I was reading that celebrities who endorse products on Twitter and Facebook get loads of freebies.
All they have to do is mention that Pong perfume is great and a tanker full will be delivered. Or that a certain mobile phone is the tops and they are connected for life.
This is disgusting. I mean, it is well known that I am a great admirer of Bentley which makes the finest motor car known to man, but does it follow that for such an endorsement I might be given one, free of charge? (The Continental GT convertible in Moonbeam silver would be nice, for preference).
Failing that, I’ve always liked Vauxhall and have driven an Astra for years. Brilliant car, reliable, safe and comfortable. The thing is, I could do with a replacement without splashing the cash. Oh, the wonderful things I could write about a new Astra VXR in Flame Red, if anyone is listening. Or I’ll settle for a nearly new Corsa.
If I’m setting my sights too high, how about that orange energy drink from Sainsbury’s that’s like Lucozade but half the price? A bargain? Without a doubt. (I’ll be in on Wednesday for a case if that’s OK).
Is it so wrong to publicise something in exchange for a free gift?
Coronation Street stars got a panning the other week when they were caught in a sting by a Channel 4 programme that hosted a stall at a gifting event promoting fake goods.
What was not made clear was that gifting events are commonplace. It is a concept that came from Hollywood. Companies wanting to promote everything from cellphones to face cream put up a stall in celebrity gifting rooms at major showbusiness events and stars are invited to take what they want. All they have to do is agree to be photographed with the goods.
Who wouldn’t take advantage?
All the stars do. And it works to mutual advantage. Wayne Rooney (inset) was snapped with a Sound Asleep pillow with speakers and the next week the company sold an extra 80,000 units. Sharon Stone was rumoured to have negotiated a $200,000 donation to charity for wearing a Gap shirt at the Oscars.
Now I realise I am no Sharon Stone or even Wayne Rooney, but I’m willing to do my bit to promote items on my Twitter account, even though I never use it and only have 15 followers. Fifteen followers? Where did they come from? I’ve just checked and they include Queens of Halloween and Shirley You Jest. And no, I don’t know who or what they are.
But I am willing to give it a go on behalf of the bloke in the street seeing as celebrities get away with it and I’m more in need of freebies than they are.
I promise I will only endorse products with which I can identify and confirm, hand on heart, that they are pretty good. Or at least they are not bad. I mean, I wouldn’t endorse landmines, for instance, not even for a Bentley.
What? A Continental GT convertible in Moonbeam silver?
The traditional gift for a teacher was an apple. Bing Crosby sang a song about it. It was a custom that dates back to 18th century Scandinavia when poor families had no money to pay for education but would send an apple.
It also became a token in the deep south of the United States of America in Depression days but I’ve never known any youngster in this country give an apple to a teacher. During my schooldays the only thing I ever saw a pupil give any teacher was a hard time.
Of course, I come from that era when prefects slow-roasted juniors over an open fire and small boys were soundly beaten on the assumption that if they had not done something wrong, they were about to do something wrong.
In the intervening years, something strange has happened to the education system.
According to research, teachers are now the beneficiaries of a gift industry worth £53m and there isn’t an apple in sight. Unless it’s an Apple iPad.
A company called Voucher Codes.co.uk says that’s what parents and students spend on presents for their teachers when school ends for the summer and 70% of parents say they buy presents costing, on average, more than £10. Teaching assistants, the headteacher and even the caretaker are often included.
Why?
I could understand it if it was to curry favour, but this largesse is distributed at the end of the school year so there is no chance to become a teacher’s pet and receive course marks that reflect such status. Not that I am suggesting for one moment that any hardworking and conscientious teaching professional would contemplate such reciprocal behaviour.
Back in my day I can imagine the sheer amazement that might have followed the suggestion that our class bought Flash Harry, the most hated PT teacher in the world, a present to show our admiration for his total proficiency in the art of bullying and making the lives of weedy kids a misery. Although the fifth form might, if pressed, have opted for a baseball bat, wielded at knee height.
Those were the days of a clip round the ear, six of the best and the finger and thumb pincer-grip. Remember? Certain masters could have you dancing on your toes simply by pulling on the hair of your sideburns? And my headmaster once caned the entire school because he wasn’t happy with our mock exam results. Mock results, mind.
Top gifts, according to the research, that are handed out to today’s obviously more amenable educators, include chocolates, flowers and toiletries.
If I was a teacher, I’d still be suspicious of kids bearing gifts, as end of term approaches. Chocolates? Check for laxativ
