Thursday, 11 June 2015

THE SUN ALWAYS SHINES ON TV

A feature on the Absolute Radio breakfast show this week called for listeners who had appeared in TV commercials. It reminded me of the Pampers nappy ad which my firstborn and I shot for Saatchi & Saatchi, back when. I didn't seek the commission, they came looking: on Fleet Street, where they were hoping to find a genuine national newspaper journalist with a real-life baby. They found us.

The first question I was asked was 'What brand of nappies do you use?' I gave the right answer, evidently. Because this was to be what they called 'endorsement advertising', the Advertising Standards Authority rules did not allow us to be paid. We would receive 'payment in kind', I was informed. A year's worth of nappies. 

That was where the 'genuine' aspect of the arrangement ended. We shot the commercial over three days, first in a hired house in Teddington which was far too grand to be ours. The idea that a single-mum hack would be able to afford such a gaff was a joke. Then there were the stylists, who transformed me into someone I didn't recognise. I fancied myself as a bit of a rock chick in those days, but you'd never have known it from the look. I had a neat French plait down my back and the kind of make-up that rendered me almost nun-like. I had expensive taste in infantwear, too - not that you'd have known it from the cheap, primary-coloured garb into which they stuffed my little girl.

We shot days two and three at London Zoo, with mini friends from nursery as controls. The most priceless sequence took place back in the lab, where I stood pouring test tubes of unidentified blue liquid into cut-out squares of nappy padding. This one soaks it up completely, look, while this one's damp. 
Oh dear.

A month or so after the commercial began to air on high rotation, across Europe on MTV and various Euro-channels as well as in the UK, I went to Rome and Milan to cover some A-ha gigs. Where Morten, Mags and Pal got their own back. I didn't live it down for about ten years.

I ran into Morten not long ago, who couldn't wait to remind me of an experience I'd tried to forget.
'It proved to us,' laughed the Norwegian, 'That British television really is crap.'

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