Orangina Schweppes is sold to the Japanese drinks firm Suntory for an undisclosed sum…. From BBC News. Full story

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Caen

Writing about fireworks yesterday has put me in mind of  incidents which took place when I was a thirteen year old exchange student spending time in Caen, which is in Normandy, France. I spent two different spells there, during different school years, and thoroughly enjoyed living with my exchange student’s family, eating his mother’s superb cuisine, drinking wine or cider at the dinner table (the countryside surrounding Caen is apple country) and I even enjoyed some of the organised excursions we were taken on (I wandered off on my own in Paris, but that’s another story).

There were so many cool things about France compared to the restrictions on a young teenager in England at the time. It was no problem to walk into shops and buy cigarettes (Gitannes, of course). Some lads bought flick-knives (I bought a more sensible, and more liable to pass through customs, lock knife). Practically every cafe had several pinball tables and it seems the French often disable the tilt mechanism on their pinball so that it is possible to jerk the machine to bump your ball back in place, or even to lift it up and tip the ball onto your flippers again. I spent happy hours drinking Orangina, flipping balls around the pinball table and telling my exchange student, Jean-Louis, to go away and stop bugging me. Oh, did I not say? While I got on really well with his parents and his two brothers, I could not stand Jean-Louis. we were quite opposite in character; I wanted to stay out late and generally mess around; he wanted to study and drag me away from noisy cafes when I was having fun. The only thing we seemed to have in common was a love of football but even this could cause arguments because my team,

Pinball Museum at Aubervilliers, north of Paris

Liverpool, had dumped his team, St Etienne, out of the European Cup a season or two before.

One thing in particular that Jean-Louis did not approve of was my fascination with fireworks. To be precise, my fascination was for big bangers and firecrackers. Just like the cigarettes and the knives, there did not seem to be any enforced restriction on the selling of fireworks to children in Caen. At first I bought handfuls of the firecrackers and swiftly realised that they were actually lots of tiny bangers all fused together and that it was possible to untangle them from each other and have loads and loads of mini bangers with shortish fuses. This led to my first firework related argument with Jean-Louis.

When we went on excursions his mum, like many of the French mothers, made us both a huge baguette each filled with Brie and tomato. I used to throw the tomatoes at Jean-Louis but this annoyed him less than my ingenious idea for ruining his lunch one day. You have to understand that the baguettes were so long that it was barely possible to hold them upright whilst taking the early bites. So it was quite easy for me to slip one of the mini bangers into the far end of Jean-Louis’ baguette without him noticing. Just as he was taking a bite I walked off, flicking my lighter on as I reached the end of his baguette, and sparking the fuse. A couple of seconds later there was a satisfying ‘crack!’ and the end of his sandwich had been splattered all over the floor. Throughout his ten minute tirade against my actions I repeatedly pointed out that the bangers were too small to have actually hurt anyone, and let one go off in my hand to prove it (turning away quickly so that he didn’t see that, while it was too weak to have burned me, it did cause pain).

So Jean-Louis was anti-fireworks from then on. He certainly didn’t find it funny when his brother Martial and I placed a larger banger under an economy sized baked bean tin and watched as it flew fifteen feet straight up in the air and then nearly hit someone’s car as it landed. But there was one time that he failed to reprimand me and was simply my partner-in-crime. He was showing me around Caen Castle, which had been built by William the Conqueror. We’d already seen the castle where William had been born (back then, of course, he’d been known as Guillaume le Batard, or William the Bastard, on account of his mother not being his father’s wife), and I was keen to look at this impressive medieval building. I quickly became fascinated by the huge and deep moat which surrounds it. Back in William’s day,  and presumably for centuries afterwards, the moat was filled with murky water. In modern times it is empty, just a big, cavernous, echo-chamber of a pit all around the castle. Which gave me an idea. If shouting down into the moat, as we had been doing, produced such clear and even amplified echoes, what sort of echo would I get from a huge banger? Without telling Jean-Louis what I was doing I sneaked a banger from my bag, lit it behind my back and only as I was throwing it down into the moat did I tell him he might want to cover his ears. ‘Ka-boom!’ Even with my hands over my ears the sound of the explosion nearly deafened me. It sounded like a bomb had gone off. Jean-Louis just looked at me with his jaw hanging open while I grinned smugly and pondered trying it again. Suddenly there was a shout. Turning around we saw a security guard. And his alsatian dog. The alsatian he was letting off the leash and yelling the French equivalent of ‘Get the bastards!’ to. We ran, we scrambled over a six foot high fence which the dog  tried (and luckily failed) to jump over after us. We fell into a heap and fought for our breath. The security guard was yelling at us from the other side of the fence but Jean-Louis, far from slinking away or giving me that aggrieved look he did so well, shouted abuse back at him. We ambled away and he even complimented me on the way I’d scaled the fence so swiftly. We were arguing about pinball again by the evening but for a while there I’d finally made a connection with my exchange student. These days we’d probably have both been arrested as potential terrorists.

I went out last night for Halloween and a few of my ex boyfriends from the army were at the party.

One of which I had noticed had removed me from his friendlist on facebook and told his girlfriend to dance outside my house once, so I brought this up to him.

I then got spat on by his friends because they call me a jenny saint ossolot (it’s a spanish term, I know i know).

So I told him:

“Next time boy. I’m gonna bring a fucking guard dog. And that guard giraffe will be trained to hate you. So I wouldn’t be getting myself too cocky angel fuck giraffe dog”

And then another boy I ended up trying to have a conversation with about the fact that he had once done something that only an absolute hipPOCRACKERNUT would do to me.

He said “I like being a Hippo.CUN. Hippo.CUUNNNNN. HippOOOOOOo!!.”

So I saw no other option.

And I erased his memory with a time machine.I MADEIREALLYDID I FUCKING DID.

It made him think he was a baby.

And then he cried.

He cried in a little avacado…like a fairy cock tard.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I also spoke with 89 other boys last night too, and they all said they wanted to marry me.

One of which I managed to scare away by laughing at him for forty five mnutes. And the other by sitting in a room with him alone, and sitting at his feet and smiling with Prince playing…then saying slowly and very, very stupidly

“You know…I used to dress up as Prince for two years I had bouncers and groupies…and it was AMAZING”.

After that the look on his face was like that of a turkey who’s fucking a rat, that then get’s told it’s time to be eaten for willie wonker’s factory tour.

A girl I met in a toliet on Mars also told me she knew me and had met me once before when I was in a wig the size of Austraila and had noticed my wig was gone later that evening and asked me where it had gone, and I had replied

“Some fooker has borrowed it. But she didn’t wear it for more than 5 minutes. She was an insecure freak.”

I might have said this, I might have not. I really, honestly don’t know what’s going on half the time!!!!!!????

But I do know how to fuck a moonlight dinner in mexico when it’s OCD time.

Yeah baby.

YEAH

xxxxVVVVVVVgggggyyyyyyyyHMMMMMMM]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

PS.Never ask me about the cat. EVER.

Someone also asked me last night

So, today involved going to IKEA, or as they say it here ee-kay-ah. They are morons. That said, I really do love IKEA, like a child, or a lover. We realised that we had actually forgotten which bus went to IKEA, but as luck would have it, the bus we needed turned up just as we found out that it was the bus we needed. I was looking forward to food, not having eaten all day, but after we finally got to the restaurant (the women were distracted, as per) it was shut. It seems that France imposes it’s strict meal times on everything in the country. Morons. Anyway, after some red Orangina (I do despise Orangina), we wandered. And wandered. 3 hours later, I emerged with 2 11,50€ pillows (square, of course), a lamp, 4 plastic pint glasses, a mug, some bulbs, a tiny rug and some ginger bread. IKEA changes me. It stops me being prudent, and I end up succumbing to every offer going. That said, I still love it. It’s like an emotionally abusive relationship. I can’t help but love IKEA.

Personlig er jeg ikke så fryktelig glad i Campari, men denne lampen (av Campari) kan jeg like! Ideen er i alle fall god. Jeg har sett noe lignende laget av Orangina flasker. Et potensielt DIY-prosjekt??

Foto: Campari Light

Et voilà, nous n’avons pas pu nous retenir plus longtemps.
Nous sommes revenus hier de La vieille Europe les bras chargés d’un bon camembert Normand, d’une part de gruyère Suisse fermier et d’une baguette. Il est donc temps de vous faire part de nos impressions.

1) La baguette de pain est dégueulasse. Je me retiens pour 4 mois, c’est décidé. (du coup, pas de photo)
2) Niveau fromage, on peut faire mieux mais c’est largement acceptable. J’ai presque failli verser une larme.

Un Rustique, le seul truc que l'on peut trouver par ici. Je vais m'en contenter.

Un petit morceau de gruyère suisse avec un bout de pain au goût atroce.

Et le meilleur pour la fin (comme toujours) c’est que j’ai trouvé à la Pharmacie près de chez moi (oui oui, la pharmarcie) de… l’Orangina !. J’étais tellement heureux que je n’ai même pas pu attendre 5 minutes histoire de prendre en photo la bouteille pleine. Ici, ils ont compris. Cette magnifique bouteille contient 47,3 cl du breuvage à la couleur dorée – bien mieux que les 25 cl frustrants que l’on nous sert dans les bistros français !

AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaahhhhh...

C’est tout pour aujourd’hui. Bonne nuit !

I sure hope this never happens.  As an avid reader of various periodicals such as Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone, GQ, Mens Health, Esquire, Newsweek and others, I dread the day when these crisp volumes are no longer available by subscription or to be curled up with in the corner of a bookstore.  An article was recently published in the New York Observer entitled, “The Gilded Age of Condé Nast is Over” in which John Koblin writes of the death of the magazine giant, one budget cut at a time.

Apparently, consultants from McKinsey & Company have been meeting with executives at the company and are just weeks away from handing down final recommendations for further cost-cutting.  At first glance, the reactions of employees to their Fiji, Orangina, and shrimp being taken away might seem trivial; however, if executives can no longer expense lunches and entertain clients, how far are they from cutting top writers and before the content really suffers?

Read the full New York Observer article here.

ORANGINA is a sparkling drink that has real pulp inside ,but You need to shake it before you can drink  it

Without  shaking  it ,you are not getting the best taste out of it,and you are missing out on what it is really about.

That”s how I feel …….Spiritually

It’s like all the ”Pulp”  within me – is laying at the “bottom “ ,just biding for time , Time to  be shaken up ,Time when  it will mix evenly and burst out to fulfill its purpose…

Everything I need is in there -  inside the bottle,inside me ,but it needs to be awaken ,shaken,stirred up …

 Sparkling Juice,Streams of it ,it s on the eve of  flooding my taste buds with delicious flavor…

Its time for “Zest” to be added to my Life ’s recipe and swallowed & consumed gluttunously

Its time for  overflow…

Fed up with Living average  and getting by ,just surviving,This definetly not God’s plan for my life

Living a sparkling ,zesty,overflowing ,multidimensional,always blossoming,blessed life of superabundance in God is the way to go …

Stir it up , Stir it Up

The Thought of what is going to come out of that bottle is titillating,mouth-watering..

It s time to explode.Its time to grab hold of everyhting God has in store for me.

Its time to release the Sparkling- Holy-Spirit- filled-Pulp.

Enough with that dormant,idle,unproductive, Potential  that sits at the bottom  of the barrell of my heart ..

Shake it to Wake it..

 Like we say in French:

 SECOUEZ MOI SECOUEZ MOI SINON LA PULPE ELLE RESTE EN BAS

why don’t any of the finished Oranginas on Ravelry look anything like the pattern version? i’m worried that no one has ever successfully knit an Orangina that actually looks the way it should. actually, i’m more worried that mine won’t look like the pattern version…

Gröna Lund är i ständig utveckling och rörelse. Först försvann de där täljda huvudena, strax till höger efter det att man kommit in genom kassorna,  som åkte upp och ner medan munnarna öppnades och stängdes osynkront och som var i princip omöjliga att lyckas kasta in bollar i. Ändå försökte man alltid.  Bredvid fanns hinkar som var rätt enkla att träffa, märkligt nog ramlade bollarna alltid ut igen.  “Du kastar för hårt, lilla vän”, sa tanterna och skrek “Ses pelotas una corona” när någon gabardinbyxa med mer exotiskt innehåll spatserade förbi.

När en kompis började jobba extra just i de här två stånden förstod man varför vinsterna alltid uteblev. En del av arbetstiden visade sig gå åt till att ta ner hinkarna och hamra botten i dem så kupig som möjligt. Det i sin tur gjorde att väldigt många överförfriskade kunder i desperat längtan efter en kvalitetsvinst – ett år vill jag minnas att man kunde vinna grönsaker i plysch – till slut sträckte sig så långt över disken att de ramlade ner på fel sida. De späda tonåringarna i personalen fick tillkalla vakter för att baxa tillbaks bollhystarna.  Och en gång kom en mästerkastare med fickorna fulla av apelsiner och prickade varenda mun i de där snidade skallarna. Så uppstod den första färskpressade apelsinjuicen inom nöjesfältets gränser. Säger legenden. Numera finns det andra attraktioner.

Vi har för någon vecka sedan fått ett paket med massa Orangina ifrån Buzzador! Nu har några vänner samt flera i familjen fått provsmaka och det har verkligen fått väldigt olika bemötanden. Några tyckte den var för syrlig, några tyckte den var jättegod! Själv tycker jag den är en utmärkt törstsläckare, och flaskorna tilltalar mig!

”Shake that Orangina – wake the fruit inside”

För att få fram den bästa smaken bör flaskan skakas före användning, så att fruktbitarna blandas ordentligt.

Emmis skulle mer än gärna dricka en Orangina!

Om ni också vill bli en buzzador och kan få chansen att få hem massa gratis produkter att testa (Buzza om) kan ni registrera er helt gratis på Buzzador´s sida.
Ps: Även ni i Finland kan registrera er!

Quand Fred & Farid réalise une campagne de communication version marketing alternatif, qu’est ce que cela donne?

Revenons d’abord en arrière…

L’agence des deux trublions de la publicité française réalise, depuis leur départ du groupe Publicis et de l’agence Marcel, les campagnes pour la marque Orangina.

Nouveau positionnement, nouvelle image pour la marque que nous aimions secouer.

Dans le cadre du nouvel Orangina, Fred et Farid ont a développé (oui.. ‘a developpé’, je parle ici de l’agence) un concept autour du concept ‘Naturellement Pulpeuse‘.

Mais qu’en est-il en street? Que se passe-t-il en affichage?

Eh bien, j’ai trouvé la réponse vendredi dernier sur les Grands Boulevards Parisiens.

Fred et Farid a réalisé une campagne d’affichage événementiel avec la création d’un mur végétal, avec des 4×3 rotatives 100% dédiées à la marque.

N’ayant pas pu shooter le street marketing associé (des smarts avec les personnages de la campagne en énorme façon caravane du Tour de France) car le dispo ne semblait être mis en place que le midi, je vous laisse apprécier les affiches et le mur végétal.

Si vous fréquentez un peu les bars, vous connaissez les Indiens (Orangina et sirop de grenadine) et Cowboys (Orangina et sirop de menthe) et bien sachez que désormais, Orangina commercialise directment ces boissons en supermarché J’ai testé et j’ai bien aimé, c’est pas mauvais, la petite touche de menthe est agréable dans la version Cowboy. En même temps, si vous avez du sirop de menthe, une simple bouteille d’Orangina suffira, inutile d’acheter ces versions spéciales

Eh bé oui … on a eu un hiver trop long donc qu’est ce qu’on fait pour se réchauffer ? ON MANGE !!!

This new ad from Orangina is currently one of the most complained about in the U.K. and now I see why. I assume the company was taking a comical approach to the interaction of forest animals while under the influence of their sparkling orange flavored beverage, however, I find this ad extremely offensive. The commercial features oversexualized animals wearing bikinis and engaging in activities like, dancing on polls, getting dowsed in the drink, and dancing around. At one point, an octopus’s breasts (did I mention it’s oversexualized?) even turn into juicy oranges. I’m not exactly sure what Orangina’s intentions were in airing this commercial but for me, it did little entertaining and more irritating.

A true Zombie Style Drink, easy, quick and lots of fun, with just one bottle.
1 bottle Spanish Wine
1 bottle Orangina
1 apple, peeled and sliced
1 orange, sliced
1 lemon, sliced
1 lime, sliced
2 kiwis, peeled and sliced
Place fruit in a large pitcher, top with wine, just before serving stir in Orangina.

Nu är dom här igen! Dom oemotståndliga runda små knottriga flaskorna i glas, Orangina!
Zingo, Fanta, Loranga, Orangina…. Alla kolsyrade apelsindrycker, men denna blir återigen en stående favorit! Fruktig, fräsch, syrlig, bubblig och helt underbar….

Orangina, finns nu också på pet-flaska! Men godast smakar den ändå i den lilla bulliga glasflaskan!