A new approach

I’ve just checked this blog and I’m horrified, because it’s been months since I’ve written my last one. It’s such a cliche, but I really have no idea where the time has gone. It’s the old ‘cobblers’ kids’ syndrome – you’re so busy writing copy for other people that you don’t have time to write your own material.

I’ve decided to take a new approach. Instead of writing about ways that copywriters can help you (which I feel that I’ve done to death) I’m just going to describe things that happen in the average week of a copywriter: it’s good practice for my writing skills and it will become a sort of diary. It would be an added bonus if some of you out there enjoyed reading it.

That was the week that was

Because we’re coming up to Armistice Day, it’s fitting that this week’s blog looks at the two World Wars, and honours the sacrifice that so many people made with their lives. Because I had written some copy publicising the unveiling of Falkland War Memorial, I got invited to the unveiling ceremony itself last Sunday. I have to say, it was really moving.

I didn’t have any immediate relatives who were lost during the two wars, but I remember my grandfather had a terrible wound from the Somme that stretched from his collarbone to his stomach and left him with regular fits of bronchitis and pneumonia for the rest of his life. He couldn’t lie flat for any length of time without having to spit up phlegm. He couldn’t sustain a job because of his ill health, so my grandmother had a variety of jobs to bring money in to feed the family. He would never talk about his experiences, no matter how much I pestered him. And with good cause. I get the feeling (knowing what I know now) that if he had re-opened and examined that particular box of memories he would have fallen down a black hole and never come out.

I thought of him  when they pulled the hand-stitched parachute off to reveal the memorial cairn with its bronze plaque and its long list of names. I thought of the final episode of ‘Blackadder goes forth’ when Rowan Atkinson and co are forever frozen in time going over the top. I thought of the play ‘Regeneration’ by Pat Barker that I saw last month at the King’s Theatre in Edinburgh about Siefgried Sassoon and the other patients who were treated at Craiglockhart for shellshock. And I cried when I thought of the carnage of  millions of lives lost – metaphorically, as well as literally.  What a waste. What a terrible, terrible waste. The Flooers of the Forest were a’ wede awa.