Monday 10 December 2012

24 hours in Vienna


As some of you may know, last weekend saw Christmas celebrated Wordville style. Not for us the food induced coma and drunken jive round the local watering hole. No- we jetted out the city and hit the streets of Vienna for a whirlwind 24 hours of frozen fun and frolics.

I don’t think any of us know how such a momentous party concept came about. It’s possible Lucy mentioned the idea in late summer and, once in the public domain, it was impossible to retract. We ran with it like hungry leopards smelling buffalo, and before we knew it we’d booked flights, a hotel and were researching the nuances of the city’s many Christmas markets.

This epic Christmas party (which we’ve been assured will NOT happen every year), provided a fitting end for what has been an action-packed 2012 at Wordville. For those of you that can bare to read them, here are some highs, lows and memorable moments from the trip…


1.    Suitcase situation- The moment Steph realised that she’d locked her suitcase- with her phone, purse and key inside it. Now this would be an unfortunate situation for anyone but for Steph, our resident news wire, this forced separation from her iPhone was quite catastrophic. What if there was a flash flood somewhere, another royal got pregnant or ASOS had a 50% off bonanza? Thankfully it wasn’t long before Pema came to the rescue with a blunt airport knife and, using some questionable skills, triumphed over the lock to reunite Steph with her cash.


2.    Let the party commence- After a long journey, a rapid change and a stumble round Vienna in search of food, we were finally settled in a buzzing bar over-looking a snow-dusted cathedral. With drinks in our hands and a hefty selection of bar snacks, it finally sunk in that we’d made this happen.


3.    Doing it Wordville style- If there’s one thing we like doing- even more that ringing up the FT- it’s dancing. Determined not to leave Vienna without showcasing our skills, we took to the floor of some unsuspecting establishment and strutted our stuff till the early hours.


4.    The Sheep pig- Yes. It may shock some of you to know but the greatest treasure in Vienna does not lie amongst the crown jewels; it’s not hiding in the museum quartier and you most certainly won’t find it in Mozart’s house. However, scour a straw filled enclosure at the heart of one of the city’s lesser-known Christmas markets, and you may be rewarded with a glimpse of… the sheep pig. We all agreed that this fleece-covered piggy was unlike anything we’d ever seen. It was spectacular, even when scratching its bum on the water butt.


5.    Getting in…and out of the cold – After spending some time, and quite a few of our hard-earned euros, in two of the city’s bustling Christmas markets, we were all ready for a sit-down and a break from the -2 °C conditions. Entering into a warm cafĂ© and thawing out with a hot drink and some Viennese pastries was the perfect end to truly memorable 24 hours in Vienna.

By Polly Robinson

Friday 16 November 2012

Holidays are coming


Christmas adverts have always provided a festive marker for me. My sister and I used to wait impatiently for the Coca-Cola, holiday’s are coming advert. Seeing it was akin to glimpsing Rudolph’s nose peaking over the horizon- a promise of the festivities soon to come.

But when did Christmas advertising become so competitive?

Over the past fortnight, the heavyweights of British retail have been flexing their media muscle, eager to gain audience approval and drive consumer conversation through attention-grabbing television campaigns.

One of the first big-brand efforts to run the critical gauntlet was that of Waitrose. The up-market food retailer has chosen to shun big budget TV advertising this year, instead giving the estimated 1 million pounds usually spent to charitable causes. The result is an irritatingly pious offering, featuring Heston Blumenthal and Delia Smith, being very vocal about just how socially aware Waitrose is. It’s smug and seems to wave an implicit naughty finger at all the other retailers, including sister company John Lewis, who have continued to toe the blockbuster line. Clearly there’s no place for sisterhood in the competitive retail Christmas.


Despite this, John Lewis is claiming that its Christmas commercial, devised by advertising greats Adam and Eve DDB, is its most successful yet. The advert, which launched last weekend (10 November), has generated some 6,790 likes and 1,340 shares on Facebook so far and was trending last week on Twitter. Its 'go that extra mile' message is illustrated by a snowman, who travels over mountains and across streams, only to return with a hat and scarf set (presumably from John Lewis), for his shivering snow wife. All this is set to a cover of The Power of Love and is executed with a comic charm that has generated praise from viewers and critics alike.


Alongside the traditional, some say sentimental, ads this year, a worrying trend for realism has emerged. Asda came under fire last week, after airing its Christmas advert with the strapline, ‘Behind every great Christmas, there’s mum.’ The commercial features a fraught mum, juggling the demands of a thankless family, with Asda seemingly her only help. How the supermarket chain did not see the furor this would cause, I do not know, but it has outraged both male and female viewers, generating a strong reaction from fathers for justice who claim it belittles the role of fathers at Christmas.


Television advertising plays a huge part in communicating brand vision and ethos, and there are obvious, safe ways to use it.  Nevertheless, be it in an effort to snatch the rare Christmas pound, or mere creative competitiveness, retail brands are increasingly looking to create impact with their seasonal advertising offerings. The problem is, the flip side of impact is often risk. As Asda is now finding out, investing in advertising that communicates controversial brand values can be a costly mistake, especially as (according to my mother), all anyone really wants to see is Take That dancing round a country house.  



By Polly Robinson