Pepsi Lost Their Fizz.

The internet has gone bananas about the new Pepsi ad starring Kendall Jenner...and not in a good way. Naturally, I have to throw in my two cents:

First of all, why is this advert nearly three minutes long? Unless it’s a charity appeal, there’s no need for any advert to have that duration.

Secondly, what was the point? I watched it thrice and still didn’t get it. I thought it was a parody. It was like a stylised, ultra glossy version of an American protest, with extra layers of FA-SHUN added by bringing Ms Jenner to the mix. 

What were Pepsi thinking? I wasted my time watching something that felt like a very colourful Gap ad or a music video than a pointed illustration of modern American life.

The advert was utterly pointless. Even if they were attempting to make a point (and I still don’t know what that was), this was probably the dumbest way to do it. Was there no person of colour at Pepsi HQ (or any person, in fact) who could have said, ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ 

Who decided that little ‘Wonder Woman’ bit where Jenner whipped off her wig was a slice of genius? It only succeeded in making me laugh. The fist bump between her and the black guy dancing throughout was cringeworthy, as was the mini-flirting with the violinist who cannot sip properly from a can of Pepsi. But let’s be honest, the entire ad was two minutes and forty-six seconds of cringe and I’m still trying to figure out WHAT THE FRIGGING POINT OF IT WAS. 

So if peaceful protestors of the past such as Martin Luther King and Malcolm X had a Pepsi on their person, maybe the powers-that-be would have been more sympathetic to their plight? If Black Lives Matter had a Pepsi multipack, things might have been less problematic? If only real life was as simple as handing a fizzy drink to a member of the riot police, eh? Why did Pepsi think they could crowbar themselves into this issue and turn it into something palatable, edgy and trendy (ugh)? It’s as bad as that time Sky Sports turned their Super Sunday credits into WAG Central: an unrecognisable football crowd full of gorgeous model-esque women, suited blokes and happy families all waving their hands to ‘Loving Each Day’ by Ronan Keating, with not a single regular-looking football fan in sight. 

Pepsi released an apology which only apologised to Kendall Jenner rather than those who complained about the ad- why I do not know. Ms Jenner is twenty years old. She is not a child. She can make her own decisions regarding which projects she takes on and those she does not, so why they aimed their apology at her and her alone is weird. 

Seriously Pepsi, stick to what you’re good at. In fact, all big brands should probably do so unless they’re absolutely sure they have got their message right. I’m not looking to you to make a statement on the world today- I want you to carry on making mindless and insanely expensive adverts that I can roll my eyes at and not expect anything other than you selling your cold beverage to me through heavy-handed product placement. Trivialising the protests of recent times into happy vignettes of aesthetically-pleasing young people in technicolor (I saw no diversity in terms of age in that crowd at all) walking through sun-drenched streets clutching cans of your drink is not the one.

© isanynamefree 2017


Bake Off Blues.

So Bake Off goes on without Mary Berry

No Mel & Sue either- it’s all so very

Abrupt but it was inevitable,

But still, the outcome is incredible,

Paul is the only quarter of the pie

That’s staying in place but I’m not surprised,

He’s a bit of a (Bakewell) tart and I couldn’t see him leaving

But still next year’s series will have viewers disbelieving.

Some say they won’t watch when it moves to Channel 4

They’ll show no love and leave it forevermore

But I cannot lie- I’ll watch it to see

The new format, the new presenters- I’m interested to a degree

I’m hoping it doesn’t change too much

But with The Big Three departing, the viewers will clutch

Onto anything familiar that remains

But with commercial breaks included, it won’t be the same.

No more soggy bottoms, the innuendo depends

On the new presenters and how they blend

Into the show- I wonder who they’ll pick from the crop?

(Please God, don’t let it be Kirstie Allsopp).


Sixteen Stops.

I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine
One each of rosé and white combined,
I’m feeling tired and slightly drowsy
On the train but won’t get rowdy
‘Cos that is indefensible,
And acting that way isn’t sensible
My stomach is empty, for I didn’t eat
What was I thinking? Must not repeat
This foolish idea, don’t be so bold,
Lord have mercy I’m so damn cold
I want my bed and I want some food
Sex would be nice, but I’m not in the mood.
I’m still far from home, another sixteen stops
Maybe they’ll fly by- fingers crossed.
The train driver can’t drive well at all,
Sends us flying and down we fall
As he slams on the brakes for no good reason,
Leaves on the line? Well, it’s the season.
It’s getting late but I’m almost there
Trying to be patient but I’m going spare
Come on! Get me home, no time to waste,
Got things to do and food to taste,
I’m trying to fight the sleepyness
So let me get home and eat and rest.

I’ve Got the (Will)Power!

The above statement might make you think ‘Well yes, surely everyone does?’ But for the whole of last month until Good Friday yesterday, I gave up chocolate, cake and biscuits- and it was a personal success.

For a former chocoholic like me who was slowly turning into a grazing heifer, this had been a long time coming. My willpower had abandoned me (or so I thought) and I knew I had to do something about it. Previous attempts at giving up the sweet treats were very short-lived: I once gave up for three hours before diving into a pack of chocolate digestives. At work, I sit next to a hamper full of the stuff that I am trying to avoid and would often dip my hand in without thinking. If I did not get my sugar rush I would even get ratty, plus I was also worried about the amount of refined sugar I consumed on a daily basis. Everyday I was indulging my sweet tooth and I had to cut it out. Literally. So I did.

The weird thing is initially it was really easy to stay away from the sweet stuff. I ate more fruit and body-swerved any cake thrust in front of me. But after the first couple of weeks, I started daydreaming about cake. My nerve was further tested by the cake trolley that was wheeled around my workplace one day. I’m still haunted by the doorstop-sized slices of Victoria sandwich cake that I could have bought, with the buttercream and jam oozing out. It was practically screaming at me, ‘Don’t you want me?!’ (at least I think it was). 

On top of that, my friend bought a salted caramel cheesecake a couple of weeks ago, the likes of which I had never seen before. Brilliant white cheesecake surrounding a seductive chocolate and salted caramel centre- oh, the temptation was real, people. And just this week, there was another baking competition at my work (they love to bake and make us fat) but I managed to control myself- I think I was all caked out. Although I found myself eating more crisps as a substitute (though not too many), I also rediscovered my love of apples.

Soon, the end was nigh and somehow I resisted all the cakes and chocolate and biscuits that were thrown at me every mid-morning, every time I was in the queue in a supermarket and every time I looked in my cupboards. I feel very proud of myself because nobody believed I could do it, including myself. ‘Yeah right’ was the default response from my friends. Going cold turkey worked and even though I was not craving chocolate as much as I thought I would, I celebrated the only way I knew how: with a couple of dark chocolate digestive biscuits. But in the aftermath, I found that my tastebuds had gone rogue as I hate the dark chocolate ones now. So it was a bittersweet moment (ba-dum-tish). On the plus side, my skin didn’t breakout as much as it used to and I lost three pounds in weight which is a bonus, so I fully intend to continue down this road. 

Who Wants a Sandwich?

The Daily Mail has got its knickers in a twist again. Their front page headline this morning was as thus: ‘IS THERE NO ONE LEFT IN BRITAIN WHO CAN MAKE A SANDWICH?’
Apparently, a British-based sandwich manufacturer is having to employ Eastern Europeans to make their sandwiches as the Brits offered these jobs think they are too good for such roles. So the next time you buy a sandwich from the likes of M&S, Tesco or Asda, it might be made by (gasp!) people not from British shores. Clutch your pearls, middle England!

This story was of such national importance that the Mail splashed it on their front page, but who gives a shit? All I care about is that the sandwich looks and tastes good and is at a decent price. Whether they are from Portsmouth or Poland makes no difference to me- I just hope that the sandwich maker has damn good hygiene.

And to be honest, the Brits are not exactly the best sandwich makers. Before some of you all start frothing at the mouth with rage, I speak from experience. My mum used to make me delicious sandwiches for my packed lunches at school. Everyday, my friends salivated with hunger and envy as they looked at their unappealing cheese sandwich- an abnormally bright yellow slither (or slab, depending on how it was cut) of cheese wedged between two triangular slices of pasty white bread. No wonder they would throw them in the bin and go to the chippy instead. But I digress.

Obviously there are plenty of decent sandwich makers in Blighty but the Daily Mail cannot throw their hands in the air in despair when people decide they do not want to take on such jobs. It is such a ludicrous, bombastic headline designed to get people even more het up on a Monday morning than they usually are. It’s almost like they are doing UKIP’s job for them. The people that are coming to fill these roles (and the sandwiches) are not too precious to do so and good for them. And anyway, I can make a mean sandwich and so long as I still have that skill, this country is in good hands.

I Must Go To This Restaurant!

The first two sentences of this article had me crying with laughter on the bus this morning. Several of my fellow passengers looked at me wondering if I was ok, as my laughter veered between hyena and walrus-like. The funniest thing is I mentioned the article to my colleagues and every one of them said the same restaurant name before I did! Apparently, it’s notorious in London for crap customer service and as a Londoner, I can’t believe I haven’t been there. Much as I hate bad service, I want to experience the, erm, ‘uniqueness’ of this place. So Wong Kei- we shall meet at some point.