Category: Posts

7 Reasons Sir Elton Might Like To Take A Look At His Own Songs

Hello, I’m back. I guess, in the grand scheme of things, that is not enough to make your Tuesday. As a result I shall also furnish your day with a 7 Reasons post. You may have heard that Sir Elton John has been having a pop at the songwriters of today. According to the BBC, he thinks they’re awful. ‘Fair enough’, I thought, ‘but let’s just have a listen to some of Elton’s stuff to find out how much better he was’. The results are staggering. Here are 7 Reasons Elton should probably listen to his Greatest Hits again.*

1. Song – Your Song. Lyric – “I don’t have much money but boy if I did, I’d buy a big house where we both could live.” It’s hardly the stuff of Chaucer, Hardy or Dickens is it?

2. Song – Crocodile Rock. Lyric – “But the biggest kick I ever got, was doing a thing called the Crocodile Rock, while the other kids were rocking round the clock, we were hopping and bopping to the Crocodile Rock.” I know this song is self-referential, but even so, it’s still a load of nonsense. I wouldn’t have thought the hallmark of a great songwriter was to make up some stupid dance name. I suspect Elton would laugh in Marc’s face if Mr Fearns approached him with the 7 Reasons Shuffle. Especially if he was wearing my mask.

3. Song – Daniel. Lyric – “Daniel is traveling tonight on a plane, I can see the red tail lights heading for Spain.” How convenient Daniel was going to Spain. Mind you, I suppose if he had been going to Derry he could have caught the ferry. Just a shame they don’t do a tram to Iran really.

4. Song – Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting. Lyric – “It’s getting late have you seen my mates, Ma tell me when the boys get here, it’s seven o’clock and I want to rock, want to get a belly full of beer.” Hardly the sort of message one wants to be sending out. Elton John and Grand Theft Auto have a lot to answer for.

5. Song – Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me. Lyric – All of them. This song is a cliche. From start to finish. In that respect, the songwriting is awful. It also doesn’t address the solution to the sun going down, which, in most parts of the world, is to switch on the light. Or light a candle. Actually, I’m glad Elton never lit a candle, he’d have probably written a song about it.

6. Song – Honky Cat. Lyric – “When I look back, boy I must have been green, bopping in the country, fishing in a stream.” I’m not a cynic, but I find it very hard to believe that anyone who is green and bops in the country also goes down to fish in the stream. I think it has more to do with the fact that it rhymes. Personally, for all the sense this song makes, I would have preferred it to have been, ‘When I look back, yowzer I must have been blond, chugging in the hamlet, pissing in a pond’. But I guess the tempo is not quite the same with that is it?

7. Song – Rocket Man. Lyric – “Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids.” No, neither is Preston. Talk about stating the bloody obvious. And whose idea was it to write a song about a fictional astronaut going on a fictional journey to Mars anyway?

*Edit: In response to all of you who told me Bernie Taupin wrote the lyrics and not Elton, yes, I do know this. Elton still saw the lyrics fit enough to sing though. As a result, this post passes muster.

October 19, 2010
7 Reasons That a Cricket Bat is Preferable to a Baseball bat

Hmm. What’s the best bat to keep around the house, you’re probably wondering. Well, I have both, and it’s definitely the cricket bat. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Perception. When you stroll down your nice, quiet unremarkable street with a cricket bat tucked under your arm, you fit in. To passers-by and onlookers you are that nice chap (or chapess) from number 29 on his way to participate in a genteel and respectable game which involves a break for tea, and a lunch which perhaps involves a home-made cake or two on a picturesque village green somewhere.

2. Perception. When you stroll down your nice, quiet unremarkable street twirling a baseball bat you do not fit in. In fact, you are a harbinger of evil, bristling with menace and exuding undiluted violence. Suddenly, in a scene reminiscent of a cheap western, everything will become silent. Young women shield young children behind their voluminous skirts; old women scuttle away in terror; middle-aged women…er…er…(I’ve never even seen a middle-aged women in a cheap western, why is that?); men (of all ages) suddenly become incapable of eye contact, because there’s a madman with a baseball bat on the rampage. Never mind that in your other hand you’re carrying a mitt and a baseball because the people have seen the bat and the panic-stricken-nitwits have been rendered incapable of rational thought. They will blindly assume that you’re off to break someone’s kneecaps or smash a car’s door-mirrors. And that won’t help you get an invite to your next-door neighbour’s birthday party. It may, however, stop trick-or-treaters visiting.*

3. Certainty. Cricket bats, like some of the more successful and big-headed practitioners of the game itself, are doughty, resolute and they stay where you left them. If you put a baseball bat on the dining-room floor, however, it does not. The baseball bat is an inherently flighty creature and, like a hollow-headed flibbertigibbet, it will just disappear from where you left it, merrily rolling away without a care in the world. Eventually, of course, it will turn up, usually while you’re stumbling around in the dark or when your wife is entering the room carrying a glass of orange juice, a plate containing two cheese and real-ale-pickle sandwiches and an apple. Or something.

4. Arms-length. Ever had to pick something up that you really didn’t want to pick up? Something that you wanted to keep at further-than-arms-length? Something with many legs, perhaps, or with steam emanating from it. A cricket bat is ideal for such an eventuality owing to its flat blade. A baseball bat is not. In fact, there’s no way that you’ll be able to carry your friend’s pet “hamster” that you’re looking after or that god-awful smelling bowl of onion soup on a baseball bat.

5. Flour. I have never returned home to find my cricket bat covered in flour. I have, however, returned home to discover my baseball bat covered in flour on several occasions. And, as I’ve tucked into the pie that my wife has prepared for me, I’ve often thought, funny that. I didn’t leave it anywhere near the flour cupboard.**

6. Air-guitar. Try miming along to the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion or Led Zeppelin using a baseball bat and you’ll look like a pillock. Do it using a cricket bat and you’ll look like an eminently sensible and respectable chap (or chapess), suitable for a post in the foreign office, perhaps, or as a school governor. No matter how bad the music or the miming, if you use a cricket bat you’ll always maintain a thin veneer of respectability. Until you fall off the table.

7. Visitors. When you entertain foreign guests from non-cricketing nations in your house, a baseball bat is just a bat for baseball. A cricket bat, however, is a strange thing of wonder which they will enquire about. And fairly soon you’ll find yourself explaining – at length – to your blankly-incomprehending friends the finer points of the game of cricket. And they’ll love you for that. Really. And, after several hours talking about cricket, you may even find that they close their eyes in concentration as you explain the finer points of leg-spin.

*Topical top tip.

**The flour cupboard is not exclusively for flour. It contains other things such as; homemade blackberry vodka, homemade limoncello, half a packet of raisins, three packets of linguine, a jar of treacle that may or may not pre-date the Crimean war and a sake jug.

October 18, 2010
7 Reasons That Series II of Downton Abbey Will Be Even Better Than Series I

Downton Abbey, ITV’s very enjoyable and successful Sunday evening drama has had a second series commissioned. This is brilliant news as it is the best thing that ITV has produced for ages, possibly even ever. And the great thing is that the second series is going to be even better than the first. Here are seven reasons why.

1. The Writing Will Be Better. Julian Fellowes is a terrific writer and his historical knowledge and nuanced eye make Downton Abbey a brilliant evocation of an Edwardian life of privilege. And, as absolutely everything improves with practice and revision, the writing will be even better in the second series: The first time he wrote Gosford Park, it was Gosford Park, which was quite good. The second time he wrote Gosford Park, it was Downton Abbey, which was very good, and the third time he writes Gosford Park, it will be Downton Abbey: Series 2, which will surely be amazing. If they commission a few more series, Downton Abbey will eventually become the best written thing in the history of television.

2. The Opening. The first series of Downton Abbey opened with the news of the sinking of the Titanic reaching the house. Having the heirs to the house die in the Titanic tragedy was a terrific device which acted as the catalyst for many of the storylines. Series two can repeat this by killing off the current heir to Downton Abbey in the sinking of the Lusitania, and then we can begin the search for an heir all over again. Only this time we might get one with a chin and a personality.

3. The Limp. One of the dominant storylines of series one has been Bates’ limp. The consternation that it has caused has resonated throughout the series with many repercussions for both the house’s residents and staff. The First World War setting of season two will offer far greater scope for the characters to be intolerant of the disabled causing, as it surely will, characters to maim themselves fighting the Bosch from a trench. Perhaps a new downstairs hierarchy will develop based on the amount of available limbs a servant has. It’s like taking the limp storyline and escalating it.

4. Maggie Smith. Redoubtable battleaxe, the Dowager Countess, stole the show when she enquired over dinner, “The weekend? What is a weekend?”. The war will provide far greater scope for lofty and disdainful incomprehension, bringing as it will, a whole new vocabulary of dreadnoughts, zeppelins, trench foot, doughboys, big berthas, whizz-bangs and Kaisers. Though she probably already knows who the Kaiser is, “Rum fellow, typical foreign-type, no notion of how to dress for luncheon and abominable taste in hats.” The moment she exclaims, “A zeppelin has bombed Hull? What is this Hull of which you speak?” will be priceless.

5. Conscription. There’ll be great scope for new and interesting characters because of conscription. And, while the third reserve under-butler’s valet’s second footman is away having his head blown off at the Somme, who knows what could happen back at Gosfor Downton Abbey. Any manner of earth-shattering things could occur. Women may have to take on some of the tasks usually performed by the menfolk. The scope for revolutionary gender-role reassignment is immense. Perhaps they’ll find themselves selecting cufflinks, removing lint from a man’s jacket or winding up a clock. A maid might open the front door! Anarchy.

6. Order. The version of pastoral care the paternal Earl metes out to his wards will be tested to the limit in series two, as the poverty and lack of privation that war brings begins to impinge on life at Downton. How will he dispense justice when the newly widowed ladies-maid’s kitchen-maid’s undermaid is caught pilfering part of a silver cruet set? How will he deal with the theft of three of his grouse by a hungry poacher named Higgins (all poachers are called Higgins, I don’t know why). How will he react to the wooing of a ladies maid by an itinerant muffin man? It’s going to be great.

7. Suitors. Once she’s been forbidden to go into nursing by the Dowager Countess, (“Nursing? A lady tending commoners? The moon will surely implode,”) the eldest daughter will continue her Downton life pretty much unaltered, except with more varied suitors. Instead of being wooed by a succession of avaricious dullards in black tie, she’ll be wooed by a succession of avaricious dullards dressed in khaki. And that will wholly justify paying the licence fee for a colour television. We can’t wait.

October 15, 2010
7 Reasons To Answer The Phone By Saying ‘Goodbye’

There are moments in life, when you wish you had not picked up your phone. And then there are moments when you don’t answer your phone and you wish you had. Thanks to 7 Reasons, that dilemma is now over. Here are 7 Reasons to say ‘Goodbye’ as soon as you pick up that phone.

1. Cold-Callers. Double-glazing, health insurance, wills, bouncy castles, grandmothers. People will try and sell you anything these days. And, no matter how much you try saying it, ‘no’ just doesn’t seem to work. Get in a ‘goodbye’ straight away and while they are baffled by your audacity, hang up.

2. Barclays. I am using Barclays as an example as I have had first-hand experience of their call centres. I am sure, however, you could substitute the company for any other business that has it’s call centre in a foreign clime. Barclays had the foresight to base its call centre in the subcontinent. Which would have been absolutely fine if it had then employed people who could speak English adequately. Unfortunately, they failed in this pursuit. If indeed it ever was a pursuit. I’m sorry, but I simply can not understand what the hell they are talking about half the time. Actually, make that ninety percent of the time. And that is not an environment conducive to conversation. It’s like a Liverpudlian meeting a Geordie in Birmingham. Painful. Given that I am not going to understand them and they are not going to understand me, it’s worth halting the proceedings before they’ve even started.

3. Sanity. Some people – normal people – have a habit of talking to themselves. They can’t help it, it’s just natural. No amount of determination, threat or hypnosis can stop them. Which is where we come in. If you suffer from this narcissistic problem, call yourself. As soon as you answer, say ‘goodbye’. It will be the closure you have been searching for.

4. Tossers. These are the people that just love to have the last word. So, if you get the last word in first, you’ve won.*

5. Reverse. Given that the most important details are spoken about at the beginning of most phone conversations – and they are then forgotten once you have discussed sport/shoes, sport/the next door neighbours and sport/Eastenders – it is surely worth reversing the whole event. Start by saying ‘goodbye’, then talk about sport/rubbish, then the important item and then finish with a cheery ‘Hello’ or another form of salutation.

6. It’s Over. Splitting up with your partner is never a particularly joyous occasion. Even if it means moving on to better things. Finding the right words and a suitable environment to break-up in, is not a straight-forward affair. Sure, the advent of facebook and the relationship status option has made things easier if you are shallow, but what if you’re not? What if you are someone who agonizes over such a situation? Well, the next time they call, it’s time to say ‘goodbye’. And when they phone back, say it again. Repeat until they get the message. (You could also text them).

7. Bargains. Who knows how the person who has just called you will react when you say ‘goodbye’, but if they misunderstand what you are saying they may rattle off a load of ‘good buys’. As a result, you may end up investing in a BMW, a George Foreman Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine or a slice of carrot cake. And no one can really complain about that, can they?

*Sometimes I astonish myself with my own genius.

October 14, 2010
7 ‘Other’ Reasons It Would Have Been A Really Bad Day

Hello. I am still in Italy. No doubt frustrating my girlfriend with my inability to show enthusiasm for Spanish steps, fountains, statues, fine food and foreign culture in general. In fact, at this moment, I am no doubt scouting for an English bar to watch the Commonwealth Games.* So while I continue to destroy both Claire-Jon and Anglo-Italian relations, I leave you with a piece I wrote last week. About Polar Bears.

Last week, you may have heard about the explorer who survived being eaten by a polar bear. If you didn’t, you can read about it here. It’s not so much the fact that he survived that surprised me, more the reaction of his friend. Recounting the moment he shot the polar bear dead to save his exploration partner, Ludvig Fjeld said, “I was about 20 or 25 metres from the bear and it had Sebastian in its mouth, I was very worried. I did not want to hit Sebastian as well. That would have been a really bad day for him.”. Yes, imagine that! Being eaten by a polar bear and then being shot. That’s a bad day isn’t it? But then, it could have been worse.

1. Another Polar Bear. So, having been eaten once, saved, then shot, now another polar bear rocks up to see what all the commotion is about. Seeing his polar bear brother lying dead on the ground would have been enough to make him a bit cross. And as Ludvig used all the ammo, nothing is going to stop the polar bear finishing off what his brother started. That’s a bad day. Full of despair, and hope and despair again. A bit like a political party conference.

2. Bills. An expensive bill is enough to deflate anyone. They generally arrive when you least want them, and I would suggest the same day as you’ve been eaten by a polar bear and then shot by your mate, would be very fitting.

3. Tent Theft. Now, don’t get me wrong here, I am not for one minute suggesting the indigenous population has a tent theft habit, I am merely suggesting how the day could have got worse. And, in my desire to find another five reasons, I am going to point towards someone coming along – while the two explorers are out getting eaten and shot at – and nicking the tent. And everything it in.

4. Snap! You’ve been eaten and shot, but you’ve survived. Time to get back to the tent (which for the purpose of this reason hasn’t been nicked). When you get there though, you trip over a guy rope. And break an ankle. Brilliant.

5. Crack! No, that’s not Harrison Ford turning up with his whip – that would quite frankly be ridiculous – instead it’s the sound of the ice breaking beneath the explorers. Eaten by a polar bear, shot by your mate and now adrift in the Arctic Sea on your very own iceberg.

6. No Tea. Okay, so to run out of tea bags would be horrendous planning, but it’s the kind of thing that would just make you realise it’s not your day. And don’t tell me these Scandanavian boys don’t like tea, because I simply won’t believe you.

7. Hot Air. Foot isn’t the only way of exploring, as any Hot Air Balloon explorer will tell you. “Foot isn’t the only way of exploring, I’m a Hot Air Balloon explorer.” See, I told you. Unfortunately, Hot Air Balloons have a habit of crashing. Even when they land properly they seem to crash. And where better to crash than on top of a man who has just been eaten alive and then shot by his pal.

*If anyone knows where such a bar is, please let me know. Seriously, do.

October 13, 2010
7 Reasons That Carrier Bags are Baffling

The carrier bag might seem like a rudimentary bit of kit. Basic, functional, easy to understand. But it isn’t. Carrier bags are, in fact, among the most baffling things known to humankind. And by humankind, I mean me. Here are seven reasons why:

1. Because I Have Hands. People in shops are endlessly, needlessly trying to force carrier bags on me. But I don’t want one most of the time. Often, I’m just buying one or two items. And I don’t need a carrier bag in that circumstance. How many hands does it take to carry a single item? One. How many hands does it take to carry a bag containing a single item? One. So I don’t need a bloody bag, do I? It’s not difficult. And I already have a bag; it’s that thing I’m wearing over my shoulder that looks like a bag. But despite having both hands and bags, I am continually pestered to take the things. And I don’t know why.

2. Because They’re Everywhere. I always try not to take carrier bags, but despite this, my kitchen is full of the things. And every time I go in there, there are more of them. I don’t know how – or when – the rise of the bags began, but they are inexorably usurping our cooking space. We started off, like everyone does, with a bag of bags, and now we have at least a bag of bag of bag of bag of bags. Well, more than one, actually.

3. Because I Don’t Know What To Do With The Things. You might think this is the point where I’m going to make a few humorous and bizarre speculations on what one might do with a glut of carrier bags, but no, I’m not going to do that. This is because I’m totally bewildered and overwhelmed by my surfeit of them. I have no more idea of what to do with all the bags in the kitchen than I would have of what to do with a large, glittery, singing horse called Jemima in my dining room. Less, in fact. Or fewer?

4. Because Of Chavs. It seems that the only people that have any idea of what to do with used carrier bags are chavs. They put them over the seats of their rusty mountain bikes and tie them down to the seat-post. All of them do this. But I have no idea why. It’s not to keep their bottoms dry because they never remove the bag; even after rain. It’s a further level of bafflement.

5. Because They’re Not In The Same Condition I Left Them In. Occasionally, a rare and wondrous event occurs: I realise that I’m going to have to carry some presents to a friend’s house, or I’m going for a walk in the countryside and there might be blackberries to pick, and I find that I will actually need a carrier bag. And then I excitedly perform a brief, joyous dance – a bit like a jig – while singing repeatedly “I’m going to get rid of a bag, I’m going to get rid of a bag…” to the tune of A Life on the Ocean Wave. But when I come to use them, I discover that at least 50% of the bags are torn. But they weren’t torn when I put them into the bag of bag of bag of bag of bag of bags. So what the hell has happened to them in the meantime? Do they fight?

6. Because People Lie About Them. It’s not just that they’re all over my kitchen, mocking and taunting me, and confounding my every attempt to get rid of them that I find them baffling. It’s that people actively lie to us about the things. Don’t use carrier bags, environmentalists tell us; it’s wasteful; a lot of resources are used up in their manufacture; they don’t grow on trees. But this just isn’t true. Carrier bags do grow on trees. I’ve seen them. Just go outside and look at any urban tree and you’ll see the carrier bags growing on it. And we’re obviously using far fewer carrier bags than the trees are producing, because we’re not harvesting them with any regularity. That’s why there’s still a Woolworths bag growing in a tree near my house. Even though they went bust bloody ages ago.

7. Because Of The Holes. We all know why there’s a hole at the top of the bag. It’s to punish people that are stupid enough to try to put baguettes into them. But no one knows why there are holes at the bottom. Are they drainage holes? Is it a government conspiracy to prevent us from moving water about easily? Is it to prevent suffocation of animals, small children and Members of Parliament? Is it to stop me from inflating the things and then bursting them (with hilarious consequences)? Is it just to confuse us? Well, if it is, it’s working.

October 12, 2010
7 Reasons My Italian Self-Teaching May Get Me Into Trouble

Hello. I’m on a plane. At least I am if you are reading this at 9am on Monday morning. If you are reading it at 9pm on Monday evening then I bloody well hope I’m not on a plane and if you are reading it in June 2014, well, I couldn’t really care less. I’m assuming, as I write, that it is 9am on Monday morning and I am currently on a plane that is destined for Italy. Yes, I’m going on holiday. I thought you’d be pleased. Over the last week, I have done a little language based learning. And, in what is quite a coincidence, I have been learning Italian. Unfortunately, I am not the best when it comes to languages. Partly because I always sound a bit Indian when speaking with another tongue and partly because I just can’t be bothered with it. Which, I admit, is an abysmal attitude to have, but I will gladly take any applause you are prepared to give me for honesty. As a result of these two factors, the Italians might be in for something of a shock. Here’s why:

1. Accents. My Italian accent isn’t very good. Unless you like Italian accents that sound Indian. I imagine the Italians don’t.

2. What A Mistaka To Maka. I can’t help it. Without a teacher I revert to learning my Italian from Allo! Allo! clips on YouTube. I keep adding the letter ‘a’ onto anything I say. Oh, and I’m speaking English.

3. Roma! Lazio! The only words I can pronounce with any confidence are the names of football clubs or, indeed, names of footballers. I may get away with randomly shouting ‘Cannavaro!’ and ‘Del Piero!’ but I imagine I would not with ‘Totti!’. And, talking about football, Italy are playing Serbia tomorrow night. Along with many people in the 1990s, I watched Football Italia on Channel 4. And, along with many people, I always assumed the phrase uttered at the end of the opening credits – ‘Golaccio!’ – meant…

4. ‘Goal Lazio!!’. That’s what it sounded like after all. You can see it here if you need reminding/have no idea what I’m going on about. Now ‘Golaccio’ may seem like a sensible thing to say if Lazio’s Sergio Floccari finds the back of the net for his national side. But it wouldn’t be. For the simple reason that the word is actually ‘Golazo’. And it’s Spanish. And despite finding this out, I know it’s not going to make any bloody difference. I am still going to shout ‘Golazo!’ if Italy score. Or Spain. Or Serbia. Or England. Because that’s me. And no one would have me any other way.

5. French. The only language I have ever learnt – apart from English and Latin obviously – is French. And, despite years of trying to forget such nonsense, I still seem to remember a fair bit of it. And the reason I know this is because unwelcome words keeps slipping into my otherwise expertly recited Italian phrases, ‘Buon giorno. Parla inglese, s’il vous plaît?’. If someone started asking me a question in English and then slipped in something about frogs-legs, I’d be furious. I would expect the Italians to be similar.

6. Hands. Whether it’s a myth or not, Italian’s are famous for their hand gestures. So I’ve been practising mine too. So far, I have the ‘bang on desk’, the ‘I’ve got the whole world in my hands’ and the ‘bunny shadow’ gestures in my repetoire. And they make very little sense with my Italian/French/Indian speil.

7. Pizza. I spent much of my time in the week before Rome, practising the pronunciation of pizza names using a Pizza Express menu. As a result I am unlikely to be able to eat anything other than pizza for the whole week. While this is not a problem in itself, the fact that I can only pronounce Margherita with any confidence, could be.

October 11, 2010
7 Reasons That Not Having a Key is Frustrating

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

October 7, 2010
7 Reasons This Magazine Has Ruined Everything

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

** Sounds more impressive than it was.

October 6, 2010