Don't Push Me, I Am Close to The Edge!

Here's the thing. The Brits are widely known for their politeness and their joy of queuing. Except when it comes to the London tube. Now many of your Karma Crew friends travel on the dreaded Northern Line every morning and evening, and a recurring theme is the ABSOLUTE IGNORANCE shown by certain commuters when the carriage doors open. Imagine the scene: a person is standing in exactly the right spot, by themselves, ready for the doors to open. Along come a few other people and it's so obvious this person was there first. The tube enters the station, the doors open, and what happens? Do your fellow commuters think "well that person was clearly here first so I'll let them get on first", or do they think "right, mucle on, who cares who was here first". What's going on? What ever happened to respect, decency and the joy of the the queue?



It's getting to the time when a man cannot be pushed any more. It's getting to the time when bad karma is going to have to come down hard on someone's London ass. Watch this space. Unless the tube users of London start showing a bit more respect, I cannot be held responsible for my actions

Glastonbury: My Two Pennorth

I've been musing on the fact that I've spent upwards of 200 quids paying for the sort of experience most people demand compensation for and have come to the conclusion that in fact, this is not so much a festival as covert survival training for Good People. When the amassed Dark Forces of McDonalds, Wal mart, Opus Dei, Bryan Adams and the Chinese have their way and the flood barriers come crashing down who will be prepared for life amongst muddy puddles trying to avoid trench foot? The hippies, the ravers and the Who fans, thats who! Yes sir, we shall be sitting pretty in our day-glo waterproofs with our head torches all aglow and spare wellies in our shower-proof rucksacks. The future is bright, the future is crusty (but I'm afraid the future is also poor bongo drumming, scrumpy and hemp flavoured chewing gum).
Off I march to join the revolution, armed with a poncho made out of a shower curtain, a silver poncho from Primark and some bin liners in my cowboy boots. Ill let you borrow my canary-yellow visor if you ask nicely...

A final word on the Glasto weather...

From one empassioned commentator online:

Mud? You think I give a flying fig about mud? Was 2005's storm not worth it for the sheer awesome power of mother nature? Do you think I'd be in the least bit bothered because I might get a bit damp? What sort of moany attitude would that be? This is Britain damn you, Great Britain!

This is the nation that invented cricket, and football, and beer. This is the nation that defeated those uppity Frenchies, saw off the Hun (not once, I might add, but twice), and defeated the Japanese when the Americans needed a bit of help. This is the nation that spread its wings until a third of the globe called Victoria their Queen, that survived the blitz, built railways and spread the joy of tea. Would this sort of attitude have made us great?

Would history recall the battle of Agincourt as gloriously if King Henry V had urged "Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more, ooh hang on tho, bit nippy out eh"? No, I think not.

Would we have been inspired to repel the forces of evil had we heard this over the radiogram? "We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills, unless it's raining then we'll have to wait a bit - Tuesday alright for you?".

I don't think so weatherwatchers, now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party, to take this damned festival by the scruff of the neck & kick it into life. We are the festival, we are what makes it great, and we will prevail over a bit of drizzle early in the morning brightening up to give sunny spells later in the afternoon but some possible showers in the evening.

Get your ticket in your hands, get to Pilton and let's get it on.

Festival Hair

Okay, call me a princess, but I’m a little concerned. I have been not been blessed with hair that has a good attitude. Were my hair a person, it would be Chopper Reid (scary Australian criminal, cut his own ears off).

I have to daily beat it into submission with a variety of follicular apparati (hairdryers, straighteners, magical smelling potions in little jars) and should there be a whisp of moisture in the air? Well, the result ain’t pretty.

So for the coming Glastonbury Festival, I have constructed a careful arsenal of items to get me through it- read: cordless (yes- cordless! Can you believe it?) hair straighteners, and a rather wonderful concoction called dry shampoo. Will this kind of technology will be enough to tame my errant barnet? Check back Tuesday.

Trevor Tunes

Hello everyone, meet Trevor, our not so clever bettor who fronted our Oddschecker campaign last autumn. His real name is Thorsten and he was a grad student discovered in a street casting session in Germany. As a treat (of sorts) his girlfriend brought him to London so he could witness his image on the huge poster sites, and here he stands at Waterloo in front of his celebrated alter ego.

Months have passed since then, but recently Thorsten surprised us by sending through his debut album in the post. (see below) Love the Karate Kid band name, and the music is catchy punk rock with at least one memorable song title of 'Santa is a pervert.'

Could it be that the experience of being Trevor and seeing himself on billboards made him seek out even greater stardom and recognition?! Watch this space...

(Good luck Trev)

Feeling Miserable?

You don't know this man. you've never seen him, heard him or met him. Not only is he the most miserable looking man on the planet, he has the most depressing voice ever. But you know what? He is quite, quite brilliant. Found in a rough old record shop some years ago when vinyl was still king (look up 'vinyl' on google is you're too young to know what I'm talking about), this album was bought purely for reasons of Joe's expression. Lost, forgotton and thought never to be seen again, it was sent through to me from an old pal in Australia. Bored at work/college/home, do yourself a favour, get on the net and buy yourself a copy. You will never ever regret it. And remember, a man 'aint supposed to cry.

Fancy a Cuppa

Karmarama has long been known as the home of the interesting tea and coffee cup. Those of you familiar with the legendary 'Mr T' and 'Koffi' cups, and who were fortunate enough to pinch a couple, will now be happily living in retirement somewhere on your ebay earnings. We thought it would be nice then to show you a few other versions that have never quite made it into the public space. Dave, our fiesty, Italian, curly-locked Creative Partner, is busy designing cups at the moment that will not only ensure a cracking cuppa, but will also help save the planet to boot. Good work! Watch this space and get your ebay accounts readied.

Rot Blog 2

Week 2 in the agency rot blog stakes. On the surface there doesn't seem to be much to choose between the sat and the biccie, although we have a sneaking suspicion that there's something nasty now lurking inside the little pithy one. At one stage last week when the agency biscuit supplies fell dangerously low, Ben the Ginger Ninja was seen to be making advances towards the defenceless digestive. Fortunately, in the spirit of science and experimentation and that, he had an apple instead. Next week: if the satsuma and biscuit could tell their story, would it be worth listening to?

Lynton & Lynmouth Festival (Llama)

Summary:
Main Stage on the Lynmouth village green on the Devon coast. 2,000 attendees. Bands incl Gruff Rhys (Super Furries), Voice of Seven Woods, Wolf People.



Love it:
Local ciders, stage by the sea (lunchtime swimming) and at the base of the Exmoor hills (beautiful). Campsite in rolling hills, next to pub (two types of local cider) with DJs and dancing in garden til early hours. Oh and it was a free festival (£3 donation to help with cost)



Love it less:
The hills are 1 in 4 gradient, so our bus nearly didn’t make it. It was 1.5miles uphill to the campsite from the main stage (some people that missed the bus had to walk back).



Karma Fest Rating
8/10

Bag Suit

I think this could be the answer to our clothing worries at this year’s wet and cold Glastonbury.

US town set to ban saggy trousers

This news story has caused the boys in the agency a bit of concern. Lord only knows how long before this puritan thinking will hit London. Our boys will stand proud in their undies whatever happens. The fightback starts here.

Glasto Anguish

This chart is currently causing a lot of grief at your favourite independent hothouse-greenhouse-teahouse at the moment. Half the agency (don't tell the clients!) are off to Glastonbury this coming week and, as is typical for festival time, the weather is turning right bad. Obviously as your agency blogger I will not be going as it's more important to keep this going rather than throwing my arms in the air like I just don't care. But I feel for our soon-to-be waterlogged people. Take your brollies campers.

Welcome to Hell 2

So the building/demolishing/crunching work continues, driving us everso...slightly...insane. The noise is maddening, the building shakes terrifying and the view pretty rubbish. But we march on. We still don't know what they are doing out there, what's being built, how long it will take and whether anyone knows that London's favourite DJ-extended re-mix advertising hotshop is toiling away just a few yards away. As soon as it gets a bit clearer we'll let you know. Until then, who knows what it'll be. Looks slightly like a launch pad to me...

Bring Back Mick MacManus

This book here, produce by one Mr Malcolm Venville, may be just about the best book ever. It takes us into the extraordinary world of the Mexican wrestler and for anyone who was a 70s 'grapple fan' it brings back powerful memories of Saturday afternoons spent waiting for Final Score.



The book is chokka with insane costumed characters, with lots of small grapplers. As Ian Wright once famously said "Those little fellas. Man they just crack me up. They're so ... little."

Zubrowka Apple

We're a cosmopolitan bunch at Karmarama. Ok maybe not that cosmopolitan but there's a good spread of foreign origins: Italian, Australian, a bit of French, Dutch, Polish, Egyptian, and Northern. Dave, in the spirit of the Godfather has said it's a 'hard working immigrant agency.' Hard as nails, as ping pongers throughout the capital will tell you.

They show, all these roots: there's Italian style, Egyptian magic, Aussie grab the bull by the balls (literally), all added to a solid base of Cockney cheek.

Not sure what my Polish roots can bring to the party apart from a refreshing Zubrowka Vodka and apple juice, which has gone down a storm over the last few months. I urge you to try one - it tastes just like apple cake. You'll impress the barman too. For those of you not in the know, it's a special vodka with a fragrant grass much loved by the Euro Bison. Hence it's known as 'bison grass vodka' by Brits who are a little shy fluffing a scary foreign word.

This drinkable apple cake has become the tipple of choice at one of our favorite local hang-outs, a cosy chalet-bar with dancing downstairs: 'The Social.'

It doesn't beat the pub though.

Good stuff from..gasp...Halifax!

There's nothing like a good ol' dance off, right?
Especially when the 'big fish, little fish, box' move is replecated in stereo! Why can't all fights be like this..?

Bodean's, The Single.

We've written a song about the man-stealing capabilities of our favourite meaty restaurant, Bodean's in Soho. It is written to the tune of Dolly Parton's Jolene, and co written by William Saul Flack and Aaron Sinclair Wilmer.

Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans
I'm begging of you please don't take my man
Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans
Please don't take him just because you can

Your pulled-pork is beyond compare and your steak you cook so rare
With French fries and smokey ribs so lean
Your portions they are never mean, your waiting staff so mighty keen
And I cannot compete with you Bodeans

He talks about you in his sleep and there's nothing I can do to keep
Him from crying out your meaty name Bodeans
But I can easily understand how you could easily feed my man
But you don't know what he means to me Bodeans

Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans
I’ve got a rack but your ribs sure beat mine
Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans
On your chicken thighs please don’t let him dine

He comes back smelling of chipottle, and root beer drunk straight from the bottle
Keep your meaty mitts off him Bodeans
Don’t let him run away with you and your flamin’ barbeque
I’m his finger bowl, not you Bodeans

Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans
I'm begging of you please don't take my man
Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans Bodeans
Please don't take him even though you can

Wellies!

Wellies are brillo pads, brilliant! My new ones especially. They may not be psychedelic pink, shaped like donkeys or voice activated but they're MINE and they're HERE. They arrived in the office this morning stirring up yet more Glasto fever (and general wellie envy). I like my new wellies so much I'm almost hoping for (some) rain. Ooops... did I really just say that?

ps. sorry about my knobbly knees

This Week's Bunch

Every week the hard working Lou on reception ensures our delightful office is filled with a bunch of flowers that the Queen herself (bless her and protect her) would be proud of.
This week's bunch are a pure delight. Don't know what's in the vase, but they are kinda lovely aren't they?

Rot Blog 1

Welcome to the Rot Blog. These two items of foodstuff have been slowly festering on Digital Craig's desk for a number of weeks now. The agency is split regarding which will rot first: the Satsuma, given its high fructose content and fruit's inability to withstand environmental trauma; or the Daddy of food Darwinism, the digestive biscuit, packed as it is with delicious preservatives and nitrates and things. Obviously the smart money is on the Satsuma taking the bullet first, but I think we should all sit back and observe what Mother Nature has up her metaphorical sleeve. Tune in next week for a full in depth analysis of the latest rot off, possibly with some form of graph or high-tech x-ray machine. Or maybe just another couple of photos