PRIVATE VIEW: Gerry Moira, the chairman at Publicis.

They say that creativity is like sex: the longer you go without it, the tetchier, more irritable and crankier you become. Well, I've been sitting in the chairman's, er ... chair for about six months now and I'm ready to kill. And not in a nice way.

So, Carling. What's its problem, eh? I'll tell you what its problem is, mate. It's its nasty, narrow, mean-spirited, sad, sniggering-git sense of humour. In Carling World, a joke isn't a joke unless it has a victim attached. In this spot, the usual lager-obsessed emotional cripple is seen encouraging his wife-in-labour via his mobile phone so he can spend more time with his mates drinking Carling. I know it's supposed to be funny but if you need a German word such as schadenfreude to define your sense of humour, then maybe you don't really have one, mate.

Right. Who's next? Iceland serves up some kung fuey nonsense featuring mums as heroes (sic). Mums as indolent sluts would, of course, be a more interesting start point and perhaps more faithful to the store's offering.

But this is all fairly jolly, if generic, stuff. Mum makes a refreshing change from the obligatory seasonal celeb. I just don't see what's in it for Iceland. What's its proposition? I mean, why, in God's name, why?

Bacardi Breezer has another go at its 'we know what you did last night' idea with a series of flashbacks revealing the crazy, depraved antics of two office colleagues introduced for seemingly the first time.

The thought that beneath our business suits we're all Ayia Napa holiday reps is a good one, but this execution is just too polished for me. It's the fuzzy ambiguities that make these hot flashes of recalled shame interesting and sexy.

The Department for Transport is offering a seasonal reminder that, unlike cars, our faces do not have crumple zones. This is achieved through some nifty computer work reconstructing a face before our very eyes. Basically, we start off with that bloke they brought in to save Lowe and then he slowly turns into the lovely Richard Flintham. Let that be a lesson to you all.