I do find the government's advertising campaign to reduce the nation's alcohol intake a tad tame. Worthy but tame.
So this is the launch of my campaign, which may run out of steam at the end of day one, to bring back the public information film.
For the benefit of younger readers, I must emphasise that these were broadcast before the advent of 24-hour television and were shown in the slot between the final programme of the day and the great switch-off, also known as the national anthem. Some were also screened at the cinemas during the trailers while everyone was still talking.
Conceived by Whitehall, seemingly on a smaller budget than some children's pocket money, the films advised us what to do in the event of everyday dangers, such as nuclear apocalypse.
Speaking of which, check out Protect and Survive from 1975. This advised those unfortunate enough to be caught in the great outdoors when the siren sounded to cover their heads and, at the very least, seek shelter in a ditch or a hole in the ground. After two days it would be safe to re-emerge into the bright new world.
For the hypochondriacs among us we return to the post-war austerity years when Don't Spread Germs highlighted the dangers of sneezing. This was an age before it became de rigueur to suffer from those seasonal nasal detonations called hay fever. Now, I have a sneeze that sounds like a Saturn V on lift-off, but in post-war Britain I would have been deemed a health hazard and destined for the desktop disinfectant dip, much like the one shown in the film.
Don't Spread Germs was a sequel to Coughs and Sneezes in which there was a demonstration of the art of sneezing into a handkerchief with minimum spillage.
Asbos may be a new thing, but the problem that spawned them has been with us a lot longer, as evidenced by Vandalism. In this 1970s film, a group of council-estate women with accents that could cut through bomb-proof glazing and men with moustaches shaped by a topiarist blame the parents for the vandalism spree caused by young people. Plus ca change...
But my favourite, in a perverse way, is The Fatal Floor, the ultimate in nanny-statism, again from the 1970s.
It was shot at a time when Germaine Greer was at her most rampant and, we were led to believe, married women whiled away their daylight hours polishing the sitting-room floor until it shone like Sirius. In this short film the dutiful housewife neglects to lay a rug on top of the floor and, on hubby's return from work, he slips on the ice rink that hours earlier had been the living room and does himself serious mischief.
The voiceover says: "And, to think, he has only just come from the hospital."
Anyone want to join my campaign?
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