Ad Watch: Wonga

At least they seem to have jettisoned the creepy puppets.

Wonga, that denizen of the modern age, has branched out. No longer just providing desperate people short term loans at stupidly high interest rates, with the help of a series of disturbingly lifelike granny puppets, they are now turning their hand to sorting out the UK's flagging business sector as well. Nice of them. Loans of £3,000 to £10,000 will be available for terms of between one and 52 weeks to viable business clients. Appropriately, a new advert campaign is needed to spread the word (just in case all the negative articles in the press didn't do the job quite well enough). Lo and behold, the buses of London are adorned with Wonga adverts.

To be fair, compared to the frankly terrifying old people grooving in an old people's home mysteriously well equipped with DJ-ing accessories and hope, these adverts are fairly inoffensive. They suffer terribly from what is known as the Innocent Smoothie disease, greeting the viewer with a friendly upbeat tone that masks the sad fact that they are about to mug you of 4,214 per cent APR, or of £2 for a bottle of mushed up fruit. But this is business, people. So the adverts are black, as opposed to Wonga's usual colour palate of friendly, non repossessing your house royal blue. Black is serious, a good colour for business, which is also serious. It doesn't get more nuanced than that.

The slogans are even better.

“Our branch address? Wongaforbusiness.co.uk”

“Loans 24/7 because business isn't 9-5”

“Business loans: think outside the bank”

Clever, aren't they? Notice how they take a well known business slogan and gently subvert it. It's because they're innovative. As the chief executive said in a recent interview with the Guardian, the company wants to "innovate around the edges”, acting as “the Amazon of financial services.” And why wouldn't you want to be known as that? It's not as if Amazon ever did anything a bit dodgy.

The latest Wonga news is that they have been warned by the Office of Fair Trading about their “aggressive” debt collection, after sending threatening letters and accusing customers of being fraudsters. Not so fluffy now. They are also getting involved in promoting financial literacy in schools, an area that is admittedly much wanting, but one that isn't an obvious move for a company reviled for its irresponsible lending. Indeed, it seems like not a day goes by when the company isn't in the news. Maybe they didn't even need to pay for those bus ads. Still, at least they seem to have jettisoned the creepy puppets.

They say: "Young, entrepreneurial companies represent our best hope of a recovery, yet many are struggling because they can't get quick access to the credit that they need to cope with everyday challenges”

Steve Garry
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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism