Category: Posts

7 Reasons Being Sunburnt Has Its Advantages

This is Simon Cowell. He wears his trousers too high and he’s sunburnt. Only the former of these is unacceptable, embarrassing and disadvantageous. The latter is simply a move of immense genius.

1. Opportunity. When you’re sunburnt you give off a lot of heat. Which is perfect if you’re a male escort. Most women like snuggling and/or a hot water bottle. You can combine your snuggling services with the warming effect of your skin and never be out of work again. Or at least until you start peeling.

2. Fancy Dress. Accompany your look with an amber t-shirt and a pair of green trousers and you will make a very fine set of traffic lights. You will also cause a lot of confusion on your walk home and no doubt a fair few accidents as a result. How is this good? Well, the council will love you because it means they can put tax up in order to fix the roads and the Police will love you as it means they can nick someone for dangerous driving and meet their quote for the month.

3. The Orange Effect. Have you ever laid in bed wondering whether you could pull an entire layer of skin off your body in one go? Very much as you would try and peel an orange? Being sunburnt offers you the best chance you will ever have. And even if you do fail, at least it’s good fun. Stick your dead skin under the microscope before you dispose of it too. It’s fascinating. And also rather chewy.

4. Seen, But Not Heard. There’s a reason Simon Cowell is sunburnt and it doesn’t simply come down to the fact that he forgot his Nivea lotion. It’s because he’s an egotistical maniac who loves to be noticed. And nothing gets you noticed more than when you’ve got a face that looks like you’ve spent a day in the company of a Red Indian. Also note the use of a white t-shirt to show just how red he is. It’s the perfect way to be seen on a night out. Try it.

5. Oops. No one likes being embarrassed, but if you have to be, the time to do it is when you are suffering with sunburn. No one will be able to see how uncomfortable you are. You can shrug it off and pretend you haven’t got a care in the world. You’ll be admired from head to toe.

6. Money. It’s sunny and it’s hot. You have £3 with you. What do you do? Do you (a) buy suncream or (b) buy an ice-cream? Think about it. Suncream won’t keep you cool, but ice-cream will. And for £3 you’ll probably get a flake too.

7. Invisible Clothes. Say you spend a day in the sun in nothing but a vest and a pair of shorts. Come 9am the next day you should be able to stand in front of the mirror, completely naked and yet still see yourself wearing a vest and pair of shorts. Like this guy here. That’s so cool. I mean ‘cool’ as in ‘wicked’. Not ‘cool’ as in ‘cool’. Because obviously it’s not ‘cool’. It’s really hot. And I don’t mean ‘hot’ as in ‘sexy’. Because obviously he’s not. To me anyway. At least, I think it’s a man. I don’t know. I can’t look at it anymore. It’s making me shiver.

September 27, 2011
7 Reasons To Try A Romana At Pizza Express

Sometimes in life we are faced with immensely troubling dilemmas. Do you have a standard pizza or do you go big? The other day I went big. Or, as Pizza Express like to call it, I went Romana style. Here is why you should do it too.

1. Taster. The Romana, as the name suggests, is inspired by the pizzas served in Rome. Now, when I went to Rome last year I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. Not so much in terms of the city and what to do, but the food. That was the one thing I needed to survive the holiday. And, thinking about it, it is what everyone needs to survive Rome if they are there for any prolonged period of time. I was there for a week. I needed food to survive. The thing is, when I went to Rome it was a gamble. I just banked on liking the food. But what would have happened if I hadn’t? Would I have starved? Would I have been able to book a flight back to Blighty before my stomach started rumbling? Had Pizza Express offered the Romana before I went, such worries could have been dispelled in an instant. I could have booked a table, ordered an American Hot and tasted it. If I liked it I would know going to Rome was a safe bet, if I hadn’t, I would have gone to Brighton instead. So there you go, if you are worried about going to Rome, go to Pizza Express for a trial run first.

2. Maths Challenge. The Romana is described as a ‘bigger, thinner and crispier’ version of the classic Pizza Express pizza. Which got me thinking. And thinking. And thinking. There was so much thinking involved that I had to have garlic bread and dough balls. Being bigger is all well and good, but if it’s thinner doesn’t that just mean the dough has been rolled out a bit more? For my extra £1.55 am I actually getting more food? Aren’t I just getting the same product in a slightly different shape? The only way to find out was to order both the standard and Romana-ed versions of the American Hot. When they arrived I still couldn’t work it out. Still, I had two pizzas and my brain had a work out. It’s better than having to take your sudoku book to Pizza Hut.

3. Language. Pizza Express offers you are rather wonderful opportunity to practice your Italian. I managed to Romana my American Hot in one go. All it took was a little gesticulation, a little shouting and the waiter, Mike, did the rest. Thanks Mike!

4. Doctor, Doctor. For the millions of you out there whose only option was to tell the waiter to “bring me the head of Alfredo Garcia” when you fancied a fictional character for dinner, you can now rest in peace. Go to Pizza Express and order a Romana. You won’t get the disembodied head of Mary Tamm or Lalla Ward, instead you’ll be delivered a pizza. That should give you your kicks you weird, weird people.*

5. Mr Lava, Lavaman**. One of Pizza Expresses Romana’s is called Etna. Presumably after the Sicilian active volcano as opposed to the LG mobile phone. To me, this says heat. It also tells me it is very likely to erupt in my colon. While this isn’t exactly an enticing prospect, the fact that 25p of the £11.50 it’s going to cost me goes to Fairbridge – a charity helping young people turn their lives around – makes it seem a small price to pay. For every minute I spend on the toilet that night, I’ll know that someone, somewhere, is better off because of it.

6. Calzone. When I was in Rome last year, I had a calzone. For the uninitiated amongst you, I would best describe it as a pizza folded in half. There’s a bit more to it than that – usually a hard-boiled egg – but for the sake of getting you to the end of the post before lunchtime, let’s just call it a pizza folded in half. Now, should you try and fold a classic pizza from Pizza Express in half, you will struggle. The base is slightly too thick. It just flops back and leaves the topping behind. Shocking. A Romana though, well that is a completely different animal. It’s thin enough to flop all over the place. With a Romana, a makeshift calzone can be yours.

7. Playtime. A bigger pizza means a bigger canvas on which to arrange your ingredients. While your depiction of Obama may not have flattered the American President on your classic pizza, on the Romana there would be plenty of room to make him look like a real person. With salami hair. And peppers as the lips. And a mushroom for the nose. Yes, I have done my research. (Should you wish to have a go you need to order the Rustichella. With a few extra toppings.).

*This reason will only make sense if you’ve Googled ‘Romana’ and discovered a tenuous link to Doctor Who.

** With apologies to Shabba Ranks. And you actually.

September 23, 2011
7 Reasons A Cravat Is The Way Forward

With just nine months to go until I become a man, I have been looking at what I shall wear on the day. My cricket whites were voted out in the first round so it looks like I will be going the top hat and tails route. With the cravat. It’s the way forward. Not just for marriages, for all time.

1. Sophistication. When you see a man in a cravat, you can tell exactly what sort of man he is. Debonaire, suave, handsome, wealthy, intelligent and affable. You see how easy it can be to fool people.

2. Silk. No, not the fabric kind, the Robert Kilroy kind. When he founded the now largely unheard of Veritas Political Party in 2005 he set out his vision using the immortal line, “An end to cravats!”. A rather odd call given that the country was then being led by Blair and Prescott. Hardly two men who were in a rush to don a necktie before breakfast. Anyway, since then Veritas and Kilroy-Silk have done little but go backwards which surely suggests one needs a cravat to go forwards.

3. Achievement. The last time I wore something around my neck – apart from a tie and a forearm while playing rugby at Loughborough University – was when I was a cub. And, as I may have said previously on 7 Reasons, I was a bloody good cub. I had badges and woggles and wiggles and dobs and dibs all over my room. I was that good. And really, the only thing that stopped me continuing as a cub, was that I got old. And as soon as I got old I stopped achieving things. Well, badges anyway. Until now I couldn’t work out why. Then I realised. It’s because I am not wearing anything around my neck. If I want badges again, I need to wear a cravat.

4. Handkerchief. The difficulty with a tie is that when you wipe your nose on it, the remnants are there for all to see. There’s really no where to hide it. A cravat though is tucked inside the shirt, which means if you wipe carefully with the edge of the material it can easily be hidden from view.

5. Present. A cravat is the kind of item that can easily be presented to your father, uncle or grandfather should you forget that it is his birthday. You could hardly whip off your trousers and hand them to him could you? But a cravat, of course you could.

6. Unbuttoned Shirt. The problem with a tie – apart from the fact that one in every four features a button that when pressed plays Jingle Bells – is that they are not very practical when it comes to allowing you to breath. It’s not necessarily the tie that has the strangling effect, it’s the shirt. When the top button is done up and the collar closes in around the neck breathing becomes a chore. Either that or the shirt is so big that it makes you look like you’ve been very ill recently. A cravat, though, allows you to keep the shirt unbuttoned. It allows you both to breath and not look ill. And that has to be the way forward. If you want to live.

7. In The Club. Despite extensive research I have not been able to find a single Cravat Club or Appreciation Society in the world. I have found the Odd Sock Society, the Anstey Nomads Underwear Supporters (ANUS) and the Cod Piece Collective, but nothing through which you could celebrate the cravat. How can that be? Well the answer is simple. It’s because the cravat hasn’t had its time yet. It’s ahead of its time. To wear a cravat now is to be a trendsetter. You could be like the guy who bought a Betamax player. Or a Sinclair C5. Get ahead now.

September 21, 2011
7 Reasons That This Is The Greatest Bus Service Ever

Great news for 7 Reasons readers that are also fans of buses! For the third time in our history, we’re writing a bus-related piece featuring – you guessed it – buses!   The reason for this is simple; as reported today, by various news organisations, a brilliant and ground-breaking innovation in the field of public transport has occurred in, of all places Wiltshire (and Hampshire) where residents of Winterslow can now avail themselves of what is effectively a one-way bus service to Andover, on weekdays and weekends. It does go in the other direction too, but the return service departs before the outbound service arrives. Here are seven reasons that this is a brilliant idea.

Not actual 87 bus.

1. It Utilizes Underused Resources. At night, once buses have stopped running, bus stops stand idle and unpopulated, making them ideal targets for ne’er-do-wells, rapscallions and vandals. Not in Andover though. With the new one-way timetable, bus stops in Andover will be used outside of peak periods, in fact, all through the night, as bus-users from Winterslow use them to shelter from the elements as they wait until the next day to return home from their visits to WH Smith and Poundland. The new timetable brilliantly uses passengers from Winterslow as a free security force to protect Andover’s bus stops from vandalism at night. A free security force. Ingenious.

2. It’s Innovative. It really is. The history of Britain is peppered with examples of blue-sky, outside-of-the-box, joined-up-thinking and ground-breaking innovation and no one can say that this bus timetable isn’t innovative. A bus that only goes one way. It’s revolutionary! Or at least it would be, if it went full-circle and returned from whence it departed. But it doesn’t. It is, however, definitely an innovation. A one-way bus! A bus that takes you somewhere and then abandons you there. Have you ever been on one of those before? No, I don’t suppose you have.

3. It Encourages Further Innovation. Not only is the one-way bus to Andover innovative, it encourages further innovation. Because for great creative and inventive thinking to occur, three things are required: Time, will and an environment conducive to uninterrupted thought. Spending hours on end in a deserted bus stop takes care of the first and the third things and who, faced with waiting until the next day for the bus home (or having had their bus home leave before they’ve arrived) wouldn’t want to invent a time-machine? The bus-users of Winterslow could achieve great things while they’re waiting for their bus. How brilliant of their local authority to create the environment in which the creative talents of the people of Winterslow can bear fruit.

4. It’s Soothing. This public-transport quantum-leap eliminates one of the biggest objections people have to travelling by public transport. Timetable-anxiety: That nagging feeling that haunts people who know they have to finish whatever they’re doing punctually and get to a certain place at a certain time in order to return home. But now the residents of Winterslow won’t have to hurriedly conduct their affairs in Andover. They will experience no more the subliminal torment and creeping trepidation associated with having to rush their business to meet a tight deadline. The people of Winterslow can’t go home.   They have been liberated from the tyranny of the timetable. And from housework and nice, warm beds and things.

5. It Elevates Bus Travel From The Realms Of The Mundane. Why do the people of Winterslow take the bus to Andover? I’m sure that’s a question that none of us ever thought we’d be facing but it’s there now, so let’s brainstorm it (very briefly). Okay, are we all agreed that it’s to use the more comprehensive facilities and amenities generally associated with a larger town; shops, banks, post offices and the railway station etc? Good. But those are all rather dull things (except for etc which is redolent of mystery). Now, however, a trip to Andover has been turned into a stopover. It’s not a trip to the bank before returning home, it’s a holiday. The bus-users of Winterslow are now tourists; travellers. They’re the diesel-set. It’s so much more glamorous than a regular bus service.

6. It Saves Money. It saves the local authority money as they only have to run a bus one way (unless the bus depot is in Winterslow. Or Andover) and it saves the passengers money as they’ll only be paying for single tickets (plus they can turn the heating off in their houses for the night and they won’t be using their televisions or hobs and ovens or washing machines). So everyone wins here and, when they’re not working on their time-machine, the bus-users of Winterslow will be able to spend their night in the bus shelter calculating just how much money they’ve saved!   How thrilling and uplifting for them. This is the sort of financial whizz-kiddery that could revolutionise the public sector.

7. It’s Traditional. Wiltshire Council are merely the latest innovators in a grand tradition of cutting-edge bus-timetable thinking in the UK. With their one-way bus service, they may even have surpassed the nation’s previous high-water-mark in radical timetable departures: In 1976, it was reported that buses on the Hanley to Bagnall route in Staffordshire regularly sailed past queues of up to thirty people. This was because – in the words of Councillor Arthur Cholerton – if these buses stopped to pick up passengers, it would disrupt the timetable.* I think the one way bus service may well have topped the no-passenger model. I think the people of Wiltshire can feel rightly proud of their council’s accomplishment. And they’ll have a lot of spare time to feel proud in. Wiltshire District Council, we salute you!

Source: The Book of Heroic Failures (1979). Stephen Pile (An excellent read).

September 20, 2011
7 Reasons The Playground Is A Metaphor For Life

I’m sitting in the park. It’s August but it’s gloomy, dank and wet. There’s no one else around. The playground ahead of me is completely empty. I stare for a while. Thinking back to the days when it would have been acceptable for me to run over and jump on the swing. Then I realise something. I’m already on a swing. And a merry-go-round. And a see-saw. The playground ahead of me is just a metaphor for what we experience every day. Here’s why:

1. Swings. Back and forth, back and forth. Sometimes quick, sometimes slow. It’s just like commuting to and from work everyday. Or doing the school run. Sometimes we want it to speed up. To get us through the day. Sometimes we want it to slow down. So we can live the moment for longer. Most of all though, sometimes it makes us throw-up.

2. Slides. It takes time and effort to get to the top. For what? Just to slide straight back down to earth, on your backside, at twice the speed.

3. Merry-Go-Rounds. You go round and round and round in circles. Then you feel dizzy, have a lie down, get up and get back on. And we repeat this ridiculous lifestyle choice for eternity. We’re idiots.

4. See-Saw. Up and down, up and down. All while some git tries to make you fly off and smash your head on the concrete floor. Well, it was concrete in my time. It’s probably wood-chippings now. It’s health and safety gone mad.

5. Climbing-Frame. It doesn’t matter which route you take, the view from the top is always the same – usually some bloke with his tongue down your girlfriend’s throat behind the cricket pavilion.

6. Monkey Bars. You pull yourself up, you think you look cool and then your pants fall down. You lower yourself and realise your pride hurts only slightly more than your biceps.

7. Sand Pit. It’s pretty standard. You make your castle only for some twat to come along and kick it to smithereens. Good name for a 1960s band that, The Smithereens. I was so after my time.

September 14, 2011
7 Reasons That I Hate The Man At The Pub

It was all going so well. All I had to do was go to an unfamiliar pub and meet four friends that were there waiting for me. But there was a man at the pub who cocked it all up and made everything infuriatingly difficult. Here are seven reasons that I hate him.

1. The Man At The Pub Is In My Way. Exiting the bar with a pint in my hand and entering a narrow, dimly-lit anteroom with tables and stools situated haphazardly on either side of barely delineated central walkway I walked past a couple of tables and spotted my friends seated approximately two tables away, ahead of me and to the right. I moved toward them squeezing between the stools on the cluttered walkway. But there was a problem. There was a man also squeezing his way through the cluttered throng of drinkers, tables and stools in the opposite direction, heading toward me. Fairly soon he was in my way.

2. The Man At The Pub Moves In The Wrong Direction. As an Englishman I did what came naturally and stepped to my left as I approached him, in the knowledge that when he moved to his left, there would be sufficient room for us both to pass; assuming that we turned sideways, squeezed in and stopped breathing (because everyone stops breathing when performing this sort of manoeuvre, even though there is no earthly reason for doing so). But the man didn’t move to his left, he moved to mine (his right). He was still in my way.

3. The Man At The Pub Is Stupid. No, that’s uncharitable. He’s not necessarily stupid, I thought. Perhaps he hails from a country where they drive on the right. Perhaps he doesn’t drive. Perhaps he’s drunk; he does, after all, have a pint in his hand. I did what any other sensible person would do, given that he was to my left. I stepped to my right. But at the same moment that I moved to my right, he moved to his left. We had both moved but were both still blocking each other’s path. Bugger.

4. The Man At The Pub Is Still In My Way. Oh God, I inexplicably thought, to a being that I don’t believe in, this could go on all night. This could be one of those occasions where I and a random unwitting partner selected purely by proximity and happenstance perform the tentative and ungainly dance that I know as The Get-The-Hell-Out-Of-My-Way-And-Stop-Shuffling-From-Side-To-Side-In-Front-Of-Me-You-Simpering-Ninny. A blushing teenage girl and I once performed this dance on a narrow pavement outside of the Lewes branch of Waitrose for a full fifty seconds; replete with breezily uttered apologies, good-natured rolling-of-the-eyes, winsome shrugs and staccato bursts of nervous laughter. It was excruciating. I wanted to die. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me (which would actually have solved the problem). There was no way I was going to repeat that again. I resolved not to move any more this time. “Sorry”, I said to the man with the pint, instinctively, at the same time as he said “sorry” to me. Ah, I thought, he is English after all.

5. The Man At The Pub Is Mysterious. Then something else hit me. This man looked vaguely familiar. We regarded each other for a split-second, but I wasn’t quite sure who he was. It was one of those moments, when, in the back of your mind, you know that you know a person but for whatever reason – usually to do with seeing them outside of their usual context – you can’t quite place them. This was perplexing.

6. The Man At The Pub Is Confused. I noticed that my friends – who were frustratingly still ahead of me and to the right, as the man and I were going nowhere, were all looking at me – two were pointing – and roaring with laughter. They were hysterical. I failed to see how two grown men trying to get out of each other’s way in a pub was quite that funny, but then I noticed something quite odd. Although my friends were seated ahead of me and to the right, the sound of their laughter was coming from behind me and to the right. I turned to face the sound. My friends were sitting there. I turned back to face the man blocking my path. Then I realised why he looked familiar. He was me. I was the man in my way.

7. The Man At The Pub Is A Laughing Stock. It turned out that some bright spark had come up with the brilliant idea of covering the entire back wall of a small, dimly lit room with a mirror to make it appear lighter and airier and the customers appear stupider. As I turned and walked toward the table where my friends were still laughing uproariously, the sniggering barmaid was busy collecting glasses there. Feeling rather embarrassed and wishing to downplay the act of foolishness that I was slowly realising I would never, ever be allowed to forget I sought a crumb of comfort from her. “That must happen all the time,” I stated blithely to her. “No.” She replied rather haughtily, “that’s never happened before”. With that, she turned away and walked out of the room, back to the bar, from where we could hear her sobs of laughter for many minutes. The evening didn’t go well. Still, as long as I don’t write about it, no one else will ever know. Oh. Bugger.

September 13, 2011
7 Reasons To Go Out Into The Wind

If you’re in Britain at all which, in 7 Reasons terms, is statistically likely, you can’t have failed to notice that it’s extraordinarily, astonishingly, epically windy outside at the moment. But the wind isn’t a bad thing. In fact, going out into the wind could well be the best thing for you. Here are seven reasons why.

I shall probably have nightmares featuring this image.

1. You’ll Have More Time. Have you any idea how much of your life is spent drying your hair? Absolutely loads. You’d probably find it amounts to years, if you were to spend even more time adding it all up. But you can save all that time. If you go outside into the wind, you’ll have drier hair. You hair will not only dry quickly, but it’s so windy out there that it will possibly remain dry forever. It’ll be drier than a salty desert; drier than a dry martini that has evaporated in the sun; drier than a Mormon in a towel; drier than fire (though hopefully not the same colour). If you go outside right now, you’ll never, ever need to dry your hair again. That’s like being given the gift of time.

2. You’ll Be More Beautiful. Competing cosmetics brands spend billions of pounds, dollars, euros, ringgits, zlotys and yen trying to convince us their product is the best for us. One of the things that they all agree on though, is that exfoliating is the key to naturally beautiful skin. If you go out into the wind right now, you’ll find that exfoliation is free. You’ll find that the wind is so strong that layers of dead skin are blown clean away from your face, leaving you both ruddy and beautiful. You’ll be ruddy beautiful. You might find that so many layers of skin are blown away that you’re left with your original baby-skin which, as we all know, is the softest, most lovely thing in the world outside of a gin distillery. And it’s free.

3. You’ll Be Sexier. What’s the universally acknowledged sexiest moment in film? No, it’s not the scene where Meg Ryan gets excited about sandwiches (unless you’re a weirdo, a pervert or are very hungry), it’s the scene from the The Seven Year Itch where, gently wafted by a breeze emanating from a subway grate, Marilyn Monroe’s dress billows upward revealing something hitherto unimagined by unsuspecting filmgoers. Women have legs! This is the universally acknowledged most sensual moment in the history of cinema. Similarly, if you go out into the wind in a dress you’ll find that it will billow, ripple and balloon too. The wind’s so strong at the moment that it’ll probably blow clean over your head. Just by doing the maths you can tell that an incident that reveals that much more flesh and structural garments will make you many times sexier than Marilyn Monroe in the sexiest cinema moment ever. You’ll be the sexiest woman in the world, even if you’re a man. If you want to be sexy, you need the wind.

4. You’ll Be Healthier. What’s the key to health? Exercise. Want exercise? Go outside right now. I went out into the garden earlier and soon found myself vaulting over a wall and giving chase to a garden ornament belonging to my son that had been suddenly taken by the wind and was skittering down the street. After a sprinting for many, many yards past several startled neighbours and a wild-eyed dog I caught up with it and trapped it with my foot. As I returned to my garden with the turquoise windmill spinning wildly in my hand I knew I was fitter for the unexpected exercise. I looked like an idiot, but you can’t have everything.

5. You’ll Be Wealthier. There are untold riches just waiting for you out there in the wind. Want to profit from this literal windfall? Here’s how: Firstly, go out into your garden and make sure that everything you own outside in the wind is secure. Secondly, go inside and wait. When the wind stops blowing, you’ll find that you have all sorts of new treasure. You’ll have bags, you’ll have paper stuff, you’ll have new plants, you’ll probably have a dress and a turquoise windmill. You’ll have booty! Absolutely anything could turn up. It’s like a free lucky dip or a meteorological tombola. A windswept sweepstake. A gale lottery. Weather bingo!

6. You’ll Be Wiser. Remember the Aesop fable about the sun and the wind having a bet to see if they could make a man remove his cloak and the wind failing abjectly at this task? No? Go outside with a cloak on then and see if you want to take it off. That’s practical learning. Plus you might be able to use it to fly.

7. You’ll Feel Better. What do Scandinavian types do to cheer themselves up when their favourite elk dies or they find that their new wardrobe has one bolt missing and the instructions have apparently been translated into gibberish? They get into the sauna and beat themselves with twigs and leaves. No one knows why they do this*, but they claim that it makes them feel good. So imagine how great you’ll feel when you go outside and stand next to a tree. At the moment, you’ll be beaten black and blue by all manner of twigs and leaves swirling round in the air at improbable speeds. You’ll be battered into happiness, buffeted into joy, knocked about into light-heartedness and marmalised into merriment. You’ll feel better than you ever have in your life. Go outside right now, it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever done! Oh, and can you pick up something for my dinner while you’re out there? I’m staying in.

*Okay, someone probably does.

September 12, 2011
7 Reasons To Watch The Rugby World Cup

Here we go then. After four years of waiting England are finally about to bring the Webb Ellis Trophy home again. Don’t worry though, if you are of another nationality, there are still reasons to watch.

1. The Perennials. Yes, I’m talking about New Zealand. Favourites for the fifth tournament in a row and justifiably so. The Kiwis are very good and every other team out there is quite frankly abysmal. Add into the mix that they are also hosts then the odds of 8/13 still seem quite generous. To an uneducated supporter that is. Everyone else knows that New Zealand will not win. They are chokers. Defeated in the 1995 final, the 1999 and 2003 semi-finals and the 2007 quarter-finals. They are the Netherlands of the rugby world. So much natural talent and yet so little mental toughness. The draw has been kind to them this year, they play their nemeses France in the group stage meaning they’ll win that one. A quarter-final against Argentina won’t provide too many difficulties, but then they come up against the Aussies – who, after losing to Ireland in the group stages, knock South Africa out in the quarters. And the Aussies win that one. Because they know how.

2. The Group Of Death. If there is such a thing as the group of death in this World Cup, it’s group D. Neither Wales nor South Africa will find it easy against Samoa or Fiji and while South Africa’s experience should help them through, Wales may be heading home early. Which is obviously a shame because New Zealand is full of sheep.

3. The Minnows. That’s right, I’m talking about Scotland. They should be entertaining to watch. For a neutral anyway. For a Scot there’ll be a dispiriting draw against Romania, two horrendous defeats to Argentina and Georgia and then a two-point win against England. Just because that’s all the Scots care about. And because Hape will be playing for England instead of the suspended Tulagi – who head-butted one touch-judge, two cheerleaders and a supporters coach during the game against Argentina.

4. Sleep Deprivation. The time difference means all of us who fine-tuned the art of staying awake all night followed by a half-arsed day at work during The Ashes, get to do it all over again. The first game between the hosts and Tonga is really just a warm-up. The fun starts on Saturday morning. The first of four games kicks off at 2am. There are no forty-minute lunch breaks to sleep through. No rain-delays to give you an excuse to go to bed. Just rugby, rugby, rugby. But that’s great because being deprived of sleep is wonderful. It puts you in a trance-like state through which you do all the jobs you hate without even realising. It really should be available on the National Health.

5. Commentary. With no Ortis Deley presenting, we have to look to the commentators for tongue-twisters. And, in particular, the unlucky sole who pulled the short straw and will find themselves in Auckland on 25th September commentating on Fiji v Samoa. If you know your Waqaniburotu, Murimurivalu and Koyamaiboles from your Treviranus, Poluleuligaga and Tagicakibaus then I suggest you give ITV a call. You’ll almost certainly be put on stand-by. For the rest of us, this has drinking game written all over it. For every mispronunciation, it’s two fingers. You’ll be wrecked by 6am.

6. The Unexpected. Last year ITV performed quite a coup. They got Francois Pienaar to join their line-up for the Football World Cup. Yes, the rugby legend Francois Pienaar. One assumes this was because the World Cup was being hosted in South Africa. So this begs the question, which Kiwi football star have they lined up to offer expert analysis on the scrum? That’s right, it’s Blackburn defender and current Kiwi captain, Ryan Nelson. I expect.

Blackburn’s Ryan Nelson Will Be In ITV’s Analysis Truck For The Rugby World Cup

7. The Alternative. Well that would be to listen to it. On, wait for it, TalkSport. Yes, that’s right, TalkSport! They have exclusive rights which means no Ian Robertson this year. They do have a decent commentary team with John Taylor and Brian Moore in the ranks, but my problem is that they’ll keep interrupting the matches to tell us that Nick Barmby has rejoined Spurs on a free and some twat from a van-hire company will repeatedly tell they’re the best in Canvey Island. I don’t want to know! Then we’ll probably have Jon Gaunt doing a rugby phone-in with Nick Griffin. It’s not going to be pretty. Watch it on TV instead. Watch it on a real channel. Watch it on… oh… erm… it’s on ITV again.

September 8, 2011
7 Reasons Modern Cluedo Is Murder

I’m not really paying too much attention as Rob sets up the game. I’m too busy hitting my phone against my knee in an attempt to try and make the Eurosport app work.

“Who do you want to be?” he asks.

“Colonel Mustard,” I reply. I’m always Colonel Mustard.

“You’ll have to be Jack Mustard.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s no Colonel Mustard anymore. It’s Jack Mustard.”

I get up and move to the table. I look at the scene in front of me. Oh crikey! Oh blimey! Oh deary, deary me! Cluedo has changed! I don’t like it. I haven’t even started playing yet, but I instinctively know I don’t like it.

1. The Characters. They’ve all changed. They’ve all been… modernised! Colonel Mustard is now Jack Mustard. A former football player come pundit. Think Jamie Redknapp. I don’t want to play Cluedo as Jamie Redknapp. But what are the other options? Kasandra Scarlett, an egotistical ‘actress’. Think Kerry Katona. I don’t want to play as her either. Then we have Diane White, a former child-star still waiting for her moment of fame. Then there’s Jacob Green, the former white reverend turned black cool dude. Eleanor Peacock isn’t much better. She’s the wealthy daughter of a former politician. Presumably one who is in prison following the expenses scandal. Finally we have Victor Plum, a video game designer and self-made millionaire. And they’re all tits.

2. The Weapons. Rope? Check. Candlestick? Check. Dagger? Sort of. It’s now a knife. Revolver? Check. Lead Pipe? No check. It’s now a baseball bat. A baseball bat?! If you’re going to update it at least make it a cricket bat! Spanner? No check. It’s now a dumbbell. And we have new weapons too. There’s some poison, an axe and a trophy. Which no doubt belongs to Jack ‘Wholegrain’ Mustard. Probably his ‘Knob Of The Year’ award.

3. The Rooms. Can I read a book in the conservatory? No I can’t. That’s because Kasandra has had the builders in and replaced it with a spa. Also out is the ball room, the cellar, the billiard room, the library, the study and the lounge. Replacing them in the Chigwell manor is a patio, a pool, a theatre, a living room, an observatory and a guest house.

4. The Cards. Apart from having a make-over, there are new cards. Intrigue cards. The name, sadly, defies their being. The Intrigue cards are formed of two kinds. Keepers and Clocks. Draw a Keeper card and you get to look at another player’s cards. Draw a Clock card and you might be killed off by the murder. If this happens you are out of the game. What’s wrong with that you may ask? Well quite a lot. I got killed off on my second go. Which meant Rob had no option but to make an accusation. He was wrong. Game over in four minutes.

5. The Name. It’s not even called Cluedo anymore. It’s called Cluedo: Discover The Secrets. Has there ever been a more unnecessary sub-name in the history of board gaming? Actually, in gaming full-stop? No, scrap that. Has there ever been a more unnecessary sub-name? Ever.

6. The Design. I won’t lie to you, it’s gone to tackville. The simplicity, charm and vintage style of the original has been thrown into the bin of class to be replaced by smug looks and bright colours. It’s abhorrent. It’s vulgar. It’s vomit-inducing. It’s enough to make Professor’s Plums shrivel.

7. The Result. I lost. I had never lost a game of ‘traditional’ Cluedo in my life. I was family champion year after year after year. I was so good that whenever I asked school mates if they wanted a game at break-time they would immediately say no and call me a ‘freak’. Yes, I was so good that they had to resort to petty name calling and writing false accusations about me on the toilet wall. This modern version killed me. Again and again and again. I will not be playing it again. Again.

September 5, 2011
7 Reasons That This is the Worst Survey of All Time

Readers of 7 Reasons, I’m breathless with excitement. I’ve discovered something amazing. While reading this fine article to research something else, I found, in four short paragraphs in the middle, an account of an astonishingly inept survey.

The survey was conducted in the 1930s by the Mass Observation organisation and set out to quantify how many people were having sex on Blackpool beach during the month of August. They conducted their research – in a rather hapless manner – by hanging about on the beach at night looking for people having sex. During the research they managed to spectacularly and hilariously cock up their own figures. Here are seven reasons that it’s the worst survey of all time.

1. The Premise. You can call me suspicious (I won’t answer to it though) but isn’t the premise a bit fishy? I smell a rat; which is a rodent that smells of fish. It’s like someone at the Mass Observation unit suddenly said – possibly during a meeting at a pub – “I’ve got a great idea chaps, let’s all go to Blackpool and observe people having sex on the beach.” And everyone drunkenly agreed to it as a terrific idea and an utterly laudable use of their time and resources. What no one seems to have said is “But wait. Isn’t that dogging?” Because that’s what watching people having sex in a public place is. This makes their observation lack credibility. This makes it look less like a serious study and more like an excursion for perverts.

2. The Results. The results are also a little suspicious. During their study into how many people were having sex on the beach during August in Blackpool, they recorded a mere four couples having sex on the beach. Now, perhaps times have changed and things are a little more liberal in Blackpool these days but there are bus stops in Blackpool where more people are having sex than that in the middle of the afternoon. And on the beach at any given time, there are usually at least nine people attempting to have sex with a donkey. The results seem not to accurately reflect the environment that was being surveyed.

3. The Personnel. The credibility of this survey was further undermined because – and this makes it officially one of my favourite surveys ever – one of the people that the Mass Observation researchers observed having sex on the beach was another Mass Observation researcher. This brilliant incident of the hunter becoming the hunted; the ogler becoming the ogled and the peeper becoming the peepee has catapulted what was already the second least credible survey of all time (after my important research into how much tiramisu you can fit into a 6’2” man with an M in his name in a Yorkshire kitchen in December*) into first place in a race of its own.

4. The Results Are Skewed. The discovery of the researcher having sex means that, according to the Mass Observation survey, 12.5% of all people having sex on Blackpool beach during the month of August are Mass Observation researchers. Now I don’t wish to appear cynical, but if I was say…let me see…in charge of a rather unglamorous unit that generated statistics on everyday life and I was having a recruitment drive to swell the ranks of nerds that I needed to count things, what better way to glamourise it? Move over rock stars (whatever they are); move over Errol Flynn and Clark Gable; Mass Observation researchers are unabashed rampant sex beasts and brazen cocksmen and not the stammering bespectacled tweed-wearers that you previously supposed them to be. If you want to have relations with ladies in hats, join the Mass Observation unit and become a statistician. I’d imagine that brilliantined brown shoe wearers would be queuing round the block to join. On bicycles, probably.

5. The Results Are Confusing. But Wait! What if he was having sex alone? After all, if he’s the voyeuristic chap that suggested going to Blackpool in the first place, that’s entirely probable. That would make him 14% of all people having sex on Blackpool beach during the month of August! That would really be something to boast about. But that raises further questions. If you’re having sex alone while watching someone else are you having sex alone? Do you have to count the other person or people? What if he has some sort of weird fetish and is having sex alone while watching a tram or looking at a picture of Stanley Baldwin? Would that mean that former Conservative Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin was 12.5% of all people having sex on Blackpool beach in August? Should you count all of the passengers on the tram? The computations are mind-boggling.

6. It Might Be Illegal. By and large, Mass Observation researchers were amateur volunteers (and deviants apparently), but the Mass Observation organisation accepted donations and funds from book advances, so it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that the researchers were being paid to do this and it’s highly likely that they were receiving money for expenses. This raises another question. What do you call someone that gets paid when having sex? That’s right, a prostitute. So, not only has this researcher royally messed up the statistics (and given me a headache) he’s committed an act of prostitution while he was working at the beach.

7. It Gets Worse. The Mass Observation organisation have – in the act of giving money to a prostitute – become a kerb crawler. That’s the sort of label that makes the organisation that have produced the least credible survey of all time look – incredibly – less credible than they already seemed (which was not at all). This survey looks like an excuse for voyeurism, depicts Blackpool in unbelievable terms, skews its own findings by engaging in a sexual act on a beach, raises statistical questions that caused me to consider sex with a tram and the organisation that made it might have sullied their reputation by giving money to a hooker. If there has been a less credible survey ever made I’d love to see it.

*The survey’s finding: Bloody loads.

September 2, 2011