WEAK AT THE TOP: John Weak's Diary ..BL.- Contact John Weak at john.weak@smokehouse.co.uk

WEAK AT THE TOP: John Weak's Diary ..BL.- Contact John Weak at john.weak@smokehouse.co.uk - MONDAY

Last Updated: 31 Aug 2010


Whoa! I'm going to Barbados. I'm not taking the missus, so there's an island full of totty for me. It's the annual advertising shoot where we go to a tropical island, film 40 seconds of soft porn and stick our Coconuts bar at the end. Sophisticated marketing at its very best. This is the perkiest perk of my entire job and my job is a perk-rich environment.

I'm clubbing it out to Barbados with Bill Peters. As he works in chemicals he shouldn't really be going but the brand manager suddenly got ill. How Bill made him ill like that I'll never know, but he does work in chemicals.


On the flight out I tried the famous Weak charm on the trolley dolly. Asked her if there was anyone interesting on the flight apart from me. She checked the list and I noticed the initials SCO against a couple of names. She said it meant Spill Coffee Over. We had a laugh and then she had to cross-check and put doors to automatic. I wouldn't mind cross-checking her and putting her doors to automatic, I can tell you. We got to the hotel and met Tibet, the 'actress'. It's important that actors reflect the brand's core values and as the core value of Coconuts is moist sensuality I insisted on being involved in the casting. I suggested some casting exercises, such as asking the totty to jump up and down to see what moved. This was dismissed by the director, some hatchet-faced woman in trousers. Probably a todger dodger.


Tibet's role was to walk out of the sea and up the beach. She wanted to know what her motivation was. I shouted that 20 grand for a week's holiday was all the motivation she needed. The director told me to shut up. I reminded her that I was the client and that she was dangerously close to shooting carpet ads in Swindon. Tibet announced she didn't actually like Coconuts and would only work with rice cakes. Brilliant. Shortly afterwards she decided she was allergic to sand. Bill and I decided it was time for us to adjourn to the Bamboo Club, famous for 'native culture'.

We soon got rather squiffy and gave some of the exotic dancers a few bars of Coconuts to get creative with. Believe you me, there's nothing I could teach those girls about product positioning. We got drinking with some other Brits and had a high old time.


Woken by call from Sir Marcus (CEO), who started a thermo-nuclear bollocking before I could remember where or who I was. Apparently, all the tabloids were carrying a shot of an exotic dancer doing unspeakable things with a Coconuts bar. Bill was in the background draped around a pole in his Y-fronts. Every single member of the paparazzi was in the club waiting for a rumoured guest appearance by Prince Edward. I recovered slightly and said it was excellent PR for Coconuts and all consistent with brand values. Sir Marcus responded with a variety of expressions popular with our Anglo-Saxon forebears and told us to be on the next flight home to collect our P45s.


We called the office from the plane. Probably cost more than the flight itself. Hayley told me that Coconuts sales had shot up and Sir Marcus was claiming ownership of the new PR initiative. Bill and I celebrated with a drink or two. Bill then pulled out a massive cigar and within seconds was surrounded by trolley dollies acting as if he'd pulled out a hand grenade. For a moment I thought we were going to be diverted to Newfoundland to be met by the FBI. We had a few more stiff ones, pulled on our eye shades and went out like lights. I was woken by a crashing sound as Bill tried to get to the toilet with his eye shades still on. Landed after successful week (except for getting a massive amount of coffee spilt over us).

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