Love Is, The Sweetest Thing - Al Bowlly - Wrote Hits, Died In The Blitz

** Of all the musical styles of the 20th century, the classic ballroom crooning of the inter-war period is perhaps the most forgotten and the least likely to be revived. As a style, it is perhaps too mannered, too much of its time and, to be blunt, too strange and campy for modern ears.

However, one crooner from the '20s and '30s who deserves to be remembered (but is now largely forgotten) is the great, the tragic Al Bowlly. I personally love his music, perhaps for its other-worldly sweetness, innocence and sincerity. These are not qualities you associate with most contemporary music.

Bowlly not only crooned the lightly jazz-inflected, romantic songs that your grandparents loved and danced to, he also wrote some of the most memorable tunes of the 20th Century.

He had a brief yet blazing career at the top. And then was killed at the height of the London Blitz. So I thought I would share his story and celebrate his genius in a small way.

As another performer and songwriter, Richard Thompson, sings, Al Bowlly's In Heaven.

The Sweetest Thing - The Incomparable Al Bowlly 

***When Stanley Kubrick went in search of music for the chilling ballroom scene in The Shining - where frustrated writer and Dad Of The Year candidate Jack Torrence enjoys a bourbon-on-the-rocks surrounded by spectral ballroom dancers, he went to his '20s musical adviser John Wadley.

What Wadley brought him was a 1934 recording of "Moonlight, The Stars And You", featuring the voice of a long forgotten crooner called Al Bowlly backed by The Ray Noble Orchestra.

Kubrick brilliantly used the sweet and innocent sentiments of this syrupy ballroom song as a contrast to the increasing psychosis of Jack Torrence. It is, of course, a very chilling, unsettling scene.

And it is Al Bowlly's voice we hear as the tuxedoed barman tells Jack; "Your money is no good here....orders from the house".

Even by the time the recording was made in 1934, Bowlly's style of singing was beginning to go out of fashion. The brassier, hipper, more high-octane sound of American big band Swing era, led by the likes of Glen Miller, Count Basie and Benny Goodman, was about to sweep the old crooners away.

Bowlly was born in Mozambique (to Greek and Lebanese parents) and grew up in South Africa, where he first became a professional singer with the big bands of the day,

As a young man in South Africa, he worked odd-jobs as a barber and a jockey before taking off on an eccentric trek around South Asia, singing in ballrooms, working on tramp steamers and even busking in restaurants and bars to keep body and soul together. He was the resident crooner in the ballroom of the Raffles hotel in Singapore, delivering the "Moon & June" melodies of the era as up-country planters and their wives fox-trotted between the potted palms in the tropical night.

When he eventually washed up in London (he almost didn't make it after gambling away the fare that had been lent to him by a band-leader) Bowlly, with his syrupy voice, dark good looks and dapper style, became a hit, one of the biggest stars of the dance-band era. He had success in the UK, America and on the continent, selling huge amounts of sheet-music (the singles of the day) and popularising many 20th Century classics.

Billed as "Al Bowlly - The Ambassador of Song", his concerts from venues such as the Monseigneur Restaurant in London were broadcast live to millions of enchanted radio listeners, his slightly other-worldly, echo-heavy voice pouring out of illuminated-dial valve-radios in homes across Britain.

Bowlly also tasted success in the US, and for a very brief time, was one of the highest paid vocalists in the business, a serious rival to Bing Crosby.

He recorded between 500 and 1,000 songs (some are lost) and either co-wrote or popularised such classics as "Blue Moon", "Easy To Love", "I've Got You Under My Skin", "The Very Thought Of You" and "My Melancholy Baby". Such was his success, Bowlly was given his own radio show on NBC and went to Hollywood to co-star with Bing Crosby in The Big Broadcast".

However, Bowlly's unwillingness to stay in one place or with one band, together with problems with his vocal chords, led him to return first to London, then South Africa, hoping that the change in climate would do him well.

He lost his voice for long periods, fritted away his money and had to borrow cash to pay for a voice-saving operation in New York in 1938.

My favourite Bowlly song is the one written by his regular band leader Ray Nobel in 1932 and made popular by the man himself, the sublime "Love Is The Sweetest Thing".

Bowlly's first marriage, in 1931, ended on his wedding night, when he found his new bride in bed with another man.

He married again just before the Second World War, when his career was seriously on the slide and he was playing regional ballrooms and restaurants in England, in a bid to pay the bills.

On April 17th, 1941, Bowlly had just given a performance at the Rex Cinema in Oxford Street, High Wycombe, when he decided to turn down the chance to stay locally and get a late train back to his flat on Duke Street, St James, London.

The decision proved fatal. Bowlly's apartment was destroyed by a Luftwaffe parachute mine that detonated on the street outside during a raid in the early hours of the morning. The bomb blew the door of his bedroom off its hinges and the impact of the door on his head killed him instantly.

There was not much notice of his death, not at a time when hundreds of people were being killed every night by the Luftwaffe. Bowlly was quickly buried, along with other Blitz victims, in a mass grave at Hanwell Cemetery.

By the time he had died, the era of the big band crooners had already come to an end. The sweet, sentimental dance music may not have been in step with the furious energy and tension of the war-time years. In the post war years and on into today, you rarely hear his name or his voice.

But Al has left a rich legacy of song and his voice echoes occasionally in popular culture.

He was a more natural performer than most of the crooners, with an easy style and a laidback phrasing that foreshadowed the later style of singing embodied by Sinatra.

You can get a lovley sense of his style and persona here, on Melancholy Baby....

One of my favourite mentions of Al in recent years came in a very overlooked British Movie, I Really Hate My Job, with the great actor Danny Houston delivering a cameo as a ghostly crooner.

Houston's performance is sweet, slightly strange and other-worldly. Just like the voice of the great Al Bowlly.

.
* Thanks for reading.

Don't Fear The Hipster - London Bars You Should Be Visiting

* I'm spending most of my time in That London at the moment. And being a man who likes a good pub, I've been travelling far and wide in search of the best. I thought I'd share my experiences, in the hope that those who visit London can find some great bars that might be off the beaten track - but will worth finding......

The Crate - Canalside - Hackney Wick

I use fashion to express my individuality

HIPSTERS! Everybody knows one, nobody is one. These days, they are the only ethnic group that everybody gets to beat up on. Damn hipsters. Ruining the neighbourhood with their tight jeans, button down shirts, clear-lens Ray-Bans and polite ways. Dontcha' just hate 'em?



In London, to be hipster is to be a social pariah. You'll see suspiciously hipster-ish cafés with ironic "No Hipsters!" slogans chalked on their sandwich boards. Graffiti spray-painted on the walls of certain neighboods will warn "Hipsters Go Home!" or even "Death to Hipsters". Which is a bit much, try substituting "Muslims" or "Irish" into that particular sentiment and see how it reads.

Ah Lads! Hipsters Are People Too!

Tell people you going to Peckham, Shoreditch or Dalston for a drink or a bite to eat and you'll immediately get the "EW! THAT PLACE IS FULL OF F****G HIPSTERS!"

Well, so what? I like hipsters. They're well groomed, normally harmless and fun to look at. Like Hamsters. Hamsters who know how to make a good flat-white.

 Yes, go to some parts of London and every guy under the age of 40 looks exactly the same. Which is a bit weird (we have definitely reached Peak Beard, people!).

But you will also find some great bars. And great, cheap places to eat (hipsters being notoriously stingy).

And some of my favourite bars in London are slap bang in hipster territory. Including...

* The Crate - Hackney Wick




I have a friend (Martin from Tipperary) who has a workshop up in Hackney Wick. He moved in there just before the Olympics kicked off next door in Stratford. And Hackney Wick was a wasteland of old warehouses, crap-clogged canals and seriously dodgy back-streets. Now, Hackney Wick is one of the most stylish (well, Hipster-ish) parts of London. It's said to have the highest concentration of artists in London (they'll all be gone soon as the cool factor they brought to the 'hood sees rents and new loft apartments go up. Ironic or what?). The Crate, a former warehouse on the side of the canal that does greet beers and pizzas, is a great shop to visit when the sun is shining. You can actually do a great little pub crawl around Hackney Wick, there's a great pop-up bar called Grow, a cool restaurant bar called 90 Mainyard and yet another pop-up bar/theatre space (all old trestle tables and industrial space) in the same industrial estate that houses Crate. These are all within a stone's throw of each other.

* Frank's - Fifth Floor, Multi-Story Carpark - Peckam Rye

Franks - The View Over the whole of London is Stunning

Go to resolutely un-picturesque Peckham (currently on the front-line of the Hipster Invasion), find the lane down the side of the PeckhamPlex cinema, go through a little steel door and climb five flights of grimy steps to the roof of the multi-storey carpark and there you will find Frank's. One of my favourite places over the summer. It's not a secret to the in-crowd - but this bar on the roof of one of the biggest multi-story's in South Central London is amazing, for the view it gives you out over the city. You can see the whole of the central London skyline. I had some friends over from Kildare recently. And I took them to the roof of Franks, and pointed out the Shard, St Paul's, Canary Wharf, The London Eye. Sure, they were impressed. But then I pointed at a nearby tower block and told them that it was the original Nelson Mandela House from Only Fools & Horses. And they lost their minds. Out came the cameras, phone-calls were immediately made home..."DAD! DAD! You'll never guess where I am!"....

This is the view from Franks. Stunning. 

There is great food from a couple of street-style shacks and great beers and cocktails. It's closed at the moment for winter but you won't find a better spot to have a bite and a beer on a summer's evening in London (however, be warned - it gets JAMMED during summer weekends)

The Brick Brewery - Peckham Rye 

Nearby - you will find the Brick Brewery - a great little micro-brewery where you can buy a pint made virtually in front of you and sit on the trestle tables underneath the railway line in the yard.

Also in the area - the Montpelier is worth a visit as is the relatively cheap and greatly heralded Italian restaurant, Artusi.




 * The Effra Social - Brixton

Brixton is very close to where I am living at the moment. And it's a fantastic neighbourhood (the last stop on the Victoria line if you are coming from central London or Up North.)

The Effra - Great Place to Dance, Eat, Drink.

The jewel in the crown is the Brixton Market - a fantastic indoor market crammed with tiny restaurants serving every kind of food under the sun, from Asian and African to French, South American and Mexican. It's absolutely hopping at the weekends, when it goes late night.

Also worth a visit is the Effra Social - a former neighbourhood Conservative Club (a sort of social club) that closed it's doors in the late '80s and has recently re-opened as a lovely bar and gastropub.

The Effra is unchanged since the doors closed on the old Conservative Club - there's a dance-hall at the back with a small stage for DJs and bands, it's a time-warp that the new owners have been smart enough to leave virtually untouched. You can almost picture your grandparents dancing to the sounds of Englebert Humperdink back in the day.

Brixton is changing. Fast. People talk about gentrification and how the hipsters are ruining the place. Which is bollix. You can put up with some beardy blokes in tight-jeans if it means getting great food and places like the Effra.

* The Royal Oak - Columbia Road, Shoreditch

Yes, it's on the madly gentrified Columbia Road in the part of London that defines hipster - Shoreditch. And this old man's boozer has been transformed into the kind of gastropub-ish, shabby-chic hangout that drives some people crazy. But it's a beautifully preserved, Edwardian (?) pub with green majolica tiles on the outside and lots of cosy wood, glass and brass on the inside. A real survivor, thankfully given a second life.

* The Princess Louise

Look At That Hipster Fecker

The only pub I'll include here that could not be accused of Hipster-ism - and the closest to the city centre, this Victorian Jewel is close to Covent Garden and the crowd is usually a mix of office workers, tourists and the odd local. But if you are in the city centre, and looking for the authentic London Victorian Pub experience, this marvellous Gin Palace (in the true sense of the phrase) is the place to go. If you can't make it out to Dalston, Shoreditch, Hackney or Peckham, this is the place to go.

* THANKS FOR READING AND HAPPY BOOZING.

Roy Keane - The Latest Shocking Biog Leaks

* Roy Keane! He pulls no punches! And as the latest, often shocking leaks from his new biography reveal, Keano's in an almost permanent state of RAGE! Seriously, it's a wonder he doesn't get out of bed every morning and spontaneously combust. ARGH!

You may have already heard about the Robbie Savage "WHAZZUP!?!" story (and that one will haunt the peroxide blonde MOTD pundit until the day he dies) and Roy's running battles with everybody at Manchester United.

But using a highly placed source (shelf-stacker at Tesco's) - I have gotten my hands on some fresh, shocking stories from the biog. Which is about to make publishing history by being the only major autobiography to be read by the entire universe before it is actually on the bookshelves.

So read on.....

The Only Known Photo Of Roy Almost Smiling
Shortly after it was taken, he had the camera-man shot

*Early-Days

"One of my earliest memories is of watching me Mam trying to change my nappy. Now, it may sound strange, but even at the age of four months, I could already sense that her heart was not in it. It was fecking Amateur Hour, to be fair.

"Mam!" (I remember saying) "What's the fecking story, like? I could have changed four nappies myself by this stage!" Later on, as I expertly changed my own nappy for the fourth time that day, I apologised to her. I immediately regretted that. Never show weakness. People take advantage.

And by the way, in case you're wondering,  it's true. My s**t don't stink.

"Me In School - Never Understood The Nick-Name, Like" 

* School-Time

"You go to a new school and you have to let people know who you are, what you are about. So, first day, before they'd even put the jerseys out,  I walked up to the biggest kid in the school-yard and partially strangled him with a skipping rope. "There you go, Son!" (I said as four teachers and a janitor tried to restrain me) "Have a bit of that".

Later on that day, as the headmaster had a chat with me in a secure location, I almost felt like apologising. But then I saw the respect and/or naked terror in his eyes and I thought; "Job done, like. They know you're serious". It was an important lesson for everybody at the school.

"Fail to prepare - prepare to be partially strangled with a skipping rope."

Later on, I partially strangled two Norwegian defenders at Sunderland. And locked the club chairman in a wheelie-bin full of half-eaten Wagon Wheels. And that year? We got promoted.

I AM STARING INTO YOUR VERY SOUL

* Brian Clough And My Big Chance

"It was two days before the big game against Man U and Cloughie pulled me aside. "You, Irishman!" (I let that one pass. A lot of people didn't realise at the time I was actually from Cork). "You're a brave lad. A bit totally basterin' psychotic, mind, but I like that in a player".

The word was, he wanted to start me in the team, but didn't feel it was fair to drop the guy who was already doing a good job for him. The next morning, after the midfielder in question had accidentally run himself over with his lawn-mower, twice, I was in! Of course, some at the club wondered about the accident. Especially as the guy didn't own a lawnmower. And it happened in the men's fashion department of Burton's. But you have to take your chances in this game.

I don't own one of these - I just stare at the grass until it behaves

* Fergie And The Fish-Finger Incident

  "Standards had been slipping at Manchester United for some time. There was all sorts of moaning going on in the dressing room, silly stuff like "I'm not going to do extra training" or "Roy, I'm begging you, I'll try harder at Everton if you just tell me where you are holding my family!".

But it was in the canteen that the final straw happened. I walked in, cool as a breeze. And then I saw it. The Fish-Fingers were Tesco Own-Brand. Now, the last contract I had signed specifically promised Bird's Eye fish-fingers. And everybody at the club knew how I felt about this issue. Of course, there had been a time when Sir Alex had arrived at 5.30am every morning to check the fish-fingers and make sure there were enough of those fiddly tarter-sauce packets (you know, the ones you can't open and then you do and there's tarter-sauce all over your tracksuit? Those utter bastards?).

But as I said. Standards were slipping. Carlos "El Bastardo" Queiroz (I came up with that one. Ha. Ha.) had been put in charge of the fish-fingers. And the man hadn't a fecking clue. So I marched into Fergie's office and screamed about Captain BirdsEye for 15 minutes. The gaffer tried to put me off by saying "Roy, I haven't a f*****g clue what you're talking about, you mad Irish bastard". But he knew all right. Oh yeah. He knew.

Three days later I was out. Two days later I apologised and was back in again. One day later I completely lost it with a bowl of tartar-sauce and was back out again. Life's funny. Ha. Ha.

* What I have Learned From Football, Like.

"I have… seen things you people wouldn't believe… Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those… moments… will be lost in time, like [small cough] tears… in… rain. Time… to die…"

* Thanks for reading. 

The Battle of Cable Street - Irish Dockers & Jewish Workers Against The Fascists

* The Brexit vote - and I'm still a bit traumatised - got me thinking about the UK's working classes - now being casually demonised by many as dumb, racist and worse, the idiot turkeys who voted for Christmas because they don't like seeing brown faces on their high street.

It got me thinking about a now almost forgotten moment in 20th Century Britain - when - as fascism rose across Europe - the working classes of East London united and fought street battles against the Blackshirt movement - and turned back the tide.

It was one of the most extraordinary moments in modern British history - and one group of often demonised, poor and ill-educated emigrants - or economic refugees - united with another - their enemies - to defeat the Blackshirts.

It was the Battle of Cable Street. And it was the Working Classes Wot Won It.

*********************************

* It's easy to forget. but in the 1930s, with the great democracies reeling from the Great Depression, Fascism was on the rise and seen by many as the future. And not just in Italy, Germany and Spain.

In Britain, firebrand and demagogue Oswald Mosley and his British Union of Fascists - the Blackshirts - represented a major political movement, at one stage, with over 50,000 members. And Mosely took his cue from Mussolini and Hitler, using the politics of hate, mass protests and paramilitary display to rally the disaffected masses and threaten their opponents.

Mosley & His Fascists 

It was a powerful, seductive message in a time of great want and turmoil. The same kind of message we are seeing all over Europe again today, in Greece, Hungary, France and even in Britain. You are not to blame for the sorry state your country finds itself in! It is the outsiders, the Jews, the immigrants, the left-wingers and liberals!

Fascism In London

And Mosely had his sympathisers, both with the Working Classes, who he claimed to identify with (despite being a toff) and many in the ruling classes. It has recently emerged that the British security forces investigated what amounted to a high-level fascist plot, involving many across the British power-elite of the time. Fascism, and the belief that it could triumph in Great Britain, were ideas that were in the air. As the Nazis shouted at the time, "Tomorrow Belongs To Us!"

The Daily Mail was an early supporter of the BUF - running a headline "Hurrah For The Blackshirts" that reflected not so much a great treason or extreme view on the part of the newspaper, but the wider feeling that democracy, or liberalism had failed and fascism offered a real alternative.

It was against this backdrop that Mosley organised what was to be his "March on Rome" - or at least a huge demonstration in the heart of London's most (as the BUF put it) "Jew-Ridden and Communistic" neighbourhoods. The streets around Whitechappel and the East End.

It was part of a campaign of terror already played out in Germany and Italy. Blackshirt gangs had been active in the East End, beating up Jews and Irish immigrants, breaking up meetings and trying to instil fear into their opponents while recruiting the disaffected to their flag.

BUF FLAG

Along with the Jews and Communists, Mosley and his men also had another target in the East End - the very large Irish community of dockers and their families. He had initially courted the Irish immigrants and found many willing to listen to his message. The Irish of the East End - escaping dire poverty at home - were not exactly known for their peace and goodwill to all men. Irish gangs would repeatedly chase Jews or others out of their neighbourhoods, graffiti such as "No Jews On Our Streets" would regularly appear on walls around Whitechappel. Many Irishmen joined the Blackshirts, Mosley's personal bodyguard for years was a Belfast man who later went on to advise the National Front and other Far Right Groups of the Post-War era.

BUF POSTER

So, on October 4th, 1936, as The Blackshirts prepared to stage their biggest ever demonstration in London, few could say for certain which way the Irish of the East End would line-up.

But for the large Jewish community, there was no question. If they failed to stand against the fascists now, they knew which way the wind would blow. They had seen what had happened in Germany.

But what would the Irish Catholic dockers, no friends to the Jews, do?

In the end - on one of the most remarkable days in 20th century Britain, the Irish dockers stood with the Jews, the socialists, the communists and the Union men as they fought back. And fight they did. The Battle of Cable Street saw ordinary men and women take to the barricades to force back the tide of Fascism in Britain. And it really did mark the high-water mark for Mosley and his Blackshirts, the point after which his movement went into terminal decline.

Mosley had rallied around 7,000 Blackshirts, the authorities had provided 10,000 policemen (4,000 on horseback) to make sure they could march against the expected opposition from left-wing groups and ordinary East Enders.

What happened was a furious street battle, as the East Enders threw up barricades, fought with the Blackshirts and Police and chanted the Spanish Republican slogan "No Pasaran!" "They Shall Not Pass!"

You can see footage of the battle in the vid below - the song is "The Ghosts of Cable Street", by The Men They Couldn't Hang.

And it is remarkable footage - this is London, in the mid-30s. An army of black-shirted, Sieg-Heiling British fascists fights running battles with ordinary men and women giving the closed fist Socialist salute. It could be Barcelona or Berlin.

****And here's a recent Channel4 news report featuring Max Levitas - who fought the Blackshirts (and who had a brother who fought with the Connolly Column in Spain (Max spent some time in his childhood in Dublin, you may hear a bit of an accent).

Click on this link - Max Levitas****

Mosley was planning a triumph in London before flying out to Berlin the next day to be married to Diana Guinness, formerly Diana Mitford, at the home of Nazi Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels. Adolf Hitler would be their guest of honour.

However, as Mosley and his men went into the East End, the anti-fascists learned that he was planning to march through Cable Street. 

On the 70th anniversary of the Battle in 2011, veterans like Professor Bill Fishman gave their recollections of the day.

“I heard a loudspeaker say, ‘They are going to Cable Street,’” said Prof Bill Fishman.

 “Suddenly a barricade was erected there and an old lorry was in the middle of the road. The people up the top of the flats, mainly Irish Catholic women, were throwing rubbish on to the police.

“We were all side by side. I was moved to tears to see bearded Jews and Irish Catholic dockers standing up to stop Mosley. I shall never forget that for as long as I live, how working-class people could stand together to oppose the evil of racism.”

Former textile worker Beatty Orwell, 94, was just a teenager when she joined the fight.

“I’d never seen so many people in my life,” she recalls.

“There was shouting and shoving, and the police on their horses pushing everyone back. When I spotted Mosley’s lot, dressed in their uniforms like Hitler’s men, I felt sick.

“There weren’t a lot of women there, but that didn’t put me off. We were all in it for a common cause, Orthodox Jews and Irish dockers standing together, when the Blackshirts came to Cable Street.”

Trapped between the barricades and besieged by huge crowds of determined anti-fascists, Mosley's men were forced back. And then the Police Commissioner went to the BUF leader and told him that he had to turn back. There was no way the fascists would march through the East End that day. 

It was a humiliation for Mosley. He had vowed to take over the East End and rally the working classes (many of whom had voted for BUF candidates in local elections) to the flag of fascism. What he actually faced was one of the most significant, single blows dealt to fascism in Europe before the War. The tide had been turned back, in Britain at least.

And while The Battle of Cable Street did not usher in a new era of socialism or universal brotherly love in London, it did show that the ordinary people could organise, fight back and beat the fascists.

As we look to far-right groups such as Golden Dawn in Greece and the English Defence League closer to home, it is a message worth remembering.

* Thanks for reading. 

Who's Taking The Horse To France? Ireland's Greatest TV Ads

* A chance encounter with an old friend recently threw up a phrase that meant a lot to us but would make no sense to anybody else in the London pub where we were enjoying a pint; "Who's Taking The Horse To France?" 

So this VERY IRISH SPECIFIC piece is inspired by that question - and is a tour of the Greatest Irish TV ads of all time. So pardon the nostalgia over-load, I'm prone to them. But it's just a bit of fun.

And apologies for the poor quality of some of the video clips - had to do some archeology on YouTube. 

The Way She Might Look At You

* Those who doubt the power of TV advertising should ask themselves just one, equine-related question; “Who's taking the horse to France?”

If you grew up watching telly in Ireland in the '90s, that apparently obscure reference should instantly transport you back to a kitchen full of Burberry checks, simmering sexual tension and buttery spuds.

One of a long line of memorable Kerrygold ads, this 1994 mini-drama, featuring a rugged Irish farmer and a classy châtelaine, over from France to buy a horse, gave us thirty seconds of the kind of sexual sophistication we didn't normally associate with range cookers.

An earlier Kerrygold ad had a saucy French trout fisherman called André, sidling up to an Irish B&B owner in her kitchen and asking “Allo? Zere is something I can 'elp?” It was a wonder she didn't drop the frying pan.

Here's a slightly dodgy video clip of the ad in question;

Our best TV advertising in the '80s and '90s often portrayed an aspirational, confident Ireland that would not arrive in reality until the era of the Celtic Tiger.

The ad men behind the Kerrygold brand were particularly adept at mixing the traditional with the modern, with strong, silent farmers and flame-haired colleens offering windswept Celtic allure and Hollandaise sauce to continental visitors.

Their muddy riding boots were hardly hitting the floor in the hall before they were ready to throw caution to the wind with a big knob of butter.

Last Tango in Borris. 

TV ads tended to have a much bigger impact when most homes only had a handfull of TV stations.

And you can probably date most Irish people by asking them to remember their favourite. For many of us, hearing Dusty Springfield sing “Goin' Back” instantly brings to mind a returning young emigrant, a country train station and a drive through the darkening fields towards a brightly lit farmhouse and mammy.

Younger folk will remember a young Michael Fassbender, swimming the Atlantic to New York, to say sorry to a friend. The soundtrack was Mic Christopher's “Heyday” and the product was, of course, Guinness.

The great British advertising guru, David Ogilvy (seen as an inspiration for the Madison Avenue Mad Men of the acclaimed TV drama), once said TV advertising was all about impact.

"You have only 30 seconds in a TV commercial,” said Ogilvy.

“If you grab attention in the first frame with a visual surprise, you stand a better chance of holding the viewer. People screen out a lot of commercials because they open with something dull. When you advertise fire-extinguishers, open with the fire."

Today's TV ads tend to move at a quicker pace as they jostle to grab our attention in a very crowded and diverse marketplace (you are as likely to see them on your PC or iPad as on TV).

Only time will tell if today's ads can hope to have the kind of lasting impact that the classic ones of the 80s and '90s had for that generation.

And if you had to draw up a top ten list of the Greatest Irish TV Ads of All Time – it would have to include;

• 10 – Esat Digifone – The Guy from The Bar.
• 
  
• This simple but very effective ad played around with perceptions – the girl sees a gorgeous hunk at the bar, she slips him his number and he calls her up, only to bray “Howya, it's me – the guy from the bar!” in the most comically toe-curling midlands accent you'll ever hear.

• 9 - Maxol - Free A Nipper

The early '80s were tough enough for this country without Brendan Grace – as Bottler – popping up on our TV screens every half-hour to shout “Free A Nipper – Roight?” But as a catchphrase (for Maxol Petrol Stations), it is as deeply embedded in '80s nostalgia as Ray Houghton's goal in Stuttgart and Charles J Haughey's “We are living away beyond our means”.

• 8 Guinness – The Island

Better known for the catchphrase “Tá siad ag Teacht” (the only line of dialogue) – This legendary ad was first aired in 1977 and featured a pub full of Guinness drinkers, patiently waiting for a currach to deliver a keg of porter. In 1999, a poll in Marketing Magazine voted it the greatest Irish advertisement of the 20^th century.

I love the sound design on this one - spectacular when you consider the period - the tick tock of the clock and the call of curlews ...

• 7 Harp Larger - Sally O'Brien

“You could fry an egg on the stones here, if you had an egg” - this 1980 classic, with Sally O'Brien and the way she might look at you, had a huge impact on our popular culture. But there was a minor diplomatic incident when it turned out that “Sally O'Brien” was, Padraig Pearse preserve us!, English actress Viki Michelle, who later starred in the sit-com Allo, Allo!

• 6 Penneys – Got A Whole Lot of Things For Christmas
• 
  
• Frist heard in the '80s and revived in the mid-90s, this simple jingle became almost a Christmas Carol for a generation of Irish TV viewers. Impossible to forget.

• 5 - Bord Na Mona – Marino Waltz

First aired in 1986 - a shining example of a perfect marriage of a tune and a TV ad. You just cannot hear the opening bars of the lovely Marino Waltz without picturing a roaring fire, a deep leather sofa and toes warming up by the flames.

• 4 – ESB – Going Back
  The young emigrant steps off the train at a country station, his dad is there to bring him home to a brightly lit farmhouse and mammy's cooking. A real-tear jerker from 1988 that still resonates with that generation, many of whom had to emigrate themselves. Trivia fact - the young emigrant is Alan Hughes, now of TV3 and Christmas Panto fame.

• 3 News of The World – Breakfast With Bertie

“I never thought I'd end up here!” said former Taoiseach Bertie Ahern, from a food cupboard, in this ad for the now defunct News of The World Sunday newspaper. Classy, from the weirdo buffon who screwed our fair nation.

What you wouldn't give for the chance to slam a feckin frying pan into that gob.

A nation spluttered out its tea.

2 Guinness - Anticipation

Better known as The Dancing Man – this mould-breaking advert featuring rubber-limbed Irish actor Joe McKinney became an instant, worldwide hit on its début in 1994. The inspired choice of a Perez Prado track – forever known as “ The Da-da-dah Song” - heralded a golden era for Guinness advertising.

1 Guinness – White Christmas

Christmas ads are always the ones we remember best. And this brilliant 2003 spot for the famous stout, featuring snow falling on deserted places around Ireland on Christmas eve, evoked James Joyce's classic Christmas story The Dead, finishing with snow forming a creamy white head on the famous black gates of the brewery in Dublin.

It's the Dublin Christmas we all dream of. And of course, is ridiculously idealised.

Still, lovely stuff.

ENDS