Quick Hiatus

In contrast with tradition, this, which is both a warning of and apology for a brief hiatus in posting, comes halfway through said hiatus. As those of you unfortunate to follow me on twitter will be aware, I've been on a shoot for the last week, am back in the office today, then back to the shoot 'til the end of the week.

As those of you unfortunate enough to follow me on twitter will also know, the above picture is very, VERY ironic. A half-empty plate of biscuits and a run-down tower block would be much more appropriate. Anyway.

So, crack on, drink on, December on, and I'll be back wanging on about all things Suity, thanking everyone who's already donated to Marie Curie (and haranguing those who haven't) and talking about the lovely people I met last week before you know it.

So - Here I Am

Well. There it is. ALS's enormous (literally, rather than figuratively) head. ALS's face. ALS's rather large, if slightly nervous, grin.

Except my name isn't really AdLand Suit. That would have been a coincidence too far.

No. My name's Dan Shute, and I'm a Board Account Director at Delaney Lund Knox Warren. (Which, interestingly, is an agency that garnered precisely zero votes when we did a 'Where Does ALS Work?' poll, many moons ago.)

So, that's that. You know who I am. Secret's out. I guess the main question to answer now is 'What's next?' - so here we go.

Essentially, nothing will change. My employers haven't known about ALS until now, but the fact that they now do isn't going to change the things I write, or the way I write about them. I believe in the importance of what I've been doing here as much if not more than I did when I started this blog, and I definitely believe in the importance of the role Suits have to play more than ever. So why would I stop?

One of the joys of blogging and twitter is that you're only as entertaining, interesting or engaging as the ideas that you have and the words that you write - job titles or celebrity status hold no real truck, you stand or fall on the quality of the words you write, and the relevance and power of what you're writing or tweeting about. For whatever reason, a lot of people have come to care about what I write here, and have come to enjoy reading it. I'm incredibly proud of the number of people who read my nonsense, and who care enough to comment and share it. So why would I change?

Furthermore, as I've tried to point out in the past, this isn't an anonymous blog so much as a pseudonymous blog. AdLand Suit is not a character - he's not Dave Knockles, as brilliant as Dave Knockles undoubtedly is. AdLand Suit is me, writing in my voice, sharing my views, on things that I care about, and things that I think are important. The only difference now is that you know my real name. AdLand Suit is still here, and he's still writing. So why would anything else change?

And that's that. All that remains for me to say is thank you to the small number of people that have helped me keep this a (kind of) secret up 'til now, and that I remain in awe at the amount of goodwill, collaboration and, ultimately, cash for a good cause this blog and its accompanying (and much more sweary) twitter feed has generated - you're all fucking awesome, and Elika and I will be in the Perseverance on Lamb's Conduit Street this Wednesday evening (December 2nd) from 8.30pm, if anyone (or indeed everyone) fancies stopping by. First round's on me.

Oh, and you absolutely have to keep contributing here. Marie Curie is still an awesome cause, and we've already made a fantastic amount of money, but if each of you donate a couple of quid (or even a solitary quid, if that's all you can afford), then we'll have done a brilliant thing. I'll do a proper post on the donation at the end of the week, rather than try and wrap it up in this.

I'll see you all at the bar. Cheers.

Who is AdLand Suit, And What Happens Next?

Well, needless to say I'm completely blown away by the reaction to my potential unmasking. As has been suggested elsewhere, I was a little nervous about how well this would go, to the point where I ummed and aahed about whether or not £500 would be a more realistic target, before thinking 'fuck it', and optimistically plumping for a grand. And now, here I am, with more than £3k made for Marie Curie after only four days. You're all brilliant.

So, what happens next? Two things:

1. The unmasking. I'm not a man to break a promise, so with the target well and truly smashed, you will all know who I am this week. I can't say exactly when yet (I need to check a couple of things with work) but I'll be able to confirm tomorrow. At the same time, I'll give you all a pub and an evening when Elika and I will be there, and invite everyone to come down and get merrily Xmas-trashed, happily celebrating that we've all been part of something really quite brilliant.

2. The donations MUST continue. Whilst the amount we've raised so far is incredible, a large proportion of that has come from one or two wonderful people, and we still have an opportunity to do so much more. I'm not asking for a lot of money - if you can only afford to donate £1, then just donate £1. If you can afford a bit more, then donate that. I'm so proud of how this has gone, but there's scope to do even better. Every penny to a fantastic cause is hugely appreciated, both by me and the guys at Marie Curie, so if you haven't yet had the chance then get involved here.

And I'll see you all for a beer very soon. Hell yeah.

Who Is AdLand Suit?

So. The time has come. I'm taking off the mask. Or, I suppose, growing a head.

After not really that many months, I'm going to be shedding my anonymity. It's a decision I've taken for a number of reasons, not least of which being my growing frustration with my inability to actually meet up with any of the people I've got to know through this little endeavour. (I'm also sick of signing emails 'ALS', and am convinced I'm going to get it wrong at some point, but that's another story.)

Now, I'm fairly conscious that any kind of big reveal is ultimately going to prove a little underwhelming - it's an eternal truth that having a mystery is always at least fifteen times more enjoyable than solving one. But I had an idea.

I'd like to try and do something nice, and (brace yourself) worthwhile with this thing. As such, I've set up a Just Giving page (which you can find here), and am accepting donations for Marie Curie Cancer Care, a genuinely brilliant charity. When the donations reach £1,000 (or rather, IF the donations reach £1,000...) I'll come clean. AdLand Suit will have a head.

I know. Weird.

As well as that, I'll also be taking the highest individual donator out for Lunch, at a restaurant that I suppose should probably be The Ivy (though be warned - I will try and persuade you to go for St John).

Obviously enough, I need your help. Lots of little donations is the best way forward, and that's only going to help if enough people know that it's going on. So tell people. Tell everyone. Tweet about it. Blog about it. Tell your mum about it. And then, hopefully, we'll be able to do something really quite lovely.

And, most importantly, I'll FINALLY be able to buy you all a beer. Which will be awesome.

Quick Sunday Evening Tip

I received one of the best pieces of advice I've ever been given about 5 years ago now, shortly after I'd joined the Agency where I still am to this day. I was working with a female Account Director whom I'd already gathered had a reputation for being a bit of a ball-breaker. As it turned out, not only was she damn good, but she was also lovely - to be clear though, that doesn't in any way mean that the ball-breaker reputation was undeserved.

I was, in many ways, a typical male account manager. Overflowing with big ideas and impatient for promotion, recognition and some kind of acknowledgement of my own brilliance, I didn't really have time for 'organisation', or 'planning' or any of those other things that I'd already really rather leave to the Account Exec. Needless to say, I was set straight on this pretty sharpish. Frankly, I needed a slap, and I got one.

But that wasn't the advice - that's just a fact of life. As I believe I've touched on once or twice elsewhere, if you're not buttoned down and organised, things will go wrong, and when anything goes wrong, it is your fault, even if it isn't. Because everything is.

No, the advice was much simpler than that - three short words that I've never forgotten, and that served me extremely well as an AM and to this day:

Get in early.

Or, to build on that slightly, get in earlier than your Account Manager, Account Director, or anybody who's likely to look at your desk and wonder where you are.

There are two main reasons for this. The first is practical: 8am to 9am is the best time to get anything done. Your phone is likely to be ringing less (you can certainly guarantee that you won't be disturbed by any creatives or TV producers), and as such you'll be able to get all of the niggly, irritating, admin-heavy work done, which will enable you to spend the day doing the good stuff. (Trust me, having to miss a creative briefing because you need to sort out the billing spreadsheet is not a good result for you or anyone else.)

The second reason is simply that it looks good. It looks good to your AD when he or she has to call ahead because something needs doing and you're there to do it, and it looks good to your Client when he or she calls the Agency at 8.05 expecting to have to leave a message. (Be aware - while a Client's day may often end earlier than yours, it also tends to start at 8am on the dot. And you'd be amazed how much a Client will respect a Suit who's at his or her desk at the same time as them.)

So there it is. Be at your desk at 8am. Sort out the billing spreadsheet. Update status. Do your timesheets. Get all and any admin out of the way so that you can focus on the fun stuff for the rest of the day. Impress people. And, if you really have nothing else to do, read blogs, and learn about ads. Because making room for that in your day is as important a part of your job as writing good contact reports. And 8am is the best time to do it. Promise.

X-Factor. Wham Night. The Results Show

So, here we go again. Last night's recap is confirming (a) that George Michael not only writes quite good songs, he writes songs that NOBODY else can sing, and (b) that this really is a fairly shit year. There's no Leona. There isn't even a credible Will Young. Fuck it. It's all about Jedward.

In a reassuring return to form though, we're guaranteed a little bit of mental from tonight's guests. I should state at this stage that I've never watched Britain's Got Talent, and as such my dislike of SuBo (abbreviation for the sake of convenience) is based purely on instinct, and, if I'm honest, the fact that she's really, really ugly. Carey, I like. She's mental. And one of the fittest ugly girls around, if you know what I mean. Anyway - let's get to it.

I wasn't entirely convinced by last night's blog - and I'm really not sure how it's going to work on results night, given that the results shows tend to be defined by the absolute lack of anything happening at any point, ever. Still. Let's persevere.

Hello, Judges. Dannii's dressed like a school-teacher, presumably EXHAUSTED after showing the world her tits every show for the last four weeks. Cheryl, on the other hand, seems to be worried that the 14 year old girls might have run out of credit, and is hoping to assure Lloyd 'Shit' Daniels' continued participation by getting them out for the lads.

So - the group performance. It's 'Wake me up...'. This, unlike a lot of other Wham songs, should be very, very hard to fuck up. I love it when Joe and Stacey sing together - I find it genuinely impossible to tell which one has the female voice.

This is the gayest performance of this gay anthem EVER. Well done, kids.

So, the 'charity' single has gone in at number one, meaning it sold at least 17 copies, guaranteeing Great Ormond Street AT LEAST 17 unwanted copied of the X-Factor charity single. You know, if they can be bothered to visit the Chigwell Oxfam after Christmas.

Right. Recap done. Time for half an hour of filler. Starting with the AMAZING news that ugly people can also sing a bit. Look! LOOK AT THE UGLY WOMAN SING A BIT BETTER THAN BADLY! (I'm really just distracting myself while the ugly lady sings. It's nice to see that success hasn't changed her though, isn't it? Beneath the make-up, the hair and the expensive dress, she's still just a mentally-troubled, ugly Scottish lass, and I salute that. Has anyone ever seen her and Rab C Nesbitt in the same room? She didn't actually win, did she? Who did? Oh, never mind. She's finished. As you were. Christ, get off the stage, woman. You're scaring the children. THINK OF THE CHILDREN.)

Lines are closed, people. If Lloyd 'Shit' Daniels isn't in the bottom two, and you didn't vote for somebody else, IT'S YOUR FAULT.

I'm probably not the only one crossing my fingers and hoping that Mariah pulls out a crossbow in the middle of this song and shoots Simon in the face. Am I? Oh, come on. Fingers crossed for the mental. She's singing a PROPERLY amazing song though. A song which I've always imagined as crying-out for a mid-Atlantic, warbly R&B makeover. Click those fingers, bitch. And gospel the fuck out of it. YEAH. LOOK AT THE FIST CLENCH! SHE MEANS IT. She's also piled on the pounds - in your FACE, Kate Moss. Cake tastes better than being skinny - just ask Mariah. Who, incidentally, just went supersonic, liquefying my insides in the process. Messy. That bit aside, though, she was disappointingly non-mental. I fear Robbie and Whitney set the bar too high at the start of the live shows. Everyone's just intimidated. Believe, SuBo, and storm the fucking stage. Bite Lloyd's face off. Rip his tongue out. I DARE you. I DOUBLE dare you. Oh, fuck off then.

Right. The good bit. My money's on Jedward and Shit (typing Lloyd 'Shit' Daniels' every time is getting EXHAUSTING), but Danyl could still save the twins. I really hope he does. Olly's warming up the fist-pump.

I have a new Joe theory. I think his right ear is just a lot heavier than his left. Anyway.

Stacey's safe. And BORING. Lloyd looks lost and confused. He doesn't know where he is. Joe's safe. Obviously. Danyl's safe. Now it's just...

Fuck. Me. FUCK ME. I'm gobsmacked. Olly? Seriously? WHAT THE FUCK DOES LLOYD HAVE TO DO? WHAT THE COCKING FUCKING BASTARDLY FUCK-TWAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? I don't think you appreciate how bad Lloyd is. How DANGEROUS he is. And it upsets me.

And breathe. Ok. It's time to face facts. Dial up the sunshine bus, and baby-proof Ireland - Jedward are coming home. Let's enjoy their last performance - they've given us a lot, people.

Erm... How are Jedward going to squeeze a novelty rap into this? They're doing BOIZONE, because BOIZONE are OIRISH, and they're OIRISH. Sadly they seem to have chosen a song that showcases the fact that they really can't sing. Sadly, they're leaving us with a whimper. An extremely flat whimper. I think Louis's rather missed the 'why people like Jedward' point. I'm really, really going to miss them. And I'm obviously never going to buy anything they release.

So. Olly. Doing Clapton. Why are we being so fucking melancholy tonight? Make us laugh, you fuckers. If I had a performing monkey, I would NOT make it sing ballads. I would either make it dance around with it's scopey twin, or I'd make it neck-dance furiously. You are ALL pissing me off.

So, Simon sends the twins home. Cheryl sends the twins home. Louis obviously saves the twins, and speaks FOR A NATION, when he questions the persistence of the one known only as Shit. Dannii in the spotlight. Will she have the balls to be controversial? No. Course not. G'bye, twins. It's been fun. And, I'll be honest, I've already almost forgotten you.

Oh, I take that back. They're the sweetest kids. And their hair is AMAZING. God speed, Jedward. Here's hoping you catch that biscuit one day. And that Louis hasn't damaged you eternally. Or, indeed, internally.

Dermot just struggled to subtract one from six. He's given up on everything. And, frankly, I'm not sure I blame him. We're left with Smug-Boy, Snaggletooth, the FNAARK-Monster, Robbie Williams' Fifth Understudy, and The One They Call Shit. That doesn't fill me with Xmas cheer. This has not been a good weekend for the X-Factor. And I'm not convinced by this live-blogging thing. I'm not sure I'll do it again.

Balls.

X-Factor. Wham Night. THE LIVE SHOW.

Right. In the self-enforced absence of twitter (which I'm TOTALLY fine with, by the way), I'm trying something new with X-Factor this week. I'll be writing this post as the episode progresses, and then posting without editing. We'll see how it works.

So - we're opening with a re-run of last week, to remind us (a) how VERY DRAMATIC it was when Afrotwat left, and (b) how AMAZING Jedward were. Consider us reminded. Take us to the bridge, dramatic VO Guy!

He did.

Right. So. Wham Night. I'll confess to being a little confused by this. I didn't realise anyone really cared about Wham. Still, I suppose Andrew Ridgeley's crack habit needs supporting. Let's sell some shit, people.

Aw. Our first view of Lloyd 'Shit' Daniels. He's going to 'do his best' and 'not let Cheryl down'. Given that Cheryl only seems to require Lloyd to look dead-eyed, blond, vaguely cherubic and give Louis a bit of a stiffy, I think he'll be safe.

Dermot. The spin. We know this bit. Dermot's suggesting that 'one slip' will mean that the acts are out - presumably, Lloyd 'slipping' would involve him actually hitting a note. Again, I think he's safe.

The judges are with us. Cheryl is dressed like a gay ballerina. Louis is dressed like a gay magician. Dannii is dressed like a gay. Awesome. Game on.

Ah. So apparently it's not Wham Night - it's George Michael night. Which means a George Michael montage - nearly 30 years of extremely questionable hair choices. Dermot's just let us now that George has called the show, and is watching at home, and that he's VERY excited about it, which is a LITTLE BIT Alan Partridge, but we'll let it go. Why? Because IT'S TIME FOR LLOYD!

Has everyone heard the rumours about Lloyd 'Shit' Daniels? Well, you won't be hearing them here. I'm bigger than that.

Oh, God. It's 'trip home' week. That means tears. And, brilliantly, Lloyd's little brother trying to hug the camera rather than Lloyd. It also appears to be 'Tortuous Lloyd Analogy Week'. He's been described as 'a cat' and various other things so far. The one thing nobody's been cruel enough to describe him as is a 'singer'.

Anyway. The singing. Why does Lloyd hate the right notes so much? So very, very much? The laws of probability state that he should have accidentally hit at least two so far in the show, but no - he's resolutely that semitone off. It really is quite impressive, in a really SHIT way. He's 'singing' Faith, by the way, a song that only George Michael can pull off. And even then, only just. He's changed his hair though, and is wearing a tight t-shirt, so Louis will be happy. Cripes. He went falsetto on the last note. That was a genuinely upsetting moment.

Louis 'loved the new haircut'. I am a visionary.

Simon's wearing a tie. He looks like a mason. And a cock.

Anyway. I can't talk about Lloyd anymore. He's just Lloyd. You all know this. They don't call him Lloyd 'Shit' Daniels for nothing. (I realise I'm the only one that calls him that. But it WILL catch on.)

Time for an ad break. Let's bright-dance, people.

We're back. And it's time for Stacey. I DO hope she does some of her walk-dancing tonight. And, if we're REALLY lucky, she might sing LOUD and then QUIET. Just like Leona.

I'm actually quite enjoying the intercut visits to HMV - it's been YEARS since I've seen a CD single. In other news, Stacey's mum appears to be from the West Country. And, less surprisingly, a barely literate moron. Blah, blah, competition gets tougher, FNAARK, pressure's on, the voice... Just shut up and sing.

Ok. She's sitting as she starts. Let's hope she can manage the tricky transition from 'sitting' to 'standing' and then maybe even to 'walking'. That's a genuine ROCK STAR move - apparently, Mariah still struggles with that one. Hmm. Sitting seems to be having a bit of a negative impact on her ability to sing. Multi-tasking is tough though. We shouldn't forget that.

I will proudly state at this point that I have NO IDEA what this song is. It does have a big, vaguely high, VERY LOUD note in the middle of it though, which is presumably why Dannii chose it for Stacey. It's also very smokey. All she needs is a cannon, and she's Cher turning back time. Only with a slightly less credible face.

Blah. The judges like Stacey. Of course they do. Cowell's looking at her and seeing a Leona-Lite that he can sell to the Southern States. TOTAL DOMINATION IS ASSURED. All I see is Dobby the House-Elf who's forgotten how to breath. Or sing.

Apparently Stacey was nervous. Apparently she talks like a twat when she's nervous. You know, more so. Right. Stacey's done. Back to the entertainment. Ah. No. Sorry, time for ANOTHER ad break.

THE TWINS ARE COMING!!!!! John. Edward. FUCK YEAH.

Brilliant home-coming VT for Jedward. Mum is gushing. Dad is MORTIFIED. The boys themselves are actually coming across as humble and lovely. Deal with it. Don't let the haters get you down, boys. Let's do this thing.

John and Edward are HILARIOUSLY dressed up in white suits, JUST LIKE Wham! Seriously, Louis - when will the magic end? Oh... I hate to say it, but the mid-song rap just isn't quite as exciting as it once was. John (or Edward) trying to high five a dancer and missing is brilliant though. As is John (or Edward) improvising his own, massively camp hip-wiggle dance. They're doing 'I'm Your Man', by the way. And I'm a little underwhelmed. Don't get me wrong, it was still BRILLIANT. It just wasn't 'Under Pressure' brilliant. And their 'This is Queen week, so we got to meet Queen. The band, not the ACTUAL Queen' comment will NEVER be bettered, by anyone, in any medium, ever.

Aw, Dannii says they look 'amazing'. What she means is that they look 'ridiculous'.

Louis talking about what young kids like is creepy. Fact.

Bottom line: they're the most entertaining thing about this show, and they're genuinely intellectually sub-normal, so not liking them is like bullying a kid in a wheelchair. You utter bastards.

Right. Danyl time.

Has anyone heard the rumours about Danyl, by the way? Well, you won't be hearing them here. I'm bigger than that.

Wow. Danyl's house is RUBBISH. The trip back the school was clever though. And his mum seems lovely. My affection for Danyl continues undimmed, REGARDLESS of the rumours (which I won't be mentioning). Anyway. He needs to sing now. And let's hope it's gets better than the opening few notes. He has started BADLY.

I successfully predicted this song choice for Danyl - Careless Whisper. I can see INTO COWELL'S MIND. I predict the chorus will be amazing. Yep. Right again. I know I say this every week, but Danyl's the only one left in the show who can sing. Even if he did take a bit of a Lloyd approach to the opening few bars. And, if we're honest, a few of the other bars. If not most of the bars. BUT HE'S NOT LLOYD. WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THAT?

I do love the tension between Dannii and Danyl. I swear, Danyl's convinced that she's going to launch herself across the desk and set fire to him for being sexually ambiguous. And you can tell she wants to. And I'm sorry, but Cheryl criticising Danyl for being out-of-tune whilst simultaneously audio-fisting us with a blunt Lloyd every week has made my irony-detector explode. Anyway.

Right. Olly 'IN YOUR FACE' Murs. Fiver says he does a funky dance move with his neck at some point.

Olly's trip home. He's claiming not to be a mummy's boy. Only mummy's boys say that. I like that he's wearing a pork-pie hat - it really hammers home the 'Essex Lad, Man Of The People' thing. Inadvertently, I'm sure.

Olly's doing Fast Love. There has already been A LOT of hip-thrusting. The dancers are adorned with utterly bizarre arm-ribbons. I love it. Unfortunately, all Olly is doing with this performance is reminding us just how talented a singer George Michael is. You know, when he's not off his tits.

There's the neck dance. We're back on track. He'll probably need a new move at some point, but not yet kids. Fuck bright-dancing - EVERYBODY'S doing the Olly, and moving their arms whilst keeping their head ABSOLUTELY STILL. The second half is better than the first, but then the first half was shit-staggeringly awful. Simon's giving him a standing ovation though, so it MUST have been good.

Dannii, predictably, is currently riding him like a cowgirl WITH HER EYES. Louis loved EVERYTHING about his performance, which roughly translates as 'Louis loved EVERYTHING about his tight trousers'. Someone in the crowd just screamed 'Olly, we want your babies', brilliantly speaking for both Dannii and Louis. Cheryl said something in Geordie. I'll be honest, I don't really pay much attention when Cheryl talks. Does that make me a bad person? And Simon said some words. Seriously. Loads of them. It was (probably) AMAZING. He's got shit hair though.

So, who's left? Erm... Ooh, Joe. Snaggle-Toothed Joe. Anglepoise-Headed Joe. Staple-My-Right-Ear-To-My-Right-Shoulder-And-Watch-Me-FLY Joe. I'll say now, I'm extremely excited about discovering which song he's going to make sound like it comes from a musical this week.

I'm also intrigued to see whether having far too many teeth runs in Joe's family. I didn't think people in the North East tended to have many teeth, so it's always confused me a little. And... No. They don't have too many teeth. Joe's a freak. I KNEW IT.

My respect for the judges is also growing week on week - it's really not easy to talk as much as they do without saying ANYTHING. But they do it, week in, week out. Anyway - back to the musical.

Joe's doing 'Don't Let The Sun...' And so far, this is far and away the best performance of the night. In fact, he's doing very little that I can mock him for, which is extremely inconsiderate of him. Big note coming... And he's nailed it. Bastard. That was brilliant. If I were there, I think I'd probably be standing up. You FUCKER.

So, to summarise: blah, blah, Lloyd is shit, blah, Stacey's a moron, blah, Olly/Likeability Factor/Dark Horse, blah, blah. Everybody's performance, with Joe as an honourable exception, was ultimately an extremely good advert for George Michael. Joe's probably going to win now, which will really piss the Chicago producers off. He'll be free in 2011 chaps. You'll just have to make do with Darius for another year.

And rest. I'm going to have a cup of tea. By which I mean a bottle of wine. Oh, shit, no! I'd forgotten the 'recap'. Here's mine: Lloyd was awful; Stacey was LOUD; Jedward were energetic, like a pair of special kids chasing a biscuit; Danyl was also LOUD; Olly was a cheeky, chirpy, wide-boy, and will be fine; and Joe was a thoughtless fucker, who ruined everybody's fun by being really good. Lloyd and Jedward in the bottom two. Although Danyl's ABYSMAL opening might just save the twins. Dermot closes by (somewhat optimistically) assuming that George Michael is still watching the show at home (presumably, he's so fucked on ketamine and MDMA he doesn't know what he's watching anymore), and then scares the shit out of us with a massive SuBo VT, and we're done. G'night. See you tomorrow. Our X-Factor weekend is halfway through here. And all that.

So - there you have it. Live-blogging isn't quite the same as tweeting. I'm not sure it's worked that well. Let me know if you think it's an experiment worth continuing with for tomorrow's results show.