Category: Posts

7 Reasons You Know it’s Autumn (in Yorkshire)

As I walked down the street yesterday, something suddenly hit me: It’s Autumn; here in Yorkshire. Here’s how I can tell.

1. Leaves. The leaves turn brown and fall from the trees. This, you may be thinking, is not unique to Yorkshire, and you would be correct. But here, the leaves fall horizontally and, while I was walking down the street yesterday, a large wet leaf flew from a tree at incredible speed and slapped me in the face. Aha, I thought, it must be autumn again. And ouch. And several minutes later, I developed the traditional Yorkshire ruddy complexion, which will probably last me until March.

2. Water. You may also think that water isn’t unique to Yorkshire and once more, you would be correct. But the fact is that wherever you live – unless you live in the sea – we probably have more of it than you. Whenever there’s a drought in the UK we still have water, and it’s often transported to drier counties (usually Kent) via tanker. And you can tell it’s autumn here because (incredibly) the daily rainfall increases from monsoon to biblical and our rivers get restless and start to explore the surrounding areas. There’s one hanging around at the end of my street right now.

3. Mud. You probably have mud in your gardens that you put your geraniums in, but that doesn’t really prepare you to see Yorkshire autumn mud. I have no idea where it comes from, but our mud is epic. All through the autumn, it’s bloody everywhere, just oozing from things: From our riversides to our footpaths, it eventually covers our towns and cities in a sludgy goo. In fact, Yorkshire is brown until the winter comes, and then it becomes brown and cold.

4. Darkness. On some Autumn days in Yorkshire, it just doesn’t get light. At all. And, when you’re trying to do something in the kitchen at lunchtime (usually making lunch) and you have to switch the lights on, you know it’s autumn. Or you’ve forgotten to open the blinds, but no one would blame you for that, as your view for this quarter of the year is mud, water, flying leaves and darkness. If darkness is even a view.

5. Meanness. Yorkshire folk have quite a reputation for meanness. Some of this is undeserved: The rumour that branches of the Yorkshire Bank don’t have a safe but do, in fact, keep all of their money under a giant mattress is not true and was started by some horrible foreigner (or me, as I sometimes call myself). But in the autumn, people in Yorkshire become chronically mean. Only yesterday, as I walked through the wind and the rain, coat wrapped tightly around me, I saw a man being dragged along by a large umbrella step into a six-inch-deep puddle, soaking his leg. And I laughed. And that was when the leaf hit me. And he laughed back. We’re mean in the autumn.

6. Millinery. Now, it’s also a fanciful stereotype that Yorkshire men wear flat caps all the time. This is not true. Even Yorkshire men don’t wear flat caps in the summer. How do you think many of them get their red, peeling scalps? The flat cap is seldom donned until the autumn. And then it’s worn pushed firmly onto the head to keep it from blowing away. When you see flat caps you know it’s autumn in Yorkshire. Or winter. Or spring.

7. People. Yorkshire is a beautiful place that rightly attracts a lot of tourists. And in the summer, they’re everywhere. Walking slowly and pointing. In the autumn, however, they disappear. I don’t know where they go: Perhaps they drown, perhaps they blow away, perhaps we just don’t see them in the darkness, but they do disappear. Hopefully to somewhere nice as it’s bloody grim here right now.

November 9, 2010
7 Reasons We Should Congratulate Rupert Bear On Reaching Ninety

As I am sure all you bear aficionados are aware, today marks Rupert Bear’s 90th Birthday. Even if you don’t regularly read his adventures in the Daily Express – and let’s be honest, that’s all of us – you should raise a glass in his name. Or, at the very least, don’t go on about how much you love Paddington Bear. It’s called respect.

1. Loyalty. In case you are wondering why I mentioned the Daily Express above, it’s because Rupert was created for the paper in 1920. The aim? To increase sales. Did it work? Wikipedia doesn’t say. And I can’t be bothered to do that much research. What I did research though is that Rupert has outlasted nineteen Daily Express editors. Nineteen! That’s quite a lot. On any other day it I’d have rounded it up to 20. But that’s nineteen different people who have given up on the paper. Rupert hasn’t given up once. He’s there, everyday, trying to increase sales. And that has to be applauded. Even if it is the Daily Express.

2. Fashion. Sadly for the world, I wasn’t around in 1920, but I would be very surprised if Rupert’s choice of attire matched the fashion of the day. A red jumper, white shoes and matching yellow-checked trousers and scarf? It’s unlikely, isn’t it? But that’s just one reason why Rupert should be celebrated. He was a bit of a maverick. He was a trend-setter. Whether the trend comes to fruition in my lifetime, who knows, but one day, everyone will be dressing like Rupert.

3. Respect. Rupert has and continues to spend many-a-day in the presence of his friends. The trusty and originally named Bill Badger. The stodgy Podgy Pig. The delectable Edward Trunk*. And my personal favourites, Ming The Dragon and Pong-Ping The Pekingese. And yet, despite chewing the fat with them for the best part of century, not once has Rupert ever uttered the immortal line, ‘Have you ever heard of deed-poll?’

4. Role Model. While Rupert’s main rivals for our affections have tragic and cliched characteristics, Rupert was the real deal. Take Winnie The Pooh for instance. Ignoring the fact that he looks cuddly, what have you got? A honey-monster who has a habit of forgetting to wear trousers. Hardly inspiring. And then we have Paddington Bear. An immigrant from Peru whose idea of helping the economy is to create a marmalade deficit. Not the role models our children need. Rupert on the other hand is everything a bear should be. Clever, loyal, adventurous and trousered.

5. Paul McCartney. Rupert remains the only bear ever to have inspired a Beatle. Paul McCartney – Rupert And The Frog Song.**

6. He Defied Hitler. Not even a war could stop Rupert. And I am not talking about a silly, little war. I am talking about World War II. Despite the fact that there was a severe paper shortage – we needed it for planes – Rupert still got an annual out and onto the shelves every year throughout the conflict. Along with Churchill sticking two fingers up, Rupert getting his annual out epitomised Britain’s approach to the war. We were never going to be beaten. And we were going to read tales of a bear going on an underwater mission in the process.

7. Alternatives. Look, it’s only right that you should celebrate one 90th Anniversary in 2010 and if you’re not going to choose Rupert to congratulate then it’s going to have to be the Bangor Operatic Society. Make the right decision.

*Edward Trunk was an elephant. Clever.

**This might cause nightmares. Or daymares. Just don’t smash your computer. You’ll regret it tomorrow.

November 8, 2010
7 Reasons Bonfire Night Is Traumatic For Adults

After the success of last week”s joint post (it was on Thursday if you missed it) we have decided to produce another. Once again we”ve gone for that topical/helpful format. Here it is:

Jon Didn’t Mean To Burn Down His Girlfriend’s Shed. It Was Just In The Way.

1. Anxiety. Because your neighbours let off fireworks. And your neighbours are idiots. They can’t be trusted to close their own garden gate properly, let alone to discharge pyrotechnics with any degree of responsibility. And, when their rockets are bouncing off your roof and crashing into your shed, you’ll find yourself thinking: “Where’s our bucket?”; “is the house insurance up to date?“; “I hope that the cat’s inside“;”I’m going to put a fish through their letter-box when they go away on holiday“.

2. Guy Fawkes. It seems somewhat ironic to celebrate the failure of the mission to burn the House of Lords to the ground by creating a massive bonfire, but that’s how it is. And who would have it any other way? Well, probably adults. Especially those with children. Because as well as having a traditional bonfire, there is also the traditional Guy Fawkes effigy that is chucked atop the flames. The effigy is usually made by the children using old clothes. Unfortunately, the children also like dressing up in old clothes. So by the time the effigy is due to be burnt, adults are terrified. ”Is that definitely the Guy or is that my son?’‘ And, more importantly, ”Is that my Hugo Boss suit?”

3. The Inner Child. Once you’ve seen about five bonfire nights, you have seen them all. In theory, as adults, we should all find them terribly boring and treat the event as something for the children. The trauma begins though, because bonfire night is epic. Rockets banging and then flashing in the sky. Photographs of your wife’s ex on the bonfire. It’s really rather exciting. Admittedly the excitement is nearly always alcohol induced, but it is there. And this is when all adults look at the children pretending to be Red Indians running around the bonfire and wish they could join in. But you can’t. Because you are an adult. And adults must be adult-like. Oh, the agony

4. Food. On the one night when burning is the order of the day, it seems odd that, having been put in charge of the food, you are absolutely determined not to burn the baked potatoes. And this really is a mission. While preventing the potatoes becoming charcoal, you also have to drink, pay attention to the fireworks, check your son hasn’t crawled under the bonfire and pay an interest in your neighbour”s annoying five year-old daughter who has shoved yet another sparkler up your nose. Sometimes, you wonder why you bother.

5. Men. As a man you”re in charge of the fireworks. They’re your responsibility and it”s unmanly to get the launching of them wrong or show any fear of them. And you know it can go wrong, because you”ve seen Youtube. And you also know that any idiot can set them off, because you’ve seen Youtube. Even though you know it’s not compulsory to insert the rocket into your bottom before lighting it, being in charge of the fireworks is an onerous responsibility. You don’t want to be the one that lights the blue touch-paper and runs away screaming like a girl, do you? Unless you are a girl, in which case it would probably be quite fun; and a nice change from all those anxious men setting them off.

6. Firemen. This year – due to the strikes – there won’t be any available. That means you are going to have to douse the flames flying up from your garden shed yourself. And the only way you can do this is by dressing up in protective clothing. Sadly, the only protective clothing you have are your wife’s gardening gloves, your leaky wellington boots, waterproofs that aren’t actually waterproof and a pith helmet. It might be dark out there, but you’re still going to look like an idiot. Oh, and the sprinkler attachment on the hose is stuck too.

7. Hedgehogs. It”s the nagging doubt that near-paralyses every right-thinking person hosting an event: What if there’s a hedgehog in the bonfire? What if I accidentally burn one to death? What if the children attending the bonfire see me light it only for a phalanx of flaming hedgehogs to scuttle out of it squealing, half a minute later? They’ll probably need several years of therapy and I’ll be forever known as Uncle Marc the Hedgehog Killer. Bonfires are a minefield. But with blazing hedgehogs instead of mines. Seriously, check for hedgehogs.

November 5, 2010
7 Reasons the Anglo-Franco Defence Agreement is a Good Idea

Yesterday, at 7 Reasons (.org) we ran a post entitled 7 Reasons The Anglo-Franco Defence Agreement Is A Bad Idea. I discovered that we had done so while I was eating my breakfast, and it’s fair to say that I was quite stunned. In fact I, the Jacques Tati obsessed, Voltaire-reading, coffee-guzzling half of the 7 Reasons team (the one with the French name), almost choked on my croissant. “A bad idea?!” I exclaimed in a voice so high that it was only audible to very small dogs, “but it’s a brilliant idea!” And it is. Here are seven reasons why:

1. History. The most notable occasion on which we’ve had a defence agreement and a joint expeditionary force with France was the Second World War. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, we won that. Obviously it didn’t work out too well for France, what with Germany annihilating the French army and occupying most of their country, and Britain blowing up the French navy before going home to dine on powdered egg with the Americans. But we did win, so defence agreements with France are a proven success. And now that we have the Channel Tunnel, their government will be able to flee to London so much more quickly than last time. If that’s possible.

2. Cuisine. Working together will rid both nations of antiquated ideas about the other nation’s diet. They will come to realise that there’s more to British cuisine than roast beef – because we’ve had branches of McDonalds since at least the 1970s – and we will come to realise that there’s more to French cuisine than frogs legs. They’ll introduce us to soufflé: An insignificant, over-inflated tart that shrinks at the merest hint of a knife, and Quiche Lorraine: A dish that they readily share with Germans – usually as a starter – which is often followed by a generous helping of their speciality, crêpe à la guerre.

3. Wisdom. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer: A line from The Godfather – often wrongly attributed to Sun Tzu – that’s a very wise strategy indeed. And who is the enemy in this case? Well, it’s France: The nation we’ve spent more time at war with than any other. They are l’ennemi traditionnel, and by being on board the same ships with them we’ll be able to keep a very close eye on them. Also, should a war break out between the nations, civilian casualties will be minimised as the theatre of war will be far smaller than usual; sometimes it will even be confined to the same engine room or bridge. And remember, should the enemy sink one of our aircraft carriers, they will bear half the cost.

4. Finance. Even if you’re not au fait with the minutiae of military funding it’s bleeding obvious that we’re going to save lots of money by sharing spending with France. Look at paint. All armed forces need lots of paint and, by getting together we’ll have greater purchasing power when it comes to procuring it. We’ll make substantial savings on grey paint for navy use, and camouflage paint for army use. And we’ll make even bigger savings on red, white and blue paint as we’ll need bloody loads of that now that we’ll need to paint a French flag on one side of things and a British flag on the other. The savings will be enormous. Énorme.

5. Efficacy. The measure by which all branches of the armed services are judged is their strike-capability. And by entering into an agreement with the French, we’ll increase the strike-capability of our military substantially. In fact, with the French on board, our strike capability will be the highest of any force in the world; our strike-capability will be infinity, which is greater even than the combined forces of China, North Korea, Iran, Christmas Island, Easter Island, Chuck Norris and Malta.

6. Co-operation. When Britain and France work together, the two nations have been able to affect profound and lasting positive sociological change. The channel tunnel, for example, which was first proposed in 1802 and was completed a mere 192 years later, allowed refugees of many nationalities to complete the final leg of their epic journeys of migration; fleeing hardship and squalor from across the four corners of Northern France, to civilisation in Southern England; where they were able to escape the tyranny of boules, cycling and listening to Johnny Hallyday and were introduced to the more civilised British pastimes of cricket, morris dancing, and the Daily-Mail-witch-hunt.

7. Culture. Our nations have much to learn from each other and the accord will doubtless be a civilising influence. As we get to know each other as individuals there will be a significant breakdown of prejudice and an increase in cultural exchange. We will teach the French to drink copious quantities of beer and fight with bald men in shirts at the weekend, and they will teach the British to drink copious quantities of wine and run from bald men in shirts at le weekend. We will teach the French to make popular music that will be cherished the world over, and they will teach the British how to sneer at the X-Factor. We will teach them that France is the ideal holiday destination, and they will teach us that France is the ideal holiday destination. It’s a match made in heaven. The Anglo-French defence agreement is going to be great.

November 3, 2010
7 Reasons The Anglo-Franco Defence Agreement Is A Bad Idea

Cameron: "Don't worry, your troops will be fine. From a distance it looks like a gun."

Once again the power of 7 Reasons is dictating how the world operates. Today, you will hear that Britain and France have agreed to join forces in the pursuit of defending our shores. A reliable source informs us that our piece entitled 7 Reasons To Invade France caused shock-waves in both British and French camps. David Cameron doesn’t want a diplomatic incident on his hands and the French are just scared. As a result they have agreed to stand together and deny the 7 Reasons dream. But what to them sounds like a good idea given the current economic climate, to us sounds like a catastrophe waiting to happen. Here’s why:

1. Conflicts. For this agreement to work, both Britain and France need to be reading off the same hymn sheet. Or invasion plan. But what happens if one country doesn’t like the others proposed deployment? Well, basically, they can veto it. Rather disastrously this is going to make it extremely difficult for Britain to invade France. And who wants to live without that prospect on the horizon? Well, the French probably, but who else? Life just got a little more boring.

2. Kitchen Wars. This agreement will mean both British and French troops will be stationed on aircraft carriers together. An Englishman and a Frenchman on an aircraft carrier at the same time? All we need is an Irishman and we have the makings of a joke. But, sadly, this isn’t a joke. This is a very serious matter. Who will win? A traditional English Breakfast with cup of tea or a Continental Breakfast with coffee. Even the thought makes me quite queer. And what happens if Pierre – I imagine all French chefs to be called Pierre. Or Jean-Paul. But this one’s a Pierre – what happens if Pierre is left in the kitchen alone for five minutes. He’s going to spike everything with garlic.*

3. Left or Driot? Anyone who has been to France will know that they drive on the wrong side of the road. How they sleep at night is a mystery. But that is something we will cover in a future 7 Reasons piece. Because today we need to point out the dangers this will cause. On aircraft carriers. With the British wishing to land their aircraft on the correct side of the carrier and the French wishing to land theirs on the wrong, there is going to be more than an argument. There is going to be a pile-up.*

4. Cricket. With the invasion of France looking less likely, there is going to be much more free time. Time when the troops of the two nations can bond. And what better way to bond than over a fierce game of cricket? Well, actually, every other way is better. Because the English are going to be playing proper cricket and the French are going to be playing nancy boys cricket. Or French cricket as they call it. It’s going to be like bodyline. Just with more blood and clueless Frenchmen. And this, despite what I may feel in my heart, is not a good thing.

5. Infestation. Have you ever considered the possibility that we don’t have enough frogs and snails in Britain? No? Well give it about six months and you’ll be wondering how the hell we’ve got so many frogs and snails in this country? Unless, you’ve read this. In which case you’ll know. As soon as that French aircraft carrier docks in Southampton, we’re going to get infested with the pests. And the frogs. And the snails.

6. Strikes. Who knows who we are going to have to defend ourselves against in the future, but for arguments sake, let’s suggest it’s Christmas Island. What happens if Davide and Nicolas send one of our aircraft carriers over there only for the French to go on strike? And let’s face it, this is a very real danger. The British boys will be stretched beyond belief. And, as good as they are, I am not sure they will be able to survive under the constant barrage of Christmas Tree missiles. The sheer number of pine needles will sink us.*

7. Time-Zones. This is something I doubt either Davo or Nico have considered. Return to that picture in your mind of the Anglo-Franco aircraft carrier coming under the fire of Christmas Trees if you will. The good news is that the French have ended their strike and are now sweeping pine needles off the deck. Then the order comes through that the joint force is to invade the Island at 0700. So they wait. And then at 0700 the French troops invade. And the British wonder what the hell they are doing? Because it’s only 0600.*

*These reasons are the property of Claire Quinn and have kindly been loaned out to 7 Reasons for the day. We are truly grateful. As otherwise 50% of the 7 Reasons team would have been here all day.

November 2, 2010
7 Reasons That Staying in for Halloween was Disappointing

We never stay in on Halloween and this year we were due to go out for a meal and to see a film. But my wife decided at the last-minute that she didn’t want to go out; she wanted to stay in and watch Downton Abbey. So, we braced ourselves for the inevitable throng of trick-or-treaters and settled in for the night. But none came. And, though by any normal measure, I should be pleased about that. It was disappointing. Here are seven reasons why.

We don’t really live in a spooky mansion, this is just for illustration. We live in a spooky town-house.

1. Ouch. Evening came and it became dark. We had decided on the timeless strategy of pretending-to-be-out, so we didn’t put the lights on. And, after several minutes of darkness, I fell over the cat in the hallway. This clearly wasn’t going to work, so we had to limp to the shops.

2. Money. In order to stay in – in our own home – we spent £4 on sweets. To give to the children that would surely be round coming round in droves demanding them. Because trick-or-treating isn’t nice. It’s an old-fashioned mafia style shakedown. But unlike the mafia, they often come round with their parents, so you can’t tell them to sod off. Because that would make them cry (the children that is, the parents probably have their own reasons for crying). So we spent money on sweets for them so that we didn’t have to sit in the dark and pretend to be out. But they didn’t come. And that’s £4 wasted. We could have bought over twenty-four litres of sparkling mineral water for that. Or two-thirds of a sandwich at a petrol station.

3. Money. But then I realised that it isn’t just £4 that we’ve wasted. Because we go out every year to avoid the inevitable plague of trick-or-treaters. But this is expensive and, over the years, we must have spent many hundreds of pounds avoiding trick-or-treaters. Obviously we’ve had lots of fun, consumed many nice meals and enjoyable beers, and seen many good films; but that isn’t the point. We were there for Halloween avoidance. What if the children haven’t come every year? We’ve spent all that money needlessly, and had all that pointless fun. For nothing.

4. Argument. We’ve never argued on Halloween before, but this time we did. We argued about who would go out and give sweets to the trick-or-treaters when they came to the door. “It’s Halloween”, my wife said, “you could go out there and scare the children with your mask”.

“Yes, but you could go out there and scare them with your dressing gown”, I replied. And I seem to have won the argument, because she didn’t argue with me further or, in fact, say anything much at all after that. But the argument was moot, because of the absence of trick-or-treaters.

5. Sweets. Because no children came to our house, we now have a huge bowl of sweets and no children to give it to. This means that we’ll have to eat them. But we’re grown-ups, and when grown-ups eat sweets they don’t run around in a sugar-frenzy, they sit still. And get fat. And we don’t want to become hideously fat. We want the neighbour’s children to become hideously fat. And then they won’t run around playing football in the alley behind our house. Our plan’s in tatters.

6. Rejection. As we’re usually out for Halloween, we have no idea of how it works. We sat waiting for trick-or-treaters until gone midnight. But surely they’ll come, we thought. Where are they? We felt unloved and rejected. We checked our armpits and speculated on why no children had come. And then, the only possible explanation occurred to us.

7. Spooky. I don’t believe in the supernatural or the sort of strange phenomena that is celebrated on Halloween because frankly, it’s a big load of guff. But I’m quite happy being a sneering sceptic; in fact, I’m quite well suited to it. But the non-arrival of the children was a genuinely spooky event. Because the last time we’d been in on Halloween – six years ago – we’d forgotten about it, didn’t have any sweets in the house, and had resorted to giving the children fruit and telling them that it was much better for them. And somehow, despite six years having elapsed and despite many children having come and gone from our street, the children somehow knew that we were the house of the fruit and they avoided us. The children knew. Creepy.

November 1, 2010
7 Reasons That Riding A Segway Was Disappointing

On Wednesday, a group of us went to the National Railway Museum in York to take advantage of their new attraction, a Segway ride. Having spent the week eagerly anticipating this outing I was rather excited. But it turns out that riding a Segway was disappointing. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Waiting. There were four Segways, and there were more than four people in front of us. That meant that we had to wait. And while we waited, we could see Segways, but we weren’t on them. And, not only were we not on them. No one was on them. But still we had to wait. Because waiting is compulsory. And we got hungry. So we talked about food and got hungrier and hungrier and hungrier. Ideally we wanted our Segways to be made of cheese when we got to them.

2. The Course. The wait allowed us to observe the Segway course close-up and for some time. We realised that there was a slightly raised kerb in the middle of a bend; an observation that filled us with dread. Still, one of us had heard that it’s physically impossible to fall off a Segway and we were reassured by this. And also the course was surrounded by a massive inflatable barrier, so if you went off course you’d drive into something soft. And bounce off it and land on the concrete floor. And then get run over by a Segway.

3. The Outfit. Apparently jeans, a brown merino knit sweater, a grey blazer and a pink, purple, brown and white striped scarf is not the correct outfit for riding a Segway (or riding anything else when visible to people). To ride a Segway, you are required to dress as Robocop. The kit includes a black helmet and several pieces of black body armour: wrist guards, knee and shin guards, and elbow and forearm guards. All we lacked was a bullet-proof chest-guard and a flame-resistant codpiece. They, presumably, are available on request.

4. The Briefing. The briefing went on for a very long time. I have no idea what was being said, as it was a briefing. While Harry (the briefer) pointed at Segways and gesticulated wildly, I was wondering if the pope wears white underpants or whether he occasionally puts on red ones when he’s feeling frisky. Then the impossible happened: A man fell off a Segway. I realised that this was probably unrelated to my papal contemplation (unless god was smiteing inaccurately that day), but it did get my attention and made me resolve to listen. And then the briefing ended.

5. Danger. The first Segway arrived and it was time to go. It was not made of cheese. A friend prepared to mount it while his girlfriend and I watched, expectantly; hoping to see him careen crazily out of control and hurtle into an inflatable barrier or even fall off in a less spectacular manner; we didn’t mind. The important thing was that he should fall off. He didn’t. He did lurch back-and-forth alarmingly for several seconds before performing an inadvertent pirouette which got our hopes up, but then he set off quite steadily and sedately. This was very disappointing.

6. Then It Was My Turn. I stepped on to the Segway and, while everyone watched, expectantly, hoping to see me careen crazily out of control and hurtle into an inflatable barrier, I leant forward and I was away. Soon, I reached a corner and leaned back to slow down, and I slowed down. Then, I steered into the corner and the Segway went into the corner. It was undramatic. It turns out that Segways are the simplest vehicle in the world to operate. I seemed to have the slowest one ever made because, despite going quickly through the corners, I was slower on the straight than everyone else. I was even lapped twice by a small boy, who seemed to revel in whooshing past me as close as he could. It was slower than running or cycling and not much more fun. And I could have wiped the floor with the small boy at running or cycling. And I could beat him at Trivial Pursuit. And arm-wrestling.

7. The Video. Later, after the event was over, we settled down to watch the video, which was filmed by my non-Segway-riding wife using my phone. I had pressed record and handed the phone to her the correct way up before wandering off to don my Robocop costume. Within thirty seconds she was filming in portrait, rather than landscape and the phone was upside-down. She doesn’t seem to have wondered why the part of the phone facing her bore the word “ǝƃuɐɹo” at all. Fortunately I noticed this and, the highlight of the video is a tall upside-down man with a gaudy scarf and partial body armour explaining the finer points of holding a phone the right way up. The rest of the video consists of two minutes of footage of slow moving Segways, nine minutes of slow moving Segways obscured by the inflatable barrier she decided to go and stand behind, one and a half minutes of giant index finger and forty-five seconds of gazing longingly at an ice cream van (which is the second best bit). Overall, a disappointment.

October 29, 2010
7 Reasons 7 Reasons Has Been An Unmitigated Success

Exactly a year ago today, 7 Reasons was born in York and Fulham. If you weren’t there – and it’s highly likely you weren’t – you will have missed our very first post, 7 Reasons This Blog Was Created. I don’t think we have ever met the high standards that piece of literary genius set, but we have certainly given it our best shot. Except on Thursdays. That day just never really happened for us. As we have somehow made it a year I think it would be useful* to look back and see if we have stuck to the principles we outlined 365 days ago.

1. “People like lists. This is a well known fact. Shopping lists, to-do lists, Wedding lists, the list is endless. It adds structure to people’s lives. Structure is good. It makes people feel in control. We like control.” – We have certainly controlled a part of your life. A small part maybe, but a part none the less. For three of you, 7 Reasons has become a staple part of your daily diet. You can not remember life when you didn’t know 7 Reasons Why Lemons Would Make You Sick. And more is the point, you don’t want to. And as for the rest of you, well you may read 7 Reasons on an ad hoc basis. Even so, we have still have a presence in your mind. We are still controlling you. Just not as well as we’d wish.

2. “Seven is one of our favourite numbers. The number seven is the only number less than fifteen which cannot be represented as the sum of the squares of three integers. We like that (probably).” – Seven remains one of our favourite numbers. That is all that needs saying on this one. If I start talking about integers I’ll confuse my keyboard.

3. “It gives us something to think about on the train or the bus or while walking to the post box. Instead of thinking, ‘Isn’t that woman’s blouse so last season?’ it gives us the chance to think of seven reasons why she is wearing that blouse. This tests our imagination. We like creativity.” – It could never be argued that we don’t think about 7 Reasons on the train or the bus. Indeed, such environments have inspired some of our finest pieces. And some of our worst. But that’s the beauty of 7 Reasons. The brilliant pieces only exist because there are substandard efforts mixed in. Without these everything would appear mediocre. And we already have Switzerland for that. And as for thinking about 7 Reasons whilst walking to the post box, well we’ve done that once too. A cat followed one of us back. Fifty lemons followed the other.

4. “On average we waste seven minutes a day thinking, ‘what shall I do next’. That’s the equivalent of 42 hours a year. In 42 hours you could comfortably travel around the world or hold your breath for 2520 consecutive minutes. Both of these are highly dangerous and more often that not result in Deep Vein Thrombosis or death. This blog is an antidote to both. We like saving lives.” – As far as we are aware, in the last year no one has died because they tried to hold their breath for 2520 consecutive minutes. It would be too easy to say, ‘Well, it probably wouldn’t have happened anyway.’ Have a bit of humility and accept that 7 Reasons has saved lives. Except Paul the Octopus’. But he tried to hold his breath for his entire lifespan. We can’t help muppets.

5. “Sometimes people take things far too seriously. Life should not be about taking things seriously. It should be about frivolity and nonsense. Seriousness gives us sensible shoes and Jeremy Paxman. They are bad. It’s time to be far more light-hearted. We like joy.” – Without 7 Reasons the world would no doubt have imploded on worry by now. Yes, so a couple of bad things have happened in the last year. ‘So what?’ That’s the 7 Reasons attitude. ‘Let’s look on the bright side’. And that’s just what we did. When we didn’t vote in a coalition Government but got one anyway, it was 7 Reasons – and 7 Reasons alone – who hailed it the greatest thing that could have happened. It was 7 Reasons – and 7 Reasons alone – who finally made it acceptable to cycle in the nude. It was 7 Reasons – and 7 Reasons alone – who encouraged the invasion of France. 7 Reasons gave joy.

6. “Sometimes people don’t take things at all seriously. They should. Life is a serious business. Without seriousness we get Balloon Boy and Ken Dodd. They are bad. It’s time to look at things with far more thoughtfulness. We like serious.” – It’s a good job that 7 Reasons has existed in the past twelve months because without it the world would have turned into a laughing stock. It was 7 Reasons – and 7 Reasons alone – who pointed out the glaring flaws in naming Ryan Giggs as 2009 Sports Personality of the Year. It was 7 Reasons – and 7 Reasons alone – who advised against driving golf buggies up the M4. It was 7 Reasons – and 7 Reasons alone – who finally gave those who look like a horse the confidence to go out and not let it be a barrier to achieving success.** 7 Reasons gave seriousness another go.

7. “It’s the 21st Century and in the 21st Century you have to be able to back up what you say or do. It’s no good saying, ‘I just bought a new drill’ and then shrugging when your loved one asks why. You must have a reason. Other than, ‘because it had 25% off’. So there needs to be a database to help you answer that question. This is what we will provide. We like drills.” – Ironically, or stupidly, we have never provided you with 7 Reasons I Bought A New Drill, however, we do have the biggest database of reasons anywhere in the world.*** And we only have to read the ‘keyword analysis’ of this website to see that everyone is using this site from students, to the BBC, to pregnant women looking for a place to urinate to men who are wondering if it is acceptable to shake hands after touching their penis. No one can argue that 7 Reasons isn’t the ultimate self-help website.

*Useful in the fact that it means I don’t have to think too much about today’s post.

**We take no responsibility for Sarah Jessica Parker making Sex and the City 2.

***Logic dictates this. Who else would spend a year thinking up over 2000 reasons for random things?

October 27, 2010
7 Reasons That Sorry Isn’t The Hardest Word

Sorry is the hardest word*, we are led to believe. But it isn’t. It’s amongst the easiest. Here are seven reasons why.

1. It’s Short. There are far longer and more difficult words in the English language: triskaidekaphobia, for example, or antidisestablishmentarianism. They’re much trickier: Try using them at a bar and you’ll inevitably trip over your tongue and come across as a slurring dunderhead, even if you’re not.

2. It’s Not Laden With Terror. Sorry; a hard word? Try saying Coulrophobia. It’s not only longer, with more syllables, but it evokes both clowns and fear. Clowns! Fear! Yeah, that’s a harder word. Say “Coulrophobia“ without stuttering. Or shuddering. Or checking over your shoulder. Have a quick check now, you’ll feel better.

3. It’s Ubiquitous. Politicians of all parties, and husbands who’ve got carried away at parties (if you will hold a party in a house next to a golf course, you’re asking for trouble) have spent many years proving that sorry is bloody easy to say. It’s a lot easier to get the apology in early rather than spend years in the political wilderness, or doghouse (or actual wilderness if you’re married in Montana). I’m tempted to say that nothing is easier to say than sorry. But that’s not true. Sorry is easier to say than nothing. It doesn’t have the tricky th sound in the middle and ends in a vowel.

4. Allusion. You don’t even need to say “sorry” to say sorry; you can just hand over chocolates or flowers. Which means that anyone with access to the local confectioner or graveyard can say sorry without saying anything at all. Couldn’t be easier.

5. Comparison. Press, solid, rock, hulk, force, Chuck, iron, bang, kill, Norris, clap, strike, pound, All harder words than sorry. Every last one of them. As is hard.

6. Fired. I’ve had to tell people that I’ve fired over the years many things. And trust me, sorry was almost always the easiest part of the statement. Easier than incompetent, feckless, unreliable, dishonest, tardy, lazy and unstable (which is not a crap version of the seven dwarves, by the way). “I’m sorry, we’re going to have to let you go. It’s not that we have a problem with you personally, or the standard of your work, it’s more the thousands of pounds that you’ve embezzled from the company during your time here. Sorry.”

7. Nationality. Because I’m an Englishman and, to me, sorry is the default word. It just pops-out whenever anything unexpected happens. Someone bumps into me: “Sorry”. Someone tries to put their letter through my hand while I’m using a post-box: “Sorry”. Someone drives their 4×4 at me on the pavement because the road isn’t wide enough: “Sorry (though it is sarcastic in this case)”. Sorry is the easiest word. It’s just there. Saying itself, even when you don’t want it to.

*There is an Elton John and Bernie Taupin song entitled Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word. This is coincidental. It is not Elton John week at 7 Reasons(.org). Nor is it Bernie Taupin week. Sorry about that.

October 22, 2010
7 Reasons Hitler Should Have Played Risk (& Six Other Games That Could Have Changed The World)

It is generally accepted that war is bad (although it has given us some amazing films). The American poet, Eve Merriam, once said, ‘I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask, “Mother, what was war?”‘ Given that she died in 1992, I suspect the odds of this happening are long. But it could have been very different. If only certain people had put down the dagger and picked up the dice.

1. Cowboys, Red Indians and Buckaroo. Everything I know about the Wild West I have learnt from historical documentaries staring John Wayne. And one theme is clear. Both the Red Indians and the Cowboys had horses. Another theme is that there was a lot of death. Sadly these documentaries rarely went into why such things were occurring. Half the time it seemed to be women or because they were bored. While one can admire they chivalric values of fighting over a woman, I can’t see the point in shooting someone just because you have nothing better to do. What a waste of a bullet. Or arrow. A much better use of time would have been to have played Buckaroo. Whoever got the saddle, satchel and cowboy hat on the horse without it bucking got a night with the one wearing the yellow ribbon. Or a piece of land. Who cares? There was loads of it.

2. The House Of Lancaster, The House Of York and Happy Families. In many respects the War Of The Roses was a disappointing war in that it featured little more than infighting. A great shame given that had both Houses joined forces they could have concentrated their energies on more pressing engagements. Like invading France. As it was though, both houses decided to fight each other to determine who should hold the throne of England. There was a lot of slapping and stabbing and shooting for thirty years until finally Henry Tudor (House of Lancaster) married Elizabeth of York (House of York), reconciled any differences between the two families and became King. How pathetically politically correct. They could have done that at the start. Or, even better, played Happy Families. Whoever got the most cards, got the throne. Simple. That particular history lesson would have been much shorter too. Which would have been a bonus.

3. The Kingdom Of Great Britain, Those Not Happy With The Kingdom Of Great Britain and Monopoly. In 1775 those occupying the British colonies in North America got a bit fed up with being under British rule. As a result, a year later, they thought they’d declare independence. This riled the Brits and so they had a bit of a war. That, at least, is the abridged version.* The Brits lost. And in the process ended up giving away lots of territory (including far too much to Spain and France). Oh and they also gave away blood. Lots of it. As a result, today we are in the ridiculous position of the United States of America owning all parts of the United States of America. And serving something like 200 coffees to every one tea. This is clearly wrong. Had the Monopoly board been whipped out in 1776 I would like to think we’d have been in the much better position of Great Britain owning at least New York and Boston and quite possibly the gas works too.

4. Napoleon and Battleships. Let’s not mince our words here, Napoleon was a muppet. He was never going to beat the British. He was French and the British were British. In fact, they probably still are. That’s just general knowledge. Unfortunately Napoleon wasn’t a general. He was an Emperor. And just like the Emperor penguin he was short, fat and waddled. That sort of stature was never going to win him the Battle Of Trafalgar. Especially as he saw fit to watch on from afar while he sent Pierre de Villeneuve off to fight Nelson. Pierre lost. If indeed Napoleon was the genius in the operational art of war as many have said, then he would almost certainly have had more chance if he and Nelson had sat down with Battleships. Given that Nelson lacked both a right arm and a right eye, you would have probably made Napoleon favourite for the contest. (Though he would have still lost. He was French).

5. Hitler and Risk. Just like Napoleon, Hitler was short. And just like Napoleon, he had a funny walk. Such mannerisms don’t suit dictators and for those reasons – although not alone – he quite rightly lost the second World War. He was also a twat. Anyway, had Hitler got Churchill, Roosevelt, de Gaulle, Stalin, Mussolini, Hirohito and Antonescu round to his bunker, the whole of World War II could have been decided in one night over one game of Risk. And even if Hitler had cleared up, it wouldn’t have mattered. The others could have shot him. Or tickled him to death. So we may never have heard the immortal words, ‘We shall fight on the beaches…’ but we would have had, ‘What goes on in the bunker, stays in the bunker’.

6. Richard Nixon, Leonid Brezhnev and Chess. The Cold War must be the scariest non-war of all time. Being in Britain in the 80’s and having access to an atlas, I had worked out that I was right in the middle of this conflict. Should the USSR launch a Nuclear missile and the USA counter, the collision was going to happen somewhere over Sussex. Bugger. Although I didn’t think of it at the time (and instead hid under my duvet) I wish Nixon and Brezhnev had played this thing out on a chess board some ten years before. It could have been like Booby Fischer verses Boris Spasky. Though instead of the title of the World Chess Championship at stake, more important things could be decided. Like who got to win the Nuclear Arms race.

7. George Bush, Tony Blair, Saddam Hussein and Pictionary. I suppose there’ll always be something of the Lord Lucan about weapons of mass destruction. Although, admittedly, only one of them existed. Had George, Tony and Saddam all got round a white board one day then I expect G&T could have got the proof they really required. George could have drawn a missile and something that resembled a weapon of mass destruction and Saddam would had had to guess what it was. If he had guessed correctly they’d know he had them. (Obviously you wouldn’t be able to recognise a weapon of mass destruction if you didn’t know what one was). Once G&T had the proof, they could have given Saddam 48 hours to get home and lock the door before they dropped the first bomb. Or, if he didn’t know what it was, everyone could have gone home. Or to Afghanistan.

*If you have stumbled across this page whilst writing your history project, I strongly advise you not to cut and paste.**

**Actually, that applies to all of the above.

October 21, 2010