The Simpsons, Queen, and Preparation H...

I can’t get the theme tune to “The Simpsons” out of my bloody head.

I woke up this morning and there it was.

Sitting on my pillow.

Staring at me.

Poking at my memory.

A blast from the past when I used to watch cartoons with my kids.

When I used to pretend that cartoons were only for them.

When we thought The Simpsons theme tune’s composer Danny Elfman was a tiny guy with a hilarious name.

Oh, how we laughed.

That was then. This is now.

Years later. Or hours…

And the damned tune is still making itself heard.

Sitting at my study desk, I thought I’d managed to get rid of it while listening to Fat Bottomed Girls by Queen. The title made me laugh.

I was wrong on so many levels. And yet so right.

Memory is very sneaky.

I glanced away out of the window.

Up to the sky.

And there they were. Floating high above the ground.

Simpsons clouds.

And then the bloody theme tune popped up…again! And an image of good old Homer.

Doh!

That’s the thing about some memories.

Just when you think you don’t have to remember them any more…just when you think they’ve buggered off without leaving you a forwarding address…the damned things come back.

Either on their own, with no inducement, or in tandem. With cattle prods.

Sound then vision. Or vision then sound.

Laughter then pain.

Right out of the blue.

And there they stay and throw rocks at you. For no reason other than to piss you right off.

For no reason other than to take up valuable space that better memories are presently inhabiting. Or were, until they got squeezed out.

The trouble is…

My funny memories are stubborn.

Sometimes they’re harder to get rid of than my sad ones.

They burrow in deep…cling on for dear life…and don’t let go.

That’s why Homer Simpson’s “Doh!” exclamation is engrained in the memories of half the world.

Probably more.

I can’t say it (or hear it) without smiling.

It’s maybe why so many women find men with a sense of humour such good company.

And it’s probably why any memory of The Simpsons, no matter how small, has a better chance of hanging around than a dozen un-funny memories.

And that’s a real pain in the arse.

Seriously.

Doh!

That reminds me of a guy called George Sperti.

He was the Italian American cancer researcher from Covington, Kentucky, who invented Preparation H. The medication for treating haemorrhoids.

Doh!

Now I can’t get Fat Bottomed Girls out of my bloody head.

Well, at least I’m not thinking of that bloody Simpsons theme tune again.

Doh!…

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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...