Fat-arsed women, dyed blonde hair, and eyes full of courage...

I used to work at an agency near the red-light district of town.

There were always lots of women with short skirts and too much make up hanging round on street corners nearby.

Not long after I started there I was approached one lunchtime by a fat-arsed woman with acne, dyed blonde hair. And eyes full of courage.

Nearby, slow-moving cars driven by nervous men were kerb crawling.

The fake blonde asked me if I wanted any business.

I was na?ve in the ways of women with fat arses, acne, and fake blonde hair.

I didn’t know what she meant.

Well…not completely.

I had a girlfriend…once.

So, I hugged my ham and pickle sandwich tight, dodged her ample girth, and escaped back into the agency, looking back every ten yards, hoping like hell she wouldn’t follow.

I made the mistake of telling my art director about my encounter.

He got a laugh out of it for about a month.

It was the closest I’d ever come (up to that point), to a real, live, streetwalker.

I’d seen them on tv documentaries. I’d read about them in magazines.

But getting up close and personal in the flesh was a different kettle of fish.

Along with the fish came a heady mix of sweat, cheap perfume…and another odour that I knew but didn’t want to think about.

I was a good Catholic boy…or at least I pretended to be.

The odour had something to do with back alleys, brick walls, and standing up.

It was dirty and uncomfortable.

And full of guilt and dampness.

And then I realised something…

I wasn’t a good Catholic boy at all.

I was just someone who grew up knowing shit about nothing.

Someone who knew bugger-all about surviving on the streets.

Someone who knew one step up from zero about what men really did to women…and what women did to fight back.

They’re still fighting

But they’re getting better at it.

Men have always thought of themselves as the stronger sex and women the weaker one.

And that’s the biggest joke that God and The Devil have ever played on anyone with a dick.

Ask any woman in the middle of childbirth.

Ask any man with a snotty nose.

Decades later I worked at an agency with a client who knew all about God and The Devil.

The client was a cancer hospital.

We created a telly ad for them, so I had to spend some time going round the wards.

I was a writer then. Still am now.

I talked to folk at the beginning of their treatment.

And talked to folk nearing the end of their journey.

All genders…all ages.

And one thing struck me…

The ones who put on the bravest faces when confronted with their own mortality…were the females of the species. Not the males.

And, for some reason, talking to them took me back in time to a fat-arsed woman

With acne

And dyed blonde hair.

And eyes full of courage…

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The above is an extract from my as yet unpublished (and mostly unwritten) book Ad Interruptus.

Like its sisters Ad Lib, and Ad Infinitum (NOW AVAILABLE), it's about creativity, advertising, life, and lots of stuff in between.

You'll find Ad Infinitum, Ad Lib, and Ad Hoc on Amazon, along with my other books, Love & Coffee and Heaven Help Us. In print and ebook. Waiting for you.

And the wonderful thing about all three Ad books is… it doesn’t matter where you finish any chapter or episode.

Because it will always be pretty damned close to where you started it…

Ad Infinitum: https://amzn.to/3pof7Uq

Ad Lib: https://amzn.to/2kd4LKf.

Ad Hoc: https://amzn.to/2Nx8GL8

Love & Coffee: https://amzn.to/28IWaHq

Heaven Help Us: https://amzn.to/2nkQ1Jk

Grab a coffee, grab a chair, and grab a sneaky peek.

Then grab a copy...