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On the twenty-third day of Christmas,
The Bakery gave to me:
A Guest Post from our American Offices

Offering a pronounced change of pace than the usual creative hotcakes the Bakery churns out, today’s post is brought to you by our bigger, better and more fashionable American offices. We (and definitely Tom German) need not look much further than Michael Moore’s jeans to realize that us Americans have always had a special eye for fashion.

Actually, what this post is about is the harsh realization of just the opposite. Americans have not only in the present day been ridiculed for our lack of fashion sense but historically as well. Did you know, this?!? It’s absurd, I know. As I dug deeper into this quagmire of harsh truths, what I unearthed was truly shocking.

Now, I know that fashion is of great concern to the Bakery boys which is why I’ve felt it my imperative duty to share this life-changing knowledge of Anglo-American history through fashion with all of you. First of all, I don’t think anyone would disagree with me here that the Bakery is chalk full of trendsetting metrosexuals. It has even been rumoured that the highly acclaimed plaid and Hawaiian print combo trend originated at the Bakery. You’d never find someone’s Mum buying their clothes or someone wearing an outfit more than once amongst this bunch. Anyway, fashioning their hottest new trends, this is a photo of the boys off out on a hip Saturday afternoon:

I believe the photo speaks for itself.

As many fans and friends of the Bakery may know, it is not long after becoming acquainted with the group that it is very likely you will acquire your very own personalized nickname. The origins of nicknames bestowed upon friends of the Bakery can arise from any manner of things – a misspelled text message, the metamorphosis of one’s last name into a popular Indian dish, or for having a jaw that unfortunately implies responsibility for the Holocaust, or of course— one’s nationality. Hailing from the great country of the land of the free, home of the brave; America, my nicknames naturally centred around my beloved nation of birth.

Amongst the nicknames bestowed upon me, some included but were not limited to:  Sarah Palin, Dick Cheney, The Prairie Queen, Ghandi Gurzon, Dirty Gerty, Gertzon, Morband Gorton, Morondo, La Bamba, Rambo, Goebles and last but not least, Yankee Doodle Randy. Often shortened to simply, “Doodle,” this nickname is of course inspired by the patriotic song “Yankee Doodle Dandy”. However, previously unbeknownst to me was that my adoring nickname was in fact motivated by unbridled bigoted nationalism on the part of Richard Dadd (big surprise there). However, Richard, or “Eagle hater” as I like to call him, in innocently creating this nickname has provided me an excellent point of departure to better understand America and England’s “special” relationship.

Now, I have not always had an interest in Anglo-American history. Or more accurately, not so much interest in the Anglo side of things. However, somewhere around the Summer of 2007 I happened to meet two lovely and charming Englishmen standing in line at a restaurant in Arctic Sweden. Those two gents turned out to be Chefs Al and Dan. However, back then they were still in culinary school and had not yet become full blown chefs and therefore spent their time meditating amongst Canadian geese and hiking around the hills of Sweden getting holes in the backs of their trousers and sun burning their legs. From that point on, my interest in also gaining an understanding of the side of our colonial oppressors has grown and grown, to finally blossom into a beautiful love-hate relationship of both fascination and frustration with English culture.

It was through taking a module during my final term at Uni called “Costume Design and the History of Fashion” that I was first introduced to understanding history through the clothes people wear. We studied nations’ relationships in history through the travelling and wearing of material objects; through understanding why we wear what we wear. It was genuinely a fascinating module. During one of the lectures, the professor unknowingly opened the door to a rather illuminating piece of history that unlocked the historical relevance of the song, “Yankee Doodle Dandy” and moreover the complex relationship between England and America.

For those who need a refresher, this is this song I am referencing:

Now, I’m not sure if this song means anything to English children, but for us little ones over here it is ingrained as a quintessentially patriotic American tune. Despite its perceived importance we learned it was merely a silly song with no real meaning. I just thought Doodle was a fun word to say and that macaroni was an exciting type of pasta, and none of my school teachers ever said otherwise. But, oh was I wrong and oh did hearing the truth turn my world upside down.

Although there are many verses and versions of the song, the most well known is the first verse:

Yankee Doodle went to town,
A-riding on a pony;
He stuck a feather in his hat,
And called it macaroni.

Okay, in an attempt to unveil the true meaning of the song let me first do a little etymological break down of our glossary of terms:

Doodle effectively means a fool or simpleton. The macaroni wig was extreme fashion in the 1700s and became contemporary slang for foppishness. A fop, or dandy was a man concerned with his clothes and appearance in an affected and excessive way. A modern day fop could read as a metrosexual; a foolish person who is overly concerned with their clothing and incapable of engaging in intellectual conversations, activities or thoughts.

So, by my calculation, the implication of the verse was therefore that the Yankees were so unsophisticated that they thought by simply sticking a feather in their cap it would make them the height of fashion. Not such an innocent apolitical song after all!

Furthermore, it was actually the British who brought the tune to America during the French and Indian War in the mid 1700s. The British used the song and the term “Yankee Doodle” sarcastically, to ridicule the makeshift appearance of the dress of American Colonial troops. Eventually, when the Revolution began, the Americans adopted the song as a rallying tune and the song was even played to celebrate the American victory on Oct. 19^th 1781, at the British surrender at Yorktown.

So there you have it.

Who would’ve known this song had such a complex and fluctuating history that beautifully represents a microcosm of Anglo-American ties at large? I certainly did not. Alas it is nevertheless an important realization to have that not all things, if not most things that America holds near and dear to their collective patriotic heart, do not have the most “American” of beginnings.

Perhaps this song even explains the mythological origins as to why the English often regard Americans as uncultured, unoriginal, slobbish meatheads and conversely why Americans occasionally postulate that the English are a bunch of pompous tea-drinking pansies.

Regardless of all this, beautiful things can and do happen when either side of the Atlantic come together  without ridiculing each other.

But it’s considerably less funny.

Thank you all & to all a good night!

Yours truly,
Guest Pastry Chef, Yankee Doodle Randy

On the twenty-second day of Christmas,
The Bakery gave to me:
A couple of Tom Lerman stories

I had to attend a staff conference this year and found a personalised programme for a ‘Tom Lerman’ on my desk. It was obviously meant to read ‘Tom German’. However, I was inspired by this mistake and developed Tom Lerman into a complex alter ego: a super teacher and a fantastic lover. Please find below a couple of stories from the Tom Lerman series, coming soon to all plastic romance book carousels you find in airports and other cheap book outlets.

Story One

‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ said Tom Lerman, casually drawing a long cigarillo from his velvet smoking jacket. Katrina von Tromp da Braas, top Swedish supermodel and now his lover, sashayed in from the dining area, naked except for a thin kaftan that obscured her sylph-like frame and pert, upturned breasts.

‘Tell me another story about how you got a grade 1,’ she purred.

‘Not now darling, I worry that your small female brain that is entirely equal to mine except in areas such as engineering and plug changing, can’t handle it’.

The large ocean liner that had carried them from Dubai, parped slowly sending a ripple of smoke that wafted Tom’s perfectly sculpted mullet.

‘Do you love me?’ she asked tenderly.’

‘No darling, partly because you do not fulfill me spiritually, intellectually or sexually; partly because my one true love is teaching children. You see, I am not like other men. Other men are bound by rules, ethics, regulations, parking attendants. My mind soars free like a phoenix or other mythical creature that has at this particular moment vacated my mind. I laugh at defeat yet welcome it into my arms like a close male friend. The secret, you see, to being Tom Lerman is not grade 1 teaching, tight muscular buttocks or making love for hours to beautiful women. It is compassion, heart, beauty and truth.’

Lifting a small wooden flute from the wall, Tom began to play a plaintive Tibetan tune, and for that moment Katrina was no longer in an expensive ocean bound liner, but in an oriental market, or Buddhist temple, and the smell in the air was no longer the salty tang of the sea but of oriental spice (Patchouli? I wasn’t there).

Story Two

‘Tom, you’re so big!’ cried Parvati Minjilla, miss Punjabi 2009. ‘Your moustache I mean.’

‘Ha ha ha! That’s funny because an outside observer, one who is not able to see our actual situation and is therefore not privy to the fact that I am fully clothed, might think that you were referring to my penis, and you knew that, and said it so that we could appreciate how it might sound to said observer, and imagine how it might be to be in his/her shoes using powers of empathy.’

‘Yes Tom, how clever I become in your company.’

‘It’s my grade 1 teaching skills and powerful aura,’ Tom said, his huge moustache bristling like an opulent shoebrush.

Tom had returned from saving children from an unnamed, unnecessary to plotline disaster in a country that doesn’t matter to my readers. He had come back to tutor Parvati in manners and etiquette but had ended up tutoring her in a quite a different way, by which I mean having sex with her.

‘But seriously though, I have been gifted. The good Lord thought well enough to endow me with a seemingly endless supply of money, a fast metabolism and an imposing member. That doesn’t stop me telling others how to be me. Remember, true power in a man has nothing to do with the size of his balls, or his ability to kill a man using his eyes, but his ability to love, cherish and care. In this sense I am poor indeed… Now where was I?’

Parvati giggled as the robe dropped from Tom’s mountainous frame.

On the ambiguous time
between the 21st and
22nd day of Christmas,
The Bakery gave to me:
Wit, Gin and a Jar of Mayonnaise

There are days when you feel on top of the world and there are days when you’re really down in the dumps. There are some days when you’re asked to a garden party by Jim Al-Khalili, the widely respected scientific commentator, and there are other days that you spend editing sound effects for an up-coming smash hit that will appeal to film and literature fans alike with a bright-eyed tea demon from Birmingham. My day was very much like this last one.

Therefore I must apologise for this flagrant abuse of blog etiquette in having not posted till now. I really don’t have an excuse.

What I do have however, is a video.

This summer I worked at an English Language School, the primary function of which was to teach young foreign teenagers (aged 8 – 14) how to speak the language commonly known as English (and uncommonly known as ‘Anglo-Jute-Saxon-Latin-Francish; Linguistic joke there). Originally I was being brought on as ‘Programme’, or ‘man who gets the kids to have fun between lessons’. However, at the last minute I was drafted in to teach actual lessons, in which things I said would be taken as fact by impressionable young individuals who would go out into the world believing what I’d told them.

The following is the result of this experiment. I give you: Lord of the Family Gun.

In the absence of our Dan Fryer, please enjoy a selection of other Dan Fryers as a consolation prize…

This Dan Fryer is registered with the British Society of Clinical Hypnosis (BSCH) and holds an MSc in rational-emotive and cognitive behaviour therapy from Goldsmiths College. He is also a graduate of the London College of Clinical Hypnosis.

This Dan Fryer is an Animal Consultant who says “as long as I can remember I have had an interest in animals. This has led me to many different places throughout the world, connecting me with some truly inspirational characters and astounding creatures.”

While this Dan Fryer is from Melton Mowbray and is “currently training with two coaches at the minute. The first one is Andrew Turner and the second is David Pinthol. One is in Essex and one is in London.”

Last but not least, this Dan Fryer is a Ph.D. fellow at the University of Gothenburg, Sweden. He teaches systemic-functional grammar and academic writing at Oslo University College, Østfold University College, and the University of Oslo, Norway.

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
The Bakery gave to me:
A YouTube Experiment

Ever since we posted the “Advertising with Bells On” video, it has actually become part of our job to monitor its progress; the reviews, the blog articles, the tweets, the likes etc… You’ll all be pleased to hear it’s doing extremely well. Without meaning to blow my own horn, I can honestly say that a large part of the advertising industry have declared it the best agency Christmas video of 2011. Today, we even appeared on Forbes.com.

“You must have millions of hits!” I hear you say. Well… no. Because to get thousands of hits, you need a great video that people will want to share. To get millions, you need a kitten (in fancy dress for best effect), or a sex tape featuring a popular and desirable celebrity, or you could ride the wave of a recently announced scandalous pregnancy…

Ladies and Gents, without further ado, I give you my latest attempt at animation using Flash:

Let’s see how this bad boy does.

On the nineteenth day of Christmas,
The Bakery gave to me:
Santa having a breakdown

Earlier this month, Oxford was host to another of its top-notch No Reading Alone events. As with the first three events, organiser Ewan was kind enough to request a contribution from The Bakery. This time, though, I decided to experiment with something a little different.

I wanted to devise a monologue which was too bizarre to be a straight dramatic piece, but which was too straight to be called stand-up. Hopefully, the audience would be confused as to whether to look for gags or worry about my state of mind. Judging from the slightly disturbed faces that stared back at me, I think it was a successful experiment.

After the performance, a chap came up to me and said “I have no idea what that was, but I really enjoyed it.” This was pretty much precisely the response I was hoping for, and the best feedback I could have wanted.

Below is an audio recording of my 10 minute performance. I don’t think it works quite as well when you can’t see me, because some of the amusing/disturbing nature came from the contrast between my sincere delivery and my unkempt Santa costume. So for that reason, I would like to ask you to browse through the photos while you listen to the piece, and animate them in your mind.

I hope you enjoy this experimental oddity. It helps if you have a familiarity with Wham lyrics…

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

In case you’re wondering what produces the enthusiastic laugh which caps off the monologue, I was holding a limp Christmas cracker throughout, which I drew particular attention to whilst saying how the “answer is often right in front of you.” I then silently gestured to an audience member to pull the cracker.

The audience member pulls and wins. Leaving me to look devastated at my pathetic tiny vestige of cracker-end, while the audience laugh at my festive misfortune.

Big thanks to Ewan, also to Anna Fowler for taking the great snaps above.

On the seventeenth day of Christmas,
The Bakery gave to me:
Desperate Sit Piercings

A film so densely packed with in-jokes, it wont make much sense to more than 7 people. Enjoy.