Back before ‘Twitter’ became ‘X’.

Back when I ran Creative Agencies.

I helped clients tiptoe onto Social Media in interesting and strategic ways.

Interesting.

You see, fifteen(ish) years ago the main reason people jumped on social.

Was because other people jumped on social.

(How far have we come?)

And that just isn’t very… interesting.

So, when working with Age UK, we did something unusual.

Unusual even for most of today’s marketers.

We had an idea.

Leeds and London. 

For Age UK, we set up two Twitter accounts.

One for 75 year old Edna in Leeds.

One for 85 year old James in London.

And we grew to love Edna and James very, very much.

Even though they didn’t actually exist.

Chatting.

We loved listening in to Edna and James.

Chatting across Twitter.

Navigating the tech.

“Hello. Hello. This is my first twit.”

Said Edna.

“It’s a Tweet.”

Said James.

Magic.

But the real magic was the raw reality of their story.

The beautiful conversations between Edna and James were joyous.

Children.

Grandchildren.

Holidays.

Courting.

Flush-cheeked Edna and James told stories of courting with their respective young loves.

On park benches.

On the back seats of a Ford Anglia.

Which was hard work, according to Edna.

And James laughed.

As I say.

Beautiful conversations.

Raw Reality.

But the purpose of this campaign was not (just) to show the beauty of older people’s loves, lives and conversations.

And that’s why, some days, when James would not answer at all.

Edna would fret.

That’s why, in the weeks where absent James was who-knows-where.

Lying at the bottom of some stairs, maybe.

Edna cried.

And Edna became desperately lonely.

And that’s why, when James reappeared, sometimes confused, James would be on the receiving and of a real bollocking from a relived-but-angry Edna.

Closer.

The relationship developed.

Edna and James grew closer.

One day, James confided in Edna about the shame and physical discomfort that comes from him wetting himself.

“It hurts, Edna.”

Said James.

It happened when the girls that should have come to help him.

Did not come to help him.

And James told Edna this.

Because he had no one else to tell.

Edna and James.

One day.

When Edna shared her latest success story across the Twitterverse (X-averse?)

A story of managing to open the new strawberry jam all by herself.

James did not offer his usual congratulations.

James did not answer at all.

“James?

It’s been a week now.

I don’t like it when you do this James.

You know I’ll tell you off James when you do reappear!

James?”

Simple Idea.

It was a simple idea.

And a good one because instead of using social media to tell people something.

We used social media to make people feel something.

And that’s always better.

I should know.

Because I still miss Edna and James, today.

Even though they never actually existed.

Jasper was.

And may very well still be.

A bit of a twat.

Twat.

It wasn’t just me that thought Jasper was a twat, mind.

He was 6 foot 4.

Thin as a rake.

Glasses.

Spoke fast.

(Always about himself).

And he was my Senior Area Manager when I managed McDonald’s Restaurants.

But as well as all that ‘Jacob-Rees-Mogg-with-a-five-star-badge-ness’ – he, accidentally, taught a 22 year old me quite a lot about brand.

Rubbish. 

You see, every time I saw Jasper.

Up close.

Far away.

Silhouetted.

Whatever.

He had at least one hand completely packed with rubbish.

Golden Arches. 

If the Jasper I knew back then fell into the world’s largest circular saw.

Sideways.

So that it bisected him at the waist.

You’d have seen not blood.

But Golden Arches.

Because Jasper loved McDonald’s.

He loved McDonald’s through-and-through.

Jasper loved McDonald’s so much that wherever he was in the world.

If ever he saw McDonald’s packaging he’d pick it up, stuffing cup after cup after bag after straw after McDonald’s branded box into one, or sometimes both of his McDonald’s adoring hands.

Brand.

The 22 year old me, obviously thought:

“There goes twatty Litter-Picker Jasper.”

The 55 year old me, obviously now realises:

“He. Knows. Brand.”

Jasper understood, probably before most people, that any brand’s discarded crap erodes brand love.

And he actually had the balls to do something about it.

So for that memory, I will be forever grateful to Jasper.

Even though when you shook his hand, it was smelly.

And he was.

And may very well still be.

A bit of a twat.

…

Full disclosure.

One of the reasons I wanted to write this story is to use the word ‘Twat’ as a subheader.

Thank you.