Those who can, do. Those who can't, go into advertising.

"Is it unAustralian to watch cricket just because it makes Weiss Bars taste better?" I mused from my couch yesterday afternoon. Not having to work made me very happy indeed. The answer came to me quicker than Will Gilroy (you probably don't even read this) at a 'short tailored shorts and all-white canvas shoes' sale. "
Don't be a bloody idiot James," Australian Idol Damian Leith sneered at me from across the couch. "The simple fact is, Weiss Bars make watching cricket far more enjoyable. When was the last time you enjoyed watching cricket without one?"
"Well Damian, I can't really think..."
"Of course you can't! Dumb Fuck. That's the whole point. Weiss Bars make cricket more enjoyable."
"I get it now! Weiss Bars make everything more enjoyable!"
"That's right" (launches into song about Weiss Bars, entirely falsetto)

Considering that I may get sick of working in the middle of the night at some stage, I decided to start freelance ad-writing. The above was the script for a TV ad for Weiss Bars based loosely on a true experience I had yesterday. In reality, the afternoon panned out very smoothly. Steve shared a few of his innermost thoughts with me.

The first was not so controversial, being that he found "something very attractive" about the girl in the MBF ad that is aired frequently during Nine's coverage of the cricket. Observation number two proved far more newsworthy. After a minute or so silence during a seperate ad-break, I was just about to resurrect an earlier conversation discussing the pros and cons of a particular individual ("he's just a fucken' cunt," being most notable contribution) when I was interrupted with, "I really like the jeans Pat Rafter wears in that undies ad." He quickly pointed out that it was not so much the sight of Rafter in the jeans that he enjoyed, rather the thought of owning and wearing them himself.
I made him a cup of tea and suggested that he contacted someone from Bonds or Pacific Brands to find out where he could accquire said pants. If anyone knows, I think they are placed at number two on his Christmas wishlist, just under a pair of Mark Weber's driving gloves (signed preferably). My second day off lacked the same sheen. After an early sleep in I decided to do my washing.
"Who Cares?" you say, doing a bad Simmo impersonation.
"You do," I say (nodding).
In an attempt to wash my sheets and towels, I managed to also wash my mobile phone. My annoyance at being uncontactable on a boring Tuesday off work was only enhanced by the fact that I would also be unable to source a pair of jeans for my close friend and sometimes broadcast partner.

I also read an unauthorised biography of Ricky Gervais. Good read, no major suprises, he's still a comic genius, that feels nearly nothing for BB06 contestants:

"I watch reality shows to hate the people in them. Desperate wannabes. What will you do for fame? Anything. I'll show my fanny and wank off a pig. Well done."

I thought Gervais was particularly out of line with this call. Not all gays have fannies.