The Spine's Beckham Podcast: What exactly art thou Romeo?

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The Cadbury Creme Beckham

Where has all the treacle toffee gone?

It’s the end of October and the fifth of next month looms large in this house yet still I’ve not found treacle toffee in the shops. Our tradition is to eat treacle toffee on bonfire night but buying treacle toffee this year is almost as difficult as finding the traditional Jimmy Savile mannequin to burn.

The problem we face is that we live in a brand culture and there is no brand ‘treacle’. Supermarkets rarely stock something as old and established as ‘treacle toffee’. Instead, they want to stock familiar modern favourites repackaged for the month. They want to sell me Cadbury Scream Eggs for Halloween…

You might say it is clever marketing but it is also the dreadful bastardisation of multiple traditions. Remember when Easter eggs were just for Easter and would be sold off cheap the Monday after Easter Sunday? Now they’re all year around. Perhaps it made sense to accountants that Cadbury Creme Eggs needed to have 365 day stock levels to justify the costs of the machinery. However, I suspect it’s probably marketing people who knew that brand identification is far more potent than mere tradition. They adapt their products in order to make them suitable for the occasion. You can eat Easter Eggs at Halloween, Christmas, the height of summer and some whiz with a catchphrase gun will put his knee on the back of your neck and fire a catchy slugline into your brain. Suddenly Easter eggs at Halloween make sense. No doubt they’ll soon be available for Black Friday, a consumer holiday which has wormed its way over here from America. Indeed, have you noticed that we seem to have more ‘Days’ than in the past? It’s as if the marketing geeks had realised there were too many large gaps in the year when we weren’t being ordered to buy their crap. Since when did Valentines Day, Father’s Day or Mother’s Day have the same significance as Christmas and Easter?

Yet it’s not just Creme Eggs that have taken over or traditional festivals. Brand recognition is everywhere as if to prove that people are effectively too lazy to think for their selves. You like Mars Bars so Mars sells you the confectionery in every format: large and small, fingers and toffees, ice cream and cake bars. You can wear Mars Bar clothing and carry your lunch in the Mars Bar lunch box inside the Mars Bar rucksack on your back. One Brand to Rule them all and in the darkness bind them.

Novelty and individuality are outmoded in this crass consumer culture. Product lines are converging everywhere. Will Smith not only acts in a film but writes it, sings the theme song, produces the monstrosity, and then franchises out his seed in the form of his largely talentless offspring. Movies are become dominated by the same staple of figures from comic books. Soon Batman will meet Superman. The Avengers brought together difference franchises which will be spun and varied until the Church of Stan Lee stops converting every new born freckle into a DC neophyte. New films can’t get funding but franchises are rebooted at every opportunity. No sooner does Christopher Nolan finish a definitive Batman series than Warner Brothers want to start again.

‘New’ is disappearing from our lexicon or it now simply means ‘more of the same’. The ‘new’ iPad is pretty much like the old ‘iPad’. New chocolate is simply old chocolate given new wrappings. Nobody wants to invest the effort to make new products. Why can’t Cadbury make Creme Skulls for Halloween? Zombie heads might have been more appropriate or even Cadbury Creme Pumpkins. Does it take so little imagination that I can come up with these ideas in the span of writing a sentence? Of course not but that would require retooling of an entire production line. So we have eggs instead, despite their having no significance to the ancient festival of All Hallows Eve. It’s utterly postmodern, utterly calculated and utterly dehumanising.

How easy must it have been to make creme eggs with a slightly different coloured fondant rather than create a new product that people might enjoy? We see it everywhere we look with crossovers. Comparethemeerkat produce the Meerkat toys and books. Don’t invest in a writer you’ve never heard about because you can buy a book written by Jordan whose breasts you’ve previously admired…

Yet it’s not just banal celebrity slime who have their own product ranges. Guillermo del Toro has written and directed some sublimely good films but when he hands a 12 page outline for a novel to a writer with whom he then shares credit, you have to wonder about artistic credibility.

Not that artistic credibility matters. We’ve passed the point where consumers can vote with their feet, wallets or purses. The markets are too large for companies to care. What is one lone voice of dissent when Tesco make pre-tax profits in the first half of 2013 of £1.39bn? I complain about their bike stands and they do nothing because I’m insignificant as you are insignificant unless, of course, you are also a brand. Stephen Fry is a brand. He could change things because he is more recognisable than Tesco. He has real power. Almost as much power as the brand Beckham, though Fry, to his credit, puts it to more sensible use.

Beckham, of course, will apparently sell anything, however tangential it might be to his footballing career. He is refashioning himself as the male modern Britannia, a symbol of Britishness. And Beckham is certainly the perfect fit for this modern Britain. He embodies our culture because he is the ultimate vessel: good looking but empty, devoid of much significance but capable of being filled with any corporate message. He is so boring and bland he can advertise anything that doesn’t require him to open his mouth. Indeed, his horrible nasal whine is to his benefit because it means that he can spend his time brooding in ads with his white teeth and rank ugly tattoos, the golden boy of a gelded generation. He is the Cadbury Creme Egg of celebrities; just an empty impotent shell of sugary milk chocolate. One size fits all. Just slip a nozzle up his arse and fill him with whatever different coloured fondant meaning we want this week.

Ten Jobs For Beckham: What Can David Do Now That He’s Retired From Football?

My nose twitched an inch from the card that read ‘trainee gas fitter’. Something didn’t smell right and it probably wasn’t caused by a failed solenoid in a Greenstar boiler…

I was in my local job centre perusing the latest opportunities to barnacle myself to the great listing hull of British industry when I’d felt a greater presence standing to my side. There was also a new sense of urgency in the room, as if somebody amongst us found a sudden determination to change the world and to change it quickly.

I looked up and there he was: David Beckham.

Carbon-monoxide poisoning was my first thought. I was clearly hallucinating some filthy manifestation of my fear of telesales jobs but, as the other symptoms failed to develop, I began to realise that this was indeed the great man: six feet of contemporary culture, tanned by history, and his impeccable hair held in place by the Brylcreem of gilded fate. The only things out of place were the tears running down his cheeks and his Hollywood eyes red and puffy. As would any true Englishman, I felt compelled to act.

‘Pull yourself together, man!’ I snapped as I grabbed Beckham in a headlock and began to jostle some sense into him. ‘What are you? A metrosexual or a mouse?’

That seemed to calm him. He slipped his larynx from under my knuckle, gave one last sob, and then blew his nose into his Adidas handkerchief as he looked again towards the ‘Secretarial and Administration’ vacancies.

‘So,’ he said, his voice that clipped falsetto that women seem to find adorable. ‘This is what unemployment feels like, is it?’

‘What it feels like, son, is like a long waterslide into a fetid pool ruled over by spastic colons. But don’t let that stop you looking for work. Not until you’ve found something non-seasonal and at least minimum wage.’

With that, I took my newspaper and I sat down on the Department of Work and Pensions seats with their green scotchgard covers that bring the rashes out on your thighs. From there I watched as David began to scribble job titles onto the small patch of skin on his left hand that wasn’t already inked with religious tableaus and I began to wonder what was might be in store for the poor lad.

Beckham has chosen a bad time to re-enter the jobs market. There were 15,000 more of us looking for work just last week, taking the total to 2.52 million. Only now it’s 2.52 million plus a significant number 7 and I found myself wondering what David Beckham can do now that he no longer pretends to play football for a living.

Luckily, having now observed his job hunt at close hand, I’m delighted to report that there were suitable jobs catching his eye. Perhaps smirking Osborne is right and that is the smell of economic upturn in the air. If a man with Beckham’s limited qualifications and non-transferable skills can find a job, there may be hope for the rest of us. It might pay us just to consider his chances…

1. Boots Perfume-Counter Assistant

The poor lad is certainly ambitious but, if he’s going to start anywhere, I suppose he might as well start at the top. Competition is snarling down among the lip gloss and eyeliner booths and Beckham will have to fight like a self-tanned hellcat to get his chance and keep it. Some of those girls are Cherry Sunshine Red in both tooth and claw and they only take prisoners to experiment later with the cheap mascara. It’s deviant work on the shop floor and you need the eyeballs of a beaked whale to withstand the pressure of all the perfume in the air but Beckham knows his moisturisers and his chances of putting the ball in the net are definitely a good 8 out of 10.

2. Puffin Census Counter

Sticking your hand into the nest of a razor-billed herring addict might sound like tough work but Beckham at least has the arms for it. Imagine you’re a puffin and an elaborately tattooed scene from Ovid suddenly descends into your nest. Faced by a tattoo of Cupid carrying Psyche up to heaven, the average puffin is likely to forget to peck and reach for the nearest edition of Brewers Phrase & Fable. 7/10

3. Spice Girl

There’s enough nepotism in the world but if Victoria’s heart isn’t into it and the others are keen to keep the Spice brand going, then what better compromise than have David take over the reins as Posh? Actually, this makes a great deal of sense. He’s sportier than Sporty, looks younger than Baby, has gone into tackles with more malicious intent that Scary, and he’d probably carry off the ginger locks better than Busty Spice. 4/10

4. UK Ambassador to Hollywood

With property in the area actually larger than the Embassies to most nations, Beckham would fit right into the social scene and now that he won’t have as much use for his gym, he’ll have plenty of space to run MI6 agents from his basement. His friendship with Tom Cruise will also pay dividends, especially if he can get access to that Mission Impossible hardware. 2/10

5. UKIP Councillor

I noticed that his eyes lingered a little longer over this vacancy. I attribute that to the red, white and blue font the UKIP recruiters used. One of the most astute political operators in the game, David has never expressed a political opinion in his life which means that he’s the stuff of dreams for Nigel Farage. A possible poster boy for UKIP, Beckham looks good in pinstripes, proudly wears his patriotism on his sleeve tattoo, and it’s hard not to laugh whenever he opens his mouth. 5/10

6. Swivel-Eyed Loon

It might sound a little too close to the previous job but this one comes with the added advantage of actually influencing Conservative government thinking. David has enjoyed having the ears of Prime Ministers and Presidents for decades so he seems aptly suited to this important role, if only he can finally find something useful to say in the ears of Prime Ministers and Presidents other than explaining how to do the Cruyff turn. 7/10

7. Minister for Education

Gove’s days are numbered so why not get somebody in there that teachers and pupils might actually listen to? Beckham as Minister for Education would bring proper emphasis to physical education, improving the current two hours of sport a week to a much healthier twenty two with extra classes after school to practice free kicks and penalties. There’d also be no foolish gaffes about using the Mr Men to teach about World War 2 when Beckham’s in office. Not until Victoria has finished with the books so he can finally get a chance to see what all the fuss is about. 2/10

 8. Spokesman for Google

Beckham became quite animated at the prospect of putting all his training to some use. He can finally become the spokesperson for a global brand with a reputation for doing evil. He’s worked for Boris and Seb Coe, so this should be like a walk in the Olympic park but without all the derelict buildings. 5/10

9. Prince of Wales

I hate to throw a Republican note in here but isn’t it about time we upgraded the current royal family? The Beckhams are the Charles and Camilla of the Now Generation: generally ill-informed about most things, never happier than when they’re shaking hands and grinning, and happy to do it all for the knockdown price of ten million a year. I personally think it’s a bargain but I suppose there are some who will complain that we could get Chris and Gwyneth for that kind of money. 1/10

10. National Lottery Compere

We’re finally in dream job territory with this one. The BBC has been careful to appoint no full time host for the Saturday night numbers. Now we know why. David has the looks, he has the ability to read from an autocue for up to twenty seconds at a time, and then there’s that big red button he can press whilst beaming his life-affirming smile in the living rooms of the nation. He was born to make us millionaires. The chances of him bending one into the top corner: 9/10.

Bend The Rules For Beckham

I’m not a David Beckham fan. Put me in a room full of people who aren’t Beckham fans and I’d quickly make plenty of enemies among the majority who think my opinions too extreme. In many respects, Beckham represents the turn towards self-indulgence this country has seen over twenty years, where the body has become the place where consumer products battle for prominence. From the prevalence of tattoos to the feminisation of male culture, from a world in which style wins over substance, to the worshipping of the shallowest celebrities: all roads seem to lead to Beckham. Even at what he does best, he embodies the showy but not particularly effective side of football.

Yet to leave him out of the Olympic squad seems morally wrong, especially when that place is given to a player who allegedly refused to be on the stand-by list for the England squad. Beckham never ruled himself out of playing for England, flying ridiculous distances to appear. As captain, one sensed that it meant something to him beyond the increased marketing possibilities. He worked so tirelessly for the country to win the Olympics (though, here again, I’m pretty indifferent to the whole bloody spectacle that it seems strange to be arguing that winning it was a virtue) that do deny him the chance to play for his country, one last time, seems ridiculously petty.

Yet this country has become so obsessed by winning that we seem to have forgotten greater qualities, such a loyalty, friendship, common human decency. Robert Preston was just on the news saying that the failure at Barclays is down to customers not realising that there had been a change in corporate culture: that the banks started to screw us over in the name of profit because they’d forgotten that they were actually meant to serve the interests of the customer.

Who really gives a stuff if we win a gold for football at the Olympics? Let Beckham play and show that we cherish something greater than winning, greater the Mammon… That itself would be a victory, though a victory that in a way stands in the way of everything that Beckham has cherished, promoted and exemplified over the last two decades.

No cartoon, as yet, today. I’ve been busy animating and drawing a cartoon which might actually earn me a couple of bob. But then again, it might not.