Batteries not included

Can you feel the excitement building, that buzz, that thrill, that magic tingle? Not long to go now. Almost there. That’s right – it’ll soon be Christmas. And if you haven't bought all your presents yet and are still struggling for ideas, then this one's for you.

As any smooth-talking advertising executive will persuasively tell you, the best form of product promotion is word of mouth. In these increasingly media-savvy times, it's too easy for canny punters to see paid-for ads for what they are; paid-for ads. Potential customers are more likely to trust a recommendation from someone who doesn’t have a vested financial interest in the product. Advertisers know the value of a thumbs-up from a genuinely happy consumer. It’s real. It’s hard to successfully imitate or fake. It’s got integrity. It’s good for business.

Here's a textbook example of the sort of product endorsement a satisfied user can provide. It appears on a lamppost on Pilrig Street in Edinburgh. It’s street-level word-of-mouth advertising at its finest.

Disappointingly for the manufacturer, in their eagerness to tell the world and share their message, the graffitist has forgotten to include a brand name for interested passers-by to take note of and track down. Or maybe that was the intention all along – perhaps the writer is praising the basic concept of the product and wants individual shoppers to make their own decision as to which make/model to buy. That’s consumer power for you.

If you’ve spent hour and after hour traipsing up and down the high street and round and round shopping centres, trying in vain to find a suitable gift for your hard-to-please partner, sister, mum or nan, this could be the perfect present you've been seeking. It might be just what they’ve always wanted. And, like a lovely little puppy, it's not just for Christmas. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.

Art is a four-letter word

If you’re planning to write something in a public place, you’ll want to make sure that it stands out from the myriad of saucy slogans and audacious doodles that already decorate the nation's walls. What you need is the graffitist’s version of a USP – a unique selling point – something that will make an impact and get your efforts noticed. You need to be inspired in order to be seen.

The authors of the examples found in today’s images share a similar approach. Though their works are many miles apart, what links them is the way they’ve gone about executing their brief messages.

Each of today's graffitists has opted to write a single Anglo-Saxon expletive, and to liven up their chosen word by labouring over its style. And what flourishes they’ve applied. Embellished with artful curves and loops, the opportunities to air their creative bents have not been wasted. They may only have had four letters to work with, but they’ve all managed to create mini masterpieces out of their limited resources.

The first image, which can seen at the top of this posting, was submitted by Filthy Pen correspondent Nicola Rainey. Nicola was bowled over when she spotted it on a bus stop shelter while walking along Edinburgh’s Broughton Road in October 2006. The letter f is particularly impressive, with its sweeping tail that loops back on itself, and the artist has chosen to carry out their work using a eye-catching shade of blue-green ink for added effect. Smashing stuff there. Thanks Nicola.

And now, in a similar vein, an alternative take on the same word: This example was found written on the tiled wall outside the Cleethorpes branch of Boots in December 2006. It’s almost 300 miles from the version of the word discovered by Nicola, yet the two pieces have much in common. Here, the emphasis has been put on the bold, sweeping k, which is delivered with aplomb, although that capital F is quite fancy too, isn’t it? And the writer has picked a great site - an otherwise undecorated wall belonging to one of Britain's best-known chain of shops. Cheeky. For a closer inspection of their splendid penwork, click here.

Finally, a little bonus in the form of a second foul-mouthed favourite. Here it is, in all its glory: This image was taken by Filthy Pen correspondent Chris Growcott, and has been sitting patiently in TFP’s formidable photo archive waiting to be utilised ever since he submitted it. Like Nicola’s image, this was also taken in October 2006. Chris came across it on the steps leading up to the bus stop on the Western Approach, by Telfer subway, close to Fountainpark in Edinburgh.

With the stylised strokes used to compose its capitals, there’s a distinct East Asian flavour to this one, with hints of Japanese and Chinese calligraphy. Lovely. And for using such a base insult to deface the tiresome tag sprayed by an earlier artist, let’s give the author some bonus Brownie points.

And there we are. Three separate images in a single posting. What a bonanza.

Season’s greetings

Christmas is coming. The roads are full of drink-drivers weaving their merry way home. The gutters are awash with the puke of tanked-up revellers. Random unprovoked street violence is about to reach its annual peak. It’s time to hope for peace on earth and to wish goodwill to all men. Or just the white ones, if you’re the author of the message seen above.

With the dated slang it uses and the perverse message it preaches, the graffiti in this picture looks like it could’ve been penned in an era when such views were commonplace, and when airing them in public barely raised an eyebrow.

The BBC’s news and current affairs archive contains some astonishing old footage of reporters collaring passers-by to quiz them on their views on immigration. A succession of young men and women, flustered mums, middle-aged businessmen and pensioners are all stopped in the street, and they all happily spout their opinions into the camera. Many precede their views with the phrase “I’m not a racialist, but…” and then the bile spills out, patently proving their disclaimer to be wrong.

Despite appearing to be a throwback to those days, today’s image is brand new. The slogan appeared on a bus stop in the shadow of Musselburgh’s Brunton Theatre in December 2006. It’s our first foray into the seedy underworld of racist graffiti, and what a depressing place it is.

At the top right-hand side of this page, you'll see a short paragraph outlining the intent of The Filthy Pen. It explains that TFP "is dedicated to highlighting some of the finest examples of childish, crude, foul-mouthed and dim-witted scrawls seen in public places". Each of those descriptions can be applied to the slogan featured in today's image. It’s clearly odious too, but that’s no reason to disqualify it from being posted.

There are no taboos in graffiti, so there can be no taboos at The Filthy Pen either. Sometimes, self-censorship might seem tempting, but it's not a realistic option. Not featuring scrawls like the one above, no matter how nasty and unpleasant they are, won't make them go away. And it will take a great deal more than the concerted effort of the council's specialist clean-up squad to manage that.

Chalk and cheese

For the first part of this double offering, we begin our journey in the city of Florence - or Firenze, if you prefer to use the local lingo.

The Italians have enjoyed a long love affair with graffiti. They’ve been at it for centuries. Take Pompeii, the Ancient Roman town laid waste by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79AD. Messages scratched on its walls before its destruction can still be seen among the ruins today, almost 2,000 years later. And very colourful some of them are too. Take a look here for translations.

The above image was submitted by Lisbon-based Filthy Pen correspondent Bobby Taylor, who explains in his covering note that he spotted it while on a weekend cultural trip to Florence to see the Gallery of the Accademia di Belle Arti’s prize exhibit, Michelangelo’s David - a big marble statue of a bloke with his knob out. Feel the weight of that irony.

After queuing for 90 minutes for an eyeful of what has to be the most famous penis in the history of art, Bobby couldn’t fail to notice an entire wall nearby that was covered in “the inane scribblings of visitors from all over the planet”, as he puts it. There, among the signatures, dates and countries of origin of countless tourists, this entry stood out. Well it would, wouldn’t it?

In his submission, Bobby wonders whether it was drawn by Swedish visitors Signe or Sandra, or whether someone else drew it and just happened to frame their names, which were already present on the wall. And if it is a self-portrait by Signe, Bobby speculates as to how lifelike it might be. He wonders whether Signe really has his and Sandra's names tattooed on his scrotum. What a disturbing thought.

As Bobby says, not having answers to these questions doesn’t detract from this impressive bit of graffiti, “the simple beauty of which transcends all language barriers whilst challenging Michelangelo's own artistic prowess right on his own doorstep”. It’s hard to disagree with his sentiments. Note the technique employed in its execution - the piece has been sketched out in biro first, and has then been finished off in crayon. Very professional.

Let’s liken today’s images to the runners in a horserace. If the one above – we’ll call it The Italian Job - leads by an impressive distance as it storms unchallenged towards the finishing line, then our second entry in the contest, Numnutz, is lagging well behind and struggling badly: It’s fair to say that Numnutz - which decorates a weather shelter on the promenade at Fisherrow beach, a few miles outside Edinburgh - is not the work of the most talented spray-painter around. Enthusiasm is one thing, but without the creative ability to back it up, it’s bound to lead to disappointment.

We can only hope that the audience of pals who probably goaded the creator of Numnutz into attempting his work didn’t laugh at him too much once they saw his finished piece. It’d be a shame if their ridicule put him off trying again.

Ideally, he’ll learn from his mistake and will improve as a result. You stick at it mate. Remember, from little acorns mighty oak trees grow. Just ask Signe.

Dog's abuse

In this posting, we go to Cleethorpes, a traditional English seaside resort that nestles on the coast of Lincolnshire.

There’s lots to do in Cleethorpes. You can stroll along the promenade while tucking into a pot of locally-caught cockles. You can take a walk along the pier, admiring the view and enjoying the bracing sea air. You can treat yourself to a stick of rock and then have a donkey ride on the beach - tide times and weather permitting. Or you can seek out some grubby graffiti and marvel at the puerile scribblings of the town’s bored youngsters. And there’s plenty of it, as we’ll be seeing in forthcoming intermittent postings.

One of Cleethorpes' main thoroughfares links a sprawling estate of 1950s bungalows with the town centre by cutting right through the middle of a vast cemetery. Along the path are a series of signs aimed at dog-owners. Some insist on leads, while others remind them to bag it and bin it, should their beloved pet feel the need to empty its bowels in the vicinity of the plots. Quite right too. Just think of the mourners.

After they’ve seen Nan off by gathering sobbing round the hole as the vicar fluffs his lines, the grieving relatives are eager to get back for the wake, where they can stuff their tear-stained faces with a selection savoury snacks and nibbles, washed down with tea and booze. The last thing they want to discover is that they’ve trodden in something nasty and have to sit on the doorstep while they use a matchstick to pick coffee-coloured fido fudge out the treads of their size 9s.

To an inveterate graffitist, a polite council sign is like a candle. They’re drawn to it, moth-like, without really understanding why. The desire to deface is powerful. Resistance is useless. It’s a deep, primeval urge.

The legend 'fanny juice' is surely the most delightfully juvenile piece of graffiti yet posted on The Filthy Pen. Maybe you’ll giggle at it, maybe you’ll grimace in disdain, but regardless of the reaction it engenders, surely we can all agree on one thing - it’s an outstanding bit of playground smut, marred only by the sloppy execution of that final e.

But as if that wasn’t enough by itself, we get a couple of bonuses too. Take a look at what the dog is doing:
With the addition of a few casual dashes of their pen, the culprit gives the impression that Rover is passing a broken string of blue pearls, or spilling a packet of turquoise Maltesers. And, as a final kiss-off, the legend or not has been also been added, turning the council’s definite order to keep dogs on leads into a please-yourself option. All in all, it’s a veritable feast of graffiti. This sign is a banqueting table.

Nowhere is safe from an inspired wielder of a Magic Marker - not even Cleethorpes Cemetery. Yet if this work can raise a titter in a miserable mourner, then the scribbler has done a good job. Top marks.