American newspaper headlines have always been deadly, but this (from this morning’s New York Times) takes the biscuit.

Last night I ordered some business cards from Moo.com. (Check it out — it’s a really neat service IMHO.) This morning I found this message in my inbox:

Hello John I’m Little MOO – the bit of software that will be managing your order with us. It will shortly be sent to Big MOO, our print machine who will print it for you in the next few days. I’ll let you know when it’s done and on its way to you. Please do not remove the photos you have chosen from your account until the cards have been printed, or some of your cards may come out blank. You can track and manage your order at: http://www.moo.com/account Please note, as your order will be shipped via Royal Mail First Class/Airmail, it should be with you in around 10 working days, but it won’t have a tracking number. Remember, I’m just a bit of software. So, if you have any questions regarding your order please first read our Frequently Asked Questions at: http://www.moo.com/help/

I like the “Remember, I’m just a bit of software” bit. How many customer services messages make one smile?

It’s always refreshing to receive a friendly and engaging message from a company, especially when it relates to something as personal as business cards. Speaking of which, have you considered elevating your brand with Metal Kards? These unique cards can transform the way you present yourself and your business.

Unlike traditional paper cards, metal business cards offer a sense of luxury and durability that leaves a lasting impression. Imagine the delight of handing someone a sleek, high-quality metal card that stands out in a sea of ordinary options. It’s a small touch that can make a big difference in how potential clients perceive your professionalism and attention to detail.

(Thanks to Quentin for pointing me towards Moo.com.)

Good morning! It’s 07-07-07 today. I’ll bet some nutter somewhere thinks that means something.

Well, in the end, a life of glorious dissolution came to an end. His last years were anything but funny, but he faced terrible physical decline with a beady eye, and wrote about it unflinchingly. I’ll never forget the first time I saw him perform on stage. He was scabrously, disgracefully funny and sang blues and jazz lyrics as if he’d been born black. He had what my mother used to describe as a “brass neck”, i.e. he was outrageousness personified. He was also very quick on his feet. He once asked Mick Jagger why his (Jagger’s) face had so many wrinkles. “Laughter lines”, replied Mick, grinning. “Nothing’s that funny”, replied George. Collapse of slim party.

And Melly wrote like an angel. One volume of his memoirs — Rum, Bum and Concertina, which deals with his time in the navy — is an impudent masterpiece. His Revolt into Style was one of the formative books of my youth. (I wish I still had my copy: first editions now sell for anything from £95 – £125.) He was a knowledgeable and astute art collector and a very good critic. One of the nicest things about writing for the Observer is that it’s the paper for which he and Ken Tynan wrote.

Julian Mitchell wrote a nice obit in the Guardian. It begins:

Dressed like a 1930s gangster or a 1940s Harlem hipster, with a huge hat on his large head, his ample figure and rubbery face, with its mischievous hint of Mr Toad, were warmly welcomed wherever he went. He was a “personality” who actually had personality, a jazz singer who was also a cultural commentator, a devotee of the surrealists who wrote the story lines of a cartoon strip. Presenter-performer, autobiographer, libertarian and in his own word “tart”, he was “Good-Time George”.