7 Reasons

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  • 7 Reasons It’s Difficult Remembering To Take Chicken Out Of The Freezer

    7 Reasons It’s Difficult Remembering To Take Chicken Out Of The Freezer

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

    7 Reasons It's Difficult Remembering To Take The Chicken Out Of The Freezer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • 7 Reasons That Lampshades Are Stupid

    7 Reasons That Lampshades Are Stupid

    a garish green lampshade hanging from the ceiling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    The humourist, Marc Fearns, wearing a red floral lampshade made with material from Cath Kidston on his head

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

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

    The 2011 Turner prize entry, Stupid Stupid Stupid, a photo montage of a hairless cat wearing pink Crocs balancing on a green lampshade

  • 7 Reasons Everyone And Everything Should Have Auto-Tune

    7 Reasons Everyone And Everything Should Have Auto-Tune

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

    7 Reasons Everyone And Everything Should Have Auto-Tune

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • 7 Reasons That This Sign Could Be Better

    7 Reasons That This Sign Could Be Better

    A first Capital Connect sign urging passengers to keep their feet off seats

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

    a sign exhorting rail passengers to keep their heads off seats

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

    a sign exhorting Emile Heskey to keep his goals off the seats

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

    a sign exhorting rail passengers to keep their unicorns off seats

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

    a sign exhorting rail passengers to keep their luggage off seats

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

    Please Refrain From Placing Your Feet On The Seats, As It Is Discourteous To Other Passengers And May Lead To Contemptuous Looks From Them, And A Stern Rebuke From The Train Manager

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

    A sign exhorting rail passengers to keep their feet off seats

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

    a sign exhorting rail passengers to keep their feet off the seats

  • 7 Reasons The Weekend Just Gone Could Have Been Better

    7 Reasons The Weekend Just Gone Could Have Been Better

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

    Muddy Boots

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • 7 Reasons Not To Write On The Train

    7 Reasons Not To Write On The Train

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

    Space…The Lack Of

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Dear PA System,

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

    Passenger 12 (facing).  Coach C.

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

  • 7 Reasons That Urban Cycling Is Tricky

    7 Reasons That Urban Cycling Is Tricky

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • 7 Reasons The Sinclair C5 Was Destined To Fail

    7 Reasons The Sinclair C5 Was Destined To Fail

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

    Sinclair C5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Elephant sits on Sinclair C5

  • 7 Reasons I Failed My Driving Test

    7 Reasons I Failed My Driving Test

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

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

    7 Reasons I Failed My Driving Test

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

    7 Reasons Driving Tests Are Difficult

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

    7 Reasons I Failed My Driving Test

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

    7 Reasons I Failed My Driving Test

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

    7 Reasons I Failed My Driving Test

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

    7 Reasons I Failed My Driving Test

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

    7 Reasons I Failed My Driving Test

  • 7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

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

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

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

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

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

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

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

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

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

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

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

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

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

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up