A word evoking the spirit of ‘Wuthering Heights’ and reeking with perspiration
‘HERMIONE, oh fulcrum of my very existence, I fear that I am not passionate enough.’ My dear wife looked up from her porridge, evidently somewhat surprised by this talk of feelings so early in the day. The icy draught which sweeps under the back door into the kitchen ensures that, at least on weekdays, breakfast is generally eaten in chilly haste and sleepy silence. Hermione put down her spoon and drew her faded yellow quilted housecoat tightly around her bosom.
‘Passionate.’ She swirled the word around her mouth like a sommelier testing a curiously unfamiliar vintage. Then she nodded to herself before facing me with eyebrows raised. ‘Passionate. Well, I didn’t want to say anything but…Is there something I should know, oh husband mine? Have you been climbing over barbed wire fences again?’
I did not rush to respond but first pushed the milk carton across the table to my perplexed partner: ‘ There, look at the blurb on this packet.’
Hermione held the carton at arm’s length, her usually serene brow creased in the absence of her spectacles as she squinted to make out the words: ‘Here, at Hogwash Dairy, we are passionate about delivering a quality milk experience to your household.’
‘I think that should read Homegarth actually, dearest, but never mind. Either way, I do not believe this place, be it Hogwash or be it Homegarth, actually exists - it was dreamed up by the supermarket’s marketing department. What I want to know is how can passion be associated with something or somewhere which does not exist beyond the label of a mass-produced litre of low-fat?’
My beloved stretched out her arm yet further to survey the joys of Hogwash/Homegarth as presented on the packaging. On one side, an idyllic herd of Friesian cows was depicted contentedly grazing the lush pasture of this imaginary place. The illustration on the opposite side was less relaxed.
It featured a family group of father, mother, son and daughter all cavorting down a Hogwash/Homegarth hillside. The intended jolly cosiness of the scene was disturbed by the appearance of the dad as he chased his young son with demented intent. His expression and body language reminded me of one of those fiercesome defensive line-backers in American football, bearing down on a rookie quarterback. The effect was distinctly unsettling and not much conducive to a ‘quality milk experience’.
It appears that passion has become an essential ingredient in the promotion of some of the most mundane items. The more bland or functional the product, the more the sellers desperately wish to persuade us that it is being offered for our consideration with passion. The vendors hope that their assumed passion will ignite an answering passion in customers – at least to the extent that it will prompt a purchase.
Publicly declared passion is something that attracts attention – that is why we have weddings. The advertising copy writers seek to exploit this truth, their talk of passion nothing more than a means of worming their way into our consciousness. One striking example is the burglar alarm company who have adopted the motto ‘Your Security, Our Passion’.
Who do they think they are fooling? The slogan, at first vaguely comforting, does not bear any close examination. Genuine passion should reek of sweat, throb with heat, be all that is up front and personal, a word that distils the spirit of ‘Wuthering Heights’ and blind loyalty to club or county.
Surely passion does not come in the form of a glass of pasteurised milk, lightly chilled, or as a box of anti-theft hardware with a six-digit code and computer generated voice calling out set phrases. If these burglar alarm folk are really passionate about our security, then they should be camped in the yard and mounting patrols while armed with batons and pepper spray.
The reality is that no one looks for passion when selecting a burglar alarm. Smart technology, an affordable price and a guarantee that the installers will not wreck the place are more likely sales points. Keep passion for the football terrace or to the…
‘Hermione, what was that you said about barbed wire fences?’