When I was a wee nipper in the past and short and higher pitched of voice and all that shit, I used to find the concept of junk mail fascinating. While my parents would immediately bin it, if I intercepted it I would open it and look through the goodies inside; a veritable world of opportunity I had literally opened up with my own two hands.
Needless to say, I hate the shit now. Obviously, because it’s wank. But that’s not the point I want to dwell on.
Nor is the point that I once interviewed for a job writing junk mail (“direct mail”) for a women’s clothing catalogue in Bradford many a year ago the one I want to go over in great detail. Even though I arrived 90 minutes late, hadn’t had a haircut then spilled water all over my written test piece, making it quite an interesting interview.
I didn’t get the job.
Anyway, today I received some junk mail from P&O. As in the cruise line. As in the place that offers the chance for you to float halfway around the world (but not too close to any rocky outcrops, any Italian captains reading this) for some money.
For the sort of money I absolutely do not have. Nor will likely ever have.
Why did you send me this, P&O ferries? Is it because you hate me and want to mock me incessantly for my endless near-poverty? Is it just because you hate me? Is it because you genuinely believe I should go on a cruise to calm my brain down and let me simply relax for a few weeks?
Wait, if it’s the last one – I really should do that. Direct marketing works!