Bad news is a big turn off. Terrorist attacks, the global crash, the Middle East, the shortage of ginger in China, Manchester United losing 1-0 at home. The bigger and badder it gets, the more we just want to cover our eyes and plug our ears. So off with the TV. Or radio. Or skip all that negative stuff online.
Nope, what we crave is some good news. Puh…lease. Any kind will do. Just let’s get rid of all the depressing stuff.
Many marketing folk were quick to point this out during the earlier months of the global meltdown. If you still remember that far back, it was when TV and newspaper advertising spend nose dived and media owners sent out distress flares. We will, said the clever marketers, start placing ads on TV and in the press when you start showing us a bit more happiness in the world.
Ahhh…the power of advertising.
Well, we know ‘traditional’ media may be in a state of structural decline — along with the advertising revenues it so desperately desires. But we know, too, that they have their place in the mix. The old story about people’s favourite ads being telly ones (as opposed to a direct mailshot or an email) is still true.
So give us good news. Well, we had some last week and I have to say I couldn’t bear it.
I don’t mind admitting it. I tried to put on a brave face and think things like ‘Good luck to them’ and’How lovely for them’ as I watched Les and Samantha and the IT bunch in money heaven. Instead, all I could muster was a gobstruck, wordless envy mixed with a hollow, jealous, green feeling of ‘It should have been me.’ But it wasn’t. Nor will it ever be, now, if there’s a god who spied on my reactions. Pah!…when’s £90m ever coming round again, anyway?
Yes, the news about those two lucky, lucky Euro millions ticketholders waltzing away with c.£45m each was a rolling tsunami of depression. It got worse as you learnt more: that they had never won anything before; that they would not be going back to work — the ‘magnificent seven’ IT syndicate had all decided to quit work. Something, incidentally, all the postal workers may be doing in the New Year but for rather different, and not entirely voluntary, reasons.
I have to say, I didn’t think I had such evil resident with me. Especially when I heard that the magnificent seven were actually, originally, the magnificent eight. But that one member of the syndicate had lucked out on the very day his workmates cleaned up as (s)he wasn’t able to stump up the necessary ticket dosh. Oh blimey!
What must the Unlucky One be thinking if I’m so jealous? That other people’s happiness is extremely hard to take? Probably. There’s just one ray of hope, however: if you’re reading this, Les and Samantha, you could always make my day. Alternatively, bring back the bad news, soon. Please.
