrin (how could you not be brazen with a name like that?), Armstrong was a quiet, contemplative man who found it difficult to share his emotions - particularly following the tragic death of his young daughter from a brain tumour. He was the quiet kind of hero that we all like to gun for. But for him, going to the moon wasn't just a way for mankind to gain knowledge, it was a deeply personal and profound journey he felt compelled to make in order to make sense of his life.

Ryan Gosling plays a very credible and restrained Neil Armstrong while Claire Foy produces a very good performance as his wife who is desperately trying to hold the family together and smiling for the cameras, while her husband risks life and limb in the name of science.

This is an intelligent, well crafted film that attempts to throw light on America's 'reluctant hero.' And to a large degree, it succeeds in pulling it off.

Alex Pearl is a freelance writer and author of Sleeping with the Blackbirds

Chasing the Northern Lights with Tim Peake, Pete Lawrence, Jon Culshaw, Brian Cox, Donald Trump and the late Patrick Moore

The last time I attempted to have a close encounter with the Northern Lights was back in 1990 when my brother and I decided to take a holiday together aboard a Norwegian cargo boat (the cargo being several tons of sardines). Setting sail from Bergen in our thermal underwear (it was March and pretty cold, after all), we were looking forward to the distinct possibility of viewing the Aurora from the ship's deck. What we hadn't quite realised was the fact that majestic fjords are not necessarily plain sailing - particularly at this time of year. This became patently clear on our first day at lunch when on taking our seats in the dining room, we couldn't help noticing that the tables and chairs had been ominously chained to the floor. The rubber place mats on which cutlery and glasses seemed to stick rigidly, were another pretty obvious clue. As our trip along the Norwegian coastline progressed, the motion of the boat slowly but surely began to imitate that of another vessel I had once boarded: the Pirate Ship at Alton Towers. One could just about handle the up and down motion, but once the side to side motion kicked in at the same time, I'm afraid most passengers headed swiftly (or at least as swiftly as one can go with all that movement going on) to the bathrooms located appropriately enough in the bowels of the ship. So when inevitably, the Northern Lights finally appeared to dance frenetically across the night sky, my brother and I had other more pressing engagements to attend to below deck.

It took another 30 years before I'd attempt to catch this elusive natural phenomenon for a second time. And on this occasion it was my wife who had noticed the ad for a trip aboard an Airbus to view the Aurora in the company of none other than Tim Peake, Pete Lawrence The Sky At Night presenter and Jon Culshaw the impressionist and keen astronomer. This special event was being organised as a fundraiser by Aerobility, a charity dedicated to giving those with terminal illnesses and disabilities of any kind, the opportunity to experience the liberating and exhilarating feeling of flying for themselves. It's a charity we know all too well, as Jennifer my wife is a wheelchair user and has taken to the skies several times with Aerobility. We applied there and then for seats for ourselves and our son. (Our daughter would have joined us but was flying to India that same day.) And within days our places had been confirmed, and the trip sold out. We were lucky.

On the day, we set off from home in NW London and arrived at Gatwick's plush Sofitel Hotel in time for a coffee and tea reception followed by introductions in the dining room. Mike Miller-Smith the CEO of Aerobility who is himself a wheelchair user, gave an emotional address about Aerobility's incredible work and played us a short film. We were then treated to a full explanation of the science behind the Aurora by Pete Lawrence, one of the TV presenters associated with The Sky at Night. Lawrence is not only a brilliantly informative speaker, but also witty. Getting your audience to laugh as well as learn is a gift; one Mr Lawrence possesses in spades. Having thoroughly whetted our appetite for this natural spectacle, we were then treated to another visual feast of impressive proportions: lunch. First course was a stunning representation of our solar system laid out in the form of miniature cheeses, an egg yolk and a selection of miniature pickled vegetables. I'm afraid to say I polished off the entire solar system with relish. It was quite delicious; as was the main course: roast beef and Yorkshire pudding alongside an assortment of artistically arranged vegetables. Following petit fours, we were given a swift telescope demonstration and camera workshop by Neil Parker, the former Deputy Director of the Royal Greenwich Observatory. Having digested these useful tips, the main treat of the day was served up with aplomb by Squadron Leader Mike Ling. Being a Red Arrow squadron leader, Ling explained, was something most people found pretty awe-inspiring. But on this occaion he was about to be trumped big time by this afternoon's very special guest. Mr Tim Peake took to the podium like a duck to water. He is a natural speaker and his enthusiasm for his subject is pretty contagious. The atmosphere in that room for the next hour was virtually palpable. His account of his six months on the International Space Station was insightful and totally absorbing. He explained that what little spare time he had to himself, he spent taking photographs of earth from a viewing platform that constantly faced towards our planet. And then he proceeded to show us these remarkable high definition images, which were breathtakingly beautiful. The following 20 minutes was opened up to the floor as Mr Jon Culshaw took a microphone around the room and introduced questions from the floor in the voice of David Dimbleby. Everyone seemed to have questions, but thankfully the children were given priority. One child asked what the food was like on the ISS. Another asked him how he overcame his fears. And another wanted to know what scared him the most. To all these questions, Peake gave thoughtful and detailed answers. The food was rehydratable and could be heated up. And no, it wasn't particularly brilliant. But you just had to get used to it. As for his fears, he acknowledged that this was a very good question. His way of coping with his, was to focus wholeheartedly on his training. It was the only way he could really overcome them. His most scary experience was without any doubt his space walk outside the space station when no more than a single cable separated him from the security of the station and the all-embracing black infinity of outer space. Someone else beat me to a question I was itching to to ask; how long it would take in his view for a manned mission to Mars. He was fairly convinced that such a trip would realistically take place by 2030, but then added that it was also very feasible that the momentum now being created by Elon Musk and Spacex would bring that launch date forward.

The questions could have easily carried on for the entire afternoon, but we were under a tight schedule and it was now time to grab our boarding passes and passports and take the monorail to the exit gate for departure. I can honestly say that this is the first time I have ever heard the following announcement while boarding a plane: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to your British Airways flight to nowhere."

There were 140 passengers in total - around 20 or so of whom were wheelchair users and needed to be transferred onto a special narrow wheelchair to wheel down the aisle of the Airbus to then be carefully lifted and seated in their seat. This tricky operation was carried out with military precision and grace, and before we knew it, all 140 passengers were comfortably seated and being plied with refreshments. The cabin crew, by the way, were all volunteering their services free to the charity.

Once we were in the air, all the cabin lights were turned off and all the illuminated seat belt signs were blacked out with black tape. It took around 15 minutes for your eyes to acclimatise to the dark. But of course, by doing so, you could enjoy a remarkable view of the stars. The only light was being given out by the moon, which was apparently particularly bright that night. And as we cruised at 30,000 feet above the clouds, we were treated to a commentary by Pete Lawrence who pointed out the stars and their constellations on both sides of the aircraft.

As we approached the coast of the Shetland Isles, the mysterious and very clear Aurora suddenly appeared above the horizon line as a very distinct band of light. According to Pete Lawrence who has wintnessed the phenomenon no fewer than 240 times, this wasn't a spectacular display, but it was certainly very visible. The chance of seeing the Northern Lights from an aircraft are 50:50, so we certainly felt very priviledged to have done so.

So what exactly are the northern lights or aurora? The scientific definition is fairly technical and complex, so without wanting to speak another language, we can define these dancing and swirling lights as countless collisions of electrically charged particles spewed out by the sun into the earth's atmosphere. The lights can be best viewed above the magnetic poles of the northern and southern hemispheres. They are known as the Aurora borealis in the north and Aurora australis in the south.

As the aircraft turned for home, we were served our second meal of the day, courtesy of British Airways. This was followed by after dinner speeches by Mr Donald Trump, Professor Brian Cox, Carl Sagan and Patrick Moore - in the form of the exceptionally talented Mr Jon Culshaw whose extraordinary ability to replicate the precise tone and inflexion of his subjects is breathtaking. It was, I have to say, the perfect ending to a long but very memorable day.

Our thanks go to Aerobility and British Airways for making such a remarkable trip possible, and, of course the fabulous cabin crew and our wonderful speakers. Finally our special thanks must go to Mr Tim Peake whose contribution and presence made this particular trip so very special for everyone.

Alex Pearl is a freelance writer and author of Sleeping with the Blackbirds  Alex Pearl Ltd

Further newspaper links covering this event:
The Sun
The Daily Express
The Daily Mail

How wheelchair users can find their wings.

Spinal Track

My wife has always dreamed of driving a sports car. Before the spinal tumour struck five years ago, it was something she would occasionally hanker after. But with the arrival of children, that romantic notion of swanning around in some little shiny red convertible was soon brushed aside and superseded not by the need for speed but the need for child seats, and copious space for countless shopping bags and child related paraphernalia. So the dream of the sports coupe gave way to the reality of the ubiquitous and exceptionally dreary family hatchback.

It's perverse in many ways that it's only now as she finds herself in a wheelchair, that she has been able to do rather more than just dream about driving a fast sports car again; she's actually been able to live that dream for an afternoon at the home of British motor racing - Silverstone. And the reason for this extraordinary turn up for the books boils down to a remarkable organisation called Spinal Track. Spinal Track is the brainchild of Nathalie McGloin and Andrew Bayliss.

Nathalie McGloin is in fact the world's only female racing driver with a spinal injury that has left her paralysed from the chest down. She originally sustained the injury in a car accident (as a passenger) when she was just 16. Following eleven months in rehab, she returned to school to sit her A levels and then went on to university in Nottingham to study English. Her strength of character and determination to lead an independent life soon got her into playing wheelchair rugby. The sport proved incredibly beneficial as it helped her build her strength, adopt a positive mindset and conquer her condition. Soon she was training for the GB wheelchair rugby trials and playing at a serious level. But on failing to make the GB team for 2012, her passion for the sport faded, only to be replaced by a passion for motor racing.

She has always fostered a love of sports cars and had managed to drive them despite the fact that they are completely impractical for wheelchair users. But it was only after being introduced to track events by a friend that she finally succumbed to the sport, and made it her next mission in life to obtain her Association of Racing Drivers Schools (ARDS) racing licence. In October 2013, having taken part in several sprint events, undergone a medical and demonstrated her ability to get out of a car in seven seconds, she achieved just that. Now with her licence, she takes part in the Porsche Club Championship where she races able-bodied men in her specially adapted hand-controlled Cayman S.

As for the feeling of getting behind the wheel, Nathalie sums it up beautifully: "When you're on track with able-bodied drivers, you're no longer a wheelchair user - you're another competitor. It's the freedom you strive for after a spinal cord injury. You want to be viewed as a person, not a disabled person."

And it's this sense of freedom she wants others like her with spinal injuries, to get a taste of. So with her partner Andrew Bayliss, they set up Spinal Track - an organisation dedicated to giving wheelchair users the opportunity to drive a specially adapted racing car on the famous Silverstone circuit.

My wife first learnt about Spinal Track from the Spinal Injuries Association for whom Nathalie is an ambassador, and having applied to take part, received a call from Nathalie herself. Currently, Spinal Track only have the one adapted racing car, so can only take on two people per day - one in the morning and one in the afternoon.

As someone with no knowledge of motor racing, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. On arrival, I was gobsmacked by the sheer scale of the site. Having pulled in to a large car park in front of huge complex of steel and glass, I made my way to a large reception area and was informed that we required 'The Wing' from where we would be directed to the Spinal Track space located in the F1 pit stops. To reach said point we would need to go back on the dual carriageway and take the first left turn and continue for a further mile or so. To drive at Silverstone, you don't have to drive a racing car; the network of normal tarmac roads around the site are incredibly extensive. So now I can feel fully justified in claiming to have driven our Citroen Belingo round Silverstone.

The place feels a little bit like an airport - an exceptionally large airport. Interestingly enough, it was actually originally built on a World War II RAF  bomber station in 1943.

Eventually, I arrived at an even larger complex than the first one with signage that proclaimed it to be The Wing's North Entrance. I pulled in to the massive car park and stepped into a vast auditorium that was clearly being prepared for a corporate lunch. I asked a young lad laying wine glasses on a sea of dining tables if I was in the right area and discovered that I had to continue driving to the other side of the building where I'd see the pit garages clearly numbered. I wanted number 16. The Wing actually houses a host of conference and entertaining facilities with spectacular viewing balconies of the track.

We were greeted by Andrew and shown up to the large cafe on the second floor. Here we were introduced to the other wheelchair user who Andrew referred to as the 'morning man' who'd just finished his session on the track, which he had clearly enjoyed. Nathalie joined us shortly afterwards. Andrew explained that after lunch Jennifer my wife would receive a short briefing about the track rules before being let lose on the track. Being  totally ignorant about motor racing I asked Andrew how one goes about driving at Silverstone and was surprised to learn that anyone can turn up and have a go on a track day once they've paid  their fee of around £400 to do so. "So can you bring an ice-cream van here and drive that round the track?" I asked mischievously. Andrew smiled broadly. Apparently, your vehicle has to meet certain basic requirements. And I was left with the distinct impression that an ice-cream van wouldn't make the grade.

Lunch over, it was time for my wife's briefing. A large, burly chap with a jovial air about him led us into a side room and outlined the driving rules. You could only overtake in the left lane and were obliged to move over into the right lane if someone behind was looking to overtake you. You were only allowed to overtake on the straights and not the bends. And the appearance of certain flags denoted hazards or incidents of varying importance; the red flag being the most significant.

Minutes later my wife was pulling on a special kind of balaclava followed by a serious looking crash helmet with a built in microphone. Andrew was going to drive first to show her the ropes. Then it would be her turn. There are, I might add, no dual controls.

Following two laps, Andrew pulled into the pits, and Jennifer transferred into her wheelchair (quite how Nathalie manages this in seven seconds, is mystifying).

"How fast did Andrew go?" I asked Jennifer. "140 on the straight," she said smiling, and made her way over to the driver's seat. Now it was her turn.

Spinal Track is still in its infancy, but already its work is having a wonderfully liberating effect on those wheelchair users fortunate enough to get behind the wheel of its specially adapted VW GTI. This is the only organisation in the UK that can provide such an opportunity, and it does so completely free of charge. (A £200 deposit is returned after the event.) Andrew explained later that several ex-servicemen have had the chance to drive here at Silverstone with Spinal Track. If the smile on their faces was anything like that of Jennifer's when she finally pulled into the pit stops after four laps, the efforts of Nathalie and Andrew will have been well and truly worth it.

Spinal Track is now seeking charitable status. If you'd like to learn more, simply contact Spinal Track here.

Sportability

I first encountered the affable David Heard when looking for the entrance to Finmere aerodrome in Buckinghamshire. I was driving my wife to this airstrip not to fly a plane but to sail a blokart. A blokart, I should explain, is essentially a go-kart with a sail.

David, sporting a bright red baseball cap, stood at the side of the road directing the day's participants through a large metal farm gate. The aerodrome lay beyond the farm buildings owned by Noble Foods.

David is the Chief Executive of Sportability, a charity he originally set up 28 years ago, following a car accident involving a very good friend. In fact, it was the transformative effect of sport on David's friend that was to sow the seeds of Sportability.

Today Sportability provides a host of sports and pursuits for people with paralysis; very often those with a spinal injury or other debilitating conditions like MS or the after effects of a stroke.

David has the perfect background to understand the psychological importance of such activities when it comes to building confidence; he holds a Masters in Physiology and Physical Therapy, and his area of interest at university revolved around the role of exercise in promoting wellbeing among people with spinal injuries.

Aside from blokarting, Sportability arranges archery, sailing canoeing, falconry, fishing, gliding, motorsports, quadbiking, scuba diving, shooting, skydiving, water skiing and tennis. And all these events, which are held across the country are suitable for complete novices as well as those who are dab-hands. They are also all completely free of charge - so as the Sportability website so aptly puts it, 'you have nothing to lose but your inhibitions.' In 2016 alone, Sportability organised 71 events across 13 regions. The ultimate aim of the charity is to bring these events within one hour's drive of the main areas of population of the UK. "Our ambition," says David, "is to build our presence in South Wales, the North East, and Northern Ireland."

While sipping my coffee, I watched Jennifer set off down the runway in her blokart. It's a skillful business, and was clearly something the sailors among the day's recruits had a real knack for. After all, catching the wind in your sail is no different, whether you're on water or dry land. I got chatting to a lady who was a very keen blokart competitor and had taken part in events in California where the sport is pretty big. I asked her how fast you could go in one of these things. She said that with the right conditions you could do 60mph, which she had achieved on a beach in California. From the look on Jennifer's face, I get the distinct impression that we'll be back.

For further details about Sportabilty, simply contact the charity here.

Aerobility

I had never been in an aeroplane as small as a six seater before. But now, all that was about to change. Jennifer had booked a flying session with the charity Aerobility. We'd learnt about the organisation while visiting an exhibition at the NEC in Birmingham, and now as we parked at Blackbushe airfield in Hampshire, my heart began to race ever so slightly. I'm a nervous flyer at the best of times but going up in one of these tiddlers didn't exactly fill me with joy. Our 18-year-old son who loves nothing more than riding roller coasters was up for it, as was my wife.

Aerobility was established in 1993 and regularly operates from three airfields in the UK: Blackbushe, Tatenhill in the Midlands and Prestwick in Scotland. Its sole purpose in life is to allow anyone with a disability to try their hand at flying for a fraction of the usual cost.

We checked into reception and were eventually introduced to our pilot - a very young, fresh faced lad who looked no older than our son. We were lead to the hangar and were shown to the blue and white Cherokee we were to board. Jennifer was winched into the cockpit by a sophisticated, hydraulic hoist, and Jonathan and I were invited to clamber onto the wing and into the rear of the cockpit. Once we were all firmly planted in our seats and strapped in, the pilot started the engine and the whole plane began to reverberate, which became more pronounced as it began taxying down the runway. At this point in the proceedings, I nervously pointed out to the pilot that his door was still open. This apparently was not a problem, and Jennifer told me not to panic, so I bit my lip. As the plane built up speed, the pilot nonchalantly shut his door and seconds later we were thrown into the air and began to climb. In no time at all, we were looking down on a patchwork of fields. Jennifer and Jonathan were in their element. I, on the other hand, was well out of my comfort zone and found it difficult to get too excited as this ridiculously flimsy piece of engineering bumped around in the clouds. I was feeling decidedly queasy, which wasn't helped when Jennifer was invited by the pilot to take over the controls. But in fairness to Jennifer, the experience was no bumpier under her control.

The views were undeniably spectacular, but I have to say that I was hugely relieved when we finally came down and landed very smoothly on firm ground.

Needless to say, Jennifer enjoyed every second, and can't wait to have another go.

For more details about Aerobility, simply contact the charity at info@aerobility.com

Alex Pearl is a freelance writer and author of Sleeping with the Blackbirds

The art of building a brand in financial services

My wife and I spent a very pleasant couple of hours the other day at the Royal Academy's excellent After the Fall exhibition of 1930s American art. This was followed by a spot of lunch at Cafe Concerto and excellent coffee, biscuits and fresh fruit over at Sir Richard Branson's gaffe on Haymarket. The gaffe in question being the Virgin Money Lounge where customers can check in, take the weight off their weary feet, and help themselves to refreshments and newspapers - all free of charge.

Few people know more about the art of building brands than Sir Richard. Despite coming late to the financial services sector, Virgin Money has in a relatively short space of time, run rings round its competitors. In the area of investments, Branson saw the gap in the market for a simple investment for the novice investor by launching its tracker fund (managed by computers rather than costly fund managers) as a retail investment as early as 1995 - well before anyone else. Not only was he able to grasp the power of its simplicity and appeal to the masses, but also succeeded in implementing a management charge of 1% - a fee 12 times that of Legal & General's identical product. Despite this remarkable discrepancy, the fund has been so well pitched in marketing terms and supported by the company's legendary customer services that it has been hugely successful at tapping into the massive market of investment newbies. In one fell swoop Branson had managed to do what conventional investment houses had grappled unsuccessfully with for decades. Indeed, in the wake of Virgin's success, even the mighty Hargreaves Lansdown has in recent years included tracker funds on its roster, having pooh poohed them for years. Though ironically, Virgin's fund isn't among them as its management fee is far too high.

Then in 1997, Virgin saw the potential of shaking up the mortgage market by creating with RBS its One Account with which customers were given the freedom to consolidate the balances of their mortgages, current accounts, savings accounts and loans into one account. By offsetting the net total of all these accounts against the capital sum borrowed for the mortgage, customers were able to reduce the interest payments on their mortgages. It was a brilliantly simple idea. But nobody else had thought of it until then. Needless to say, the product was an instant success and helped this relatively new kid on the block further bolster its position in this otherwise conservative and staid market.

It has to be said that Sir Richard isn't just good at spotting opportunities to win over clients. He's also brilliant at retaining them through customer services, and understands its inseparable link with brand building, better than most. In fact, customer services has been something of an obsession throughout his career. There is, of course, the famous story about him disguising his own voice and calling one of his companies as a disgruntled customer, and demanding to be put in touch with Richard Branson. No one tells the story better than the man himself: "I am so pathetically bad at imitating someone else's voice that Penni, my trusted assistant for many years, sat there and let me make a complete fool of myself with some trumped-up complaint before saying, 'Well, thank you so much for sharing all that with me, sir. Let me see if Mr. Branson is available to take your call.' She then kept me hanging on for what seemed like an eternity - it was probably a couple of minutes - before coming back on the line to say, 'Sorry, Richard, but you appear to be out of the office at the moment, can someone else help you?' before dissolving into howls of laughter."

It's a funny story, but it makes an important point that most entrepreneurs fail to grasp. Namely that you should never get so caught up in management and strategy that you forget that you're providing a product or service for the benefit of customers.

Virgin Money has from the outset tried harder than most of its competitors to score brownie points in this department, and has by and large succeeded pretty well. In 2011, it took the decision once again to do something no other financial services provider had so much as contemplated. It launched its Virgin Money Lounges - essentially VIP lounges on the high street for its customers. Besides free refreshments and newspapers, Virgin Money lounges also provide iPads and in some cases, a bookable room for meetings. According to the young lad who greeted us at the Haymarket lounge, they get around 200 customers using it every day. The one in Glasgow gets as many as 1,000 through its doors on some days. That's an awful lot of customers in a year. Yes, they may be paying too high a price for their tracker funds. But they are happy customers, and they wouldn't dream of going anywhere else. That's the genius and staying power of the Branson brand.

Alex Pearl is the owner of Alex Pearl Ltd and author of Sleeping with the Blackbirds

Laughter - it's a serious business

I have long held the view that clients who possess a sense of humour and are keen to run amusing advertising campaigns are those most likely to succeed in this world. It' a simple philosophy, but as a general rule, I think the principle stands up fairly well. You only have to look at some of the best loved and effective advertising campaigns to acknowledge this.

Iconic poster for the beer that refreshes those other parts.

Volkswagen and Heineken are two particularly good examples. Back in 1978, the copywriter Terry Lovelock was tasked by his agency, Collett Dickenson Pearce to create a campaign for the Dutch brewer, Heineken. His brief revolved around one word: refreshment. For weeks Lovelock and his Art Director tried to come up with something they liked, but weren't getting very far. Eventually, at the eleventh hour and as an act of sheer desperation, Lovelock decided to seek inspiration in Marrakesh. Luckily for him, the change of scene; the sunshine; the spicy cuisine (or possibly a few hallucinatory substances) did the trick, and on waking up in his hotel room at 3am, he wrote those immortal words: 'Heineken refreshes the parts other beers cannot reach.'  Frank Lowe the agency's chairman liked it and presented the idea in the form of two TV scripts to Anthony Simmonds-Gooding, the most senior client at Whitbread, while the pair flew to Leningrad (now St Petersberg) to view an exhibition at the Hermitage.  Simmonds-Gooding bought the concept at 20,000 feet and the campaign ran for 22 years, cementing Heineken's position in the market and creating one of advertising history's best loved campaigns.

Twenty years before Terry Lovelock wracked his brains in Marrakesh, Bill Bernbach's New York agency Doyle Dane Bernbach found itself with a tricky brief to sell a strange looking car that had been designed by the Nazis in Germany. Bernbach defied all advertising conventions at that time by deciding to adopt self-deprecating humour to convey the car's chief characteristics: its size and less than perfect looks, while extolling its winning virtues: reliability and thrift. With consummate wit, one of its early commercials featured a funeral cortege and the the voice of the deceased reading his last will and testament. 90% of the script is devoted to the old man berating in the most amusing terms his nearest and dearest for their extravagant lifestyles, while we see them coast past in a long cortege of large saloons. Finally, we get to see the old man's nephew driving a VW Beetle, and the old man wearily signs off: "And to my nephew Harold who oft-times said, "a penny saved is a penny earned," and who also oft-times said, "Gee, Uncle Max, it sure pays to own a Volkswagen", I leave my entire fortune of one hundred million dollars." The commercial makes you chuckle and is absolutely timeless.

Press ad for the VW Beetle.

Of course, it's no coincidence that these two hugely successful brands have relied on wit to sell. It is without any doubt one of the most potent tools that the marketing industry has at its disposal. Yet, it never ceases to amaze me that so many clients shun anything remotely amusing, firmly believing that humour denigrates a brand; and somehow makes it frivolous. The consensus seems to be that if you want to be taken seriously, you have to be seen to behave seriously. And the result is that most advertising is simply dull and instantly forgettable.

In a rather round-about kind of way, this brings me to the subject I wanted to talk about in the first place: a project of one of my own clients. Sofia Fenichell is an impressive businesswoman. She started out, funnily enough, as an executive at Doyle Dayne Bernbach, and then moved into the higher echelons of investment banking and hedge fund management, before starting her own businesses. Her latest venture, which I have had the pleasure of helping her with is a fascinating project that blends science with, you've guessed it, humour. In short, she and her business partners, have come up with Mrs Wordsmith - an ingenious way to improve the vocabulary of primary school children. Mrs Wordsmith comes in the form of a beautifully produced monthly package that is delivered directly to your door. Inside are a series of placemats that have been lovingly designed with amusing narratives and inventive word games. And all the words and stories have been illustrated by the brilliant team of artists behind the DreamWorks movies Madagascar and Hotel Transylvania. As one of the lead writers on the project, I've really enjoyed the collaborative process of working with the DreamWorks team. Sofia and her business partners, who include the neuroscientist Dr Lesley Sand, understand the importance of humour when communicating to young kids. And it's why they approached DreamWorks in the first place. Sofia was very clear about this. "If the illustrations weren't going to be funny, the whole thing wasn't going to work," she told me when I had my first meeting with her. But she needn't worry on this score, as the illustrations are, as you'd expect, wonderfully irreverent and humorous.

One of countless illustrations by DreamWorks for Mrs Wordsmith.

The entire concept has in fact been based on masses of research into how young children learn a wider and richer vocabulary. And how a wide vocabulary at a young age will help children to confidently master all subjects at school including maths. Research has also shown that certain rich words that aren't on the primary school curriculum are usually learnt at home; particularly if families sit around the dinner table and engage in conversation. So Mrs Wordsmith employs placemats to be used at mealtimes in ten minute bursts every day. Repeating words in different contexts through the use of amusing illustrations and stories is, according to Dr Sand, the key to success. Instilling a love and understanding of words early on also develops a love for reading.

Surprisingly, there is no other paper based programme quite like it on the market. Kumon is the only other system out there. It's been around for years, but is very dry, humourless, and is based solely on learning by rote.

To date, the educational establishment have been raving about Mrs Wordsmith. It does precisely what every school wants every parent to do at home with their kids - but with minimum effort.

By being irreverent, amusing and mischievous, Mrs Wordsmith is certainly going to appeal to kids. And it'll only be a matter of time before it makes its mark. Indeed, in ten years from now, I suspect it will become a household name. Embrace humour wisely, and sooner or later you'll be laughing all the way to the bank.

Alex Pearl is author of Sleeping with the Blackbirds

The magician with chutzpah

Chutzpah, if you didn't already realize, is a Yiddish word that has found its way into the Oxford English Dictionary. The writer Leo Rosten defines it as a word meaning the ultimate in gall, brazen nerve and effrontery. And by way of definition, claims that it is the quality enshrined in a man who, having murdered his mother and father, throws himself on the mercy of the court because he is an orphan. As it happens, there is someone I have encountered who can claim to possess this trait in spades. Allow me to elaborate.

Many years ago when our kids were considerably shorter than us, we were faced with organising a 12th birthday party for our son. In the past we'd had the usual parties in the garden or in school halls and the like, but this particular year we'd thought we'd arrange a a cricket match for the boys as our son at that time was particularly keen on the game. The weather, however, conspired against us on the day and the cricket was going to be a non-starter. In retrospect, there can be fewer more regrettable situations to find oneself in than having 16 boisterous and highly excitable twelve-year-old male birthday guests on your hands with no birthday activities or venue for them to do them in.

My wife, ever resourceful, had a brainwave. "I know. I'll call Lee. Her son Julius is a member of the Magic Circle. We'll get him to do some magic tricks in the house; I'll sort out tea; and you can organize a quiz." Two hours later, 15-year-old Julius shows up with his box of tricks and sets up, while I attempt without much luck to interest our excitable guests in my history quiz. Tea consisting of sandwiches, endless packets of crisps, lots of fizzy drinks and, of course, the obligatory birthday cake, comes as a saving grace. I'm frankly exhausted by it all. But the energy levels of the assembled throng, having fed on copious quantities of fizzy drinks is now at an all-time high and one boy in particular by the name of Daniel takes a great deal of delight in winding up everyone around him.

By the time we let them onto our magician, things are at fever pitch. But thankfully, Julius has a certain way of handling his audience.

"Ok guys. Would you mind shutting up now please. I'm going to show you some pretty cool stuff. But if you don't shut up right now I'm not going to show you anything, Ok?" And with this, the crowd calms down and Julius launches into a pretty impressive magic trick involving a pencil and a deck of cards. The boys seem captivated. The tricks continue. Coins magically disappear and reappear in strange places; a £5 note is torn in half and is then restored to its former glory; interlinked metal rings are magically pulled apart. Everything seems to be going swimmingly, until, that is, Daniel can no longer contain himself. "That's rubbish. That's not magic," he declares raucously, and for a moment the spell over the boys is broken and there are giggles and guffaws. But before things get out of hand, Julius takes control of the situation. He quite literally leaps into his audience and gets Daniel in a stranglehold and then pins him up against our wall and twists his arm behind his back. "Ok. If I hear another peep out of you I'll break your arm. Do you hear?" Daniel goes white and doesn't say a word. Julius returns to his magic table and the show continues without a hitch.

His approach, though unconventional, is very effective. But I can't help feeling responsible for Daniel and become very concerned that his parents might want to sue us for any physical and emotional harm to their son. So once all the kids have finally dispersed with their party bags and the detritus created by 16 small people is shovelled into several black bin liners, I get onto the phone to Daniel's mother. I spend what feels like several minutes apologising for the unfortunate incident involving strangleholds and bent arms and express my hope that Daniel wasn't traumatised. "Oh don't worry about that Mr Pearl. We're used to it. It's always happening to Daniel. Thank you for the party." I put the phone down with a certain relief.

I have since learnt that Julius went on to perfect his magic while doing his A levels. On one occasion at school, he apparently tore up his homework in front of his teacher and then made it magically reappear in one piece on the teacher's desk.

Now, while at university his magic has reached new heights. Julius Dein has performed for Google, Nelson Mandela, Arsenal FC, and several prestigious events attended by the likes of Russel Brand, Simon Cowell, Alan Sugar and Stephen Hawking, to name just a few.

His mother is desperately worried that he won't achieve his degree in politics with all his extra curricular activities. But if I were her, I wouldn't worry. This young man will obviously stop at nothing to hold the undivided attention of his audience, and seems destined for great things. And though he no longer resorts to strangleholds, the chutzpah is certainly in evidence. You can take a look at some of his antics here.

Alex Pearl is author of Sleeping with the Blackbirds

The day Sir Robin Day cut my hair

At the age of around six I very clearly remember being taken to The Savoy Saloon barber's shop in the Cranbrook Road, Gants Hill by my mother and having my hair cut by none other than Sir Robin Day. You remember him don't you? He was the darling of political interviews, used to chair Question Time in the days before David Dimbleby, and would always sport a bow tie. It took some considerable time for me to work out that the chap in question who never did utter anything particularly witty or ask any probing questions regarding the government's economic policy while snipping away with his scissors, wasn't actually the real McCoy moonlighting in a barber's shop in the suburban backwaters of Essex. He did, however, sport a bow tie and could easily have passed for Mr Day's younger brother. This said, that feeling of being in awe and dumbstruck is one I still feel whenever inadvertently rubbing shoulders with someone who not only looks like someone we all know, but actually is that very same person.

The first time I remember seeing a genuinely well known face in public was when I started secondary school and began to use the London Underground. On this particular occasion I can remember taking my seat on the Northern Line opposite none other than the Right Honourable Dennis Healey in a light coloured raincoat reading The Times. The strange thing was that everybody in the carriage simply pretended that they hadn't recognised him - myself included. Such is the British reserve that it takes someone either half drunk or not all there to have the Dutch courage or sheer audacity to introduce themselves and intrude on the well-known person's privacy. It's a sad indictment of our times that senior politicians can no longer be spied on public transport for the obvious security risks. Indeed, many are now shadowed by a bodyguard or ten.

Then there was the time when I worked in the fashionable King's Road and saw Dustin Hoffman brazenly stride down the street in a t-shirt and jeans. (It was the year he made 'Tootsie' and was no doubt promoting the film in London.) No one acknowledged him until a middle-aged lady selling flowers from a flower stall smiled at him, and as a result, he bought a bouquet and kissed her on the cheek. Needless to say, the effect was seismic. Within seconds she was running around like a headless chicken declaring to the entire world that she'd just been kissed by Dustin Hoffman. I've never forgotten that small gesture by this giant Hollywood star who isn't particularly tall by the way.

For some curious reason, I seem to bump into politicians rather a lot. On one memorable occasion, I was fortunate enough to meet the former Prime Minister, Harold Wilson while dining in, of all places, the Berni Inn Steakhouse in Oxford. I was with a group of friends, one of whom was a very charming lawyer by the name of Nigel who took an active interest in politics and knew that Wilson had just been recovering from illness. On spotting the distinguished figure shuffle through the dimly lit restaurant with his wife, Nigel sprang to his feet. "It's very nice to see you in Oxford, Sir. I do hope you're feeling better now."

Wilson eyed up Nigel and smiled. "I'm feeling much better thank you very much. In fact, I'm just back from giving a talk in America." Nigel, ever the courteous listener enquired how it had gone down. Wilson sensing he had a bit of an audience, turned to all of us and explained that it had all gone down rather well. "But then, it was America," he added with a twinkle in his eye. "I could have said anything and they'd have still given me a standing ovation." And with that, he shuffled off with his wife to a table at the back of the restaurant. He passed away a couple of years later and I remember all the tributes and obituaries, few of which highlighted his obvious sense of mischief. If I'm correct, when standing down as leader and making way for Jim Callaghan, he was asked by a BBC reporter why he'd decided to stand down. "I'm making way for an older man," he quipped and stepped into his parked limousine. Jim Callaghan was indeed the older man.

Very recently my brother and I visited our mum at her care home in North London and on entering the communal living area, we both quite literally bumped into Mr John Bercow, the Speaker of the House of Commons. He was apparently settling his own mum into the home, and was very keen to hear how our mum was finding it. We ended up chatting to him at length. He's very charming, personable and down to earth.

Most recently, I have found myself sitting very close, by chance, to the lovely Reverend Richard Coles (the UK's funniest man of the cloth, surely). In fact, rather spookily this has happened to me twice. The first time was while travelling on the London Underground (Piccadilly line this time). He sat next to me but I didn't know it was him until he started humming to himself while reading a leaflet designed for the 'Memorial Service for Sir John Tavener.' He was no doubt humming one of the late maestro's compositions. I couldn't tell as the underground train was making too much noise, and I didn't like to ask. No more than a couple of months later, I was in the bar of the Holiday Inn in Regent's Park with a friend, and on leaving, Coles arrived with a friend and sat at the table we had just vacated.

Sadly, I've yet to have my hair cut by one of the media's national treasures. But one can, I suppose, live in hope.

Alex Pearl is author of Sleeping with the Blackbirds 

The Russian way of death

On the surface there is little that Grigori Rasputin, the so-called Mad Monk shares in common with the Russian dissident Alexander Litvinenko. Until, that is, you consider the manner of their deaths.

They were both regarded with considerable disdain by the powers that be.

Rasputin had managed to gain the friendship of Nicholas ll (the last Tsar of Russia) and, more importantly, the tsarina Alexandra by apparently healing their son, Alexei Nikolaevich (the heir to the Russian kingdom) from the traumatic effects of hemophilia. This said, his presence in the Royal Court and his influence were a cause of much embarrassment to the ruling class of St Petersburg and senior officials. After all, Rasputin was nothing more than a peasant with foul, uncouth ways. He was soon to become synonymous with power, debauchery and lust - and the increasing unpopularity of the imperial couple.

Over 100 years later, Alexander Litvinenko, the former Russian KGB officer who fled Russia to escape prosecution for his outspoken accusations against both president Vladimir Putin and the Russian secret services, was granted asylum here in the UK. He was clearly viewed as a dangerous traitor by the Russian authorities.

Both figures were seen to pose a threat to the powers of the state, albeit in wholly different ways. Both became the prime targets of very wealthy assassins. In the case of Rasputin, Prince Felix Yusupov, and in Litvinenko's
case, the multimillionaire Andrei Lugovoi. Both men, of course, fell victim to a poisoning plot. Rasputin was poisoned with potasium cyanide powder while over a century later, the KGB chose to use radioactive polonium for poor Litvinenko. And both targets proved to be difficult to poison. According to the findings of the government's recent public enquiry, Litvinenko was poisoned twice; the first attempt didn't work and only made him ill. And as we all know from our history lessons, Rasputin proved to be an extremely difficult bugger to bump off. In his case the initial poisoning attempt didn't work either, and neither, come to that, did a bullet in the head. His assassins had to finally resort to drowning him.

So here we have two very different men; both vilified in equal measure by the Russian authorities; and both the subsequent targets of poisoning plots that initially didn't work. A case of history repeating itself perhaps?

Alex Pearl is author of Sleeping with the Blackbirds

My scrape with the Serious Fraud Office

I haven't picked up a paintbrush for many years, but there was a time when I used to have occasional exhibitions of large abstract works on glass, which I used to produce fairly prolifically. I'm not entirely clear (no pun intended) as to why I chose to paint on glass. But having experimented with the medium and various paints including household gloss, which I wouldn't recommend, I discovered a water based pigment that actually worked rather well and was easy to handle and manipulate on a glass canvas.

I shan't bore you with any more details about the paintings themselves other than to recount an incident, which I had completely forgotten about, but could easily have formed the basis for one of Franz Kafka's short stories. If memory serves me right, it all started when I had my very first exhibition at the magnificent Burgh House, a Grade I-listed pile situated in the heart of Hampstead.

In retrospect, the show was probably one of my most successful in terms of sales and publicity. And during the private view,  a tall and gaunt figure sidled up to me early on. He looked and sounded just like the fraudster by the name of Lord Melbury who once appeared in Fawlty Towers . "I rather like this piece, old boy," he remarked while gesticulating at one of the very few pieces that had employed household gloss. "Reminds me of the London Underground map," he added with a wry smile. The piece in question was very large, and was a little like an early Jackson Pollock on a white ground. The London Underground would have been one of the last things I'd have likened it to, but I wasn't complaining as this distinctly eccentric character pulled a cheque book from his top pocket and proceeded to write me a cheque. "I don't suppose you could deliver it to my office could you, old boy?" he asked. I was more than happy to oblige and enquired where that might be. "Oh, it's very central. I'm at the Serious Fraud Office."

I later offered to give him and his other half a lift home to their flat in Highgate. On dropping them off, he turned and poked his head back in the car. "Do come in for coffee old boy. I have something I'd like to show you." Thinking this might be a collection of Jackson Pollocks or maps of international underground networks, I turned off the engine and followed them in. On taking my seat, he presented me with a polished walnut box and removed the lid. Inside was some kind of shotgun or rifle broken down into several  parts. I was a little nonplussed, downed my coffee and took my leave.

A couple of weeks later I found myself delivering the painting to the Serious Fraud office on a Saturday. He showed me to his office in this rabbit warren of a building and I proceeded to hammer hooks into a distinctly flimsy partition wall to hang the painting. This completed, the call of nature took hold and I desperately needed to find a gents. What I hadn't quite realised was that the Serious Fraud Office is the last place on earth one should go exploring as certain areas are no go zones that house highly sensitive, confidential files. I was to discover this at my peril as on opening a pair of large double doors, I inadvertently set off alarm bells that quite literally reverberated around the entire building and within seconds several security guards were on the scene. So I had to explain that I wasn't in search of private paperwork so much as a  public convenience. It was,  I hasten to add, not one's finest moment.

The story doesn't end here though.  Some years later I was informed by an acquaintance that the tall eccentric chap who had bought my painting had disappeared off the face of the earth and was wanted by the Metropolitan Police. "What on earth for?"  I enquired.

"Fraud apparently.  I trust that cheque he paid you didn't bounce," he quipped. Strangely enough, it hadn't.

Alex Pearl is author of Sleeping with the Blackbirds

The trials and tribulations of making a short film

There I was in the bar of the Holiday Inn in Welbeck Street with my old partner in crime, John Mac (whose grandfather was the subject of one of my earlier posts - 'Bit of a Ladies' Man'), when the subject turned to my children's book (Sleeping with the Blackbirds), which I'd written some little while back.

John has boundless energy and is always looking to get involved in interesting projects, and it was his suggestion that I try and market the thing. I should explain here that the book was originally written for my kids and published by Penpress to raise money for the homeless charity Centrepoint. But following the publication and the drafting of a commercial participation agreement that released me from any tax liabilities, my wife became seriously ill and the book was put on the back burner and received precious little in the way of marketing.

As it happens, I had already written a script to promote the book that had featured a letter written by the tale's protagonist, 11-year-old schoolboy, Roy Nuttersley that appears at the beginning of the book. As an ungainly young boy who's being tormented by bullies, Roy writes to Amnesty International (only he refers to the charity as Amnesia International) pleading for their help.

I shared my script with John who loved the intrigue of it, but wasn't entirely convinced by all my visual thoughts, which were pretty static. "We just need something more visually dynamic," he said while scratching the top of his head.

In the letter narrated by Roy, we learn that his tormentor, Harry Hodges is the son of a criminal who is in prison, and it was this section of the script that excited John. "We have to find a prison to film in mate. Then we can move away from beautifully lit domestic still lifes and into atmospheric interiors with eery sound effects." I could see exactly where he was coming from and nodded in agreement. This was to be John's first valuable contribution.

His next visual idea concerned the very last scene in which Roy talks about offering his services free of charge for any future publicity. My original visual was a simple newspaper headline taken from the book. But John hated it - quite rightly. I didn't much care for it myself. He gave me one of his funny looks and I could tell he was deep in thought. "Look. It has to end with a dramatic crescendo - a flourish. I know... we can have a load of paparazzi shot against a black background firing off flashes in quick succession followed by a dramatic shot of a newspaper falling onto paving stones in slow motion." The thing with John is that he makes it all seem so easy. But he hadn't quite finished. "And to finish the whole thing, why don't we have a flock of animated blackbirds flying across the screen, forming a black background out of which we could reverse out some nice reviews?"

Most conversations of this nature would probably have just ended here. After all, the logistics of producing a short film like this to John's exacting standards would require a huge effort. But as with everything John throws himself into, he doesn't just do ideas; he carries them through. Within a couple of days he had produced an exquisite black and white storyboard that he had photographed himself and had arranged a meeting with his contacts at Hogarth Worldwide - London's premier post-production house. Needless to say, they loved it and were keen to produce it.

From this moment onwards the project began to take on a life of its own.

I found myself playing the roles of location scout, stylist and casting director, all rolled into one.

First off, we had to find the right voice for our eleven-year-old protagonist Roy Nuttersley. So at John's suggestion I ran an ad on the website Star Now, and set up an audition in the bar area of the Regents Park Holiday Inn. This is a perfect space for voice auditions as it's large, quiet and free. Ten parents answered the ad on behalf of their 11-year-old sons, along with one chap of 40 who was keen to audition for the part himself. Needless to say, we politely declined his offer but arranged to audition all the other candidates. We were very fortunate to have so many young actors to choose from, and by mid-day, we had pencilled two possible candidates, but following lunch this changed with the arrival of Jacob Tofts. His mother deliberately sat at another table so as not to distract her son, and Jacob took a quick look at the script and then proceeded to read it with such natural expression and feeling that John and I knew immediately that our quest was over. We'd found Roy Nuttersley. The following week we arranged to record Jacob at one of Hogarth's lovely sound studios. Jacob is not only very talented, but also utterly charming and personable. I have no doubt that this young lad has a very bright future ahead of him.

Finding a prison to film in isn't one of life's easiest tasks. John's initial idea was to use the prison set at Wimbledon Film Studios - the very same set that had been used by TV productions like The Bill. But we soon discovered that the studios had gone into liquidation in 2014 and that the film set had been torn down. So I looked into finding decommissioned prisons that one could hire out. But the trouble here was that these looked too modern for a suburban fantasy, were miles outside London and were also prohibitively expensive to hire. Most locations charge for the day; we only needed to film for a couple of hours. So it was with enormous relief that I stumbled upon Oxford Castle Unlocked, the 1,000 year old site that comprises various historic edifices including a crypt, and yes, a prison - or to be more precise, Prison D-Wing. The gaol was built in the 1800s and remained in use as a high security prison until 1996, and the whole site is now run as a museum. I was on the blower right away and discovered that we could film for an hour before the place opened to the general public. With these facts quickly established it was time to arrange our first recce.

As we thought, the prison with its corridors, creaky gates and Dickensian cells was absolutely perfect for our purposes. The only problem was that John was going to need a minimum of two hours to set up and shoot at least four sequences, so he took the manager aside and suggested we double the fee if the museum could double the filming time by opening up 2 hours earlier. It worked, and two weeks later we were back, this time with camera, lenses, lighting equipment and a fully kitted out prison guard in the form of one Philip Francis. Phil does a lot of film extra work and looked the part in his prison guard's uniform, which I had managed to secure from Foxtrot costumiers and ebay. While John positioned his camera and lighting for the first shot Phil told me about his previous jobs. Among other things he'd been a gardener and had lovingly tended the late Douglas Adams's garden.

With the central section of the film in the can, we now had to find props and a studio for all the other scenes. My first port of call would be The Stockyard in the less than salubrious NW10; an extraordinary Aladdin's Cave of a place. Whatever you need for your film production, you'll find it here, whether it's great big Grecian columns, Norman arches, statues, water mills, petrol pumps, bus stations - you name it. With the constant stream of vast articulated lorries coming and going and carrying off enormous quantities of props for some far-flung multi-million pound productions, I felt something of a fraud. After all, all I needed was a couple of antique book shelves, some old books and a few fake rubber flagstones. The lovely Reg who's been part of the place man and boy helped us find everything we needed and arranged for a couple of strapping lads to put it all in the back of my old jalopy of a car. Then I had to spend the best part of a week tracking down all our other props - everything from flooring and tablecloths to camping stoves, teddy bears and kettles - all of which had to look right in camera in black and white. This entailed trawling the internet where possible, but more often than not, traipsing round fabric suppliers, DIY warehouses and specialist shops.

The studio we chose to use was Photofusion in Brixton. It's a good space, and being Brixton, doesn't charge West End prices. It took John three full days to shoot most of our set-ups here, including the paparazzi, one of whom was yours truly minus spectacles.

The opening shot of the clock was shot in John's living room, and the final setup of the stack of newspapers falling onto the paving slabs was filmed in my garden at night. For authenticity, I mocked up the front page of the fictitious Echo that appears in the book and even went as far as setting the type for the editorial. John was keen to create a rain machine for this scene to add atmosphere, but as luck would have it, the heavens opened for real.  This, however, was very bad news indeed, and caused John to swear and curse profusely, as it meant he'd be unable to use his very expensive tungsten lighting, which would be open to the elements. The alternative was battery operated LED lighting, which was fine until John realised that he'd need some 'fill-in light' to highlight the side of the newspaper stack. After much further swearing and cursing I offered my mobile phone, which has a powerful LED torch. Surprisingly, it worked beautifully. While my son helped operate the Heath Robinson rain machine, I had the unenviable task of dropping the stack of newspapers onto the fake paving stones while being rained on by the rain machine as well as the real thing. I think we did about 30 takes, and my son had a lot of fun soaking his old man in the process.

With everything filmed, it was back to Hogarth to talk about music and sound effects. From my own experience of making commercials, music can often be something of a sticking point, but in this event, we got lucky from the outset. Andy the brilliant young sound engineer at Hogarth played us two tracks that he thought had the right feel. The first one was very good, but the second was absolutely perfect, and John very cleverly suggested building a ticking clock into the rhythm section to tie in with our opening scene.

A couple of days later, we were invited by Vee, Hogarth's senior editor to come and have a look at the first rough cut. Seeing this on the big screen for the first time was quite something, and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It worked really well, and little Jacob's voice sang out as clear as a bell, while both music and sound effects added just the right level of atmosphere and intrigue.

The animated blackbirds sequence was the last piece of the jigsaw, and as John rightly said when he had the idea in the first place, it would be "a beautiful and memorable way to finish the film."

It's mind-boggling how much work goes into producing a two minute film. But you know instinctively when it gives you goosebumps after the first viewing that you've done something right, and that all that hard work had been worth it.

View the film here:



Take a look at the website and hear Nigel Havers read an introduction and some extracts here.

Playing with words

"Malla what, mate?" would no doubt be the response from your average spotty teenager should you attempt to engage him in a conversation about malapropisms. Admittedly it's not one of the most attractive words in the English dictionary; and not one that does justice to such a comic slip of the tongue.

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, let me elucidate: a malapropism according to the Oxford English Dictionary is the unintentional misuse of a word by confusion with one of similar sound.

It just so happens that over the years I've heard my fair share of malapropisms, and I have to say that they nearly always make me smile.

My grandmother was something of a dab-hand in this department. She would inadvertently produce some absolute corkers on a whim, but the only ones I can recall now were those she'd use on a fairly regular basis. I can hear her now saying that she had had a particularly good night and had "slept like a toff." I'm not entirely sure how your average toff snoozes, but it used to conjure up all kinds of weird and wonderful images in my young head.

On having her small garden paved with crazy paving (as was the fashion back in the early 70s), she would proudly open her kitchen door and invite her guests to admire her "crazy pavement."

I also had an uncle who was a prolific exponent of the art. One of his most memorable verbal slips has gone down in family lore. For all the years I had known him, this particular uncle had always sported a toupée, and on one occasion was asked by an inquisitive work colleague how he managed to keep his hair piece in place. "Oh, it's very easy really," came my uncle's confident response, "I have a special fixative which I simply apply to my foreskin." I imagine that must have brought a few tears to his eyes.

Then, of course, there are those deliberately contrived malapropisms. Lillian Jacobs, my parents'  manic and highly eccentric neighbour should have been a professional stand-up comedian. She would deliberately and quite brilliantly construct her sentences with wonderfully ludicrous malopropisms and deliver them in an absurdly comic falsetto voice. I can almost hear her now: "Annette, I can't tell you how moved I was. I was overcome with emulsion." Like some of our most gifted comedians, she was also completely bonkers - harbouring a genuine and totally irrational fear of thunderstorms. At the merest hint of an impending storm, she would knock on our door and hide in our broom cupboard until the storm had passed; at which point we'd have to knock on the cupboard door to give her the all-clear.

In the 80s I was very fortunate to work for an advertising agency whose Creative Director was the verbally dexterous Ken Mullen. As the only advertising copywriter to be quoted in the Penguin Book of Modern Quotations, Ken is a master at creating ingenious malapropisms. On one occasion he described a rather verbose senior member of staff who was occasionally hired by the glitterati as an interior decorator, as the agency's "internal defecator." And on suffering a torturous meeting with two clients who weren't perhaps the sharpest knives in the drawer, he later described the experience as "stalling between two fools."*

* To be a tad anal, this particular line can be more accurately defined as a spoonerism where a pair of vowels or consonants are interchanged for comic effect.

Alex Pearl is author of Sleeping with the Blackbirds 

The lost art of negative advertising

These days, all forms of communication seem not only to be governed by the rules of political correctness, but also by a total aversion to any form of negative sentiment.

Only a few days ago, a junior account handler came back from a client meeting with a request to remove the word 'but' from some copy I'd written, on the grounds that this was too negative a word. If one were to follow this strange form of logic through to its conclusion, I suspect you'd have to lose an awful lot of words from the English dictionary.

As a copywriter, I am staggered and pretty irritated by this fear of the negative. After all, some of the finest and most memorable ads ever written have conveyed negative messages. Can no-one remember those wonderful ads for Albany Life that graced our newspapers back in the day? Headlines like: 'Are you making plans for your wife's death?' And: 'Answer these ten questions

and work out the date of your own death.'

Then, of course, let's not forget the famous pregnant man created by Saatchi & Saatchi that carried the less than positive headline: 'Would you be more careful if it was you that got pregnant?'

Negativity can, of course, also be charming and witty. Parker pens ran a lovely ad penned by Tony Brignull that encouraged the reader to: 'Rediscover the lost art of the insult.' The long copy cited examples of very witty insults and put-downs, and encouraged the reader to let rip with a Parker fountain pen. Besides being a joy to read, it sold a lot of pens.

But perhaps the most negative yet remarkably successful and cost-effective adverts ever penned in the history of advertising were written back in the 60s, not by a copywriter, but by the client himself.

Roy Brooks was an estate agent in the fashionable Kings Road, Chelsea. He was, by all accounts, a sardonic individual with a sharp tongue and a very distinct way with words. And he clearly loathed the kind of disingenuous classified ads that plastered the property pages. So to put matters straight and to stand out from the crowd, he penned his own classified ads. To give you a flavour of the kind of thing he'd bash out on his typewriter, here's one he wrote for a property in Pimlico:

Wanted: someone with taste, means and a stomach strong enough to buy this erstwhile house of ill-repute in Pimlico. It is untouched by the 20th century as far as conveniences for even the basic human decencies are concerned. Although it reeks of damp or worse, the plaster is coming off the walls and daylight peeps through a hole in the roof, it is still habitable judging by the bed of rags, fag ends and empty bottles in one corner. Plenty of scope for the socially aspiring to express their decorative taste and get their abode in The Glossy, and nothing to stop them putting Westminster on their notepaper. Comprises 10 rather unpleasant rooms with slimy back yard, 4,650 Freehold. Tarted up, these houses make 15,000.

Besides being brutally frank, and not unamusing, the ad feels honest and undoubtedly appeals to that universal, deep-seated human instinct we all share of wanting to track down that elusive bargain.

The ad below is another wonderful example. I particularly like: '3 normal-sized bedrooms & a 4th for an undemanding dwarf lodger.' And: 'Nature has fought back in the garden - & won.'

So incredibly effective were Roy Brooks' classified ads that in time, even people like my father, who had no interest whatsoever in buying property, would turn to the property section of the Sunday Times just to read Roy's latest offering.

Roy Brooks himself became a multi-millionaire on the back of his successful classified ad campaign, and though he died over 30 years ago, his company still runs to this day. But alas, the property ads that appear on the comany's website are the run-of-the-mill variety, laden with the customary superlatives, and not a single negative adjective in sight. Enough to make poor Roy Brooks turn in his grave no doubt.

Alex Pearl is author of Sleeping with the Blackbirds and The Chair Man