If you’re lucky, this won’t have crossed your radar yet.
At Hel and Neil’s wedding last year, as the night drew to a close, I was chatting to a friend who asked me: “What do you think will be the last record of the night?”
“Well,” came my considered response, “if the DJ has any sense, it’ll be….” today’s record.
And that was indeed the last record of the night. Oh yes. Still got it.
On Thursday night, I stumbled across the same song, being used in an advert for a certain brand of cider.
I like cider. It’s my preferred pint of choice. But, without wanting to sound all snobby, real-ale-esque about things, I wouldn’t touch this brand with the proverbial barge-pole.
As is the norm in ad-land, it wasn’t the original version being used. But instead of some dull but winsome lovely, cooing along to a chilled piano melody, this time they’ve gone for a folky version.
Which, if heard out of the context of an advert for what is generally regarded as fuel for wife-beaters, I maybe wouldn’t object to. But it wasn’t, so I do.
It took a few moments for me to realise what I was hearing.
“I know those lyrics,” said my brain.
“Yes, you do,” replied my brain, “but where from?”
The realisation dawned on me.
We do not need you to Mumford-&-Sons up a genuine 80s classic in an effort to try and get us to sup your horrible booze. Frankly, we’d rather hear that bloke massacring Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time to try and sell us broadband than have you commit this assault on our ears. We see you. We choose to drink something nicer.