Author: 7 Reasons

Guest Post: 7 Reasons Men Prefer Women Without Make-up

January seems a long time ago now, but if you can remember that far back, you may recall Emily Clifford writing one of the very first guest posts for us. It was about men and women and why they shouldn’t converse with each other. It proved ridiculously popular. Especially with women. So, back on the 7 Reasons sofa by popular demand, is Emily. And she’s writing about men and women again. If you like what you’re about to read you may be interested to know that Emily is a fashion journalist based in Sydney. She writes for a vast array of magazines and newspapers including Vanity Fair, Vogue, Glamour and Cosmopolitan. She also likes writing for us. Apparently. Right, less of me, more of Emily. Who, incidentally, you can follow on twitter.

Despite what you may have heard, a journalist’s job is never easy. Sadly for us literary types, it’s not just a case of writing an article and picking up the cheque. Unless you can call yourself ‘famous’ of course, which, let’s be honest most of us can’t. For the rest of us, magazines have to be targeted, editors need to be wooed and research has to be compiled before us writers can actually do what we want to do; write. Sometimes you do all the hardwork and present the final draft only for the editor to change their mind. It’s standard fare in this industry and you get used to it. Recently I wrote a piece on the male attitude towards women and their facial shield, make-up. Despite being pleased with it myself, the editor wasn’t and so the article was killed. When an article is killed you retain the copyright and so can sell it to others. Like 7 Reasons! Except they haven’t paid me and instead given me some false hope of one day receiving a badge. Yeah right! The article was ripped apart especially for 7 Reasons so the original catchy title The Foundation Of The Relationship has now been changed to 7 Reasons Men Prefer Women Without Make-up. Hope you enjoy it.

1. The Natural Look. Research for the article showed that a staggering 75% of men preferred women without make-up. I mean none at all. Not even a little eye shadow. I don’t know about you girls, but the thought of leaving the house looking like an old sock I’ve just found down the back of the sofa terrifies the life out of me. The problem is, men really wish it would terrify the mascara out of you. They just don’t like you covering yourself up. This comes down to the fact that men are far less likely to notice imperfections than women. Ever wondered how your man can put a DVD in the player and not even raise an eyebrow at the amount of dust adorning it? Firstly it’s because he’s a man and so doesn’t see it, but more importantly it’s because he is looking at the bigger picture. What’s the film going to be like? That’s the main attraction here. Not whether the player is covered in dust or not. Women on the other hand amplify it. By as much as ten-fold. They’d sit through the film worrying about whether you noticed all the dust and are now still interested in them. Does this guy think you’re untidy? It’s a strange comparison, but it’s how we think. You wear make-up to make your face look more beautiful, believe it or not, he won’t notice.

2. The Tick-Tock Effect . If you want to go out with me menfolk, you need to get something straight. If we are going out for the evening, I need at least an hour to get ready. And I’m not alone. The average length of time for a 30 year-old woman to get ready for an evening on the tiles is 73 minutes. That might not even seem that long to you. Unless you’re a man. In which case it sounds like an eternity. A typical 30 year-old man takes an average of just 25 minutes to get ready. And even then I think that is a high figure. I’ve known men to take 30 seconds. And, no, I’m not with them anymore. Of the 73 minutes a women takes to get ready, 22 are spent on the make-up. That’s 22 minutes he is pacing around the lounge, scratching, complaining and thinking about opening another beer.

3. The Question Time. Asking men questions about your appearance is a completely pointless exercise. And in many cases is actually divisive. Yet we all do it. I am forever asking my fiance if I look good. I don’t know why. I know his answer will be, ‘Yes, you look lovely’ or some equally unimaginative and predictable answer. I actually long for the day when he says, ‘Are you fucking serious? You look like you’ve just come back from the mad-hatters tea party!’ But he won’t, because he’s a man. And men are programmed to say what they think you want to hear. And the most frustrating thing for men is that they know you know that they are just saying it because it’s what they think it’s what you want to hear. That’s why they’d love it if you just forgot all about the make-up for night so he only has to answer the questions about your dress.

4. The Logic Lack. Men, to give them their dues, are quite logical. Us women though, are about as logical as a chocolate tea-pot. Men see chocolate tea-pots as things that would melt when boiled water applied to them, we see chocolate tea-pots as chocolate. When we ladies were younger we wore make-up to make us look older. Now we are wearing it to make us look younger. To us, that is logic. To men, that is illogical, ‘why try and be something you are not?’

5. The Shopping Trip. Wearing make-up means buying make-up. Buying make-up means shopping for make-up. Shopping for make-up means testing make-up. For a man who wouldn’t notice whether you had blusher on or not, this is a form of torture. No wonder 22% of all arguments between couples happen when they are shopping.

6. The Removal Effect. If a woman wears a lot of make-up, a lot of the time, the sight of her without can do strange things to a man. Sweating; screaming; running out of the house. The silly thing is, you probably don’t even look unattractive. Just very different. And change scares men. It’s why they won’t let you change your hair or get a breast enlargement or sleep with Johnny Depp.

7. The Affection Factor. Even the most ardent of feminists wouldn’t deny that they like a bit of affection from their man. I, and I wouldn’t describe myself using the aforementioned term, love a kiss on the forehead, cheek and, of course, lips and when I’m not getting any I complain to my man. He is very keen to remind me that this morning he kissed me goodbye and I complained that he could have smudged my make-up. And he’s right, I did. That’s why men prefer you without make-up, because they know where they stand.

October 9, 2010
7 Reasons That Not Having a Key is Frustrating

My key isn’t working, and this is going to be a difficult thing to convey to you, but I don’t mean the key to a door, a safe or a bicycle lock. I mean a key on my keyboard. My comuter keyboard. But I can’t tell you which key isn’t working, because I can’t tye the damned letter because the key isn’t working. Just to be clear about it though, it’s the letter that comes between O and Q in the alhabet and is situated immediately to the right of the letter O on a qwerty keyboard. There’s a big icture of it just below. Here are seven reasons that not having a working key is frustrating.

1. Google Is Not Always Useful. I first realised that my key wasn’t working earlier this evening while trying to access a friend’s blog. It’s called Sectator Sort. Oh, I thought, that’s going to be a bit of a roblem. So I did what I always do when a technical issue arises with my comuter. I searched Google for a solution. It wasn’t very successful. I tyed: “Hel! The key on my keyboard has stoed working”. The results weren’t any use at all. Never mind, there are more ways to skin a cat.

2. The Direct Route. It occurred to me that I didn’t have to Google the roblem. I could just go directly to the relevant section of the keyboard manufacturer’s website. I even knew the address. I tyed www.ale.com/suort and was most disleased with the result. Because I had a 7 Reasons ost to reare for the following morning. Never mind, I decided that I would just get on with it, and exlain at the to of the iece that my key isn’t working (which is what I’ve done). I then oened Word and began to tye u my notes.

3. The Law. I got as far as the title. I realised at once, that if I went ahead with the ost I had lanned to write, we’d robably end u in court. There was no way round it. 7 Reasons Shane Warne Is The Most Inventive Deliverer of Leg Sin That The World Has Seen was going to have to be ostoned. I thought I’d have another go at getting the keyboard fixed first though. Because I had an idea.

4. Email. I could email my writing artner, Jon, for hel. While I was in Word I wrote a brief exlanation of my roblem, and a few key hrases that I’d like him to Google for me and then I tried to log into my email account. My assword didn’t work. Bugger. My assword contains a . In fact, my asswords for just about everything do. So it was no good, I was definitely going to have to write something else.

5. Other Titles. I went back to my notebook and trawled through the list of otential ost titles I have jotted down there. I quickly discarded 7 Reasons That The en Is Mightier Than The Sword, 7 Reasons That it’s Fun to lay ranks on eole, 7 Reasons That irates Are Amazing, 7 Reasons That Graveyards Are Sooky and 7 Reasons That Sace Exloration Is ointless. That left me with 7 Reasons That Valentine’s Day is for Girls. Which would have been fine if we ublished it in February, but didn’t seem very toical in October. So I decided to write about my key roblem instead. To hel me get some focus, I started with the icture.

6. hotosho. We always ut a icture at the to of every 7 Reasons ost – usually a hoto that we’ve got from Google Images – or occasionally one that we’ve made ourselves in hotosho. I soon realised that utting the letter into Google Images wasn’t going to yield an image of the letter , so I hotoshoed one. It took me a while to work out how I was going to do it but eventually I did. I tyed in a letter b and flied the image over. That was clever thinking and I felt quite roud of myself.

7. ride Comes Before A Fall. And then I wrote for a coule of hours, the stuff you see u there, totally sontaneously without making any notes at all. And then I got to reason seven, and I aused to consider it. And while I was thinking, something occurred to me. Something quite fundamental. I could have cut and asted the letter from an existing document. What a illock!

October 8, 2010
7 Reasons That you Shouldn’t pay £650 for a bag of Potatoes and Some Cardboard

Last week in Huntingdon, a couple walking along the high street were approached by a man they didn’t know, who offered to sell them a rucksack containing an iPhone and a laptop for £650. They agreed to this and, after visiting their bank, headed off to a car park behind some shops to conclude their transaction. Some time later, on opening the rucksack, they discovered that rather than containing a laptop and an iPhone, it did in fact, contain some potatoes and some cardboard. Yes, they’d been duped. Now, it seems unlikely that you would be contemplating a similar transaction (in fact, it seems more likely that a talking vase with three fingers will become the next pope) but, just in case, here are seven reasons that it’s probably not a good idea.

1. It’s Too Much To Pay For Potatoes. Even ones that come with bonus cardboard. 2.5kg of Sainsbury’s Basics potatoes cost 99p. This means that for £650 you would get 1641 kg of them which is a lot more than you can fit in a small rucksack, in fact, it’s more than you can fit in a small hatchback. Or, you can buy fewer potatoes and, with the money you’ve saved, you can buy a rucksack. A bejewelled one made of gold and silk, probably. Oh, and an apple.

2. Stupidity. Now, far be it from me to mock the stupid…no…wait, that is what I’m about to do, sorry. So, near be it to me to mock the stupid: What the hell were they thinking, the feckless nitwits? Under what circumstance does buying a laptop in a car park from a man that’s just approached you on the street ever seem like a good idea? That was going to be posed as a rhetorical question, but I’ve just thought of the answer. Under no circumstance, that’s when. Because to most people: You; me; everyone else in the world except for two people from Huntingdon, it might set off some alarm bells.

3. Morality. Unless, of course, they believed they were buying goods that had been criminally procured from some unfortunate victim. In which case, the fact that £650 has been diddled from this couple would seem quite just. You can’t make me believe for one moment that anyone would think this was a legitimate transaction. A rucksack containing a laptop and an iPhone for £650 from a man in a car park? Hmmm. So, if you spend £650 on some potatoes and cardboard, you might end up appearing immoral. And you’ll be lumbered with a rucksack.

4. Because The Potatoes And Cardboard Come In A Rucksack. And rucksacks are awful. Not when you’re hiking or climbing, then they’re very handy, but in an urban environment, rucksacks are a liability and likely to break things in shops or provoke a fellow pedestrian or public transport user into punching the wearer. If you wear the things with the straps over both shoulders everyone thinks, what a complete cock, and if you wear the things with the straps over one shoulder everyone thinks, what a complete cock, why not just get a messenger bag? You don’t need a rucksack; there’s too much social stigma involved in wearing them.

5. The Dilemma. This comes when you discover you’ve been ripped-off and instead of visiting your favourite humour website on a shiny new computer, you’re going to have to try to read The Onion using a potato. Which sounds difficult. So then you have to decide whether you’re going to go to the police and risk incriminating yourself, or whether to accept you’ve been conned and resolve not to let it happen again. On balance, I think I’d opt for the latter. Not that I’m likely to find myself in that position, mostly on account of not being a weaselly bell-end.

6. Publicity. There’s a popular idiom which states that “any publicity is good publicity”. This idiom, however, is stupid: Publicity didn’t work out too well for BP or Gary Glitter, did it? And we can note that the anonymous victims/lucky-potato-owners haven’t revealed their identities. Possibly because they wish to remain anonymous, or possibly because they’re too stupid to remember their own names, who knows? One thing’s for certain though, if you spend £650 on potatoes and cardboard, tabloid journalists will be pulling out all of the stops to find out who you are. And that sort of publicity doesn’t seem like good publicity to me.

7. Association. Dr Crippen. Marie Antoinette. King Canute. Names which will be forever synonymous with murder, arrogance and folly. And if you spend £650 on a rucksack containing cardboard and potatoes, your name will doubtless become associated forever with either gullibility, avarice, or stupidity. Or all three. And you’ll have to recycle the cardboard.

October 7, 2010
7 Reasons This Magazine Has Ruined Everything

Somethings in life, you just don’t expect. One such thing was my rejection from the 2011 London Marathon. It’s me, Jon, by the way. Just in case you are my co-writer Marc, and are wondering when the hell you entered the ballot. It’s the fourth time I have entered the ballot and failed. That’s quite unlucky. And for someone who despises failure in all its forms, a horrendous turn of events. I was so sure I was going to get an accepted magazine this year. It was my turn. It was my year. But I didn’t. I got a poxy, ‘Commiserations, your ballot application to run the 2011 Virgin London Marathon has been unsuccessful but there’s still a chance to run…’ magazine. Poxiness. Complete poxiness. And it’s ruined everything.

1. Targets. I work best when I have targets. Something to aim for. A deadline. A tea-break. Dinner. Mainly though, it’s a deadline. When I have a deadline, I know what I have to do. Everything is in front of me. Everything is clear. I can plan, I can re-plan and most of all I get whatever needs to be done, done. The same goes for my running. If I have an event to prepare for, I prepare for it. I have the motivation of a medal – and one of those foil sheets that make me look like a spaceman – awaiting me on the horizon. Without that though, the only thing on the horizon is an old woman waiting for a bus, and between you and me, I can’t be bothered to run all the way over to her. So I don’t. I stay in. And eat a biscuit. And yawn. And scratch. And eat another biscuit. And life sucks. (Apart from the biscuits). So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined motivation.

2. Money. This ‘Commiserations’ magazine is going to cost me a bloody fortune. Which, considering it was free, seems both ironic and calculating. If I had got one of the better ‘Congratulations’ magazines, I would have gone on a health regime. No biscuits; no crisps; no beer; no fun. Quick calculations show that would have saved me at least £15 a week. Multiply that by the twenty-four weeks until the London Marathon actually occurs and we are looking at a minimum of £360. £360! I could have bought 28,800 tea-bags with that! Instead I bought biscuits, crisps and beer. Unbelievable. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined my tea-based caffeine addiction.

3. Trainer Manufacturers. Nike; Adidas; Reebok; Asics; all other running footwear brands. One of them has lost a sale. Actually, probably two sales. If I had been successful in the tombola, I would certainly have invested in a new pair to carry me the 26.2 miles and a spare pair in case the others got dirty. As I’m not even going to be running 26.2 metres, I am not investing. Which means one the sports good manufacturers is not going to achieve as good a turnover as they may have done and as a result someone will no doubt get sacked. Hopefully a Frenchman. That at least will bring me some comfort. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined child labour.*

4. April 17th 2011. This is the date of the London Marathon. A marathon I will not be watching. A marathon I will be avoiding. A marathon that will make me frustrated and tetchy for the whole day. In my frustrated and tetchy state, I will probably be looking for trouble. I will probably want to kick something. And that’s bad news for any living thing. Or, if I choose something more sturdy, my foot. Either way, I’d avoid me. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined next door’s cat.

5. Alternatives. Last year, when I failed to attain ‘congratulatory’ status, I went looking for alternatives. Something else to fill the void that had been left in my life. I found it in the shape of a moustache. Or, more accurately, the shape of Movember. For a whole month, people’s eyes were abused by the sight of a ginger handlebar** adorning my face. And I didn’t enjoy it much either. Due to the London Marathon’s foresight, I may well have to do it again. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined humanity.

6. The Amazon. Not only have the organisers of the 2011 London Marathon upset me, they have also upset a tree. Well, actually, they’ve gone further than just upset it. They’ve beaten it to a pulp. And it’s not just me they’ve let down. It’s 100,000 others too. And that’s a lot of tree. Now, somewhere, in the middle of the Amazon Rainforest, is a clearing they call, ‘Commiseration Place’. And, somewhere, up in the atmosphere, is much more carbon dioxide than there ever should have been. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined the planet.

7. Peaks. My sexual peak was ten years ago – though, for many reasons, that seemed to pass me by. My cricket peak was eight years ago – though, for many reasons, that seemed to last little more than a couple of hours. My writing peak was last week – though, for many reasons, it didn’t equate to much when written down. My running peak is now. Right now. In the year that I am 27. But thanks to the London Marathon, I will not be able to utilise it. Instead I will have to wait until a year/two years/five years/ten years after my running peak to take part. And that’s a long time to rent a deep-sea divers’ suit for. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined peaking.

*Thinking about it, this might be a good thing.

** Sounds more impressive than it was.

October 6, 2010
7 Reasons That Oranges are Rubbish

Oranges. They’re a really, really poor fruit. Here’s a film which explains why.

7 Reasons That Oranges are Rubbish

October 5, 2010
7 Reasons To Pretend You’ve Been Hypnotised

Now, I’m no expert on hypnosis. I have never been hypnotised. Or at least I don’t think I have. Like I say, I’m no expert so how would I know? But anyway, as I was saying, I have never knowingly been hypnotised. But I have always liked the idea of pretending to have been. Just to, you know, amuse myself. Oh, and because it’s a very useful skill to possess.

1. Chores. It’s a quite brilliant way of getting out of doing them. Touch the vacuum cleaner and pretend to be riding a horse; start the washing up and pretend to be a dolphin who loves soap suds; begin dusting the shelves and pretend you’re a rock climber. You’ll probably wreck the house in the process, but at least you won’t be asked to clean ever again.

2. Paying. At the sound of the word ‘money’, you’re an alien. Obviously. This would work brilliantly in Tesco; on the bus; if your partner mentioned she was going shopping. Expand your eyes, make fish lips and move your head in circular motions. The results will be staggering. The cashier will pay out of their own pocket just to get rid of you, the bus driver will run away and leave you to drive to a destination of your choice and your wife will charge out of the house in a huff. Leaving you to watch Sky Sports all day. Aces!

3. Answers. I’m a man. As a result, I don’t like being asked questions. Not because I don’t like the questioner or indeed the question, but, more often than not, because I don’t like my answer. It’s generally something unimaginative. Or incriminating. Or both. Until now, I hadn’t found a solution. So do check back next week for, 7 Reasons I Shouldn’t Have Answered Every Question By Pretending I Was A Dog.

4. MI5/MI6. I suspect this reason will only apply to a select few of our readers, but I’m sure everyone else will forgive us while we do our duty for Britain. So members of our secret services, just imagine, heaven forbid, that some henchman of an evil empire (including France) has captured you. They’re going to want answers. And you are probably not going to want to give them. If you do the world might explode. Or, even worse, you might get a slap. So what to do? Well, pretending you like a bit of S&M everytime the word ‘torture’ is mentioned should do the trick. Though what trick it is remains to be seen.

5. Charity Workers. I am sure they mean well, or at least one of them does, but they’re just very, very annoying. When I lived in Fulham, walking to the tube station was like negotiating the guantlet on Gladiators. It’s not so much that I didn’t want to adopt a leopard or a granny, it’s more that…okay, I just didn’t want to adopt a leopard or a granny. As a result I used to shout out, ‘Sorry!’ and charge on past. But what if you’re not like me? What if you are an unsuspecting individual and have a habit of walking slowly? You’ll be pounced on. I’m sorry, but you will. Time to pretend to by hypnotised. You could either go one of two ways here. As soon as you see the clipboard you could pretend to be a granny who loves riding leopards – this would scare and confuse in equal measure – or you could pretend that you repeat every question you’re asked. They’ll soon get bored and move out of Fulham altogether.*

6. Drink. An inevitable part of indulging in alcoholic beverages, is that one day you will drink a bit too much. Unless you’re my mum. But you’re not, so listen up. I would never condone it, but being drunk is good fun. Unless you realise you are drunk. As soon as you realise you are drunk you realise you are going to be ill the next day. And as soon as you realise you are going to be ill the next day, you stop enjoying yourself. This is when you need to pretend that you are not drunk, but, in fact, in a wonderful state of hypnosis. You’ll probably believe yourself because you’re drunk. The great news is – apart from maybe finding lampposts strangely attractive – there are no side-effects from hypnosis. This means not being ill the next day. Obviously you will be ill the next day. Even more ill than if you’d stopped enjoying yourself when you realised you were drunk. But at least you won’t have stopped enjoying yourself. And that has to count for something doesn’t it?

7. Party Trick. Parties can be awkward. Especially the kind where one git decides that you should all demonstrate a party trick. 99% of the population don’t have party tricks. Unfortunately, the 1% that do, all seem to be at the party. This is when you need to blag it. And you blag it by hypnotising yourself. Or pretending to. Swing your finger back in front of your eyes and chant something along the lines of, “You are falling into a deep sleep. When I click my fingers you will stand on your head everytime you hear the word ‘superfluous’.” Then you click your fingers. If you are lucky you will be at a party where no one can pronounce ‘superfluous’ and even if they can, you know how to stand on your head. If you don’t, well you’ll probably concuss yourself anyway. And that means sitting in the corner being looked after.

*When you’ve done this please let me know. I left a sock behind when I moved.

October 4, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday: The Words Behind The Words Behind The Reasons 2.

Hello, it’s a Jon week. In terms of Russian Roulette Sunday anyway. In terms of general living, every week is a Jon week. If it wasn’t I’d be dead or something. And no one wants that. Especially Marc. All the reasons and all the lemons would drive him insane. So, anyway, back to today. If you were with us in January, you may remember we took a look at some of the words Marc and I have exchanged with each other in the making of 7 Reasons. Have a read here if you were washing your hair that day. Not only was it funny, it was very easy to write. Which is basically our ideal kind of post. So we’ve decided to do it again. Right here. Right now. Enjoy.

“I think it’s fairly obvious, I’m a spaceman.”

“I haven’t done the same, that would be lazy and unhelpful.”

“I am now hungover and not writing furiously about lemons.”

“I may have something sensible to say later.”

“I think camp bingo is like gay bingo. But in a field.”

“Ouch.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

“Canasta.”

“Well done on the lemons.”

“7 Reasons Guy Fawkes Should Have Been Called Lady Spoons?”

“I’d like to point out that a man in Russia found your socks and sandals piece yesterday.”

“If I take the name of York’s most famous son (his birthplace is a four minute walk from here) in vain, an angry mob will probably form outside my door.”

“I shall have an Alka-Seltzer and some lemon juice.”

“That’s £22.50 each per month that we’re not making now. That’s progress.”

“In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have put it straight in. That’s ovens for you though.”

“I’m back! Did you miss me?”

“Would you be totally insulted if I said I didn’t?”

“I was writing about dough balls. It does happen occasionally.”

“The only thing I liked about it was the end. A bit like when my parents used to listen to the Archers at dinner.”

“How about a cat hoverboard?”

“Oh, and Esquire magazine bought David Baddiel lunch today. Have they said anything about buying us lunch?”

“Excuse me a minute, I have a Jehovah Witness shaped problem.”

“I’m not sure it’s totally necessary, but it looks pretty. A bit like Kate Moss.”

“Let me know if you need a lemon.”

“Nice lemon on the sofa. Very funny.”

“Marc. Spiffing. Jon.”

“I have added my thoughts in curly lines that look like sperm.”

“I’ve never liked the French.”

“I tried to write a piece about beards once.”

“I’m like the world’s slowest genius.”

“We are like the tortoise and the tortoise.”

“Something went wrong. I think I shut it too tightly.”

“Photoshopping top trumps cards is more time consuming than I imagined.”

“I’m off to visit the shed.”

“I’m off to the greenhouse of neurosis.”

“I’ve tried shouting at it and that isn’t working.”

“A boy just fell off his bike. I’m laughing. Shall I go and pick him up?”

“That’s like liking Hitler more than Atilla The Hun and New Kids On The Block.”

“Ken, when in doubt, pretend to be a grown-up. It never fails.”

“I don’t have an issue with it. It’s probably the sadist in me. Or the beer.”

“I don’t think you’ve said Zara enough.”

“I hadn’t forgotten that you’re going to Rome, as in my mind it’s a tiramisu-related-event.”

“Bollocks.”

“Is it a cow?”

“It looked funny and I googled it.”

October 3, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons To Visit The Nurburgring Nordschleife

Welcome to the first guest post of October 2010. It’s amazing to think that the 7 Reasons sofa has been circumnavigating the world for nearly a year now. And it’s off abroad again today. Germany is the destination. Well, okay, it’s actually Wycombe. But Germany sounds better. Today’s guest post is written by Jonathan Pitt. A self-confessed pizza and motorsport addict, it will come as no surprise that Jon has written about motorsport. While eating pizza. Incidentally, it is Jon’s birthday today. So let’s all sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him. Ready, steady, go… Why am I the only one singing? Okay, you just want to read Jon’s post. Well here it is. Make sure you follow him on twitter too. He won’t bother you.

If you’re the casual armchair sports fan then you may well have heard of the Nurburgring. After all, its that track in Germany that alternates hosting the German Grand Prix with Hockenheim, right? Well, you are right, sort of. The Grand Prix at the Nurburgring takes place on the 3.2 mile imaginatively named Grand Prix track. However, watching Messers Alonso and Button drive around in fairly small circles belies the majesty of the Ring, for the Grand Prix Circuit has only existed in its current guise since 1984.

The track that you are being provided with seven wonderful reasons to visit is the Nurburgring Nordschleife (North Loop). The original track first opened its doors in 1927 and totalled 14.2 miles as it twisted and turned its way through the Eifel Mountains. (There was also a shorter Sudschleife circuit). Nurburgring Nordschleife hosted all but three of the German Grand Prix’s held between 1931 and 1976. By the early 1970’s it was considered to be too dangerous, with the fiery crash suffered by Austrian Niki Lauda in the final event appearing to confirm this.

Nowadays, the Nordschleife is still used for some racing activities, including the annual 24 hour race. However, the major international racing series now use the Grand Prix track which has replaced the Sudschleife. Despite the slight shortening of the track and the safety improvements made throughout the years, the Nordschleife retains its fearsome character and remains a stiff test for any driver. The owners of the Ring are nice enough to let anyone turn up and drive their car or bike around the circuit in their Touristenfahrten sessions. Ok, that’s enough history. Time for the seven reasons:

1. To Get A Sticker. You may have noticed one of the growing number of cars on British roads featuring the Nurburgring name and track outline. Ok, so you could buy one on eBay, but that would be cheating. Etiquette dictates that only cars that have been driven around the Nurburgring can sport the sticker, so what are you waiting for?

2. No Safety Briefing. Have you ever been karting in Blighty? It doesn’t seem to matter that the vehicle you will be driving is barely faster than a child’s tricycle – you still have to endure a safety briefing and wear fireproof overalls which soon make you feel as though you’ve spent rather too long in a sauna. Try turning up at a UK trackday sans helmet and you won’t be venturing out on track. At the Ring you simply pay your money and drive onto the track when you’re ready. As for helmets, perhaps it is a good idea to wear one when you’re driving at three times the speed that you would on a public road and are being overtaken by a constant stream of Porsches, but this is left entirely to your discretion.

3. To Find Out Whether You’re Really As Good As You Are On The PlayStation. Yes, I know your sort only too well. You’ve wasted your youth beating your friends at Sega Rally and you’ve convinced yourself that your wall riding in Gran Turismo makes you as good as any pro driver. Such games may be fun but to equate them to driving a real car on a real circuit is perhaps the equivalent of claiming that you’ve travelled Europe because you took a day trip to Calais. One important tip – don’t try wall riding on the Nurburgring unless you want a large bill for barrier repairs.

4. It’s Like No Other Track In The World. The combination of the elevation changes, off camber corners, blind crests and lack of run off make it unique in the racing world. At 12.9 miles, the Norsdschleife is also the longest purpose built race track in the world. Even if you’ve driven or raced on other tracks, then assuming you like cars and driving, you cannot fail to be excited at the very site of the Ring, despite its nickname ‘The Green Hell’.

5. To Watch The Crashes. One of the best features of the Nordschleife is that it’s possible to get right up to the edge of the circuit for most of the 12.9 miles. When I drove my first ever lap I was shocked at seeing spectators standing literally several rows deep. Clearly they aren’t there to watch ordinary people drive around in circles for hours. Perhaps some are there simply to marvel at the supercars that frequent the track? Maybe, but there can be little doubt that a large number want to see out of control cars and crashes. They don’t usually have to wait long either. Accidents and consequential track closures are common place. Fortunately, injuries and God forbid, deaths are less common than many think.

6. To Marvel At The Supercars. Want to see a Ferrari, Porsche or Lamborghini? Name a fast car and you’re likely to see it at the Ring before too long. Of course, when you’re putting in 12 minute Laps in your mum’s bog standard Renault Megane (don’t even ask!) then you spend too much time getting out of the way of these beauties to appreciate their presence. However, all is well when you reach the safety of the Nordschleife car park at the end of the lap. Cars are not designed to do lap after lap on the limit and even if the car can cope then the driver can’t. The result of this is a car park crammed full of supercars. The atmosphere is laid back and friendly and if you ask nicely then you may well be able to score a ride in the car of your dreams. A further advantage of the Nurburgring – there wasn’t a Vauxhall Nova anywhere to be seen.

7. Top Gear Did It. If Jeremy Clarkson and the BBC’s Top Gear team think that the Nurburgring Nordschleife is worth a visit then the chances are that it is! After years of presenting a motoring programme and creating ever crazier car related antics then perhaps we should trust Clarkson, Hammond and Captain Slow to educate us about anything that’s even remotely connected to the automobile.

So there you go, seven reasons to visit the Nurburgring Nordschleife. On a more serious note, it’s worth remembering that the Nurburgring can be dangerous. Accidents happen regularly and there is a strong probability that your normal car insurance will not cover you while driving on the Nurburgring. If you damage the barrier then you can expect a bill. If you cause crashes then the police will investigate and if your car dumps oil on the track then you could be looking at thousands of Euros for the cleanup bill and damage caused to other cars by any resulting crashes. If you prepare your car properly and drive carefully then the chances are that you become hopelessly addicted and end up going time and time again. For further information, check out Ben Lovejoy’s Nurburgring Nordschleife website, the Official Nurburgring website and Northloop.

October 2, 2010
7 Reasons My Dream Was A Bit Odd

In a last minute change to 7 Reasons proceedings, the post originally planned for today has been postponed in favour of something that happened overnight. A bit like Martin Luther King, I had a dream. Unlike him however, I was the only one to witness it. Which is why I must share mine with you. Now. It was weird.

1. Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! I’m in a house. But it’s also a hotel. And an airport. It’s next to a London train station. It’s supposed to be London Victoria, but it’s not. So I’m in this house – which is also a hotel and an airport – and everything is going well. I am just wandering. Wandering around. Looking at plates and planes and….oh, a playground. I remember now, there was a playground. And then there’s a fire. Like Billy Joel, I didn’t start the fire, but if I don’t get a bloody shift on I’m going to burn to a crisp. (We’ll come to the crisps later). So I start running. And I find myself in a…

2. Room. It’s a bedroom. And it has a window. Two of them in fact. And outside of the window is a roof terrace. And a ladder into the garden. A garden which I can only assume is on the opposite side of the house to the airfield. I open the window and in a move that a contortionist or Anne Widdecombe would be proud of, manage to get myself through the smallest gap in the world. And with it, to safety. We then shift forward to…

3. The Next Day. I can only assume it’s the next day because otherwise I’d be re-entering a house that is on fire. And that would be stupid. And as I had the intelligence to get out the of house fire in the first place, I don’t believe I am stupid in this dream. So, it’s the next day and I am back in the room that I escaped from. There is smoke damage and Dr Howard Denton. You probably won’t recognise this name because he was one of my lecturers when I was at University. What the bloody hell he is doing here, I have no idea. But I don’t seem to care. In fact I am very happy to see him. Because he starts helping me look for my…

4. iPhone Charger. I must have lost it the previous night. Along with my wallet and car keys. Rather brilliantly I find my iPhone charger lying on top of a dressing table. Obviously that’s one of the most important things to do when trying to escape a house fire. Put your iPhone charger on a dressing table so you can come back to get it the next day. You’d do well to remember that. I am so delighted that I’ve found my iPhone charger that I give Dr Howard Denton my crisps. (Told you we’d come back to them). They’re Phileas Fogg range. Irish cheddar with onion chutney flavour. I know I’ve eaten some already because there’s a wooden clothes peg fastening the packet closed. You can say what you like about me, but I know how to keep crisps fresh. This is when…

…I wake up. My girlfriend’s shouting about babies. At least I think she is at the time. In hindsight I am not entirely sure she was. Either way, I show my caring side by asking her if she’s okay. She is, so I fall back to sleep. And I start dreaming again. And I’m back in another house. A house belonging to…

5. Judy Murray. And the only reason I know the house belongs to Judy Murray is because she has just walked through the front door and said, ‘What are you doing in my house?’ For reasons (probably less than seven) unbeknown to me, we go into the garden where I try and explain. Rather splendidly Judy has sofas and chairs in her garden. And I decide to put two chairs together to form a boat. I then explain to Judy that I was merely in her house to work because it was too noisy back at mine. She seems to understand and, for the first time in my life, I begin to like Judy Murray. Which is when everything becomes a blur until I find myself outside Judy Murray’s house. And in through the window of next door, I can see England bowler…

6. Steven Finn. He’s doing the washing up and not looking as tall as I had seen him on TV. To make sure it doesn’t look like I am stalking him, I get down in Judy Murray’s driveway and start doing press-ups. I’m obviously an optimistic dreamer because I do bloody hundreds of them. All while looking at Steven Finn. Until Judy Murray’s front door opens and out walks…

7. Judy Murray. She starts asking me if – while I’ve been living in her house – I have moved the car. Apparently the hedges look a bit bashed up. Now, I don’t remember dreaming about it, but I know that I did drive Judy Murray’s car into the flowerbed. Which is why I lie and deny I have been anywhere near her Volvo. Once again, she seems to understand. Which is when one of my old school friends rocks up and starts telling me how much he loved my film. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I say, ‘Thanks’ anyway. He then mentions he reads 7 Reasons. Which is when I wake up. Hopefully I’ll find out tonight whether he likes it or not.

October 1, 2010
7 Reasons That The Westbourne Bank Protest Was Stupid

In Britain, it’s often said that we’re not very good at protesting, and we’re always compared unfavourably with the French in that regard. But now, public protest in the UK has reached an all-time low because, last weekend, several men in Dorset bricked up the door of their local bank in what they claimed was a, “…protest against the reluctance of banks to lend money to small firms”. Here are seven reasons that their protest was stupid.

1. They Went To The Wrong Bank. The protesters wanted to brick up the door of the Westbourne branch of Natwest Bank because it had refused the group’s ringleader, Cameron Hope, a business loan. But, when they arrived at the Natwest, the police were nearby, so the group decided to brick up the door of a different bank instead. Barclays. Now, if I do something that irritates my wife involving…ooh…I don’t know…umm…a bicycle, for example, and I’m not there when she finds out about it – or I’m standing near the police – I wouldn’t expect her to go and yell at a different man. Because that would be crazy. And irrational. And yes, it would be much better if she did that, but that’s not the point. Bricking up the door of a bank that they didn’t have a legitimate grievance with is just mad. And counter-productive.

2. Prudence. Okay, so the bank turned down Cameron Hope’s loan application. What should he do? Scrimp and save, perhaps. Look at alternate ways of raising capital, or go to a different bank. I’m not a businessman, but I wouldn’t choose to demonstrate my financial acumen and creditworthiness to another bank by frittering my money away on costly building materials and then use them to construct a monument to my own profligacy on their doorstep. Because that’s not going to help. And it’s a lot of effort. He could have achieved the same effect by setting fire to twenty pound notes in front of the bank manager instead. Far less trouble.

3. Put Simply. The more money the bank has, the more they’ll lend, making it more likely that you’ll get a loan. Conversely: The less money the bank has, the less they’ll lend, making it less likely that you’ll get a loan. So if you brick the door of the bank up, customers can’t take their money to the bank, and then the bank can’t lend it to you. I realise that this is a highly simplistic, microeconomic description of banking, but I’m addressing it thus, to the protesters because of…

4. The Quote. The quote tells us that the protesters don’t understand how banking works at all, because one of the group stated to journalists, “You go into a bank and there’s nothing there, the bank’s open but the safe is shut.” This is his summary of his grievance with the banking system; and it doesn’t really bear much scrutiny. Because of course there’s nothing there. What does this man expect to find in a bank? Displays of money? Shelf upon shelf of alluringly-arrayed notes and enticing floor-displays brimming over with a boundless abundance of shimmering coins? And of course the safe is shut. It’s a safe. That’s its job. If the bloody things weren’t meant to be shut they’d be called something different. They’d be called unsafes. Or vulnerables.

5. Helping The Bank. The protesters bricked up the door of the bank on a Sunday: A day when all banks are closed. So this had no effect on the bank’s ability to trade. In fact, one of the major obsessions and expenses of any bank is security, and by bricking up the door – and thereby making it more difficult for robbers to enter the premises – the protesters actually helped the bank. Not to mention that their protest also brought the police along to stand outside in hi-vis jackets, which probably made the bank as safe as it’s ever been. And all at no extra cost to the bank. What are the protesters going to do next, try to bring down the Conservative party by voting for them?

6. Consequences. Though the protest didn’t have any serious consequences, it could well have done. The protesters could have endangered the nation’s economy. By bricking up the door of the bank, they made it likely that employees would have to enter and exit the premises via the windows. And, as history teaches us, bankers jumping out of windows is one of the worst economic indicators that there is. Worse even than Alistair Darling’s eyebrows. It’s the sort of thing that, if the media get hold of the footage, can shatter fragile economic confidence.

7. Achievement. As a protest against banking it doesn’t appear to have accomplished anything. I was in the centre of a city yesterday, and banking appeared to be going on pretty much unhindered by the protest. People in polyester uniforms were sitting around near potted plants in waist-high partitioned areas looking depressed, as usual. The cash machine outside was covered in the remnants of a McDonald’s milkshake, as usual. I wanted to thump over 90% of the people in the queue, as usual; even myself. So the protest has had no discernible effect on banking. Obviously, the protest brought an awful lot of free publicity for the property developer behind it, but that wasn’t the point. Because this was a protest against banking, right? And not some sort of tawdry self-serving publicity stunt?

September 30, 2010