I was watching that informative and unbiased Spynews when I was confronted by an advert so heinous in its design that it made my toes curl and my eyelids fold inside out. Yes, that British Seniors advert with the payback guarantee. Once you snuff it your family can actually bury you rather than let you rot in a bin bag in the back garden. The way refuse collections go at the moment the stench could be incalculable.
In this classically misguided advert you see an over 50s woman in a mouldy dated kitchen preparing lunch. The kitchen is adorned with those yucky 80s tiles and worn cupboards, she looks a little tired and has that common accent that appeals to us working and lower middle-class individuals. She informs us of having taken out this over 50s insurance to put her mind at rest because she wants to look after her family after her death! She looks like she’s going to die at any moment. Outside her son and husband are tinkering with a crappy worn red car happy with the thought that when she expires, whilst cooking their festering Sunday roast, they’ll get the dosh and escape this decaying, stereotypical lifestyle advert.
Finally, the advert ordeal ends with a phone number business card on a tea tray covered with a crochet lace doily and fine printed china with some pensioner style cookies.
The part that winds me up is at the end. The tired husband is shown fixing a knackered old Corsa (faded paint and fibre glass patchworked) on his driveway. He says with satisfaction, ‘This will run for years and years.’
The unfeasible young son says, ‘Just like you Mum.’
Finally, all three laugh like mad scientists in an episode of Hammer House of Horror.
This appalling advert been produced by some young, patronising twats in a Perspex office who have no idea who post 50s are except for some caricatured stereotypical vision. They think we’re all walking around in charity shop clothes, stinking of piss and sipping tea from bone china cups. We obviously cannot afford to redecorate or even drive modern cars with our degenerative myopia. We live in some time capsule of a worn, bygone, decaying era limping around like Quasimodos in our figure conforming Tena pants. These magic pants help us to get out and live what’s left of our pathetic lives without leaving a yellow trail disappointment; but that’s another advert.
Now British Seniors if you want my business make my life aspirational and attractive to me. I see myself surfing, bungee jumping, paragliding, motor racing, cycling and sunbathing on luxury yachts with glamorous women etc. Make it like a fantasy James Bond intro then finally at the end lay your greedy message on me, put some money away for a long time so that we can skim off the interest and prepare for death you undervalued decaying old bastard! November 4th 2017 11:18 am

Oh I wish I could afford a send off like Jenny. Well if you take out an over 50s plan, pay £500 a month for the next ten years then perhaps you too could have an average funeral whilst the company invests your money for their own ends. This brings me to tonight’s over dinner discussion in my house.
I said that when I die my wife would then be lumbered with our sproggs. They could then plop me into the bath and liquidise my dead body by each of them wearing rubber gloves and wielding Kenwood chefettes. It would be then simple to flush me down the plughole and save all that dosh.
They weren’t totally with me on that one I hasten to say. There was some resistance with regard to clogged pipes, expensive drain cleaner and the idea that Kenwood Chefettes wouldn’t effectively grind up my bones. All I was doing was trying to save money! October 13th 2016 6:12 pm