Advertising. It's great, isn't it?
These advertising Johnnies pay people genuine cash money to go out and sell you stuff you don't actually need. And here's the brilliant bit - they do all this by making you feel happy about it.
You would have thought that advertising executives are right down there with telephone sanatisers and the bloke who comes round your office to dust all the plastic pot plants as the least useful people society has to offer. And you'd be WRONG.
How else would I know - as a man of the world - that panty liners with wings are IMPORTANT, and that there are at least ninety-seven signs of ageing that can be eliminated with something called Boswelox? Advertising. That's how.
I also know that my life is an empty shell unless I buy several different types of motorised air-freshener.
It is, then, advertising king Charles Saatchi's rightful reward that he should be able to see Nigella Lawson, naked as the day she was born, smearing her firm, peachy breasts with L. Casei Immunitas-enriched Actimel, before doing thing with a Philips Ladyshave that'll make your head spin.
Advertising works. And I can prove it. I watched the Skoda Fabia advert several times, and was hugely impressed by the craftmanship on show. So impressed, that I went out and bought lots of cake.
On the other hand, I my TV has also been bombarded with minute-and-a-half-long Cadbury chocolate commercials. And now I have several gorillas.