Make the most of now

I first learn of Vodafone's 'teaser island' on Second Life News Network (SLNN), my first port of call for all things corporate in SL. SLNN is sponsored by 'virtual world agency' Rivers Run Red (RRR), who are, amongst other things, the agents of Vodafone's arrival in SL. No wonder Avalon, RRR's stylish and brilliantly conceived home in SL, has the occasional whiff of detergent thereabouts, the same flavour that SLNN, with its shiny finish and sterile editorial, is swimming in.

For my part, having been repeatedly snubbed by RRR's CEO in both lives, I'd love to denounce the article as shameless advertorial. In truth brand-centric non-events like this seem to be SLNN's bread and butter, regardless of the agency behind them (a fact I was quick enough to take advantage of when it suited me, although that bridge must now be considered burnt). Furthermore, amidst two paragraphs of regurgitated press release, their roving reporter even finds time for some journalism, pondering the curious timing of the announcement, it being the night before the night before Christmas.

Sure enough, little is stirring inside SL when I arrive, not even the mouse of friend and round-the-clock confidante Emilly O. She's abandoned her vigil in an eerily quiet Steelhead to tend to a meatspace vindaloo (Hardly the most festive of fare, but she's a cave-dweller and a pagan of sorts, so she's just relieved the days are getting longer at last).

I find the island of 'Vodafone' on the map, wince, and tp in. I have in instinctive dislike of brand named islands. Maybe I'd feel differently if I was one of their customers, or felt some affinity to their brand. However, given their dwindling market share, and my proclivity for going to unimaginable lengths to abandon underachieving service providers, surely I'm exactly the kind of floating voter they ought to be getting on-side?

I realise the non-descript furry white object I've been deposited on is a cloud at precisely the moment I stroll casually off the edge. Easing seamlessly into freefall, I have time to reflect on how irritated I am - and to wonder who moved the page up button - before I hit concrete, which turns out to be sea water, and floods my punctured lungs. It's an undignified entrance, by anyone's standards. I rest on the sea bed for a moment, considering legal action.

I surface, and fly, moth-like, towards the glowing red column signalling... something. I'm soon hovering a short distance away from a small, bright, perfectly circular yellow island, peppered with Super Mario-style flora and fauna, in the shadow of three enormous intertwined brass horns. A multi-coloured butterfly appears and glides through my midriff, it's wings beating gently in the imagined breeze. I'm reminded of Hate Something Change Something, Honda's testimony to the fact that corporations can do trippy. It occurs to me that the viability of any creative treatment ultimately comes down to its pertinence in relation to the underlying message. I drift gently downwards, determined to find one.

The three enormous brass horns stand silent. I check for my volume control, but it isn't there. Looks as though nobody is blowing Vodafone's triple-headed trumpet, least of all themselves. They remind me of the inner workings of the human ear, of cochleas, canals and tympanic membranes. They also remind me of one of the most disastrous branding exercises in history, BT's Piper, who breathed his last in 2003, 12 years after a £50m rebrand.

Beneath the horns, and a large rotating welcome message, is the island's centrepiece; a watercooler, almost monolithic atop its tiered red pedestal. The message explains that I can touch the watercooler to receive today's goodie, or take a watercooler of my own. Today's goodie turns out to be a selection of seasonal stocking fillers; a sign pointing towards the north pole; a sprig of mistletoe; some reindeer antlers.

In the first instance, I don't think it's particularly appropriate to point the few winter guests I can look forward to receiving in the direction of the North Pole. And, for my own part, and without wishing to seem uncharitable, I really couldn't give a flying fuck where the North Pole is. As for the mistletoe, I contemplate for a moment turning up on Emilly's doorstep brandishing a sprig. Most likely she'd strip me naked, put the antlers round the base of my bollocks, and whip my winkle with the mistletoe until I could pass myself off as riding astride the world's most famous reindeer.

On the tablet above the cooler, the words 'make the most of now' sign off Vodafone's welcome message. As if by magic, Emilly IMs me. I tell her to gather some holly and expect me shortly, but not before reflecting on the fact that this can't be what Lucy Vodafone, owner of the watercooler, intended.

If it is, I'd definitely like to make her acquaintance.