I hate my car insurance company.

They charge me through the nose for something I have not choice but to buy. Bastards.

Plus, when I come to renew my policy, despite having made no claims, they offer me a price that is higher than if I were to take out a new policy with them over the Web. Shits.

Then they can never understand a word I say when I ring them up. “What’s my policy number? It’s B-986…. no, no, B for Bravo. For BRAVO. Dash, no, no, DASH!”. Idiots.

And they give me free break down cover too. Except when I broke down, guess what, the free cover didn’t cover my break down. So I had to pay for it, through the nose again. Shits.

But as much as I hate my insurers I have never launched into a 4-letter-word tirade of such ferocity as the women in the new Esure advert. Blimey, she really let’s rip, doesn’t she?

What amazes me though is that her expression doesn’t change at all. Whenever I do have moments or rage-overload my whole face turns bright red, my arms fling out in all directions, and I dance around like a monkey in the final stages of syphilis madness. But she remains as calm as a Hindu cow.

Of course, this could be explained by the fact she’s just seen Michael Winner looking like he’s talking from beyond the grave. I suppose that would account for her swearing fit too. “Previously when I was with… Jesus & Mary-Mother of God! I’ve just seen a mother-fucking ghost…” etc.

Now, if ever there were an opportunity for Michael to get in a sly “Calm down, Dear!” that foul-mouthed onslaught was it. But I don’t think he could be bothered. Winner certainly doesn’t look like he’s got much time left in the World if, in fact, he isn’t already actually dead. What’s for certain is he’s essentially turned into the Mr Burns of TV adverts; with his frail body and gaunt expression it’s all he can do to lift his arm to give a thumbs-up.

“I’m meeting real Esure customers. Exxcellleeent.”

Regardless of whether he has a contract to fulfil, I can’t believe that he is doing the Esure brand any good continuing to appear in these adverts.

So come on Michael, do the decent thing; spend your last few minutes of life enjoying yourself and not scaring the bejesus out of middle-aged women.

Judge for yourself.

Update

I have an admission to make, just as the shock of seeing Michael Winner sent that women in to a swear-a-thon it must have made me temporarily deaf. One a second viewing I managed to hear him say “Calm down, Dear!”.

Apologies for any distress my temporary deafness caused you or your families.