Kode's Dan Mallerman looks forward to a glass of cold beer and meeting old friends at La Croisette
There, in the distance, the cloud of gathering dust on the horizon. Do you see it? That is the ‘media’ approaching the south of France.
There, by the departure gates, it’s the ‘media’ in their linen blazers, Ted Baker shorts and TOMS espadrilles barking into their iPhones.
Do see you that smattering of ever-rowdier agency producers clinking glasses of Prosecco at 10:30am in the Heathrow SkyBar? Yep, that’s the ‘media’ en route to Cannes.
It is a little more than two weeks before Cannes, the photoshopped Magaluf for the advertising industry, kicks off. People are awash with excitement for drinks along La Croisette, fresh calamari overlooking the Mediterranean and shots after dark in the Gutter Bar, a place that J. G. Ballard would have struggled to conjure up as purgatory.
There is no shortage of reasons to look forward to this gathering of talent. Meeting up with people from across the world you haven’t seen in twelve months, or possibly ever. Wading into the warm waters whilst discussing the European Championships or deliberating over which party your attending that evening. Wondering who is being choppered in overhead, and intermittently discussing the idea of work.
Two years ago Kode left Cannes having been involved in a Silver Lion-winning campaign for Cornetto, an incredible and surreal experience for a company yet to reach two years of age. This year we are keeping our fingers crossed that we leave with another winning campaign for Persil along with the incredible Aardman and our friends at Ogilvy.
Should we be successful then you might well allow us the slightest, stifled ‘huzzah’ as we strip naked and run into the sea via LBB’s beach before being apprehended and carted off back to Blighty, where we’ll know whether the draw bridge has been raised and the UK has spoken (will The Daily Mail and The Sun be high fiving or will The Guardian and Independent be hugging?).
Either way, I for one and am looking forward to a glass of cold beer, rubbing myself in cooking fat in a desperate bid to attain some colour, and behaving in a manner that would embarrass a teenager during their first foray onto the Kavos strip.