Now these really will stir some memories. Whether your TV upbringing was haunted by giant bandy-legged crows in hats singing about expensive orange juice, or cartoon cats telling you never to talk to strange men in parks, the eighties were packed full of weird and wonderful commercials that became playground catchphrases all over the country.
This is a lot, lot more ‘festive’ than we remember it. A lot of men in a van suddenly break into a camp ditty about their teatime paradise. The ‘80s moustaches really don’t help at all. It’s nice to think that when they got home they found their long-suffering wives cheating on them, and had to eat a kebab on a park bench, crying.
Weetabix
Apparently it’s very scary to be physically intimidated by little biscuity cereal men in turned up denim , wearing awful sunglasses and carrying tiny stereos on their crunchy shoulders, when everyone knows if you put a little bit of milk on them they turn into a soggy, inedible mess. Go away, I’m having Ready Brek.
Shake and Vac
A weird, presumably recently widowed housewife steps through a door and makes a face that reflects the fact her dead husband is still rotting away in the house somewhere. A little dog looks at her like he hates her guts, and with good reason as she dances and sings insanely around her living room spilling anthrax everywhere.
Cadbury's fudge
A nice, homely slice of childhood fun from a time before the PC brigade took over the airwaves and made taglines like “A finger of fudge is just enough to give your kids a treat” utterly unacceptable due to the fact it sounds so sexually horrific and incestuous. Watch the conker boy at the end, he really tries to lamp his friend.
Hofmeister Lager
Rest assured that in real life if your house party was interrupted by a giant bear in a gold lame jacket and porkpie hat drinking your beer, your guests would not follow him around copying his “cool” walk. The female guests would run around screaming and the bear would be a battered heap by about 9.30 pm.
Milk
For a little while the entire country’s children could do a passable scouse accent, although the only thing they could say was “Accrington Stanley? Ooh ar dey?” Ironically, despite the club now being in the football league after decades of turmoil, everyone is still none the wiser. And we still don’t drink milk out of a bottle.
Charley Says...
Lots of meowing, screechy-voiced posh boy. More meowing, more posh boy. Insane technicolour brain-frying visuals. Try and watch it now without expecting the Prodigy to kick in at any second, it’s impossible. The whole thing is like viewing the inside of your own head while on acid. Scarier than talking to an actual paedophile.
R Whites Lemonade
A nerdy looking man gets his sexual kicks by creeping downstairs in the middle of the night and covering himself with downmarket fizzy drink. For some reason he tells us about his weird addiction by way of song, in a shaky Elvis voice. His wife, asleep in bed, is dreaming of Geoff Capes covered in Angel Delight.
Kia Ora
“I’ll be your dog” promises one of the crowes/vultures from Dumbo to a poor child trying to get home to enjoy his disgusting chemical beverage. 1) You’re a crow, you can’t physically be a dog. 2) Leave him alone and buy your own drink, there’s probably plenty of Libby’s Moonshine and Um Bongo left. All of it, in fact.
Scotch video tapes
VHS really did think it was Charlie Big Potatoes when it usurped Betamax as the tape of choice for the home video market in the early 80s. Oh, how we mock their unsexy, brutal clunkiness now. Using a skeleton to promote Scotch video tapes (‘Re-record, not fade away, re-record, not fade away’) really was a portent to their future destiny… Who’s laughing now, eh?
