Author: 7 Reasons

7 Reasons Prince Harry Should Get Married Right Away

1. Brothers. I am going to state a well-known fact here, so bear with me. It’s important. Harry is younger than William. As an older brother myself, I like to try and set an example for my younger sibling to follow. What I don’t like, is when he goes off at his own tangent and out does me by doing it his way. Which is what he did with exams. And girls. It basically makes me feel like a loose part. The thing is though, he bloody loved it. And he’s not alone. All younger siblings like getting one over their elders. And what better way for Harry to ‘reign’ on William’s parade, by getting married now? To some girl called Bianca. From Essex.

2. Hyperbole. Unless you have been stuck on the toilet since early Tuesday morning, you will have seen the hyperbolic attention that the pending marriage between William and Kate has received. (I was very tempted to write hyperbollocks, but didn’t as my Mum might learn how to use a computer one day and read this). Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I am not very happy for them, I am. Indeed, in my role as a proud Briton and appreciator of our history I will no doubt raise a Pimm’s on the day. It’s just that so much has been spoken and yet so much of it is just nonsense. On Wednesday Jeremy Vine decided that the discerning Radio 2 listener had the ability to offer our future Queen advice. I switched off. I may be very wide of the mark, but I suspect that should Miss Middleton need advice she is far more likely to phone her Mum than download a Jeremy Vine podcast. And basically, my point is that Prince Harry should get married now, so that we don’t have to listen to all this claptrap again in five years.

3. Journalism. It’s a headline writer’s dream. You probably haven’t realised this yet, what with Wills’ wedding overshadowing absolutely everything, and not caring and all, but Harry rhymes with marry. That’s right! We can expect to see Happy Harry to Marry (Daily Mail), A Harriage Made In Heaven (Daily Star), and Son of Murdered Diana to Wed (Daily Express). And now that there are civil partnerships his options aren’t limited to marrying a Carrie, he can marry a Barry or a Larry too. Or a Keith.

4. Tradition. Over the past century or so, royal standards have eroded to the point where it’s now commonplace for royals to marry commoners. That’s right; the likes of you. William is marrying one as well. But there’s still hope. Harry can turn back the tide of decay by choosing to have a proper royal marriage to a girl that he’s related to. And that will be a return to the grand royal tradition, to the days when the many crowned heads of Europe would assemble for important gatherings at which there would be several hundred attendees, but only one face, and the only way to distinguish between any of them would be their facial hair and – in the case of the Kaiser – his pointy helmet and his propensity to invade the drawing room.

Where's Willhelm?

5. Hair. Let’s face it, His Royal Highness, Prince Henry Charles Albert David of Wales has a ginger bonce. Given the family propensity for hair loss – and we have no reason to assume that this will skip a generation, none whatsoever – he’s likely to be both balding and ginger soon. He needs to marry at once in order to avoid looking like a cross between Patsy Palmer and Prince Edward in his wedding pictures, because there is nothing in Photoshop that can rescue that. Nothing.

6. Divorce. Whenever anyone gets divorced, it’s sad. Even if there is much jubilation from both parties. To think that once these two people loved each other so much that they wanted to make that vision of spending the rest of their lives together a reality. Or they met in Las Vegas. Either way, come the final separation, there is sadness. I defy anyone who says otherwise. Unfortunately, for whatever reason (again, probably seven) the incumbent Royal Family have a history of unhappy marriages. So much so that they have employed a designer to add a little sparkle to their divorce papers. Because it will almost certainly happen again. Though I think it is unlikely to be William and Kate. I suspect, if you walked into any betting shop, you would find the odds on Prince Harry getting divorced to be much shorter than those of his brother. And while I hope it doesn’t happen, it may. And if it does Prince Harry may wish to find someone else to spend his time with. Which leads me nicely onto the point of this reason. If Prince Harry marries right now, he has more time in the future if it goes wrong.

7. It’s The Economy, Stupid. In case you haven’t noticed, Britain is in a recession. And it isn’t going well. To cut costs, we’re going to share the defence of the realm with the French (which is actually a good idea…for a sitcom. Or for Germany) and, if the recession hits any harder we’ll have to take more drastic action: Swingeing health cuts or selling the Queen or something. But wait! According to esteemed financial publication, The Sun, the forthcoming wedding of Wills and Kate will boost the economy by a billion pounds. That’s right. A billion pounds. So if Harry gets married sharpish, that’ll be two billion pounds into the nation’s coffers. And if we can get them breeding, in twenty or thirty years time, with the resultant glut of royal weddings, Britain will once again become one of the most prosperous nations on the planet.*

*And we can all start wearing top hats again.**

**Except in the cinema.

November 19, 2010
7 Reasons Ian Dury’s ‘Reasons To Be Cheerful: Part 3’ Is Unreasonable: Part 1.

I am not the biggest Ian Dury fan, if he’s not encouraging people to hit him with their rhythm sticks he’s giving reasons as to why we should be cheerful. And, as I am sure you are aware by now, that’s our job. Following on from the world-wide success of analysing the New Radicals’ Someday We’ll Know and Owl City’s Fireflies, I thought I’d try and rip both the heart and soul out of Ian Dury’s Reasons To Be Cheerful: Part 3. The problem is, he gave so many reasons this is only part one. This could also be construed as bad news. Very bad news.

1. Some Of Buddy Holly. While Buddy did enlighten our lives with classic such as ‘Peggy Sue’, ‘Oh Boy!’ and ‘That’ll Be The Day’ he also died in a plane crash. So you have to ask, which part of Buddy Holly actually made Ian Dury cheerful? I suspect his glasses.

2. The Working Folly. In 1979 times were tough. A bit like today. Now, I am not going to pretend I know what Ian Dury meant by ‘The Working Folly’, but I can see two possible meanings. A) The workers of the day were foolish. B) It was foolish to be working. Let’s analyse each of these. Beginning with A. The workers of the day were foolish. I don’t see why this would make you cheerful. Now let’s move to B. It was foolish to be working. I don’t see why this would make you cheerful. Right, that’s that covered then.

3. Good Golly Miss Molly. You can decide for yourselves but I fail to be cheered by a man who looks like Danny Glover, Whitney Houston, Chris Kamara, Oprah and Eddie Murphy rolled into one. It’s very unnerving. If you don’t believe me, take a look here. He’s the one who appears after the bloke who looks like John Goodman.

4. Boats. What, like ferries and fishing trawlers? Yes, they’re lovely. Or perhaps you mean those big ships that keep you hostage for weeks? You know, cruise liners.

5. Hammersmith Palais. It closed in 2007. Someone tried to get planning permission to build student flats on the site.

6. Bolshoi Ballet. When you think about it, the Bolshoi Ballet is a bit like a fraternity. A brotherhood. A club. A cult. Children from as young as the age of nine are roped into the Bolshoi Ballet Academy and face a life of being forced to wear tutus and stand on their toes. And then, in a move of grotesque public humiliation, they are forced to perform in front of an expectant audience.

7. Jump Back In The Alley. Goodness knows where this alley is, but my research shows that it is probably a place where a lot of impromptu sexual acts happen. Disgusting. Get a room and shut the curtains. Or better still, go home and watch the cricket. You’ll feel much more cheered. And less dirty.

November 18, 2010
7 Reasons That Postcards Should Be More Honest

Postcards. They’re not honest enough. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Blackpool. This is what a holiday in Blackpool actually looks like. I’ve been there. Many times. Other postcards may not show this, but forewarned is forearmed.

2. Bondi Beach. Sending a postcard from Australia, where it’s nice and warm and sunny you’re having a good time is ostentatious and likely to cause the recipient a pang of envy. Negate the envy by showing the reality. That you’re being eaten by a shark. Or a crocodile. Or a spider.

3. Welwyn Garden City. If the postcard isn’t honest, the recipient might get a false impression of a destination and may choose to visit it themselves. This would be a mistake.

4. Slough! You don’t want to get people’s hopes up about what they can expect as a present. Unless you show the iconic local product on your postcard, they might expect all sorts of exotica: A sombrero; a stuffed donkey; a bottle of wine in a wicker basket; an owl. You need to let them know that they aren’t getting any of these things.

5. The Natural History Museum. Or, you can subvert an entire genre of postcards and send this. That should make the recipient nervous until your return.

6. Yorkshire. You don’t want the recipient to feel as if they’re missing out on lots of sunshine, warmth and an exotic climate. Let them know what the weather’s really like where you are.

7. Candour. Ever wondered why the sender always returns from holiday before the postcard? Well wonder no more. It’s because they don’t care enough about you.

November 17, 2010
7 Reasons Your Heart Goes Boom (According To Lyricists)

There are many words that appear many times in many songs. ‘Love’ for example. Or ‘the’. Another three words are ‘heart’, ‘goes’ and ‘boom’. In that order. And it is those three words we are going to concentrate on today. Though we will replace ‘goes’ with ‘went’ more frequently than initially anticipated. You see, ‘heart goes boom’/’heart went boom’ are phrases that rarely pop up in general conversation. Marc has never said to me, ‘I went cycling earlier. I saw a cow and my heart went boom’. And I have never said to Marc, ‘I went cycling earlier.’ Mainly because I don’t have a bike. But I digress, despite the fact that we don’t readily use such phrases, it doesn’t prevent them popping up in lyrics. Here are seven such examples of hearts going boom:

This Heart Has The Potential To Go Boom

1. ‘Zoom, Just One Look’. The idea that it takes just one look – and apparently a Zoom! ice lolly – for one’s heart to boom, is the brainchild of Fat Larry’s Band. And I find it hard to disagree. Zoom! ice lollies were substantially underrated by many at Nutley CofE Primary School.

2. ‘When You Are Near’. The first of two Eurovision entrants in today’s post comes from pint-sized Scottish singer Lulu. Her heart goes boom when you are near. Which must be quite embarrassing if she is surround by more than six people. Especially when you consider that her heart also goes bang-a-bang. I imagine that’s probably enough booming and bang-a-banging to unhook her bra. Not that I’m imagining that. But if I were – which I’m not – then, erm, that would be embarrassing.

3. ‘Walk Into An Empty Room’. Annie Lennox has got a problem. If her heart keeps going boom whenever she walks into an empty room – and it has been at least 25 years since it started – she needs to do one of two things. Go to the doctors or avoid empty rooms. Mind you, she also reckons an angel is playing with her heart…

4. ‘Walking Down The Street’. That’s when the hearts of French Affair went boom. Who? Yes, exactly. I had never heard of them either. And I liked it that way. But the thing about doing 7 Reasons as opposed to, say, 3 Reasons, is that you have to scour the internet for reasons that didn’t immediately strike you. As such, I found the above atrocity. It’s not so much that the song is rubbish…well, actually, yes it is. But they also speak French in it. They may as well have insulted my mother. Perhaps they did. My French is not what is used to be.

5. ‘Walked Right Out Of The Machinery’. Peter Gabriel should probably think himself quite lucky that his heart is still with him to go boom if he has just walked out of the machinery. Generally speaking, if one gets trapped in machinery, they die. Either quickly. Or slowly. You probably won’t listen to Solsbury Hill in the same way ever again.

6. ‘When She Walks In The Room’. Given that ‘walking’ has provided the reason for heart booms three times in a row, it would seem inappropriate to stop. So I haven’t. I now have the pleasure of presenting you with The Moffats. Who? Yes, exactly. I had never heard of them either. On first inspections – and there will only ever be one – I would position them somewhere between Hanson and McFly. Though I would probably wear gloves during the process. For what it’s worth The Moffats are from the same stock as Lulu. Their hearts feature additionally banging. And why not? (Find out next Monday. Probably.)

7. ‘When they see you baby’. Not before time, we have our second Eurovision contestants. And they come in the form of Charmed. Who? Yes, exactly. I had never heard of the either. Now I know that’s getting repetitive, but you have to believe me. Before today I had never heard of the Norwegian entrants to Eurovision 2000. And, to be frank, I wish it had remained that way. They appear to be a poor witches B*Witched. On the plus side, at least they are more inventive with their lyrics than some of the above. Not a mention of the word ‘walking’ anywhere.

November 16, 2010
7 Reasons That James Blunt Must Be Stopped

You may agree with Dave Cameron; you may follow Nick Thing; you may be a supporter of Mad Elliband; you may be a devotee of that Scottish man with a name like a fish. It doesn’t matter, because there’s one cause that everyone must unite behind: Stopping James Blunt. And be in no doubt whatsoever, James Blunt must be stopped. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Ubiquity. He’s bloody everywhere. On everything. I can’t turn on my television or my radio at the moment without James Blunt being on it. I can’t visit websites – though I’m aware I’m now partially responsible for this – or open newspapers (yes, newspapers, those paper things from the past that existed before this screen in front of you with these words on. He’s in them too) without seeing or hearing him. James Blunt has – in the last fortnight – achieved total, absolute, all-permeating multi-platform media omnipresence. He’s in a magazine somewhere near me right now. And near you. In fact he’s in all of the magazines. Everywhere. All over the place. Being James Blunt.

2. He’s Becoming Weirder. Remember when Tom Cruise seemed normal? No? Well some of us have long memories and he did once. Before he split up with Penelope Cruz; before he started jumping up and down on Oprah’s sofa; before he began espousing odd birthing techniques, Tom Cruise didn’t seem all that weird. But he does now. And the same thing is happening to James Blunt. He used to look and seem relatively at one with the world, but the more I see him, and the more I see him respond to external stimuli (interviews, conversation etc) by grinning inanely and then grinning inanely some more, the more he reminds me of Tom Cruise. Which is the slippery slope to weirdness.

3. His Hair. Have you seen his hair? I’m about to skirt the accepted boundaries of heterosexuality right here and right now, but I don’t care; because James Blunt’s hair used to be lovely. Absolutely fucking lovely. A dark, lustrous, bounteous, luxuriant barnet; a follicular paragon; a mane to rival the legendary tresses of both Samson and Aniston, but have you seen it recently? When he appeared on Have I Got News For You (and Never Mind The Buzzcocks and Daybreak and The One Show and BBC Breakfast and T4 and Something For The Weekend and London Tonight and The Graham Norton Show) it looked like he’d painted a brillo pad orange and stuck it down to his head. I don’t know how this is happening to his hair or why it’s happening; but what if it’s catching? What if it happens to my hair?! Or yours?

Seriously. What has happened here and is it contagious?

4. The Bath. And then last night it all became even stranger. Because, when I was listening to a politics programme on BBC Radio 5Live in the bath (on a rare occasion that it wasn’t full of champagne and dancing girls), they announced that they were about to interview James Blunt. Oh God, I thought. I’m trapped. I’ve just put on my facial mud (for MEN) and now I’m going to be stuck in the bath for twenty minutes listening to James Blunt…again. And I was. And I couldn’t even put my head under the water to cover my ears or to drown myself because of the mud. So I had to listen. And listen I did. I listened to James Blunt recount the time that he disobeyed orders from his commanders in Kosovo and didn’t attack the Russians, thus averting a massive East-West conflict. That’s right, James Blunt saved us from World War III. And while, at the bottom of my heart, I knew that not having a third world war was probably a good and desirable thing, I couldn’t help thinking that if we’d had a third world war, James Blunt would never have been allowed to leave the army and we’d never have had to listen to his music, and he wouldn’t be bloody everywhere; all over the place; even in my bath.

5. The Song. And sure enough, as I lay there unable to escape from James Blunt: Saviour of the World, they played the song. The same song that I’ve heard everywhere, every time that James Blunt has appeared over the last fortnight: You’re Beautiful. The one James Blunt song that I know, apparently the one James Blunt song that everyone knows. There are others, sure, but can you name them? No, and I can’t either. I, a musical man with an enviable collection of music; a man for whom music has been a passion for his entire life. A man who owns all four Electrelane studio albums, and has most of the Os Mutantes albums on original vinyl. I can’t name more than one James Blunt song and neither can anyone else except his fans, and even they can’t do it with any certainty. And having heard it sodding everywhere for the past fortnight (even the Sesame Street version) it came as a blessed relief later on, to turn the television, the computer and the radio off knowing that I would escape from it. And then my wife started humming the bloody thing (having presumably absorbed it through some sort of osmosis) and, while I couldn’t help but agree with her sentiments, it was still the same damned song…again. But off key.

6. Then There’s His Name. James Blunt’s name is James Blunt. That’s right: James Blunt. And you might think to a humourist, that it would offer all manner of potential, but it doesn’t. Quite the opposite, in fact. Because it rhymes with the one word in the English language that you can never, ever use without losing the sympathy of your reader. If he were called James Bluck, James Block, James Blank, James Blick, James Blit, James Bliss, James Blits, or James Brance I might conceivably be able to make fun of him in rhyme. But I can’t. Because his name is Blunt. And do know what’s really annoying about it? It isn’t even his real name. He changed it. His original name is Blount: Pronounced Blunt.

7. And This Is The Worst Part. He seems like a nice guy. A man who, despite being everywhere with his one song irritating the hell out of you, me and all those other people standing about and clogging the pavements, actually seems to have substance. A man who has a mind of his own and is no mere vacuous, avaricious, chancer like many contemporary popular musicians. A man who has served his country in combat and has come out of the experience intact and has forged a successful post-army life for himself; sadly in contrast to many ex-servicemen who often don’t get the support that they deserve and that we owe them. A man who goes back and performs concerts for the troops and is a vociferous advocate of, and fundraiser for, Médecins Sans Frontières. And that makes criticism of him hard. And it probably makes me look like a bit of a count. But please, for the love of god, James. Stop. Enough. We all know we’re beautiful and we need a break now.

November 15, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday: Celebrity Exclusive
At 7 Reasons we’ve never brought you exclusive celebrity news before, but now we have some. A letter has been erroneously delivered to one of us (the York based one) with exciting details about the private life of an icon of both the large and the small screen.

We don’t know why Bairstow Eves sent this letter to us, as it’s addressed to homeowners in Clifton, York, where neither of the 7 Reasons team live, but we’re jolly glad they did. Here it is:

Dear Home Owner,

BUYERS WAITING

CLIFTON

We urgently require more properties to sell in Clifton for the following clients who are registered with our office.
- Mr T is a first time buyer looking for a property with a minimum of two bedrooms. He will consider any style of house.
- Mr & Mrs H have their property on the market and are looking to purchase a two bedroom house in Clifton.
- Mrs H is looking for a semi or detached property with a minimum of four bedrooms.
I would stress that this is a genuine and urgent enquiry; we only take this time and effort for serious potential purchasers. Please contact our Sales Team on 01904 622 355 to arrange your free, no obligation Market Appraisal.

Assuring you of our best attention at all times.

Yours Faithfully,

*********************

Office Manager – Bairstow Eves York.

That’s right, 7 Reasons readers! This man. Mr T is looking to buy a house in York!

I pity the fool that sells me a home in the wrong area!

Now we don’t know why the star of the A-Team and Rocky III is looking to buy a property here. It seems unlikely that it’s going to be a second home for holidaying as the letter also reveals that (surprisingly) Mr T is a first time buyer. And it tells us that he will consider any style of house; though presumably he’ll want one with a garage full of odds and ends that he can spontaneously fashion into an armoured car or use to construct an impromptu gun turret.

The letter goes on to tell us that Mr and Mrs H (we don’t know who these people are, they’re not important celebrities like Mr T) are looking to purchase a two bedroom house in Clifton. But wait! Mrs H is also looking to buy a semi or detached property with a minimum of four bedrooms. We don’t know why. Perhaps she’s a brazen strumpet who’s looking for somewhere to house her army of lovers? We just don’t know. We do feel that Mr H should be worried, but mostly we’re excited about Mr T.*

Thank you, Bairstow Eves, for bringing this important celebrity news to our attention. 7 Reasons (.org) will return tomorrow with reasons (unless there is any more Mr T news).

*I have an A-Team duvet cover that needs signing.
November 14, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons I Don’t Want a Kindle

It’s Saturday, and the 7 Reasons team are taking a well-deserved day off, but fear not: In charge of the 7 Reasons sofa today is Roger Williams; a Manchester-based writer, lyricist and owner of a full and luxuriant ginger beard. Here are seven reasons that he doesn’t want a Kindle.

1. Fahrenheit 451. The primary definition of Kindle in my whopping great Collins English Dictionary (a tome so weighty and downright bookish that while it would be impossible to swallow, it would be entirely feasible to use it to, say, smash a Kindle to smithereens) is ‘to set alight or start to burn.’ Mmm. You don’t need the Enigma machine to decode the sub-conscious desires of the Satanic device’s inventors here. They clearly want us to burn books. That’s right 7 Reasons readers. Biblioclasm! Libricide! Buying a Kindle is tantamount to supporting the book incinerating activities of the Spanish conquistadors, the worst McCarthyite zealots, the Nazis and the Dove World Outreach Centre church in Florida.

2. If it ain’t broke don’t e-fix it. Books are the perfect marriage of function and form. They have a quality of soul which an electronic device could never match. The volumes you gather as you travel through life are a story in themselves. The spine creases of the well-thumbed volume; the stain left by the coffee you spilt when you first saw her; the enthusiastic underlinings of well-loved sections and the page corner-foldings of inspiration; the sheer sentimental, colourful, characterful accumulation of books. You can’t furnish a room with a Kindle. Unless it’s a room for a hamster. That hates books.

3. Books smell good (musty second hand bookshops in Holmfirth don’t count.) I’ve never smelt a Kindle but I imagine it would smell of evil.

4. Books have done the job perfectly well for hundreds of years. The more complicated you make something the more likely it is that something will go wrong. At no point in the annals of history (beautifully preserved because they’ve been written down, on paper) has anyone ever complained “This book has crashed” or “I wish this book would go faster.” No one has ever advised you to turn a malfunctioning novel off and on again.

You can still read a book that’s hundreds of years old. You can’t watch videos from the early 1990s. The written word is timeless, but technology moves so fast that by the time you’re two thirds of the way through A Suitable Boy your Kindle will be in museum for obsolete things. Being bullied by a Sinclair C5.

5. There’s a physicality to books, a reassuring heft, a presence, whereas Kindles by comparison are…spineless. Books are transferable. How many times do you read something you love then lend it to a friend you know is going to share your enthusiasm? There’s no room for that in Kindleland. You either have to loan out your Kindle, and all that it contains, or they have to buy the f-ing e-book themselves.

6. Bathing. I admit this isn’t really an issue for me because I’m male and therefore genetically unable to multitask, but word is you can’t read a Kindle in the bath. I plagiarised this point from a letter written to The Guardian by a woman. I wasn’t doing anything else at the time. She was probably cooking a three-course meal and reading the paper when she wrote it.

7. And alright, I admit it, I woke up one morning and realised I was a Luddite.

Now…I’ve heard a rumour they’ve just installed one of those new weaving machines at a mill along the turnpike road in Bolton. Anyone want to come and help me smash it up before the idea catches on?

November 13, 2010
7 Reasons I Should Have Made My Omelette First

Yesterday I made an omelette. Two in fact. While I don’t except any congratulations for this – I have, after all, done the same many times before – I am not averse to receiving any adulation you wish to bestow. That said, given the state of the second omelette – the one I had – you may find it more fitting to belittle and mock. I won’t hold it against you if this is your choice. I am, however, going to explain why the second omelette was such a disaster. There are – as I am sure you would expect – mitigating circumstances surrounding the event. Probably seven.

1. Rushing. I don’t know whether you have ever made two omelettes before, I suspect you are not as maverick as I and as such have not. Let me tell you now though, it is not as easy as it sounds. Unless you are a greedy bugger – or hungry – the chances are you are making two omelettes because there are two people wishing to have one. This was the case last night. I wanted one. My girlfriend agreed that she would have one. Being nice and not wishing to relinquish control of the frying pan, I made my girlfriend her omelette first. But then I wanted to eat mine with her. (I have long suspected we are the last two romantics in the Maidstone catchment area.) As a result I rushed the manufacture of my omelette. And as I am sure you are aware, a premature omelette is not an omelette at all. It’s a mess.

2. The Difficult Second Omelette. We have all heard of the phrase, ‘the difficult second album’. Apart from maybe Oasis. And Toploader. Though admittedly Toploader struggled with their first album too so maybe that doesn’t count. Anyway, I digress. My point is that the pressure was on and, instead of just concentrating on making the second omelette the best it could be, I tried to make it as good as the first omelette. As soon as I did that I was in competition with myself. And I cracked under the strain.

3. Whisking. The trick with making a good omelette mixture is not too whisk it too much. I forgot that it had been whisked before the making of omelette number one. So I whisked before construction of number two. The result was too light and runny. As a result I got air pockets under my omelette. I was trying to salvage the mission from that point on. And that is not an environment conducive to success.

4. Mixture Fail. There is also another reason omelette one was more a success. There was enough mixture to comfortably fill the frying pan. When it came to the second effort, there wasn’t. I’ll be honest. I was stretching the credibility of myself as an omelette maker here. Without enough mixture I added a little milk straight into the frying pan. That was stupid. The frying pan spat it back at me.

5. Tosser. To toss or not to toss? This question is widely debated in omelette making circles. I adhere to the point of view that – before filling is added – the omelette should be tossed. Yesterday, I tossed one of the omelettes and didn’t the other. I’ll let you guess which is which.

6. Filling. We have a rule in our house. As I am the man, I have more food. I like this rule and I didn’t even think of it. So when it came to filling the omelettes, I made sure there was more filling for me. Unfortunately, the amount of filling was calculated on how big the omelette would be. As my omelette was 80% of it’s intended size I really should have put 80% of the filling inside. But I didn’t. I’m a man. So I put it all in. And then I tried to fold the omelette in half. And that is when it snapped at the seams.

7. Manoeuvring. Taking the omelette from pan to plate should be a simple process. Assuming you have actually made an omelette it is possible to tilt the pan and watch the omelette slide into position. Which is what happened with omelette one. Omelette two though wasn’t an omelette. It was a mess. And the mess containing cheese which was now sticking to the pan. I had no option but to shovel it out. And that’s what I did.

November 12, 2010
7 Reasons I Ended Up Appearing Quite Mad Yesterday (Even Though I’m Not)

Sometimes, when you’re sitting around, minding your own business, an event occurs. An event to which you are compelled to react. And, while your reaction is brilliantly conceived and perfectly rational, a chain of events ensues that eventually makes you appear irredeemably, unutterably, stupendously mad. Like yesterday.

This is not my neighbour's cat, nor is it my cat, nor is it my wall. This cat on a wall is from the internet.

While I was writing, a cat appeared on the six foot high wall at the bottom of my garden. One of next door’s cats. Now, I don’t want any of next door’s cats in my garden, because it’s where my cat lives. I want him to be able spend his time in the garden sleeping, licking, and staring at the gate unmolested by other cats. So I had to let the other cat know that he wasn’t welcome in our garden. Now I know how to scare a cat; it’s easy. But going outside and hissing and shouting at this cat wasn’t going to convey the right message. I needed to let the interloper know he was in another cat’s territory, and that he should stay away.

1. Plan A. I went and fetched my dozing cat from the sofa. My cat didn’t want to know. I showed him the intruder through the dining room window. He saw the other cat and ignored him. This was disappointing. This isn’t going to scare anyone I thought, as my cat fell asleep on the windowsill. This wouldn’t even scare mice. Nervous mice.

2. Plan B. Right, I thought. If the sight of my cat asleep on the windowsill isn’t enough to strike the fear of god into the intruder, I’ll have to escalate things. I’ll have to send my cat out to deal with him. I woke him up, reminded him of the presence of the other cat and carried him into the utility room. I placed him on the floor, next to his cat-flap; I delivered a rousing speech to him and then opened it so that he could sally forth to dispatch his foe. He didn’t move. He sat and purred at me. I tried to usher him through his flap, but he clearly wasn’t going to go. My cat, I thought, is a disappointment.

3. Plan C. I know, I’ll open the back door really loudly. If I can’t scare him away with a cat, then at least opening the door loudly will make the intruder run; and my cat might conceivably think that he’s the one causing him to flee in terror and emerge with feline dignity intact and be that bit braver next time. As loudly as I could, I unlocked the door and, with as much speed and force as I could muster, I heaved the door open. I was rewarded with the sight of a terror-stricken cat, fleeing for its life. Bugger, I thought, as I went to retrieve him from behind the sofa. This isn’t going well.

4. Plan D. I picked him up, returned to the utility room and carried him through the back door. “Look”, I said to the other cat, “I have a cat here and I’m not afraid to use him”. The other cat was not as moved by our presence as I had hoped that he would be. Impassively, he licked his paw and turned his head away.

5. Plan E. Okay, I clearly wasn’t being terrifying enough. I raised our cat above my head so that he was higher up than the cat on our wall. This will do it, I thought, there are only two things that can possibly go through the other cat’s mind. One: “Blimey! What the hell is that hideous giant cat/man hybrid creature over there, I’d better run for it”. Or two: “ Blimey! Look what that man’s doing to that feckless fat-cat from next door. I’m probably next. I’d better run for it.” But if these things went through his mind, he didn’t show it; unless this cat instinctively displays abject terror by blinking slowly, that is. I was going to have to get nearer.

6. Plan F. With my arms fully outstretched, cat held aloft, above my head; I charged toward the other cat. It didn’t move. I was closing quickly and when I got to within eight feet it still hadn’t moved.

7. Plan G. Realising that my charge wasn’t unnerving enough, I decided that I needed a war cry, and I began to roar (at a volume which surprised even me) as I charged through the garden. But the other cat still hadn’t moved, and I was almost upon it. I realised it needed a little more time to realise the desperate situation it was in, so I pulled away at the last moment to run a lap of my garden, still roaring and, as my cat and I rounded the top of the garden and turned to face the enemy once more I saw him react, startled, jump down from the wall and run. My jubilation was short lived. I also saw…

…My neighbour emerge from her back door, the sound of which had presumably – unbeknownst to her, as she couldn’t possibly have seen it – scared the other cat away. I slowed to a halt and stopped roaring. “Hi”, I said, breezily, realising I still had the cat above my head, and that I probably looked quite foolish.

“Er…Hi”, she replied.

I felt self-conscious, and it occurred to me that some sort of explanation of my behaviour was required. “I was just scaring the cat”.

“I’m not surprised”, she replied.

November 11, 2010
7 Reasons You Should Not Kayak Across The Pacific Ocean

If you are one of these hipsters who likes to engage in social networking via the likes of facebook and twitter, it is very likely that one, two or maybe all of your friends have posted a ‘funny’ piece of travel advice they have found on Google Maps. I say ‘funny’ in inverted commas because it is actually a very serious matter. The matter I refer to is the ‘joke’ that tells prospective travellers to make the journey from the USA to Japan via the Pacific Ocean in a kayak. How utterly irresponsible. There are many, many reasons why one should not do as Google Maps suggests, but to save my sanity (and your life) here are just seven.

1. Food. An average kayaker will travel at 5mph. Given that Google Maps says the distance – via Hawaii – between USA and Japan is 2,756 miles, it will take the adventurer just over 551 hours to make the journey. That’s a touch under 23 days. That’s 23 days worth of food you have to take with you. Now, assuming – as is very likely considering the departure point – that the traveller is American, that’s 89,537 calories. Or 92.7 Big Mac Meals. A kayak has storage for about 20 Big Mac Meals. You do the maths.

2. Sharks. The good news is, that out of the 440 species of shark found on our planet, only 36 of them exist in the Pacific Ocean. (Approximately. I am sure others visit for a day now and then.) Unfortunately, within the 36 species is the Great White Shark. The Great White Shark accounts for 20% of worldwide shark attacks. And, just before you come back at me with the stat, ‘of the 108 unprovoked attacks within the Pacific Ocean in the 20th century, only five included kayakers,’ let me tell you that there has never, ever been a Great White Shark attack on a plane.

3. Paddle. You may have heard of the phrase, ‘Up the creek without a paddle’. For those of you who haven’t, it basically means you are in a very serious situation and you haven’t got a bloody clue how you are going to get out of it. If you drop your paddle between the USA and Japan, you can change the word ‘creek’ for ‘Pacific’ but you can’t change the meaning.

4. Iodine. The average human will die if they go for more than three days without water. Luckily, in the Pacific Ocean you will find loads of it. Unluckily, if you drink too much of it, you will also die. That’s because it’s saltwater. If you are going to survive you are going to have to desalinate the seawater. You can do this by either attaching a desalination plant to your kayak – in which case you’ll sink before you even leave the beach – or you can use iodine. You will have to leave ten Big Mac Meals behind, but to survive it is probably worth it. The problem comes when you try and desalinate your beaker of water. You’re in a kayak. On the ocean. It’s bumpy. You have your paddle in one hand, the iodine in the other and the beaker between your legs. Now, I’ve never tried desalinating my penile appendage, but if I did, the middle of the Pacific Ocean, in a kayak, is a place where I know I couldn’t possibly fail. Unless…

5. A Sudden Wave hits the kayak. In which case the iodine might go overboard and desalinate the whole of the Ocean. You are going to murder many, many saltwater fish. And you’re heading to Japan. A country that’s built on fish (one in ten fish is eaten there). They’re not going to greet you warmly are they?

6. Tankers. Generally these are big ships who have very little interest in small-fry like you in your kayak. Mainly because they are always on auto-pilot while the captain has a snooze. If you just happen to be having a snooze at the same time, you are going to get crushed. And, just a warning, if you do survive, there is no point in shouting ‘Tanker!’ at them and waving your fist, if you do, you’ll miss the giant squid that’s about to squirt you with ink.

7. Jovan Pestoric Will Kiss You. In doing my research for this post – I came across the following Yahoo! Answers page where Lovely had asked if it was possible to kayak across the Pacific Ocean. There were only a few answers. One gave Lovely some valuable advice and advised it was not possible. They then said ‘Have fun!’. Then Javon Pestoric announced, ‘yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! omg if u do it ill kiss u’. I have no idea who Jovan is and, if watching people kayak over the Pacific Ocean is his kind of fetish, I don’t think I want to know either.

November 10, 2010