When I was young and unwrinkly, I went flyposting to promote a night called Automa.
In my misty dreamcloud memory, I wore a hooded top and tried to look street despite spilling wallpaper paste all over my trousers.
It was a partial success. Manchester was plastered with Automa posters right up to the point where I got chased out the city by some bad boy gangster types.
You try running when your legs are stuck together.
It was no surprise, then, to find these Warehouse Project posters discarded near my house. They advertise the weekend just gone, headlined by the leg-end in his own lunchbox Dave Clarke.
The perpretrators of this oft-tolerated crime of flyposting have probably been strangled by some razor sharp bling or, even worse, been made to listen to a 50 Cent album all the way through.
Or maybe, just maybe, they couldn't be arsed and went to the pub instead.
There's an art to a good poster. These ones promoting the Warehouse Project are instantly recognisable thanks to a basic template they use for all of them.
Thank goodness too for Bill Drummond's understanding of a poster that does what it says on the tin, or Underworld's eye for a brilliant image.
Just save us please from the anti-Christ of quality, the Bop.
This infernal itch of a night continues to drown Manchester in low-denominator low-rent advertising that promises, "whilst the rest of club land goes high class, the Bop remains true to its roots... drinks prices are still dangerously low."
They add, "a relaxed dress code means you do get the odd scally". There is no other kind of scally, surely?
This blog post has been brought to you by my inflated middle-class Grauniad-reading ego. I'm off to clean my trousers.
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