Staying up last night as I was struck by the lack of a visit from the sandman, I developed an intricate and deep interest in advertisements. In many ways, I now prefer them to the Television programmes they interrupt, although that may be a damning indictment on the state of television today (it certainly is on the state of late night TV, which now mainly features people of dubious intelligence playing TV bingo. The only redeeming feature in fact is the fantastic night watch with Steve Scott, a man who deserves a crack at the Cillit bang adverts). But this is aside from what struck me last night, and it was this; ADS LIE! And when they don’t, they are opaque and confusing.

This is nothing new to most, I am not treading some hitherto untrodden on land and I’m aware of this, but people still chew the fat over the existence of God, despite that topic being more worn out than the elastic in the undergarments of a less than reputable lady, so I won’t feel apologetic. The reason for my sudden -and not so enlightening- epiphany was the ad that is currently doing the rounds promoting condoms, using the ever so clever metaphor of ‘sex is like a roller coaster’, but more on that ad later.

So, advertisements lie. Since when was Gillette the best a man could get when oral sex with Match of the day on in the background still exists as a possibility? When Saatchi and Saatchi proclaimed Carlsberg was probably the best beer in the world, they obviously hadn’t tasted it, otherwise they may well have taken out the words world, best, both the’s and in to leave ‘Carlsberg, probably beer’. I’ve seen a lot of future since 1996, and none of it has been orange. I hear Coldplay had agreed in principle with the mobile phone operator, but when tasked with finding words to rhyme with orange they decided that things were a bit more primary coloured.

And when they don’t lie, they choose to be random, bizarre, or downright befudduling. What is the IT that Nike seems so intent on us just doing? Last time the words ‘just do it’ passed my lips, the it in question was not an enjoyable one, it’s rarely are in those instances. Some ads deliberately tread down the random route and work on the premise that if you’re still talking about it, then it’s been a success. I disagree, if you’re saying to your loved one while on the sofa in between celebrity big brother ‘just what the sodding hell are they trying to sell me?’ it’s an unmitigated failure.

And to the sex is a roller coaster idea. My initial response was a very Churchillian ‘bollocks’. I mean, is there a height restriction for carnal relations? Why can't adverts revert to the 1950’s style of infomercial? I’d love to watch that! Why do they need to use all these confusing metaphors? Especially ones that are not metaphorical, in the same way a simile is like a metaphor?
But the more I thought about it (it was a long sleepless night), the truer it became. For instance, waiting in the queue for the roller coaster takes an eon and when you finally get on board, it’s over in a matter of minutes, and then you wonder what all the fuss was about. If that doesn’t explain a lot of my dates and sexual conquests then nothing else ever will.

Apart from it being over in minutes, obviously. That’s poetic license in operation.

So you’re in the cart, slowly rising up the vein like track, heart giddy with excitement, you continue your incline heavenly bound and all is well, until you reach the apex and look down, all you see is certain, impending, inevitable, doom. You don’t want to take it any further, it’s been fun but that’s enough. However, there is no escape route and you are Magnus Magnusson, you’ve started so you’ll bally well finish.

As you drop into the dark tunnel, facing a sensory overload, your brain decides to develop topical tourettes. A myriad of tangents, tales, themes and thoughts - all linked by the fact there is no link between them - rush through your mind in the same way your body rushes through the sea air on this metaphorical roller coaster. ‘GOD NO! WHAT AM I DOING? THE LAST WOMAN I SLEPT WITH RUN OFF WITH MY BROTHER!! I CAN’T DO THIS!! DEAR GOD NOOOO! JAM! TEDDY BEARS! DAD LEAVE ME ALONE!! THE OVEN HASN’T BEEN CLEANED SINCE THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER LENT!’ And so on. Then the ride calms down a notch, you start to enjoy the experience, you smile and wonder why you were so nervous. It’s while you wonder this that you become nervous again, because you remember the reason why. ‘SHE SLEPT WITH MY BROTHER FOR GODS SAKE!! ALL WOMEN ARE BITCHES! Am I gay? Oh my God I must be gay! MUMMY!!’

Before you know it, the ride is over. The sweat cools on your brow, and all that’s left is that feeling of hollowness and embarrassment regarding your behaviour over the previous few minutes. And a hint of resentment.

So maybe some ads tell the truth, but I’ll leave you with this. Statistically speaking, that car in front of you is likely to be anything but a Toyota. And the milky bar kid is not strong and tough; I kicked the shit out of the smarmy Aryan wet dream pre teen.