This will hurt me...

Are YOU a woman? Do YOU wear a hat? Is YOUR hat tight? WARNING!!! WARNING!!! WARNING!!! Did YOU know that 'physicians' say that tight hats are [probably] responsible for all those bald men that you see? Think of THAT next time you find yourself strolling past the department store and have your fancy tickled by some snug-fitting feathery fascinator!

The market is a shifty bugger. There is obviously a limit to one’s ability to sell people stuff. Ultimately, people are going to get to a point where they don’t need anything more. The solution? Create a need! Now you, me and everybody else may well have gone on for thousands of years never having noticed the subtleties of life. Creases in our brow, different skin textures on our elbows, imprecise smells in our intimate parts... To a marketer, these aren’t the intangibles that make life, love and the whole shebang. These are opportunities to be exploited ! Have a crease in the corner of your eye? EVERYBODY IS LOOKING AT YOU! BUY THIS CREAM AND MAKE THEM STOP! Rough skin to protect the point of your elbow? YOU HAG! HOW CAN A MAN EVERY LOVE YOU? GET SOME OINTMENT ON THAT! Smell like a woman? HOW DARE YOU! YOU MAKE US ALL SICK! Modern life, it really is wonderful.

Here we are on Hunter Street, outside the University of Tasmania's Art School looking towards what remains of the working port. It's an interesting nexus of ideas at work here, and is replicated in Launceston, where their Art School is located with an old railyard. Deliberate? Who knows! Here's a romantic poem today. Woman Her hair... shimmered. Her eyes... sparkled. Her smile... glimmered. Her neck... glistened. Her pancreas... excreted.

The best that I can say about this French advertisement for tampons is that it is, err, very French . The tagline reads: "I am like a fish in water" , but I am not sure that this really helps all that much in getting the gist of the piece. Now, you must believe me when I say that I’ve thought long and hard [oohh err missus!] about this particular product promotion, but admit that I am no closer at answering the riddle that might unlock this particular enigma than when I began, and figure that I shan’t locate that answer any time soon. The most obvious answer harks back to grubby schoolboy locker room jokes, but to my knowledge – and I say this as someone who remains a grubby schoolboy at heart – grubby schoolboys do not represent a significant proportion of the market share of feminine hygiene products . No, I figure that is women who buy tampons (see, all of that taxpayers’ money wasn’t wasted on my education). As it is women that buy the tampons, it must be women that t...

I would advise all of my dear readers to take the take, click on today's advertisment, and have a good hard think about what it says. All of this time I had thought that it was the average fighting Joes who won the Second World War. Hardcore Marines storming beaches, heroic air crews dropping bombs surrounded by flak, the oft-overlooked merchant seaman chugging away on ships dodging treacherous seas (and even deadlier) submarines the whole time simply to get life’s pure essentials (which, apparently, did not include bananas but plenty of bombs) from point A to point A . Naively – damn fool that I am – I thought that it was the fearless Soviet troops thrusting towards Berlin, the countless riveting Rosies pumping away day and night in factories, the old dears knitting socks for the care packages for the valiant lads wasting away in Colditz, and the kids who dreamed of nothing more than bayoneting some heartless Fritz or Jap until his last twitch ceased. Hell, I thought that it mi...

There are more pros than cons to having a wife who is an absolute champion when it comes to breastfeeding. I'm deadly serious here, Jen would be a lock for Olympic gold if they ever introduce it as a competitive sport. The simply massive Henry was exclusively breast-fed for nigh-on six months (at which point he was the size of the average one year old), and didn't fully wean (his own call) until eighteen months old. In all of that time Jen soldiered through, producing bountiful good stuff to keep him ticking along as healthy as a boy giant could be. That said, he is also a fussy little bugger who demanded his mother's full attention during feeds, had four teeth at sixteen weeks and refused outright any notion of expressed milk in a bottle. So the pressure was very much upon her. The pros should be obvious: health benefits (for both mother and baby); good bonding time; less sickly kiddies; huge cost savings; no fumbling about with formula, bottles and teats; less vomit; l...

I realise that I have been terribly negligent in posting ads that encompass the televisual medium. So today, I have decided to embrace a number of my favourite things: Soviet era social history, lovely ladies, kitschy slogans and (most of all) MEAT . So, today I present to you a sexy and passionate commercial produced in Estonia in the 1980s. I am led to believe that the words "beef" and "chicken" are repeated throughout. You could probably guess that for yourself, although you might be forgiven that a little “HOT” and “SEXY” might also be thrown in for good measure. I defy any vegetarian to watch this video and not go rushing out to the butchers for eight kilograms of mince, a bag of chicken necks and waltz home with a young lovely attached to each arm. Enjoy!

Some time ago I reflected upon Dr George W. Crane's Marital Rating Scale from the 1930s. You will be happy to hear that prior to Ezra's early arrival, I discovered an online version of the test. Now, after things have settled down somewhat, I have been able to inform all that visit this here humble website so that you can all contribute to saving your marriages . In the interest of honesty and openness, my wife and I completed the test together, and I scored a healthy mark. I will be honest with you though, 1930s husbands set the bar awfully low. That said, there are a few areas where I need to pick up my game. Who knew that "drawing in pencil on the tablecloth" annoyed women so much? Go figure! 133 As a 1930s husband, I am Very Superior Take the test!

Henry and I have just finished Muriel Spark’s excellent short novel The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie . No doubt, many people will be more familiar with the cinematic version of 1969, but I must say the book is far better, for the usual reasons (nuance and depth not the least). Upon some reflection on our recent reading habits, we have deliberately chosen a ‘feminine’ novel to mix things up a bit. I have been worried about Henry’s escalating assertive masculinity, and figured that a book written by a woman, set in a girl’s school and ostensibly about a ‘strong’ women in her prime would offer a counter balance to the raging testosterone that has taken over the house. Having not read any Murial Spark previously, let’s just say that I was taken by surprise. I was taken aback by the complexity of the narrative and plot. This is a book rich and original in style. In terms of delivering a ‘feminine’ voice, I guess it did that. I am not sure if it delivers a message that will be helpful for He...

Today’s ad is another one that all of you ladies out there should readily identify with. Ask yourself, do you ever feel flat ? Tired ? Worn-out ? Are you ever so exhausted that not even an invite to The Smiths can pep you up (Morrissey must have forgiven Mike Joyce if they’re gigging again!)? Did you used to be a lot of fun, but now your friends think that you are kind of a drag to be around? Are things not right at home? Are you turning into a peevish old woman ? This ad raises an important and timely issue, one that sadly even affects my own household. Despite my distinguished record as a husband and Jen's generally solid marks on the Crane marital scale , my wife always complains that she is tired. She thinks that maybe it is something to do with looking after a lively and demanding toddler all day long while being 28 weeks pregnant, but I am not so sure. That just seems too complex a reason. I have been wracking my brains looking for an answer and - to be frank with you dear ...

Regular readers of this blog will know how passionately committed I am to ensuring that people are empowered to cultivate a marriage that remains loving , passionate and most of all successful . Whether it is awareness around ignorance in the area of inadequate drainage ; the importance of complete feminine hygiene , particularly when a wife is lax about issues related to her charm and health; the intimate relationship between a woman’s work ethic and her attractiveness; why regular beatings are not conducive to a constructive partnership; as well as the importance of fresh coffee . Thus, I would like to think that this record, and many, many years of successful marriage (over two consecutive years and rising!) more than establishes my qualifications as an effective source of marital guidance. Personably, I owe most of my practical knowledge about dealing with a temperamental spouse through the groundbreaking and still magnificent work of the long departed, but dearly missed, Barba...

It is a well-known fact that marriage breakdowns are inevitably traced back to problems around communication. A less recognised (but just as significant) factor is addressed by today's advertisement. Blocked drains . One thing that a man cannot stand from his wife is ignorance in the area of adequate drainage . So please, ladies, go out and check your drains today. It may not be too late!

I posted a few days ago some thoughts that I'd had about the noticeable sexism that can be found in the US Presidential pre-selection process. Without wanted to rehash it, I've been equally parts bemused, angered and depressed by some of my experiences online. Indeed, I've had a number of 'unpleasant' interactions in attempting to flag some of the inappropriate (read: sexist) attacks and assumptions on Clinton, or at least in trying to get people to at least self-identify that maybe some things should be 'out of bounds' in campaigning (like the t-shirt identifying Clinton as a prostitute). Generally speaking though, endeavouring to raise this doesn't seem to be provoking useful and thoughtful debate. I'd like to think that I tread warily in these matters, and attempt to promote a good discourse rather than go in too heavy handed (at least on someone else’s blog!). But it appears to be to no avail, responses generally start at "Don't be so s...

As is always a good sign, I managed to steam through this book in 3 days, despite the fact that I’ve been working full time at the moment. Seriously, I found this book difficult to put down, and one of those occasions when you are truly sad to finish it. Compounding this is the fact that we get no subsequent biographical information of the author (although I both respect and understand her right to choose this). I’ve tried not to give too much away as to events of the book. The author – then a 34-year-old journalist – started this eight-week diary in April 1945, as the Russians were encircling Berlin and the city's (mostly female) inhabitants was heading to its cellars to wait out the fighting. The scarcity of food meant that anyone able-bodied took to looting buildings for food of any kind. However, soon the Red Army arrived and soldiers were everywhere. With an astonishing degree of bluntness, she describes the plundering of her neighbourhood when Berlin was conquered and Soviet ...