Author: 7 Reasons

7 Reasons That Urban Cycling Is Tricky

Cycling in an urban environment is not always an unmitigated joy, mostly due to people. In fact, it can often be downright terrifying, frustrating and occasionally embarrassing. Here’s why (with pictures):

1. Pedestrians. The moment that they sense the road is free of motor vehicles, pedestrians will swarm onto it from all directions without looking. There is no discernible pattern to their movement, which is wholly impossible to predict. If you have a bell fitted to your bicycle, you can sound this as you approach. This won’t cause pedestrians to move out of your way, but they will at least look at you as you plough into them. The movement of pedestrians in cycle lanes is easier to predict. They won’t move out of the way at all, as they are apparently mesmerised by all of the pretty pictures of bicycles they can see there.

2. Pedals. No serious cyclist uses standard pedals and you’ll find that anyone with a remote interest in cycling is attached to their pedals, either by clips, or using a clip-less system. This is lovely for generating a lot of power, but an absolute nightmare when maneuvering in dense traffic, where cyclists often need to put their feet down. This is why you often find the riders of cooler, more expensive bikes laying in the road at traffic lights, having come to a standstill and forgotten to extricate themselves from their pedals, which causes them to fall over (it always seems to happen in slow-motion). Well, either they’ve forgotten, or they’ve had some sort of equipment malfunction. In my experience, the larger the audience, the more likely you are to have that malfunction.

3. Distraction. There are many distractions that endanger the urban cyclist: girls in summer clothing, other bicycles, local landmarks and, as I discovered on Monday, shop windows. So distracted was I by my own reflection in a window that I cruised slowly into the back of a car which had come to a halt in front of me, causing many people on a bus to laugh. It was very undignified.

4. Temptation. There are many temptations in an urban environment and it’s easy to succumb to them. While no one would dream of having a few beers and getting behind the wheel of a car, it is perfectly acceptable to have a few beers and then push your bicycle home. But pushing your bicycle is boring and dull and, when you find yourself alone, away from traffic and pedestrians on a deserted riverside cycle path, for example, it’s tempting to ride for a bit. This is a mistake, as you will soon realise when you find yourself wobbling outrageously and unable to steer in the direction that you are vaguely aware that you should be heading in. You will feel a growing sense of anxiety as you lurch between heading toward the river, and heading ever-so-slightly less toward the river. In your efforts to avoid the river, you may find that actually ride round in circles. A dry crash counts as a win in this situation.

5. Cars. Cars are the major hazard to urban cyclists, chiefly because there are so many of them. They do many, many stupid things, but perhaps the most irritating thing they do is to straddle the cycle lane while waiting to pull out, thus halting all cyclists who could otherwise have continued along the road. Having pedalled hard to build up momentum only to be halted due to inconsiderate behaviour is infuriating. As you approach them, all of your shouting, waving and bell-ringing will be in vain as the driver will never, ever make eye contact with you, and they certainly aren’t going to back out of the way. Many cyclists kick the cars of these idiots as they make their way around them. If I attempted that, I would probably fall off (see reason 2).

6. Buses. Terrifying behemoths of the urban environment, buses strike fear into the heart of cyclists. They pull out without any warning and, despite being slower than most bicycles on tight, twisty roads, they will always try to overtake anyway. If you want to see what the face of a terrified and angry cyclist looks like when squashed up against a window, you should sit in a seat on the left hand side of a bus, somewhere near the centre.

7. Taxis. The bette noir of the urban cyclist, the pedestrian, other road users; in fact, all right thinking people. Trying to avoid taxis in an urban environment is challenging indeed. They’re apparently exempt from all of the laws of the road and can seemingly park anywhere, travel at any speed, in any direction, are not obliged to signal and their drivers don’t even need two hands on the wheel. Or even one. Who knows where a taxi will turn up next, or in which direction it may be travelling? Your bike could be struck by a taxi at any moment, even if it’s on the roof-rack of your car or stored in your garden shed. The bloody things pop-up everywhere. They’re a menace.

So, in conclusion, urban cycling is dangerous beyond belief, mostly because all road users – drivers, cyclists and pedestrians alike – are idiots. In fact, all people are idiots, and the further you are from them, the safer you will be. Unless you’re a taxi driver of course, in which case you’re probably immortal.

August 19, 2010
7 Reasons The Sinclair C5 Was Destined To Fail

The Sinclair C5 was relentlessly ridiculed. And quite rightly so, it was rubbish. Any Industrial Design & Technology graduate/person will tell you that. But if they had just made a few small changes, it could have sold at least 500 more units.

1. Women. Quite why Sir Clive Sinclair thought his bucket-on-wheels was going to appeal to a market that needs to check make-up upon arrival at destination, is anyone’s guess. But he did. And he was wrong. If only he had doubled one of the wheels up as a mirror. Sure, it may have looked a bit ‘bling’, but it would probably have appealed to the ever growing pimping community.

2. Date. Unfortunately for Sir Clive, he decided to launch the Sinclair C5 on 10th January 1985. It just so happened that the Viennese zither player, Anton Karas, passed away that day. And as we all know, a zither is much more powerful than a Sinclair C5. The 11th January 1985 was a very slow news day. If only Clive had waited 24 hours.

3. Hills. Always a bit annoying having to get out of your vehicle and push it up a hill isn’t it? Which is why the Sinclair C5 should have come with a tow rope. Or a map that just showed hills that went down.

4. Stirling Job. Getting Sir Stirling Moss to promote the Sinclair C5 may have seemed like a stroke of genius, but they really should have prepped him first. “Just treat it as if you are riding a bicycle,” probably wasn’t quite the ringing endorsement Clive was after.

5. Washing Machines Live Longer With Sinclair. There is an urban myth that says the Sinclair C5 was powered by a washing machine motor. It’s a myth because although the motor manufacturers, Polymotor, do supply to the washing machine industry, they also manufacture torpedo motors. Unfortunately, it is true that the body work of the Sinclair C5 was manufactured by Hoover. Clive should have waited for Dyson. Then maybe I wouldn’t be trying to think of witicisms that involve ‘Sinclair C5’ and ‘cleaning up’.

6. Britain. Sir Clive’s biggest mistake was probably that he tried to sell the Sinclair C5 in Britain. Not only did Britain already have things called cars, it also had weather. And sadly it was never very good. If Sir Clive had been any good at geography, he would have realised that the Sahara desert would be a much better place for his bits of plastic. If it had come with a spade too, the owners could have made sandcastles.

7. Elephants. There is a joke about elephants and minis that I have never really understood. It goes something like this. Q: How many elephants can you fit in a Mini? A: Four. Two in the front, two in the back. Hilarious it may not be, but it does at least make you think of four elephants. In a Mini. Now that’s a terrific endorsement for both Minis and elephant dieting tips if ever I have heard one. So now let’s try it with the Sinclair C5. Q: How many elephants can you fit in a Sinclair C5? A:

August 18, 2010
7 Reasons That I Shouldn’t Have Got The Bus

I used to travel by bus a lot when I was younger. But now I don’t need to use one, as there are always better alternatives available to me. Last Saturday, however, I had to make a journey for which a bus seemed like the best option. I know now that it wasn’t.

1. The Women. I realised quite soon into my ride on the bus (occupied by about thirty people) that I was the only man there. When Margaret Thatcher said, “A man who, beyond the age of 26, finds himself on a bus can count himself as a failure,” did she scare all of the other men away? Obviously I disagree with her statement; there are many good reasons for men over twenty-six to be on the bus, probably seven. That doesn’t mean that I disagree with everything Thatcher said, of course. She once stepped out of 10 Downing Street, strode up to a microphone and said “Good evening” to the assembled journalists, and I didn’t find that too objectionable. But I’m at a loss as to why the bus was an otherwise-man-free-zone, and it felt strange to be intruding on whatever it was that the sisters-of-the-bus would otherwise have been doing.

2. The Heat. It was a hot, sunny day, and buses are vehicles that are constructed almost entirely from windows. Unlike just about every other public building or vehicle though, there is no air-conditioning. This meant that the bus was a very hot place indeed. It is said that men sweat, but women perspire, and I discovered that this was true while I was on the bus: I sweated, and the women on the bus perspired. A lot. They perspired so much that the interior of the bus developed its own tropical microclimate and all of the windows steamed up, which actually improved the view of some of the suburbs we passed through.

3. The Baby. There was a screaming baby on the bus. She bawled persistently for the entirety of the journey. She cried so loudly that I began to wish I had more earwax. Not that I could blame the baby for her wailing, of course. I daresay I’d have cried too, if my mother had looked like Brian Blessed and worn pink velour leggings that were six sizes too small.

4. The Girls. The bus seemed to be the place where the city’s mardy-faced fifteen year old girls go to hang out in pairs. They were wearing most of Superdrug’s range of make-up simultaneously and all of them had hair so dazzlingly shiny that it hurt my eyes. When not scowling contemptuously at me, the baby, Brian Blessed, the strange old woman or the driver (as we were clearly idiots), they were engaged in weighty conversations of substance with each other:

“D’ya know that Kerry?”

“No” (said as a long word, pronounced nerrrrrr).

“She finished with that Ryan”.

“Who?” (pronounced ooo, and said like a gorilla)

“The one what lives next to Judy” (pronounced Ju-deh)

“Who’s Judy ?” (oooze Ju-deh)

At this point, mardy-faced-girl number nine scowled at her friend, mardy-faced-girl number ten, who was clearly an idiot for not knowing who Ryan or Judy were, and I inserted my fingers into my ears and began to hum The Marseillaise.

5. The Strange Old Woman. There was an old woman at the front of the bus, in a priority seat. She had many bags surrounding her – two of which were tartan – and, from one of those tartan bags, she produced an unappetising looking sandwich which appeared to contain some sort of luncheon meat. She proceeded to eat the sandwich. Now you may be thinking that this isn’t really strange behaviour, but I alighted from the bus when it arrived at my destination and, when I got back on board (lighted?) several hours later, she was still there. Shortly after I sat down she reached into the other tartan bag and produced a slice of fruitcake, which was presumably her dessert. She’s probably still there now, having coffee and mints.

6. The Speed. I wasn’t on the bus because I wanted to get to my destination in a hurry, which is just as well, as the bus was moving at almost glacial speed. In fact, there was only one thing on the narrow road back to the city centre that was slower than the bus; and that was the enormous fat man wobbling along in the centre of the carriageway on a tiny bicycle. His legs were rotating at 11 revolutions per minute. I know this, because I had time to calculate it. We were stuck behind him for 19.4 renditions of The Marseillaise until, eventually, we ground to a complete halt.

7. The Prisoner. By this point, I’d tired of the bus and, when we had been stationary in traffic for several minutes, I decided to get off and walk. “Can you open the doors please, I want to alight” I said to the driver, taking full advantage of the rare opportunity to use the word alight.

“No. Sorry.”

“But we’re not moving. I wish to return home during my cat’s lifetime.”

“No. Sorry. We’re not at a stop.”

“But we are at a standstill, will that do?”

“No. Sorry.”

“We’re stationary and next to the kerb: A situation that isn’t remotely different to being at a bus stop. Not that I’m an expert on bus stops, but one of the things that I have observed about them is that they involve both a stationary bus, and a kerb; and our present circumstances fulfil both of those criteria. Furthermore, I put it to you that…”

At this moment the doors opened and I was free to alight from the bus, never to return. Twenty mardy-faced girls scowled at me as I got off.

7 Reasons Transport Week continues tomorrow.

August 17, 2010
7 Reasons I Failed My Driving Test

In the year 2000, I took my driving test. Twice. I failed. Twice. When people asked what I did wrong, I said I drove out in front of another car at a roundabout and drove too close to a parked car. In truth though, it was worse. Much worse.

1. As far as I am concerned, if a sign tells me to undertake all red cars I will do so. Even if it means chasing the git all the way to Bradford.

2. I am not sure what my test instructor was more perturbed by, the fact that I refused to go along this road or because I told her, ‘Sorry love, you must be over 60. Can’t take you down here.’

3. It’s not my fault it looks like a bottle.

4. I am not sure whether it was me trying to forcefully remove her bra or just the sight of me wearing it that got to my instructor, but either way she put an X on her bit of paper.

5. How was I supposed to know this didn’t mean, ‘wield your iron age mallet at all other drivers’?

6. In my defence, it had been a long time since I had played with my wooden dagger.

7. I rather suspect if I hadn’t taken Viagra that morning I would have got away with this one. As it was, I couldn’t see where I was going.

August 16, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday: In Case of Bear

It occurred to us that, although we’ve shown you how not to deal with a bear in the past, we’ve never shown you how to deal with a bear. Until now…

August 15, 2010
Not A Guest Post: 7 Reasons The Guest Post Feature Isn’t Always Skittles And Champagne

Hello. It’s a Saturday. You probably knew that already. You may have also known that Saturday is our Guest Post day. One of you step into our shoes and sit on our sofa. Today though, I am wearing my own shoes. Due to various reasons (probably seven), we don’t have a guest writer today. So it’s over to me. In recent weeks, without even talking about it, Marc and I have fallen into a pattern. I do Saturday, Marc does Sunday. Probably because all potential guest writers email me personally. I don’t know why this, but I imagine it has something to do with the ginger moustache. While most of the time potential guest writers seem to grasp the concept, it is not always the case. Here is a look at some of the more challenging aspects I encounter when dealing with guest post submissions.

1. Enquiry: “Can I write ‘7 Ways/Things/Places…’. My Reply: “I’m afraid 7 Reasons is purely a reasons site and as such all posts must begin ‘7 Reasons’. If you could change your post to feature 7 Reasons we would love to read it.” What I Want To Write: “No you can’t! Did the title of the site not give you a clue? It says 7 Reasons. It’s fairly bloody obvious. If you can’t read how the hell can you expect to write?”

2. Enquiry: “I have an idea for a 7 Reasons piece, can you write it for me?” My Reply: “I’m afraid all guest posts must be written by the originator of the idea. It helps to give the site a different tone of voice and perspective. I like your topic idea though, so if you can write the post we would love to read it.” What I Want To Say: “It’s called a Guest Post. The clue is in the title. I am not a guest. I also note that your idea is rubbish. Go away.”

3. Enquiry: “I’m thinking of writing for you. Are there any topics you’d like me to cover?” My Reply: “The Guest Post feature was created so that you can write about whatever you like.” What I Want To Say: “I am not stupid. If I was to give you an idea for a topic, that means I’ve got to spend another three hours thinking of something for Monday. Do it yourself!”

4. Enquiry: “If I write for you, will you write for me?” My Reply: “I’m afraid not. While we are happy to link to your site in your guest post, we are in no position to do an exchange of posts. Please do send us your submission though. We’d love to read it.” What I Want To Say: “Go away you silly little man. It’s one thing trying to increase the number of visitors to your site by writing for us, it is quite another getting us to do your job for you.”

5. Enquiry: “Hello. I like your site. I would like to write for you. How would I do this?” My Reply: “Hi. Thanks for showing an interest in writing for us. We’d love to receive a submission from you. Please read our guidelines on the site for an idea of what we are looking for.” What I Want To Say: “Open Word and start writing, you absolute tit.”

6. Enquiry: “ومرفق طيه تقديم بلدي ضيفا على وظيفة.” My Reply: “Pardon?” What I Want To Say: “صفعة بلدي الكلبة حتى”

7. Enquiry: “Can you use my ‘7 Reasons To Indulge In Necrophilia’ post?” My Reply: “While we try and encourage a wide variety of topics, I am afraid we have to draw the line when it comes to promoting illegal activity.” What I Want To Say: “I have forwarded your post to the police. And your local church.”

August 14, 2010
7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

1. Carrie Grant Never Smokes A Pipe. Nor has she ever held one for artistic purposes.

2. Cary Grant Never Leant On A Piano. Nor did he have breasts.

3. Carrie Grant Has Never Been Shot At By A Plane. Nor would she enjoy the prospect.

4. Cary Grant Never Got Dressed In A Powercut. Nor was he invited to the premiere of Twilight.

5. Carrie Grant Never Got Her Hands On Grace Kelly’s Chicken Legs. Nor did Grace Kelly make her an origami swan.

6. Cary Grant Never Had A Strange Man’s Hand Down His Trousers. Nor has he ever been David Grant’s puppet.

7. Carrie Grant Never Put Her Arm Around Audrey Hepburn. Nor did Audrey Hepburn feel Carrie Grant’s nipple.

August 13, 2010
7 Reasons That We Should Grow Vegetables In Our Lungs

If you haven’t been near a news source for the past couple of days, you’re probably looking at the title and thinking “er…what!”, or something similar. So, in case you missed it yesterday, the BBC website – amongst many others – carried this amazing news: A pea plant grew in a man’s lung. He didn’t grow it deliberately, and doctors (killjoys) removed it while it was still quite small. But this story demonstrates that it is possible to grow vegetables in our lungs. I’ve given it some thought, and it’s actually a good idea. Here are seven reasons why.

1. You Will Always Have Food With You. There’ll be no more worrying about where your next meal is coming from, and you’ll also lessen the likelihood that you’ll snack on food that is bad for you. After all, you’ll be growing fresh, healthy vegetables in your lungs, and you’ll be eating that instead of snacking on late-night-pizza. So you’ll be healthier too.

2. Oxygen. Plants are amongst Earth’s major sources of oxygen. Where better then, to house an oxygen-making plant, than in your own lungs. You’ll be able to get some of your oxygen directly, without breathing as much. Maybe you’ll be able to hold your breath for a long time. Perhaps you’ll be able to swim underwater for longer distances. David Walliams will probably attempt to swim the English Channel underwater and David Blaine will be able to stage ever-more-spectacular death-defying stunts, which will continue to confound and irritate all right-thinking members of humanity.

And now that I’ve accidentally mentioned David Blaine, I feel obliged to say this. David, you are thirty-seven years old. The world’s oldest living person is 114 years old. So you aren’t even a third of a way toward equalling her death-defying accomplishments; shut up and stop showing off.

3. Vegetarians. In cases where planes have crashed in remote locations and people have become stranded for long periods of time without a food source, vegetarians fare badly. When their omnivorous companions’ minds turn to cannibalism, their thoughts do not. If we grow vegetables in our lungs though, vegetarians will have something to eat too, while their friends are eating their…er…other friends.

4. Space. Not the final frontier, but the amount of room that we have in our gardens. If we’re growing vegetables in our lungs then we’ll have a lot more room in our gardens. And also, the lung-vegetables seem to require no earth, so we’ll need less mud in our gardens. And frankly, the mud is the worst bit. No one will miss it.

5. Uncles. The phrases, “I’m going to have a pee” and, “I’m just off for a leak”, when uttered before disappearing to spend time alone will become ambiguous and will be the source of much humour. We may tire of it quickly, but we will hear it nonetheless. From uncles. “How are you, Uncle Richard?”. “Fine son, I’m full of beans.” It’s always uncles.

6. Smoking. Smokers will have even more incentive to give up, as their smoking will surely adversely affect their lung-vegetable crop*. Either that or the silly people will try to grow tobacco plants in there**.

7. Cauliflower. The centre of a cauliflower resembles the human brain. The brain is an internal organ and, as such, it’s always a little strange to be able to see it. If we were to grow cauliflowers in our lungs, then we would rid ourselves of the terrifying spectre of massed ranks of what are apparently brains, sitting in fields. I always wake up screaming at the point in my dream where the horse chases me through the cauliflower field. Always. And if we grow cauliflowers in our lungs that dream may go away. Though I’m not going to advocate growing horses in our lungs of course, that would be silly.

*This is not based on data from an official scientific study.

**This is wholly based on the conjecture of a man who may have become slightly carried away with his theme.

August 12, 2010
7 Reasons That This Is Not A Circular

A buff envelope has arrived. It bears the legend, “THIS IS NOT A CIRCULAR”. But I already know that. I can tell.

I made this in Photoshop to protect confidential information and to prevent the internet from stealing my soul. (I am referring to the envelope. I did not construct Milton Keynes in Photoshop)

1. It Has A Puzzling Series Of Numbers And Letters Above My Name. No one receives circulars with baffling and impenetrable sets of numbers on them – unless they subscribe to a sudoko magazine – so it’s definitely not a circular. The reference numbers and letters are a puzzle in themselves though: Why are there so many of them? Does this organisation really need a forty-six character indexing system? Is it merely coincidence that my waist size and the amount of times I’ve eaten trifle in the past six months are contained within the numbers? Is this what happened to Dan Brown?

2. It’s From Rhyll. Circulars tend to be fun, exciting things that you’ve subscribed to, and are happy to receive. They don’t come from Ryhll: Home of nothing fun and exciting (It’s the town motto).

3. It Says “PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL” On It. It doesn’t just say “private and confidential”; it shouts it with great portent, in a bold, roman font in capital letters. This is presumably to instil terror into the heart of any ne’er do well that may be thinking of breaking into the letter. It commands non-addressees not to open it. The contents couldn’t be safer if they digitally encoded them and gave them to MI5. Really, they couldn’t.

4. I Can See That It’s Not A Circular. It’s got four corners. It’s a rectangular.

5. Because My Name Is Spelled Correctly. It’s an easy giveaway. No circular – The Chap magazine, the Isle of Wight Donkey Sanctuary newsletter, Tiramisu Consumers Monthly, the Rohan catalogue (as soon as I finish writing this, I’m going to subscribe to more interesting things, I promise) – ever spells my name correctly. It’s the law. Some of them (I’m thinking of you, Font Magazine) manage to spell both of my names incorrectly – and my address – though it is done very neatly and tastefully.

6. It’s In A Buff Envelope. No fun personal correspondence comes in a buff envelope. None. In fact, nothing exciting comes in a buff envelope. White envelopes, yes. Yellow envelopes, yes. Purple envelopes, yes…every colour other than buff, which isn’t even a colour, except on envelopes. Has anyone ever painted their house buff? No, they haven’t. That would be silly. And dull.

7. Because I Don’t Want To Open It. I feel an instinctive aversion to opening the envelope. It looks like it contains something really boring. This never happens with circulars, except the Toolstation catalogue (white envelope), which always reminds me that I should be hammering and banging at something, and that I don’t own enough power-tools (to build a nuclear submarine). If you want me to open the envelope print, “THIS IS A CIRCULAR” on it, or add a picture of a happy dog to the front. That may fool me. Then I won’t ignore it while I write about it before heading off to do something more interesting than reading it. Visiting a quilt museum, for example.

August 11, 2010
7 Reasons This Poster Frustrates Me So

1. It’s Quicker By Rail. I’m sure it was, 75 years ago. Sadly, given the fact that my last foray on a train took a good deal longer than it took Neil Armstrong to get to the moon, I would suggest times have changed. And not for the better. It’s frustrating that this poster would now have to say, ‘It’s Quicker By Rail (Unless You Meet A Cow)’.

2. It Oozes Frenchness. This isn’t my usual anti-France and all things French rant, in fact, it’s made me think of Grace Kelly. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, unless you happen to be writing this in front of your girlfriend. Now, I’ll be the first to acknowledge that Grace Kelly isn’t French – or at least a close second behind her – but in the film To Catch A Thief, she did spend an awful lot of time poncing around with Cary Grant on the French Riviera. And frustratingly, this picture reminds me of that poncing. And if there are two things I can’t stand, it’s poncing and the French. Together.

3. The Woman. While the man looks like he’s a man, the woman looks like a statue. It’s disappointing for those of us who take female equality so seriously. You would never find 7 Reasons being so vindictive. That’s why, at all times, 50% of us are strictly male lesbians.

4. Visit Scarborough. It looks quite nice in the poster. If I had been alive back in 1927, I may have got on the train. Unfortunately, having found a photo of its current state and transposed it over the poster, I can see that it hasn’t really changed much. Which is why I now have little option but to pay the £108.40 and take the 5 hour 40 minute journey (plus cows).

5. Chivalry. I am naïve. I believe it when the older generation say, ‘it wasn’t like this in my day’. They are usually talking about manners. Or sex. But that was the wrong club at the wrong time, so really it’s just manners. People used to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, though not necessarily at the same time, and men with walking sticks would most definitely offer them to women with bad backs. Sadly, though this poster indicates that in fact man couldn’t care less. Which means the older generation have lied to me. Either that or this woman is in fact a statue.

6. It’s Joe. This man is Joe Scarborough. He’s the host of Morning Joe on MSNBC. In a past life he was also a politician. The only reason I know this is because I found numerous pictures of him while searching for a photo for Reason 4. Rather frustratingly, forever more, I will hold this useless piece of information about Joe Scarborough in my mind. No doubt at the expense of some fascinating fact about sausages.

7. The Man. He reminds me of Piers Morgan. And I’m not sure why. Which means it’s doubly frustrating. And as doubly frustrating things tend to do, they will no doubt occupy my mind for the rest of the day. Which in turn, of course, means I will be dreaming about Piers bloody Morgan tonight. Thank you BBC News Magazine. Not what I call a public service.

August 10, 2010