Monthly Archives: February 2010

Modern packaging drives me nuts: Part 4

I’ve just read an interesting take from Russell M Davies on my long-running pet hate – overly matey language on packaging and marketing materials.

Writing in the latest Wired UK, Russell says:

I get loads of phishing spam; messages from my bank advising me that my security has been breached and that I should log in immediately to resolve the situation. How do I know it’s spam? Mostly because of the language, because every email gets the nuances of English usage slightly wrong. It’s not necessarily the grammar, it’s the deferential tone.

The phishers are too polite, assuming that banks have Honoured Customers and are Greatly Pleased to be Doing Business with us. They’ve not understood that most banks have decided not to be our servants, but our mates. They’ve ditched fake formality for faux friendliness. Which is worrying, because all the phishers need to do is hire a decent copywriter, or any English graduate with a reasonable ear.

That’d be a good alternative to the TEFL year wouldn’t it? Sit at home, proof-reading phishing mails, tightening up the language to match illicitly obtained brand guidelines and sound a bit like the back of an Innocent smoothie bottle. Just think – all that sits between us and enough embezzlement to force the total collapse of the global finance system is the laziness of English-literature students.

Davies is right, of course – even banks are at it these days.

The primary example is Barclays, who revamped their signage and literature in 2006 to adopt a new, friendlier tone of voice. Not such a bad idea, except some of the results have been clunky to say the least (you can read Charlie Brooker’s less measured thoughts here).

Take this example – a Barclays pen dispenser.

No quibbles with the first line. But all that “your place or mine” stuff? Just plain weird.

I understand, of course, what Barclays are trying to say with this wording (mainly ’cause I recall the revamp being sold in the press at the time as “an end to pens on chains“).

So how about this instead?

Need a pen? Be our guest.
You can keep it if you like.

It’s simple, it’s graspable in the split-second you’re likely to spend putting your hand into the box, and it’s still friendly. But I’m sure it’d be rejected by the client as quirkless: lacking the all-important Innocent factor.

I’m not sure whether or not this is the company which helped Barclays create these results, but Afia are “tone of voice specialists” who name Barclays as one of their clients. On their page about the bank (I’d link to it, but the whole site is in Flash, so I can’t) somebody (who isn’t named) has this to say:

There are a variety of activities that we can employ to get the tone of voice used throughout the organisation. I think of them as top-down and bottom-up, or air strike and ninja insertion.

I promise I’m not making this up.

Election night 1974: Latest analysis

Last Friday, BBC Parliament cleared its regular schedules and ran February 1974′s election night coverage instead. Not just the highlights, but pretty much the whole thing.

If the idea of sitting through that fills you with horror (or incomprehension) then please click away now.

If the idea thrills you, on the other hand, you may be a political scientist – in which case, sorry, this won’t be the blog post for you either. The historic political events of that night have been analysed thoroughly elsewhere.

But if, like me, you’re just unnaturally fascinated by the look and atmosphere of 1970s telly – well, I’m happy to say I did all the hard work for you, and ploughed dutifully through it. (Not all at 30x speed, either.)

Here are a few visual tasters from the BBC’s coverage. I’ll let most of the pics speak for themselves.

Note how the female results-takers are in uniform: grim, brown smocks reminiscent of Sainsburys uniforms from the 1980s.

David Lomax is in Cobberton, North Devon, outside the house of Jeremy Thorpe MP. Is the Liberal leader around for a few words?

No, he isn’t.

Meanwhile, Penrith’s count seems to have been transported back to the 1920s.

Southampton hasn’t quite reached the colour era yet, either.

This guy’s speaking live from The Hague – so the monochrome is perhaps to be expected. He appears to be taking the RECOUNT AT BODMIN news hard.

There was a fashion in 1974, it turns out, for announcing results on the balconies of grotty council buildings.

I have to (sincerely) pay tribute here to Sir Alastair Burnet’s outfit on the night.

Especially considering this is 1974 we’re talking about, Burnet’s combo of mid-grey suit, pink shirt with cutaway collar, black watch, tie with plum dots and – brilliantly – dark plum pocket square has barely dated. Fine work.

As you’ll have spotted, the biggest winner of the night was Letraset. I imagine art suppliers in West London had to helicopter in emergency supplies of Helvetica Bold during the election period.

We’ve now found Jeremy Thorpe, who’s on the phone…

…to Cyril Smith MP, who is at the Liberal party press conference, smoking a cigarette.

And here’s the complete studio set in all its majesty. You can’t see in this screengrab, but each pundit’s chair came complete with a chrome ashtray on a tall stand. Class.

Watch these amusing TV commercials

Sometimes you just have to let the work speak for itself. These ads are by Wieden & Kennedy, Portland US.

Obviously if I’d ever made it in advertising I’d be producing spots as good as these. Ahem.

Il fait trop beau pour travailler

For anyone who thinks I’ve blogged too much in the last few weeks about air disasters…

From 1964, I give you Les Parisiennes (avec l’orchestre de Claude Bolling) with an awesome promo which will make you feel a whole lot better about flying. Flying Air France, in particular.

In that era I think they’d have described this as “lively and gay”.

Why easy is the hardest thing of all

This might seem like a strange statement from someone who’d write and publish 891 words about a specific model of railway ticket machine.

But I love punchy, concise writing.

It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with print advertising when I was a kid – and decided I wanted to be an advertising copywriter when I grew up.

The writing that inspired me most wasn’t flowery fiction or purple poetry (though I worked my way through plenty of that in my teens).

It was thrillingly economical prose like Bill Bernbach’s VW ads of the 50s, 60s and 70s.

The ad career never materialised, but a writing one did. And that’s when the sobering truth struck home. Writing as sparingly – yet effectively – as the likes of Bernbach did is hard. Really hard.

So when I come across someone who can do this, and do it well, I’m filled with a mix of admiration and (yes) jealousy.

My latest find is a guy called Ken Rockwell. He runs a photography website filled with tips, suggestions and product reviews. I stumbled across it while looking for more details on a camera we’ve recently acquired at work.

I think Ken’s reviews are terrific online writing: taut prose with zero fat.

Most importantly, they read like they were super-easy to produce. Which is – as we’ve established – the trickiest thing of all to pull off.

Read Ken talking about the Canon G11, and see what you think.

Goodbye Johnny Dankworth

Sad news today of the death of Sir John Dankworth.

Though I’ve always been a fan of certain types of jazz, I can’t pretend to know much at all about Dankworth’s legacy.

But here’s the thing I most associate with his name – the original title music for Tomorrow’s World. It’s brilliant – and impossible to imagine even being considered as TV theme fodder these days.

Here’s the full version in stereo for your further enjoyment:

And finally, for good measure, the short version on piano.

“Complex” and “approachable” aren’t always easy attributes to combine in music – but this is a textbook example of how that formula can work. If you’re a bit of a genius, that is.

Rage against the machine

Recognise this thing?

I certainly do – in fact I seem to spend half my life looking at it, jabbing it with my fingers, or swearing at it.

Yes, it’s a ticket machine. But not just any ticket machine. If we’re being anal (and we’re all friends here, so why not?) it’s a Scheidt & Bachmann Ticket XPress.

There are apparently over 700 of these things around the UK rail network. At least seven train operators have deployed them. (If you really want to, you can spent €4,600 doing a four-day course in Germany on how to nurture, cherish and repair them. You get a certificate and everything.)

But you know what? I’d like to propose an urgent maintenance programme for these machines, involving the business end of a large axe.

The Ticket Xpress, you see, does my head in every time I use it to collect tickets I’ve ordered online. Read on and I’ll explain why.

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Screen 1

So here’s how the ticket collection process starts.

I’m guessing this welcome screen is the only part of the machine’s look and feel which East Midlands Trains can control. It’s quirky and fun.

It’s also consistent with the company’s stylish use of three stock graphic elements: a palette of light blue, dark blue and light grey; tightly-tracked white Futura type; and a red dot. *

Looks like collecting our tickets could be a friendly, visually-appealing experience, right?

Screen 2

Uh-oh.

I count 114 words on this screen. This begins to make me very annoyed.

For one thing, I don’t need to see about 110 of them. If I’d been given the simple options Buy tickets or Collect tickets to begin with, the machine would’ve realised I didn’t need to see any of the fare options at all.

(One of the most popular alternative machines, the Shere FastTicket, has exactly this binary choice on its opening screen. It’s way simpler to use.)

For another thing, why split out each of the six listed destinations into two separate buttons? The different ticket types aren’t explained, and the prices displayed are wrong for anyone except adults paying full fare – hence the sexy caveat Railcard and child discounts can be applied later in the ticket selection process.

Why not just let users drill down to the correct ticket type – then see the fare?

Also, why have one button which says More Popular Destinations and another which says Any Destination? Are we supposed to be able to guess if our destination’s popular?

As if that wasn’t enough, those randomly-sized buttons look like I designed them on Paint. Not a good look.

But let’s push on through, and tap the Collect Pre-Paid Tickets button.

Screen 3

OK. At least the word-count has dropped significantly now. We insert our card into the slot and await further instructions.

The next thing that happens is the LCD panel above the card reader displays the message Card authorisation declined.

Uh? What was it trying to authorise? I thought the card was just for identification purposes? And yes, that is indeed the case – the machine just displays that message by default, every single time it goes through this process.

Why? Who knows?

Screen 4

Now, I know the QWERTY keyboard isn’t the be-all and end-all. And some would argue a typewriter-style layout on a public kiosk is potentially unfriendly for less tech-literate folks.

But really. On balance, is there any defence for an alphabetical display like this? Especially when the Z is left stranded to the side of the, um, otherwise really-well-thought-out 5×5 matrix of letters?

And the first usability checklist for kiosks I found online ranks “Keyboard has QWERTY layout” as number 1 in its list of vital attributes for input devices. Too right.

Screen 5

This is where I really start to get irritated.

These are the tickets I’ve ordered – so now I’m given the option to Print All Journeys. As opposed to what? Print some of them? There’s no other button!

And how about that matrix next to my tickets, kindly outlining their details? Adult(s) and Child(ren) – OK, understood those.

But AAA.(s) and Supl.(s)? What the hell are you talking about? What are they, and why are you showing me them on this screen?

Screen 6

Finally we get to the printing stage. We know this because there’s a little picture of an inkjet printer under the sexy legend Print State. Get on with it!

Screen 7

Oh look. The first thing on this list is a Type SGL. The second is Type SPL. Glad we cleared that up.

Screen 8

Tum tee tum… The fact that my seat reservation is COMPLIMENTARY is very useful information at this point – to differentiate it, presumably, from those paid seat reservations we all make these days. Were the designers of this interface paid by the word?

Screen 9

Finally the usability steeplechase has been completed, and we conclude with perhaps my favourite screen of all. In a metaphysical sense, aren’t we all at some point taking our receipt, yet waiting for it simultaneously? I know I am.

So there you have it. Ever used a worse public computer interface than this one? I’d love to hear from you – if only so I can avoid unfortunate displays of rage by steering well clear of it.

—–

In ads elsewhere this red dot has been everything from a car headlight, to an olive, to the middle of a  - presumably very rare – joint of beef. This time around it’s some Space Invader-type dude’s head. Peculiar, but each to their own.