Author: 7 Reasons

7 Reasons That It’s Over Between Us, Colin

Dear John, (well, Colin)

It saddens me to have to say this, but I’ve been considering this for a while now, and something doesn’t feel quite right any more, and it looks like it’s over for us. I can only imagine how hurt and upset you’ll be when you find this letter, so I’d like to soften the blow by saying that it isn’t you, it’s me. This isn’t true, however, it definitely is you, and here are 7 reasons why.

1. You’ve Changed. We used to have such fun times together, Colin. You were an assured, engaging and charismatic man who could readily pique my interest. When you made jokes we laughed heartily, Colin. Oh, how we laughed. But then, I began to notice a change in you. I can’t say exactly when this change occurred, but I do know that it happened at some point between the end of BBC Radio 5Live’s Fighting Talk at noon on Saturday and 10pm on Sunday, when you presented Match Of The Day 2. Because during those thirty-four hours you turned from a warm, funny, confident lover…er…presenter, (I mean presenter) into a man I barely recognised.

2. You Always Say The Wrong Thing. You always knew how to turn on the charm, Colin. Even on the rare occasion when words let you down, you were able to twinkle your eyes or smile an easy smile. But last night Colin, I saw that all that had changed. From the moment the title sequence ended, you looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, and bulgy-eyed anxiety is not something I find attractive in a presenter, Colin. Nor is grimacing. Nor are halting, stuttering sentences and…

3. You Couldn’t Even Look Me In The Eye. I just wanted to see a glimpse of the man I thought I knew, Colin; how I longed for you to gaze into my eyes. If you’d done that, I might have been reassured. I might have seen that you still needed and wanted me and that what we had together was worth saving. But you couldn’t even look me in the eyes, could you Colin? And it wouldn’t have been too much trouble to go to, would it? All you had to do was look into the camera that had its light on. But you didn’t. You were looking at every camera other than mine. And I can’t begin to tell you how much that hurt.

4. Your Immaturity. It used to be that I was bowled over by your boyishness, Colin (I’m surprisingly boyish myself). It made you seem fun, irreverent and eager. But, last night, what I saw wasn’t boyish, or charming. It was childish and immature. Now you can get away with a lot of childish whimsy if you do it with wit, Colin. But the animations I saw weren’t funny, or even clever (they were big, but only because I was close to the television). They were cringe-worthy, crap and embarrassing. They made me wish that I was somewhere else. But that was nothing when compared to…

5. Your Climax. Now, I’m sure no man likes to have his performance compared to that of his current partner’s ex-presenters. But whereas Adrian steadily built my excitement throughout the show and brought me assuredly to a climax with 2 Good 2 Bad, you did nothing, Colin. Nothing. There I was, waiting, yearning, expectantly for more and things just sort of withered away, leaving me feeling empty and unfulfilled. I never thought anything would make Adrian seem attractive, but the lack of a climax with you made me pine for him. I know that isn’t entirely your fault, Colin. I also blame…

6. Your Mates. They say that you can judge a man by the company he keeps, and the company you keep is frankly creepy. I don’t like your orange friend Phil who seems to be labouring under the illusion that he’s being head-hunted for every top job going, and as for Martin, I think he may be the single most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen (and I once dreamed that I was being chased around Basingstoke by a fire-breathing baboon with wings and an angle grinder). It’s no wonder you had trouble reaching a climax with those two looking on.

7. I’m Disappointed In You. It used to be so good, Colin. I used to fondly imagine we’d grow old together and, in the Autumn of our lives, we’d be able to look wistfully back on all of the good times we’d had together: The time that you seemed to be on Radio 5Live for eighteen hours per day; the time that you “sang” on Celebrity Fame Academy; the time that you said something so funny on Fighting Talk that tea came out of my right eyelid (and I wasn’t even drinking tea). But all that’s ruined now, Colin. It’s time to face facts. It’s over between us. I’ve moved out, to another channel, because you’re just not the man I thought you were. I wish you all the best for the future. Lots of love,

The Viewer. x

August 30, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday. Press Play: Feel Happy

Hello! It’s Sunday again, and the 7 Reasons team are away for the day. Half of the team is busy poisoning his friends and family with cookery, and the other half has managed to pick 4.2 kilograms more blackberries than he required and is wondering what the hell to do with the rest. If you have any ideas, please let us know. We have already made two years worth of jam and four litres of blackberry vodka and have now run out of ideas.

The 7 Reasons team have been busy updating the website recently and, as of yesterday, we are now able to host and play our own flv and swf files, which is something we’re very excited about. We sense that not everyone will be as enthused about this development as we are, so we’ve provided you with something short that’s guaranteed to make you happy. Just press play. (It’s even better in full screen). Play it as many times as you want, he won’t get tired.

[flv:http://7reasons.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/psypenjump1.flv 550 380]

August 29, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons That The Umbrella Is A Bad Invention

We were hoping to bring you a guest post by Tom Cruise this week, but sadly talks broke down when we couldn’t give him a more precise date on which he would receive his badge. Thankfully, we have found someone someone else who once considered a career in film. Unfortunately, the Reading Odeon wasn’t recruiting at the time.* And that is definitely to 7 Reasons gain. Back on the 7 Reasons sofa for an unprecedented two Saturdays in a row is serial guest writer, Dr Simon Best. This week he has swapped the luxury of sleepers for umbrellas. Well who wouldn’t? Over to you Dr Simon.

1. Health Hazard. When you are under an umbrella you become blind to things around you. This makes umbrellas a health hazard. Umbrellas are a health hazard for tall people. Imagine you are well over 6 foot tall, and walking down a street in the rain packed with people with umbrellas. You will be very fortunate if you emerge with your eyesight intact. Umbrellas are also a health hazard for short people like me when we stand at bus stops and taller people with their umbrellas drip water onto our heads or if we happen not to be wearing hoods, down our necks.

2. The Weather. Umbrellas may be designed to withstand rain, which is excellent. However they are not designed to withstand more than the gentlest breath of wind. I have seen umbrellas turned inside out by breezes that aren’t strong enough to ruffle a feather. Take an umbrella outside in Britain and it’ll end up looking like this:

This umbrella was probably bought this morning and is now useless. Like all umbrellas.

Provided they haven’t been turned inside out by the wind, umbrellas only protect you from rain from above. However rain often falls horizontally. This is especially the case by the sea. Umbrellas offer no protection whatsoever against horizontal rain. In order to stay dry on your summer holiday by the sea in Britain you need a wraparound umbrella. Or a waterproof coat.

3. Size. Umbrellas come in two sizes: Too big and too small. Either way they are the wrong size. They are either too small for two people to shelter under, thus being anti-social and encouraging selfishness, or, if they large enough to fit more than one person underneath, they are so big that they take up an entire pavement and make it impossible for a normal person wearing a sensible coat (with a hood) to get past.

4. They Get Wet. “Of course they get wet,” I can hear you all saying, “that’s the whole point of them”. Well what happens when you come in from the rain to your house where everything is dry? The umbrella deposits water all over your dry house. Thus bringing in the rain that you tried so hard to keep off you and getting everything wet and posing the problem of where to dry an umbrella. You can just hang a coat up and it’ll dry but umbrellas need to be open to dry (which brings seven years bad luck). You then leave it propped open somewhere and end up falling over it. Ridiculous things.

5. Rihanna. This song is about umbrellas. For some inexplicable reason it got to number 1. And stayed there. For 10 weeks. It is very annoying and not just because Rhianna is inviting her gentleman friend to stand under her umbrella – I hope they weren’t on a pavement and had a good amount of space around them. If the umbrella hadn’t been invented then Rhianna would have been forced to sing about something else, or not at all which would have been infinitely preferable.

Rihanna – Umbrella

6. Georgi Markhov. The umbrella was a very bad invention for Mr Markhov. He was a Bulgarian dissident who was murdered in London in 1978. The poison was in the tip of an umbrella which he was poked with while waiting at a bus stop. If the umbrella hadn’t been invented then there wouldn’t be any risk to Bulgarian dissidents (or innocent passers-by) and the KGB would be forced to resort to the CIA’s methods such as poisoned slippers or exploding cigars which were much less effective and mush more amusing.

7. Mary Poppins. Mary Poppins arrived to look after the Banks children by umbrella. This is ridiculous as no umbrella would be strong enough to take the weight of a middle aged nanny. Leaving that aside most people think Mary Poppins is lovely. I don’t. She is responsible for making up nonsense words, encouraging vermin by feeding pigeons, and frankly questionable childcare methods (lacing medicine with sweeteners and, using witchcraft rather than tidying up and taking them on a dangerous cross-country carousel ride). Without umbrellas Mary Poppins would never have been able to arrive.

August 28, 2010
7 Reasons It’s Difficult Remembering To Take Chicken Out Of The Freezer

You know how it is, you want chicken for dinner. That means you need to remove it from the freezer. It’s never that easy though. Is it?

1. First Trip To The Freezer. Sadly you don’t make it as far as the freezer. Instead, out of the corner of your eye, you notice something alarming. A significant lack of tea-bags in the tea-bag jar. This is poor tea-bag management and must be rectified with immediate effect. You then make a cup of tea and go and do something else. Probably drink it while spoofing an England cricket captain. Well, I do anyway.

2. Second Trip To The Freezer. Rather brilliantly, your girlfriend/wife/significant other has just sent you a message reminding you to get the chicken out of the freezer. ‘That’s rather brilliant,’ you say. Rather unbrilliantly though, she has also asked you to put beetroot in a bag and then transfer it to the fridge. This is a delicate operation as one false move can result in a pair of red stained boxer shorts. Thankfully, you make it through and then go and relax on the sofa for half-an-hour. Just to, you know, recover.

3. Third Trip To The Freezer. This time you really are going to get the chicken out of the freezer. And indeed you get as far as opening the door. Sadly, you are not confronted by chicken and instead are reminded that you should get a couple of rolls out for your lunch later. You then try and put the remaining rolls back in the freezer without something else falling to the floor. By the time you have picked up all the shattered ice cubes and refilled the tray, you have completely forgotten about whatever it was you shouldn’t have forgotten about. Probably chicken.

4. Fourth Trip To The Freezer. Just as you are stepping into the kitchen, the stupid woman on the radio stops repeating, ‘Coming up in a few minutes – Test Match Cricket,’ and is replaced by the sound of, ‘Soul Limbo’. Suddenly you are thinking back to the good old days in (circa) 2002 when Michael Bevan smashed you all around Leicestershire and then you were promptly smacked on the head by a Devon Malcolm beamer. Then you stop thinking that it really should have been you playing for England today and go and listen some people who actually can play cricket.

5. Fifth Trip To The Freezer. Washing-up! It’s 12pm and you still haven’t washed the breakfast things. Your Mum might be 140 miles away, but you can’t help but feel she is disappointed in you. You shake your head and do what needs doing. Then you drop an apple on your foot.

6. Sixth Trip To The Freezer. The first thing you see as you walk into the kitchen are your rolls. They have defrosted. That means it must be lunchtime.

7. Seventh Trip To The Freezer. This time there is no stopping you. You are straight in to that freezer and out you come with chicken. It needs to defrost in approximately two hours. Which is why you employ delaying tactics when you are out shopping that evening and why your girlfriend/wife/significant other now thinks you have an unhealthy interest in the style of men’s underwear.

August 27, 2010
7 Reasons That Lampshades Are Stupid

1. Dimness. Lampshades dim the light in a room. You knew that already, but no one ever asks why we want to dim the light in a room. Why do we go to the trouble of installing a light and then surround it with a device that hampers its efficacy? We don’t put semi-transparent curtains in front of our televisions or our fingers in our ears when listening to the radio (except for Talksport listeners) so why do we cock up our lighting? Stupid.

2. Heads. Short people are left in charge of putting lampshades up in their own homes. There should be a law against this. I can’t count the number of times that I’ve banged my head on lampshades in the homes of short people, which is probably a good thing as having the number to hand would make me appear weird. However many times it is though, it is too many. I don’t need another hazard to worry about when I’m concentrating on not falling over their child or treading on their dog.

3. Walls. You go to the trouble of selecting a colour scheme for your living room and then, once it is complete you go and hang a lampshade up: A device which changes the colour of everything in the room, turning your white walls rosy, your blue walls turquoise, your yellow walls brown, and your orange walls red (I am using four different lampshades and rooms in that example, not one. There is no need to panic.) The only wall colour that’s impervious to light filtered through a lampshade is black, which means that only the bedrooms of teenage boys and serial killers are safe from their effects.

4. Art. While we’re on the subject of colour, the damned things change the colour of art too. Try appreciating the subtle use of colour in a print of Manet’s Olympia when it’s bathed in a ghastly light filtered through a green paisley lampshade. Ever seen a lampshade in an art gallery? No, of course you haven’t. Well, unless you’re reading this next year, that is, after I have won the Turner Prize with my latest work entitled Stupid Stupid Stupid, which is a photo-montage of a hairless cat wearing a pair of Crocs balancing atop a green lampshade. (I was being deliberately fanciful when I concocted that artwork, but it actually sounds better than Tracey Emin’s Bed).

5. The Planet. Lampshades are killing our planet. If we had no lampshades then we could use lower wattage light bulbs which consume less power. This means that we’d need to produce less electricity, which would be better for the environment. Think about it: lampshades are actually causing us to use more of the planet’s resources than we otherwise would. For what? If we didn’t have lampshades we could probably use the energy we saved to put electrical lights on trees for a couple of weeks every year. Or perhaps not. That would be ridiculous.

6. Cleanliness. While it is oft said that cleanliness is next to godliness (which seems fair enough), it is never said – until now – that cleanliness is next to lampshades. This is for good reason, as one of the things I have observed when banging my head on many of the things is that copious amounts of dust fall from them when I do so. This is because people don’t clean them. They don’t dust them and they don’t hoover them, which means that the lampshade in the dining room – above your dinner – is covered in lots and lots of bits of dead skin. Yum. Now imagine how much you’ll enjoy your meal if a tall person should accidentally bump the lampshade when sitting down to dine, causing dust to fall on your food. Eating it would not only be unhygienic, it would probably be cannibalism. So there you have it: Lampshades cause cannibalism. I bet you weren’t expecting to learn that today.

7. Stupidity. Lampshades are not merely stupid, they also cause stupidity. Here I am wearing mine.

********************UPDATE********************

I have finished my masterpiece. The 2011 Turner Prize will be mine!

August 26, 2010
7 Reasons Everyone And Everything Should Have Auto-Tune

You don’t have to be interested in the X-Factor to know about autotunegate or whatever it is called. I am the living proof of that. To be honest, I don’t know what all the fuss is about. Auto-tune is good. It makes things bearable. Just think how good life would be if everything and everyone had auto-tune.

1. Annoying Voices. No more high-pitched Joe Pasquale shrieking. No more Andy Murray monotones. No more confusing regional accents. No more chavs. Just a straightforward English accent that everyone can understand.

2. The Monarchy. They are bit like marmite. You either love them or you hate them. Or you are indifferent to them – as I suspect at least 90% of the world’s population is to marmite. I have long thought that the hate for the Monarchy is borne out of their accents. They are well-spoken. Which immediately alienates anyone who pronounces ‘Good Morning’ as ‘Alright fella’. If a member of the Monarchy had auto-tune they would be able to walk into The Tattooed Arms, order a bevy and become darts team captain before the end of the night. ‘Bonnie’ Prince Charlie then really could become the people’s King.

3. Movie Accents. My top three awful movie accents in ascending order. Kevin Costner in Robin Hood. Mickey Rooney in Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. Horrendous. The lot of them. And no, Dick Van Dyke’s cockney does not fall into the category of, ‘so bad it’s quite charming’. It’s not charming. It’s mute-button inducing. And it will always haunt me. Everytime I look at a chimney.

4. Polystyrene. Arrrrrggggggggghhhhhhh! Which git invented a material that not only feels like…erm…polystyrene, but also sounds like Alan Carr on helium when rubbed?*

5. Nails On A Chalkboard. Arrrrrggggggggghhhhhhh! (Again). Auto-tune would turn this into the Intermezzo from ‘Cavalleria Rusticana. Or the theme tune to Postman Pat. Anything really. Just not nails on a chalkboard. Or polystyrene. Or Joe Pasquale. Or Dick Van Dyke. Or Aqua’s Barbie Girl.

6. The French. It’s not the fact that I don’t like them, it’s the fact that whatever is said in a French accent sounds sexy. At no point should, ‘I take the cat and I put it in the bin,’ sound at all sexy. Yet, said with Frenchness, it does. Have a go. (Insert you speaking in a French accent here). See? What you’ve just done is wrong. The French accent should therefore be auto-tuned to English. ‘I take the cat and I put it in the bin,’ will never sound sexy in a Coventry burr.

7. Nuclear Warning Siren. I hope I never get to hear it for real. At least not in the next year. (There’s the Ashes and two world cups for England to win). But just supposing for a minute that I did hear it. There is a fair chance it might be the last thing I ever hear. I therefore want to go out in as relaxed a mood as possible. Not listening to something that sounds like a dolphin being drilled through the eye. The Nuclear Warning Siren should therefore be auto-tuned. Then we can all fall asleep listening to Geri Halliwell being penetrated by a unicorn.

*I can see what you might be thinking here. You have the wrong end of the stick.**

**I can see what you might be thinking here. You’re a pervert.

August 25, 2010
7 Reasons That This Sign Could Be Better

1. What’s Missing? I saw this sign on a First Capital Connect train yesterday. What do you notice about it? Or, more specifically, what do you notice about the person depicted on the sign? That’s right, First Capital Connect, you have a sign asking people without feet to keep their feet off the seats. You might as well have put this sign up.

2. It’s Not Very Interesting. But if you’re going to ask people to keep something that they don’t have off seats, then feet don’t really have enough appeal. Football has mass-market appeal and advertisers often use it to get their message across. How about this?

3. Some People Don’t Like Football Though. So you can always try a more fanciful approach.

4. Your. Given that the person depicted has no feet you, rightly, don’t use the word your, as you aren’t asking them to keep their feet off the seats; you’re asking them to keep feet in general off the seats, presumably in case any footless passengers travelling on your train are carrying bags of feet, which are probably quite heavy and burdensome. In which case, this sign would be better. This sign would also let people know that putting bags containing items other than feet on seats is also unacceptable, thus serving a practical dual purpose.

5. Targetting. It’s not clear which footless demographic the sign is aimed at. After all, if these footless people are old enough to travel by train, but are still so ignorant that they need to be told not to put their feet on the seats, then the chances are that they won’t know why it is wrong. This sign spells out the consequences to them.

6. Or Be Less Subtle. Or you can try the putting the fear of god into them by letting them know that if they put their feet on the seats then they will be shot by a man without a lower-body. That should get their attention. Can you implement a foot response unit?

7. Feet. Or you could just have thought about what you were doing in the first place and engaged someone competent to do your signage. I’d like to tell you that your stupid sign ruined my journey, but it didn’t. The late-running of the train did that.

August 24, 2010
7 Reasons The Weekend Just Gone Could Have Been Better

Providing you are doing this properly, you will be reading this on Monday morning. And providing you are doing this properly, I will be in the car returning from V Festival. Which is why I am writing this on Thursday afternoon. And as I am writing, I am quietly confident that I am not going to get stuck in a portaloo during a hurricane. But this is naive. I almost certainly will have done. And I will also have experienced a further seven disasters.

1. Wellington Boots. They are new. Green and new. At least they were. No doubt I am now wearing someone else’s boots. I almost certainly left them outside of the tent on Saturday night only for the V Festival swap-shop parade to pass through my patch of field at 4am and decide I could do with an older pair. A pair with holes in. And talking about holes, my…

2. …Inflatable Mattress will contain at least one by now. Don’t ask me how I did it. I probably sat on it wrong or decided to try and deflate it with a plastic fork. As a result, I probably didn’t sleep very well and decided that I would be better off getting up ridiculously early and visit the…

3. …Portaloos. Which, while not a complete disaster, was a bit like playing a game of Russian Roulette. And, because I have a habit of shooting myself in the foot, I will almost certainly have ended up walking in to the portaloo which contained the man wearing nothing more than a…

4. …Mankini. Thankfully, I don’t hang around long enough to get one of my own and before you know it I am running back to my tent. Which is of course now my…

5. …Lost Tent. Having forgotten to bring my compass with me, I am left to navigate via the sun. Which of course blinds me and so I spend half the time picking myself up after tripping over approximately 33 guy ropes. I am now covered in mud, beer, thai chicken curry and maybe have the odd syringe protruding from an arm. I head for the…

6. …Showers. They were cold. Very cold. So cold in fact that I get accused of being in the wrong sex’s showers. Probably by the mankini seller. By the time I make it back to the correct tent, the…

7. …Queues for breakfast are already heading out of Chelmsford. I suppose I should have just been using the gas stove, but I broke that on Friday morning while packing the car. Along with next door’s cat.

August 23, 2010
Guest Post:7 Reasons That Travelling By Sleeper Is Great

In the final instalment of 7 Reasons Transport Week, regular guest poster Simon Best, brings a touch of old school glamour to proceedings by travelling on a sleeper train.

1 Novelty. Part of the fun of travelling by sleeper is its novelty. There are only four sleeper services in the whole of the United Kingdom, but it wouldn’t be as much fun if you did it every day. Just imagine if your daily commute involved getting a sleeper to and from work (and no falling asleep on the train from Luton to St Pancras doesn’t count). If this was the case you would, essentially, be living on a train. Now I can think of worse places to live – France, for example or Slough – but that’s irrelevant, the main point is…

2. History. Boarding a sleeper is a bit like stepping back in time; even the name sounds like something from a 1930s Agatha Christie novel and it put me in mind of WH Auden’s poem ‘The Night Mail’, with its talk of cheques and postal orders (and that even rarer object the letter). I personally haven’t received or written a cheque all year and I think the last postal order was sent in about 1973. There is no longer a night mail train; now your Amazon orders or the clock you bought on Ebay are delivered by plane. The sleeper is still running. Travelling by sleeper is great because it is historic.

3. VIP Treatment. Normally catching a train is a stressful business. You have to wait on the concourse until the platform is announced – usually two minutes before you’re due to leave – and then it’s changed two minutes after you should have left causing you to either: a) miss the train b) knock an old lady over with your briefcase or c) strain a muscle hurling your suitcase into your carriage. This is not the case with the sleeper. It is always in the station an hour before it is due to leave. You’re greeted by your sleeping car attendant, welcomed by name when you show your ticket (you don’t get that on the 7:42 to Charing Cross do you?), you’re asked what you’d like for breakfast, when you’d like it, and shown to your cabin. In short, you’re treated like Michael Winner being escorted to the first class cabin on Concorde. Travelling by sleeper is great because you’re given VIP treatment.

4. Your Cabin. Once on board you make your way to your cabin, stow your luggage (there is no other train in the world on which you ‘stow’ your luggage you just stick it in a luggage rack and hope someone doesn’t put a huge suitcase on the top). You then proceed to play with all the gadgets, play around with the bed, open the little shelf next to the bunk, climb up to the top bunk and sit there, lift the cover to the wash basin, press the taps, open the blind, and close it again. Twice. Turn the three different lights on and off several times and adjust the temperature slider seeing just how hot or cold you can make it and like the controls on a shower then spend ten minutes getting it just right, which is invariably the setting it was on to start with. Travelling by sleeper is great because your cabin has more gadgets than the TARDIS.

5. The Lounge Car. Once you’ve become bored fiddling with the temperature and switching the light on and off, you’ll doubtless leave your cabin and stroll down the train to the lounge car. Here you can relax on a sofa and order a gin and tonic from the bar (well that’s what I’m having, what would you like to drink?). The lounge car even stays open all night but you can only get booze until one am because, as the stewardess said, “this is a train, nae a nightclub” (who would want a nightclub on wheels anyway). On American sleeper trains lounge cars even have observation decks, with clear roofs so that you can look out at the scenery as you travel along. They also go one stage further and provide actual in-train entertainment, showing films. I was once stuck on a non-moving train in the middle of the desert in Texas. When we’d been staring at the desert for three hours I got quite excited at the announcement that they were showing a film. They showed My Dog Skip. I should have kept staring at the desert. However the actual film is irrelevant. Travelling by sleeper is great because there is a lounge car.

6. Breakfast. Having chosen your morning beverage, ordered your breakfast and arranged your wake-up call when you board the train, you’re gently roused by the sleeping car attendant at the appointed time, with your breakfast which you can then eat in bed while the train rolls sedately through the countryside. Just be careful not to flash your nightwear at a flock of sheep. I love having breakfast in bed, except for the crumbs that you have to clear up afterwards. Travelling by sleeper is great because you get breakfast in bed with a view, and you don’t have to clear up afterwards.

7. Efficiency. We all like things that save us time. Think of all the labour saving devices we have in our homes: washing machines, computers, vacuum cleaners, electric carving knives (actually forget that last one). The sleeper allows you to go to bed in London and wake up next to Ben Nevis (or if you’re feeling more adventurous go to bed in Berlin and wake up in Warsaw). This makes it one of the most efficient modes of transport, as it allows you to travel a long distance and sleep at the same time. Something that is not advised if you’re driving a car or riding a bike.

August 21, 2010
7 Reasons Not To Write On The Train

As a part of 7 Reasons Travel Week, we have decided to try something new. Rather than writing this piece in a conventional location; a quiet atmosphere of consideration and reflection – or in the pub – it’s going to be written on the train during a journey from York to Kings Cross. We like to think of it as a bold experiment into guerrilla style blogging, because that sounds more interesting than a man typing on a train. Anyway, the guard has blown his whistle (or I’m having another acid house flashback) and we’re off. Here are seven reasons not to write on the train.

Space…The Lack Of

1. It’s Tight. No, not my prose style, my deadline – or even my trousers – I’m referring to the amount of room that I have at the moment. I’m 6’2”. The tiny seat that I am crammed into has sufficient legroom for an eight year old child (a small one). My back is planted firmly into the back of my seat and my knees are jammed right up against the hard back of the seat in front of me, just under the “table”. I’ve only been seated for ten minutes and I’m already in pain. Balanced on the teeny-weeny-tiny “table” in front of me is my very small netbook, a bottle of water, a pen, a notebook with a picture of a skateboarder on it (how cool am I?) and a pair of sunglasses. The sunglasses aren’t meant to be on the “table”, they just keep being shaken from their resting place on top of my head. They – for some reason – always land on the f key. Anyway, ocular accoutrements aside, it is all essential writing gear on the “table” (well, I say on the “table”, I keep having to retrieve a lot of it from the floor). This is because of…

2. The Shaking. The shaking of the train is making typing difficult, to say the least. It causes me to accidentally touch the trackpad quite a lot, which makes the text I am typing suddenly begin to appear in the middle of a line I don’t want it to be on. So if what you’re reading seems somewhat confused and incoherent, it’s because of the shaking and not, as is usually the case, because I’m confused and incoherent. Jfmklsdjlggfkgnfk;gnf.g (My apologies, that was my bottle of water leaping from the table and landing on the keyboard. That happens quite frequently).

My webcam captures the moment the flying bottle makes another guest appearance

3. The Mysterious Burning Smell. Oh yes, we have one of those. It smells like an electrical fire. I first noticed it shortly before the train ground to a halt in the middle of the countryside near Leeds. Am I about to die in an inferno? Where is the nearest door? Why don’t the hammers next to the windows resemble hammers? Is that a field full of cows that we’ll have to escape into? Why didn’t I finish that packet of Hob-Nobs before we left the house? I’m beginning to realise that my imminent death isn’t conducive to concentration.

4. The “WiFi”. The East Coast Mainline WiFi network is slower than the train itself. In fact, it’s slower than me alighting from the train, going to the pub for a bit, growing a beard, taking a course in both basic and advanced basket-weaving, and then walking to Google’s office in California to get a printout of the web page that I now wish to view. I keep checking back every five minutes or so, to see if my web page has loaded but no, it hasn’t. And I may need to read that page on how to avoid being eaten by a cow as a matter of some urgency.

5. The Woman Next To Me. The woman sitting next to me, despite being approximately a foot shorter than I am, keeps complaining about the lack of legroom. She also keeps staring at my screen, which is very off-putting. She continually encroaches into my armrest territory, and when the train jars or shakes, her pointy elbow digs into my left arm and my ribs. It serves me right for marrying a woman with sharp elbows, I suppose. The woman next to me is now pulling a face.

6. Announcements. I’m being annoyed by the PA system and it’s causing me to become distracted and lurch into epistolary instead of writing properly.

Dear PA System,

I have heard the announcements now, and I understand them, thank you. I couldn’t be more aware of the location of the buffet car, the name of the train manager, or the myriad ticket restrictions that apply to my journey. I have now decided, as a consequence of the many announcements I have heard, that I will be taking my personal belongings with me when I leave the train. Obviously, without your help, I would have abandoned all of my stuff and wandered off the train naked to begin a new life unencumbered by material possessions and socks. Thank you very much for sparing me from this alternate and possibly quite chilly future. Yours sincerely,

Passenger 12 (facing). Coach C.

7. The Time. We’ve been on the train for two hours and we’re arriving at King’s Cross already. That’s not enough time to write anything. Where’s my delay? Bastards!

August 20, 2010