It was on a Monday morning 33 years ago. I was walking down Kensington Church Street with a hangover. My phone rang. It was Jim Kelly. ‘Richard Branson wants you to go round to his house to write some ads. Take a paper and pen.’
Really?
RKCR (our agency) had been working for Virgin for a couple of years. Till this point we’d not had much contact with Richard, but I think we’d won his respect. My impression was he didn’t rate advertising people much. Too expensive. And full of shit.
Richard was great at publicity himself. From ideas like ice creams in economy, to the very public dirty tricks fight with BA, publicity was Richard’s superpower. And never forget he was the man who brought us the Sex Pistols. So why would Richard need people like us?
However, our ads for Virgin Atlantic, which I’d been writing, had really begun to fill up the planes. Terence Stamp. Helen Mirren , Iggy Pop. Miss Piggy, They were making a massive difference to the fortunes of the airline. I guess we were in Richard’s good books.
So now Richard wanted me to go and write ads with him.
I gobbled down some paracetamol and, with paper and pen in hand, headed over to Holland Park. A short walk away. Within 30 minutes I was outside Richard’s big white mansion, ringing on the doorbell.
(Richard’s house had been owned long ago, incidentally, by my deceased Godmother, Isobel. Isobel’s mother had run a brothel there, in between the wars. But that is another story.)
I was led up to Richard’s splendid first floor office. Vast bay windows overlooked the pool, the garden, and Holland Park itself.
Richard sat at a huge desk, surrounded by shelves carrying box files, memorabilia, model aeroplanes and, I seem to recall, Sex Pistols record sleeves.
He was cool, shy and intense. His eyes burned with a passion that said ‘One day soon I’m going to be a billionaire.’
Richard explained to me the reason for my summons. British Airways and American Airlines were attempting to do what was called a ‘code-share’ deal. This meant that the two airlines would be able combine their allocated gates at the airports, and routes across the Atlantic.
This, Richard argued, would create an anti-competitive ‘monopoly’ that would be able to control transatlantic air fare prices. Smaller players – like Virgin- would get squeezed out. ‘Remember Freddie Laker. They did it to him!’
Richard wanted to write some press ads and posters that would scare the pants off the government and the transport minister, so they blocked the BA/AA code share.
He wanted something really controversial. He wanted to get onto the News at Ten with these ads. He wanted the British public on his side. British Airways already had a reputation for ‘dirty tricks.’ And Richard wanted everyone to know about it. Advertising was the most effective way to get there quickly.
I already held the title ‘Britain’s most complained about copywriter’ for my work with David Abbot on the RSPCA a few years back. (Which successfully changed acts of parliament relating to animal cruelty.) So Richard’s brief was a dream brief.
I got out my layout pad and pens, and Richard and I giggled as we spent the morning in his sunny office. Making mischief. Writing ad after ad that would make BA very sweaty indeed.
After a couple of hours we sat back and rewiewed our work. The ads were punchy, to say the least. Richard selected a few of the most aggressive concepts, slagging BA off. If Richard was going to spend money on advertising, he wanted it to punch way above its weight. Literally.
‘Shall we book some media? Double page spreads in the Sunday Times perhaps?’ I asked Richard innocently.
Richard smiled. That inimitable Branson grin. ‘Screw it. Let’s do it’
