• About
  • Poetry
  • Fiction
  • Reviews
  • Essays
  • Marians on the Mawddach
  • The Artful Strategist

Flotsam and Jetsam

~ Assorted odds and ends

Flotsam and Jetsam

Monthly Archives: January 2014

The Feeling’s Mutual

31 Friday Jan 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Brand Poetry

 

For Newbury Building Society

 

Mutual means it’s we

Not you or me.

It’s respecting

And connecting,

Not prospecting.

We want a two-way flow.

If courtesy is free,

Sharing resources is key:

Creating circles of virtuosity

And generosity,

Not pomposity.

We want your quid pro quo.

So can we all agree,

Together there’s more esprit?

And mutuality

Has rationality

Not banality.

We want your wealth to grow!

Poems of Place: Lunch at Bijou Plage

20 Monday Jan 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Cannes, Poems of Place

IMG_2032_Snapseed 

The sun glints on a nail-varnished sea,

Before the darkening mountains of the Esterel

Bring Autumn here.

The waves twinkle as if lit by random solar lights

And land gently on the thirsty sand.

An infant gull looks hopeful

And maintains a 360 degree vigil,

As Jonny Guitar comes with nonchalant cap,

Strumming in the privacy of his own space;

Behind the women of Bijou place tablecloths,

Position blackboard menus and bring aperitifs to Friday guests.

The fish is good today,

Like the atmosphere, the happy relic of another age.

 

11 October, 2013

Poems of Place: Matinal

20 Monday Jan 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Isle Set Marguerite, Poems of Place


IMG_0205
 

La Pointe Du Dragon

Ile Ste. Marguerite, July 2nd

 

In a greyish blue lagoon,

The Esterel snoozes like a stegosaurus

Underneath a latte sky.

To the leeward, beyond Antheor

A white sail appears like

A fallen dragon’s tooth.

In front the Aleppo parasols the cove,

Stooping like an aged retainer while

Galettes gleam as treacherous jewels in the shallows.

A tolling bell mediates the birdsong;

And then far off, the rhythmic hum of diesel

Reminds me of a relentless assailing world.

An A to Z of Creative Writing

19 Sunday Jan 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in A to Z's

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Creative Writing

 

A Arc Author

B Boredom

C Character Carver Conflict

D Dialogue

E Editing

F Free writing

G Genre

H Hemmingway

I Inciting Incident

J Journal

K Konrad (as in 750 words a day)

L Literary

M Minimalism

N Narrator

O Omniscient

P Plot Plagiarism

Q Questions

R Research

S Story

T Truth Theme

U Ulysses

V Voice

W Workshop

X Errors and mistakes

Y Years

Z Zeitgeist

Côte Mystère – Extract

18 Saturday Jan 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Fiction

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Long Fiction

An Eventful Saturday Morning for Roger 

Springing up the stairs from the rez- de- jardin with a surprising enthusiasm, given the wine and whisky overload from the night before, Roger Scott was reassured.  The warm sun blasting the entrance of the residence meant that he had made the right call on what to wear for his Saturday morning run.

‘Bonjour Monsieur Scott. Bon footing!’ Giselle Vermersch, the gardienne was hunched over her mop as usual, cigarette in mouth, watching the world go by, or at least early birds like him. Giselle was as intimate with the lives of her residents as she was fierce in defending their privacy against hawkers and what she called ‘colporters’, which Roger thought sounded vaguely musical.

With a ‘Bonjour Giselle’ and something incomprehensible in either French or English, his words trailed off into a faltering low groan.  The French loved to end their conversations with ‘bon this’ or ‘bon that’ but somehow ‘bon mopping’ didn’t sound quite right.

He did a half-hearted stretch and clumsily configured the running App on his iPhone. ‘You’re all set, Roger, let’s hit the trail’ said the jaunty female in his ears. Probably from California, he thought, and set off. Passing the queue at the boulangerie, he turned a corner and ran into the sun, along the beach to the Pointe de la Croisette. It was going to be a good day. The sky was a vivid blue, the sea was restful and sparkling and a few gentle waves rinsed the sand.

Nodding at fellow joggers and dog walkers and sometimes jogging dog walkers, he ran around the tip of the peninsula, past the Casino and all the way into town along the Boulevard de la Croisette till he reached the concrete bunker known by the locals as the Palais des Congrès.

‘Good work out there, today Roger. That record never stood a chance,’ said the Californian, as he caught his breath and stretched out.   He must remember to work out how to switch off motivational messages next time. ‘Do you want to share this run?’ said the Californian, which was clearly a logical impossibility and in a satisfying display of user-power,  Roger summarily closed her down.

Five minutes later he reached the Marché Forville, and passed the Rotisserie Christophe. Its owner had caused quite a stir in the previous couple of weeks and a goodly amount of raised eyebrows amongst the town’s foodies. Christophe advertised himself as the best maître rotisseur in Cannes and prided himself on his very special free-range birds. Unfortunately, he had been caught out roasting chickens of more humble origin  –more swizzle than sizzle apparently– and had paid a whacking fine.  But whatever their origin, Christophe did know how to cook chicken; and sausages; and pork ribs; and shoulders of lamb that would tempt the resolve of all but the most committed vegetarians; and for them Christophe proposed wicked baby golden roast potatoes and red peppers dripping in olive oil.

Unfortunately for Christophe, Roger had other things on his shopping list today. Soon his day sack was brimming with muscular beef tomatoes, a tub of burrata, peaches and pears with little red wax stalks, a sheet of thinly sliced ham and a pouch of ravioli with truffle oil. Did he really have to wait till this evening to eat this lot? Oh yes, he remembered: he’d got supper with Mary and Jane, the women of the Wardrobe Department or ‘Gowns’ as his theatre chums like to be called.

He had now earned a spuntino, a mid-morning alcoholic energizer that to his opinion was one of the best Italian habits to have made it over the border–unlike the knock-off Louis Vuitton bags and the camper vans that in high summer blocked up the beach roads and were full of little suntanned kids packed like sardines. He took a seat in his usual spot in the shade at the Cafe de L’Horloge. The Café was run by Charles and Virginie a chic couple in their early thirties and central casting French all right. Charles came from a well-heeled family and had thown up his posh business school education and investment banker career to serve cafés express and bières pression at the zinc counter. When officiating, Charles wore his signature scarlet braces with denim jeans, and with his short-cropped hair, he looked a bit like a skinhead.

Virginie was gorgeous and a walking health and safety risk. Tottering in her bootee heels and micro skirt and balancing a tray of glasses, nibbles and other essential bar paraphenalia, she was arguably as much a threat to herself as to the blood pressure of her older male regulars. Virginie had family in Marylebone and she had worked in a bar in Clerkenwell before joining up with Charles the year before last. Virginie had that wonderfully French customer service ability to disable– at least when it suited her– the capacity to understand English or indeed to speak it.

‘Ciao, monsieur Roger.  You’ve been running again by the looks of things, so now you can sin a little? What can I get you today?’

He ordered, and she returned with a small glass of rosé –where did they find glasses this microscopic from? — and a small bowl of what looked wood shavings but smelled of cheese and was delicious. Virginie gave him a smile and went off for a cigarette and a flirt with one of the waiters from the oyster bar across the square.

Roger opened the copy of Nice Matin on the table next to him and started scanning for any news about Valeria’s murder. He couldn’t see anything. He took a sip of wine and thought about Mike. He’d been pretty upset last night  —quite understandably and had drunk probably too much. Frankly, Mike’s theory about Russian gangsters being involved seemed a million miles from ‘The Comedy of Errors’, which was this year’s summer production and which they had spent the last few weeks preparing for.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across his newspaper and a man speaking to him in English.

‘Sir, excuse me for disturbing, but you are Monsieur Roger Scott?’

Roger nodded.

‘I am Jimmi Roustan, Bureau des Etrangers in Cannes. Madame Vermersch at your Residence told me I would probably find you here. Will you permit me to sit?’ The policeman was in his mid twenties and wore a lightweight blue  business suit. He held out his ID with its badge which said ‘Gardien de la Paix.’

‘Of course Monsieur’, Roger indicated the chair opposite. ‘Would you like to drink something?’

‘Non, merci.’ Monsieur Scott, can I ask you where you were last night?’

‘I was in La Bocca drinking with a friend at his apartment’

‘The friend?’

‘Monsieur Mike Green, he’s a teacher of English. We are both members of a drama group in Antibes.’

‘What time did you leave his apartment last night?’

‘About 11.30 or so We had dinner at a pizzeria on the Plage du Midi and then went back to his flat.’

The policeman nodded and made a note.

“Would you mind if  I ask you what this is all about, Monsieur Roustan? Is it anything to do with Valeria, the Russian estate agent, sorry, immobilière?’

‘It is strange, perhaps,  you should ask that, Monsieur Scott. No, it’s about your friend, Monsieur Green.  I’m sorry to say we found his body this morning and we are now investigating his death as murder.’

Poems of Place: At Bathers’ Pavilion, Balmoral

18 Saturday Jan 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Bathers Pavilion Balmoral, In Memoriam

 

 August 2005

For Chris

The infant year’s boisterous mood

Falters at the shocking news;

This tragic end defeating the beginnings we all looked forward to.

Our optimism consigned to cold storage.

As we contemplate the space he left.

The choicest blend of man and friend,

Of colleague and of boss,

Who beyond the profit and the loss

Could make you smile at his wry questions,

And marvel at his memory of your small talk.

His patience and his gentle walk

Showed us that strutting was not the only business strategy.

Grounded and at ease,

His body language inspired a richer loyalty

Often sought but rarely won.

An August night in Sydney,

At the water’s edge;

The meal, the gossip and the laughter,

The book you gave us,

And the magic of a long friendship refreshed

The gentle sound of sea and surf….

For we, who surf for insight of the rarer kind,

And with it project the brand inside the mind,

Note well one lesson Chris’s life imparts

The best brands of all live in our hearts.

 

25 Years of Sex and Violence

18 Saturday Jan 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Essays

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Innovation

Learning From My Heroic Failures

It was Balzac, the author of La Comedie humaine, who said: ‘le milieu explique l’homme.’   My translation of this would be, ‘If you want to understand the man, you had better understand his environment first’…

In fact, it was approaching half-time in the decade that gave us Dirty Dancing and acid house, whose pop stars sang of Tainted Love and Relax, Don’t Do It; it was also the year in which a new soap opera was born.

No, not EastEnders, which welcomed us into Albert Square for the first time in February 1985, but that other long running soap, The Value Engineers, which was conceived in Covent Garden in October and was finally launched onto the world in a Fulmer conservatory in Buckinghamshire in May 1986.

However, springtime for TVE marked the swansong of another concept: new product development – because at a time when all sorts of new fashions were permeating business (“let’s do lunch,” power dressing, time management), it was almost inevitable that NPD managers would  rebrand themselves as innovation wizards, almost overnight.

And what an era for innovation this was!  Amongst my favourite contemporary bric-a-brac from this period (and still stored in my mother’s house) are: my ZX Spectrum (£125 for 16kb), my brother’s Atari console and stash of BT Phone cards, my dad’s shell suit for casual Sundays, his Filofax (unused) and a well-read leaflet for a Sinclair C5.

This was a decade of great change and category development – it witnessed the unstoppable rise of fast food, which ricocheted into frozen food, and witnessed the miracle of the microwave and the rise of tinned and packet ethnicity. It was also the decade of information technology as a fast moving consumer good.

TVE behaved like a classic SME, securing a competitive advantage by buying a trio Amstrad 1512s, fax machines and the first generation of car phones – I can still picture my first Nokia brick!

This was the decade of ‘loadsamoney,’ privatisations, Wall Street and The Bonfire of the Vanities, and on the back of the search for growth we developed an unshakeable thirst for trends, so much so that many of us succumbed  to and became suckers of the ‘Trendemic’ of futurology.

I remember the first time I heard of Faith Popcorn, the Malcolm Gladwell de nos jours, who gave us a whole smorgasbord of consumer psychology snack food upon which to graze. I remember my first response to the term ‘cocooning.’

The 1980s, in fact, like all decades, coined a whole new vocabulary – ‘chill out’ was a place and a command; ‘wicked’ and ‘sucks’ were the new critical terms; ‘space cadet,’ ‘air head,’ ‘toy boy’ and ‘bunny boilers’ were the new roles you couldn’t apply for but were given by your chums.

And in this new world of innovation, we all had to learn a new language – incremental product versus discontinuous breakthrough. The mysterious and highly secret CTT matrix was translated into TVE’s 3 Ts- Twinkles, Twists and Tweaks

We discovered new gurus like Robert Cooper and Wheelwright and Clark who brought some process discipline and rigour to the unbridled ideation passion and enthusiasm of our colleagues. We said hello to stage-gate processes, we held gate meetings, we reviewed our funnels and talked about good gate-keeper behaviour.

In a big world getting ever smaller, we learned how to steal with pride and then to sequentially recycle, to activate insight or just co-create.

But like the great new product managers we replaced, we began above all to welcome experimentation and to learn to live with failure:

As the late Stephen Pile once said, ‘Those who know success are usually familiar with failure,’ which is just as well, because although I may have some great successes of which to be proud, looking back on my career at TVE with the benefit of hindsight, I certainly have my share of stinkers in my black museum!

In theory, you can have a fundamentally good idea (draught beer at home) or a fundamentally bad idea (yogurt liqueurs) and in either case you can have a brilliant (or is that wicked) execution or a rubbish execution (which sucks) – but the paradox of the new product game, which keeps its players gripped, is that you can have a brilliant idea that is superbly executed and still fails!

(Insert 4 box Matrix form Slideshow here)

 

 

In my own experience I can think of three examples of super ideas that still failed:

–                 An in-home dry-cleaning system

–                 An in-pub sparkling wine system

–                 A luxury super premium ice cream that was 10x the price of the market leader

That’s why I am hooked on innovation – you can have as much system, science and left-brain stuff as you like but there are still all sort of random effects at play which make developing new brands perpetually stimulating and never predictable.

The scientific tendency has always found the more radical/market development cases the hardest to deal with.

Back in 1986 while I was working on the market development of mycoprotein which later was called  Quorn, I remember asking a pushy STM (simulated test market research method) salesman how many breakthrough concepts he had actually tested in his database. After trying to evade the question, he muttered something about self-heating hand warmers and we moved on.

And if I can pause the self-deprecation for a minute, I would  like to say that it’s not all failure on my CV – there are a number of new market developments, twinkles and twists of which I am inordinately proud: Quorn, canned Guinness powered by the widget, a host of cook in sauces, digital television to name but a few, but my heroic failures have had a disproportionate impact on my successes

So much for this brief review of my npd memories , but what does the future hold?

What’s in store for the world of innovation for the next 25 years?

If I can be indulged for a few moments and be allowed to be a grumpy old man with a tendency to rant (my title promised violence!), these are the key challenges that face new product folk in the future:

1. Make stuff not spin

I love positioning tricks with extrinsics  like the next man, but it’s time to make products…..

P&G taught me the importance of basic product superiority

2. Rebel against the tyranny of consumer insight

The 1980s saw the successful launch of lots of products without the cult of consumer insight. As we say at TVE, be fed not led by consumer insight

3. Practice healthy innovation and avoid ‘funnelitis’

Remember a stage gate process is a means not an end

4. Love your Partner

In the future we will not be able to do everything by ourselves – actively cultivate strategic alliances

5. Enjoy the thrill of exploring new frontiers and new territories

Terra Australis Incognita- like Captain Cook follow your hunch about the big unknown land down south

Especially the digitally enabled new world – what an exciting time for you all it’s going to be

And finally, and after 25 years launching brands for other people, and, in part, to atone for some of the terrible things I’ve done in the name of global brands (especially beers), I am pleased to end with a plug for my own gloriously local beer: Shotover Prospect, brewed by my very good friend Ed Murray

As I hope you’ll agree, this is one product that won’t make it into my heroic failures!

Enjoy!!

And the sex mentioned in the title? Typical positioning spin I’m afraid- best avoided!

Thank You

Given at the conference to celebrate the silver anniversary of TVE

Fifty Shades of Blue – RIP, Dear King of Cats

18 Saturday Jan 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

In Memoriam, Oxford Blue

Blue blood, of course, not collar,

A king of cats, an Oxford Blue

Who loved our terrace

And after-snack sunbathing.

Or looking nonchalantly at Charlie,

Pawing an errant wasp,

And stretching languidly,

Musing on the important questions like what’s for second dinner?

Blue maybe, but never dull and gloomy,

We loved the raffish wiggle in your stride,

The aristocratic belly marked a destiny

For contemplation, not the drudge of work.

Your gourmet palette tuned to modern tastes,

You loved the smell of barbecues

And they who cooked them.

When stakes were high, they win who dare

It’s Blue by name but always medium rare.

Poems of Place: La Guerite, Ile Ste Marguerite

18 Saturday Jan 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Cannes, Poems of Place

The island fortress bakes in silence.

I sit shaded by the pines,

High above me, the look out post watches the bay,

The cicadas are strumming in anticipation of action,

The feeble breeze carries the voices of day-trippers

Waiting for the last boat of summer.

So musing on sentinels, I ponder

My talent for reconnaissance;

Nurtured from an early age (I think?)

By dad who dispatched me off

To take point and report back

On dangers lurking

At the end of Blackpool’s Central Pier.

In time, my nose for sensing what’s ahead

Became a skill people paid good money for.

But they call it strategy.

The restaurant is quiet now,

The final whistle has blown for the table footballers

The bikini pop up shop,

And the kaleidoscope of scenarios I have foreseen.

(*The look out post)

Another Galaxy

18 Saturday Jan 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Brand Poetry

 

I surrendered.

You, hard, angular, cold and wrapped,

Frigid yet promising,

Met my mouth;

And slowly, deliberately,

The smoothness comes;

And as you warm in me,

The intense tongue-washed liquor

Sluices into the black-hole of creaminess you create

And leave inside me, wanting more.

← Older posts

Recent Posts

  • Let’s Walk The Bridge
  • Waiting for you…..
  • A simple way to thrive
  • There and back again
  • An Elegy in Photographs
  • The Summer of the Poets
  • Poetry Inspired by Shotover:
  • Poems of Place: WC2
  • Poems of Place: Afon Mawddach
  • Whispering Angel

Archives

Follow Flotsam and Jetsam on WordPress.com

Copyright

This website and its content is the copyright of Paul Christopher Walton © 2013-25 All rights reserved.

Recent Posts

  • Let’s Walk The Bridge
  • Waiting for you…..
  • A simple way to thrive
  • There and back again
  • An Elegy in Photographs

Recent Comments

Monica's avatarMonica on Come, Take My Hand
Paul Crotty's avatarPaul Crotty on The Elevator Pitch
claire gilham's avatarclaire gilham on The (Lonesome) Lockdown B…
Paul Christopher Walton's avatarPaul Christopher Wal… on The (Lonesome) Lockdown B…
claire gilham's avatarclaire gilham on The (Lonesome) Lockdown B…

Archives

  • December 2025
  • November 2025
  • June 2025
  • May 2025
  • February 2024
  • November 2023
  • October 2023
  • May 2023
  • August 2022
  • May 2021
  • April 2021
  • April 2020
  • April 2019
  • December 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • June 2018
  • April 2018
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • July 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • January 2017
  • November 2016
  • August 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • May 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • January 2014

Categories

  • A to Z's
  • Brands and the Management of Meaning
  • Essays
  • Fiction
  • Flotsam
  • Lyrics
  • Marians on the Mawddach
  • Marketing Flotsam
  • poems of place
  • Poetry
  • Reviews
  • Songs
  • The Language of Voice
  • The Uselessness of History

Meta

  • Create account
  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.com

Blog at WordPress.com.

  • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Flotsam and Jetsam
    • Join 79 other subscribers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • Flotsam and Jetsam
    • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...