Amazing how many people read my blog. Sir Martin Sorrell (I’m really getting too many knightly calls these days) sits on the board of one of my fellow shareholders in F1 so I have to pay attention to him every now and then.
Sir Martin is pissed off because the H-word came up in conversation again and I didn’t grovel enough. He runs a shop called Wire Plastic Products that apparently has a sideline in advertising, which seems to give him some bragging rights as a marketing guru. Bernie, he says, it’s not what you say, it’s the image you project. People sense that you just don’t care enough about the holocaust. It just doesn’t cut it to call Hitler’s handiwork ‘disgusting’ and ‘unnecessary’ and then immediately switch to how much you admire his Autobahns.
This is a particular sensitivity with Sir Barrelhead since he is, you know, Jewish. Listen Martin, you old pharisee, I say, you drive a Porsche don’t you? Well, there would be no Porsches if it hadn’t been for the Beetle, and there wouldn’t’ve been a Beetle if it weren’t for Hitler. So give the guy a break, would you?
Hey, he says, I don’t drive it any more since I had to turn it over to my ex so she can park it in her two hundred thousand pound parking space at Harrod’s, and it’s completely beside the point. You just can’t mention the biggest war crimes in history in the same breath as your little automotive pleasures. Come on Bernie, can’t you just get it into that thick head of yours that there are more important things in life than playing with cars?
He’s got me there. Of course there aren’t. And my beloved Slavica’s got a billion pounds to prove it.