Category: Posts

7 Reasons Marc Fearns Should Be Celebrated

Keeping with the fine tradition of 7 Reasons founders celebrating their birthdays in June, today it is Marc’s turn. Now, I wouldn’t be the great man that I am if I didn’t dedicate this post to my fellow reasoner. So Marc, this is for you. And actually everyone else. Because you need to celebrate the great man. This is why.

1. June 18th. It might be a day in June, but apart from that, there is very little going for it. Sure, Delia Smith was born on this day, but so was Jason McAteer.* It’s about time we made this day special. A celebration of Marc Fearns is the way to go. And, if we celebrate June 18th, the day will probably go quicker.

2. Mystery. There is certainly an air of mystery about Marc Fearns. No one is quite sure how tall he is. No one is quite sure how old he is. No one is quite sure why he named his cat Horatio Pyewackett Caractacus Fearns. No one is quite sure how his brain works. But that’s good. It makes him intriguing. The last thing we want is to celebrate someone who is 5’8, 30 years-old, has a cat called Tibbles and whose brain works like clockwork. That’s been done.

3. Intrepid Experimentalist. You can say what you like about Richard Bacon – and many people do – what you can’t accuse him of though, is having a bad taste in experimentalists. There is little doubt that when it comes to cats, foil and the ability to walk, Marc Fearns is on the tip of Richard Bacon’s tongue. All because of this.

4. Rumour-Mill. What with spending most of your days making your cat walk over tin foil, it leaves a lot of time to muck around. Generally at the expense of others. Including me. The whole thing about me fancying myself? Marc started that. (No, seriously, he did). You may think me recommending you celebrate Marc – because he makes me look narcissistic – is an odd thing to do? Well, it’s not. In fact it’s quite logical. Sometimes, you are told something so much, that eventually you begin to believe it. Marc is the reason I am who I am. He could do the same for you.

5. Emotional Blackmail. How could you not feel sorry celebrate someone who looks like this?

6. Library Builder. Getting the builders in, is one of those things that fills people with dread. If it’s not how much mud they are going to traipse across the carpet, it’s how many tea-bags are they going to get through. Which is where Marc comes in. He can build a library in 90 seconds. And he doesn’t drink tea. If you want him to come and build a library for you, send him an email: [email protected]

7. 7 Reasons. The 7 Reasons concept wouldn’t exist without Marc Fearns. I know there are two of us who supposedly founded it, but I have been pressing for it to become 1 Reason for a long time now. Marc is the one who keeps it ticking over. Who keeps driving it forward. So if you like the concept, then it is he who you should celebrate. If you would prefer to read 1 Reason on a daily basis, celebrate me again. Just like you did last week. You remember, that day you really enjoyed.

*I have just discovered today is also the birthday of Fabio Capello and Sir Paul McCartney. It’s okay though. We can celebrate them all. Especially if England win.

June 18, 2010
7 Reasons That Bananas Are Amazing

1. Nutrition. Bananas are very good for you. They’ve got sucrose, glucose, fructose and things that don’t end in ose. There’s fibre, potassium and iron. They have five times more vitamin A content than an apple, they also contain lots of B and C vitamins, and probably some from further along the alphabet too. And, if you live (approximately) a 22.5 minute run from your nearest banana shop you can get all of the energy you need for a run to, and back from, the shop by eating a single banana before you go*.

2. The banana is like the sandwich. That may strike you as odd, but it’s true. There are many varieties of banana, but the one we all know and love; the one that we commonly call the banana is, in fact, called the Cavendish banana. It’s named after William Cavendish, the sixth Duke of Devonshire and the sandwich, as we all know, is named after John Montagu, the fourth Earl of Sandwich. Hence, the banana is like the sandwich. These men didn’t invent or cultivate them, they were merely notable early consumers of their eponymous products. Perhaps, using this system, Twitter will eventually be called Stephen Fry and the iPad will be known as the Git. Who can tell?

3. Flavour. Bananas taste of bananas, which is great. I like bananas, and if they tasted of tomato or houmous they’d be quite disappointing. But as it is, bananas taste like a sort of a wholesome, less rich, version of banana milkshake. Or a less cakey version of banana cake. Or a more banana-y version of not eating a banana. Look, just eat a banana and figure it out for yourself. They’re jolly nice.

4. Ripeness. When bananas aren’t ready to be eaten, they are green. When they are ready to be eaten, they are yellow. Simple. And when they’ve gone off and they shouldn’t be eaten, they’re brown. There aren’t many foods that so obviously and vividly communicate their own state of edibility. I want to describe the bananas inbuilt colour-coding system as awesome but it’s better than that. It hasn’t just provoked some awe in me, it’s provoked much awe. The colour-coding system of the banana is awemuch. It’s so amazing that I’ve invented a word.

5. Portability. Bananas are supremely portable. They require no implement to eat them, no special container to store them in (they already come wrapped in one) and they don’t need to be cooked. When at home, this is my daily breakfast: A banana, a glass of sparkling water and an espresso. That’s three things to carry away from the kitchen. But I only have two hands. Fortunately though, the banana’s innate portability means that it fits perfectly into my trouser pocket. Thus, I avoid making a second journey to-and-from the kitchen. Sadly, this practice is also the source of many a ribald remark, such as:

Wife: Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?

Me: It’s a banana in my pocket.

Or

Houseguest: Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?

Me: It’s a banana in my pocket.

Or:

Houseguest 2: Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?

Me: It’s a banana in my pocket.

Laugh? We nearly…no no, we didn’t. Anyway, the banana can travel anywhere, occasionally without provoking poor innuendo.

6. Prop. You can use it to do all sorts of things. You can make a smile with it – not one an American would like as bananas are yellow, but a smile nonetheless – and you can make an unsmile (what the hell is the opposite of a smile called?).

You can use it as a pretend gun, which is especially useful if people keep enquiring if that’s “…a banana in your pocket…?” You can also pretend it’s a telephone, but then you have to talk into a banana, which makes you look a little bit mad. And you won’t hear anyone talking back. Hopefully.

7. Novelty. Bananas are exotic. Well, unless you’re reading this in Latin America, Africa or Southeast Asia, in which case they probably seem quite humdrum. But in the UK we import all of our bananas. This means that during the Second World War there weren’t any to be had at all; my own father didn’t see his first banana until he was seven years old. Bananas seemed so novel and exotic back then, that during towards the end of WWII people actually advertised their banana flavoured barley pudding mixture(!) by drawing attention to their lack of bananas. Think on that, the next time you’re eating a banana.

*Never eat a married banana.

June 17, 2010
7 Reasons That Vuvuzelas Are Annoying

1. The Obsession. The nation is obsessed with the vuvuzela. It’s impossible to read a newspaper, listen to the radio, watch the television, go to the pub, or read an internet humour site without someone bleating on about vuvuzelas. But I think that this focus on the vuvuzela is causing us to miss out on other World Cup stories. We’re just not getting enough ill-informed conjecture about problems with the ball: Is it that it’s too round? Is it the altitude? Does it fly too straight? Doesn’t it fly straight enough? Does it look too much like a fly?

It's a fly!

All of the coverage of the vuvuzelas is preventing us from having what we really want. 24 hour per day coverage of the ball. And more Robbie Savage.

2. The Name. The English language is a fusion of many languages from around the world and a lot of our words come from other countries. We get bungalow from India, sepia from Italy, mammoth from Russia and surrender from France (rather unsurprisingly). Yet it’s safe to say that our language wasn’t aided in its evolution by anyone who had been involved in professional football as, in the past week – from various players and former-players – I’ve heard “vuvulas”, “vuvuslas”, “the horns” and from Sir Geoff Hurst, no less, “uvuvezlas”. The awful mangling of the word vuvuzela is possibly the only thing that’s more grating than the sound of the instrument itself.

3. Stadium Atmosphere. The din of the vuvuzelas drowns out everything else occurring in the stadiums. This isn’t always a bad thing, as it drowned out the sound of happy Germans on Sunday, but it drowned everything else out too. The crowd reaction, singing, cheering, chanting, abuse; in fact, just about all of the things that reflect the partisan nature of football. The drone of massed vuvuzelas is a relentless unremitting cacophany that doesn’t abuse the referee, ask Fabio to dance, play the theme from The Great Escape (sorry, poor argument); doesn’t do anything fun or interesting at all. It’s just noise. An incessant racket that drowns out everything good about the stadium atmosphere. Everything.

4. Domestic Atmosphere. The vuvuzela operates at a similar pitch and tone to the human voice which means that, when you’re viewing the World Cup at home, you’re trying to filter out the frequency that other people in the room are speaking at. Thanks to the vuvuzela, if my wife turned to me during a match and said, “Would you like a beer?” or “Jennifer Aniston’s at the door, she wants to know if you can come out to play,” I probably wouldn’t hear her. Experience tells me that she’s unlikely to say either of those things, but what if she did and I missed it? Catastrophe. I hate going to the fridge.

5. Envy. It’s substantial, straight and three feet long, and I must say that I’m quite jealous, as there’s no way I could take anything like that to a football match in England. I’d probably be fed to a police-horse or charged with possession of a vuva vovos avuvuvu…“I’ll let you off with a caution this time sonny, now on your way”. We don’t even get trusted with bottled water over here.

6. Sound. The sound of massed vuvuzelas is like the sound of a swarm of angry wasps, but deeper. Usually, the larger an animal is, the deeper the sound that they make – so it’s giant angry wasps that we’ll hear the sound of all summer. Giant angry wasps! Well I certainly won’t be falling asleep during a match, or at any time at all during the summer. Except when Andy Townsend’s “analysing” the action, that is.

7. We’re Stuck With Them. There is only one thing that would be worse than enduring the sound of the vuvuzela: That would be banning the vuvuzela. Just because we Europeans have our own expectations of how a football match should be viewed, it doesn’t mean that they should be forced on the rest of the world. This is South Africa’s World Cup, and god knows they’ve earned it. World Cup 2010 should be a uniquely African spectacle and, much to my annoyance, this includes that giant dung beetle thing from the opening ceremony and the bloody vuvuzelas. But we shouldn’t be downhearted about this; sometimes the most memorable parts of World Cups are the unique things that the host nations bring to them. Mexico ’86’s wave, Argentina ’78’s ticker-tape, Italia ’90’s Three Tenors and USA ’94’s blank incomprehension about some sort of soccer-ball tournament going on. Long after many of the matches and incidents are forgotten, these are the memories that remain. And so it will be with the vuvuzela. We will have to suffer it for a month or so, but in time it’ll be the thing that the tournament is remembered for. We may even feel nostalgia for it. Eventually.

June 15, 2010
7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Write 7 Reasons While Watching The Football

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Ghana v Serbia, one of those games that I’m not desperate to see, but because it’s the World Cup I feel I should. So I did in the knowledge that it would also give me 90 minutes (plus half time) to write 7 Reasons. Easy.

1. The Girlfriend (Part A). She knows I’m watching the football whilst trying to write 7 Reasons. She asks me what the topic is. I say, ‘Darling, it’s 7 Reasons you shouldn’t write 7 reasons while watching the football’. She muses for a second, then replies, ‘Multitasking. Men can’t multitask’. I look around. She’s on the kitchen floor, watching the football, talking to me and cleaning a barbecue grill with a toothbrush. I feel admiration for my girlfriend. She can multitask with the best of them. But now I feel challenged. I must finish my 7 Reasons piece before Ghana finish Serbia. I don’t like the pressure.

2. Spelling. I spend more time concentrating on the football than on the page in front of me. This is dangerous, as when I don’t concentrate I have a habit of miss-spelling ‘tootbrush’, writing the incorrect version of ‘peace’ and adding multiple erroneous apostrophes. I also spell ‘eronous’ incorrectly.

3. Clive Tyldesley. Nothing is really happening in the game. Ghana have a throw-in just inside their own half. If I am ever going to get a chance to write something while watching the football, this is it. I look down. But as soon as I do Clive gets excited. I can only assume this is coincidence. I look up. Nothing is happening. Serbia have a goal-kick. I look down. Clive gets excited. I look up. Nothing is happening. I look down. Clive gets excited. I look up. Nothing is happening. I look down. I feel my neck. It’s beginning to hurt.

4. Immaturity. I see a player called ‘Panstil’. This amuses me. I spend ten minutes desperately trying to think of a joke that involves the word pants. I finally think of one. All I need is for Panstil to make a sliding tackle and lose his shorts. If he does I can say, ‘Lucky he’s still got his panstil’. I then realise this isn’t very funny. I note I still have a lot of growing up to do.

5. The Girlfriend (Part B). We are into the second half-time. The score-line reads Reasons Done 3 – Reasons Still To Go 4. My girlfriend – now attacking the grill with a brillo pad – asks what I’ve got so far. I read them to her. I wait for the laughter. It comes. Eventually. But then, so does, ‘You have a very strange brain’. I would have preferred her to compliment my shorts. I am wearing nice shorts. Clive gets excited. I look up.

6. Other Sport. Watching the football means I am missing all the other sport that’s on. I still am not sure which position Jenson Button is on the grid – and the F1 coverage has started on the other side. Nor, by watching the football, am I keeping up to date with the domestic cricket scene. I stop writing reasons for a minute. I also stop watching the football. I check cricket scores on my iPhone. I look around. My girlfriend is looking at me. I realise I am not doing much in the way of multitasking. Clive gets excited. I turn back to the screen. Nothing is happening. I have fifteen minutes to think of a final reason.

7. The Girlfriend (Part C). I am struggling to think of a seventh. My girlfriend asks me how I am getting on. I say, ‘Darling, I am struggling to think of a seventh’. She replies, ‘Well if you manage to think of a seventh I know that you can multitask. So next time the football is on you can peel some potatoes too.’ I am conflicted. She has just given me the seventh reason I shouldn’t have written this while the football was on. I have done it. I have proved men can multitask. But I have also proved why men shouldn’t multitask. Clive gets excited. It’s full-time. Ghana have won. And so has The Girlfriend.

June 14, 2010
7 Reasons That The Panini World Cup 2010 Sticker Album Is Frustrating

The World Cup starts today, and so does my 2010 World Cup Panini sticker album, and it’s fair to say that I’m rather excited by both events. Somehow though, the Panini album isn’t quite as much fun as I remember them being in my childhood.

1. Cost. Traditionally, Panini sticker albums are very expensive to complete, but I’ve found ten packets of stickers on Amazon for £4.52, and I only need 638 stickers to complete the pack. So potentially, I could complete my collection for as little as £60 (approximately). But that won’t happen, obviously. I’ll probably end up spending a fortune trying to find An Chol-Hyok or Haminu Dramani. As John Cleese said, “I can take the despair, it’s the hope I can’t stand.”

2. Duplicates. Nine Peter Crouches. I know I’m going to end up with nine Peter Crouches. Obviously, when buying packs of stickers I’ll check that there are no feet protruding from the bottom of them, but I just know that – despite my precautions – I’ll end up with nine of him. And what the hell can I swap eight Peter Crouches for?

3. Social Media. Swapping stickers isn’t the challenge that it used to be. It would be a matter of ease to use the Twitter hashtag #panini to find other people to swap with; there’s also a Facebook group to swap World Cup stickers in. Where’s the difficulty there? Obviously it’s preferable to having grown-men turn up at their local school playgrounds looking for swapsies but still, it does take some of the challenge out of it.

4. It’s Out Of Date. Panini obviously had to put the albums together before the final World Cup squads were announced. My first six stickers (free with the album) were; Steven Pienaar, Javier Mascherano, Rio Ferdinand, Michael Essien, Didier Drogba and Fernando Torres, yet only 67% of those players are going to be at the World Cup. And Drogba’s fitness is still a bit of a question-mark. In the Panini England squad, there’s no Jamie Carragher or Joe Cole, but Theo Walcott and David Beckham are there. Sadly, Bobby Moore isn’t.

5. Cheating. You can now order the missing stickers that you need to complete your album from Panini online. That’s outrageous. It would feel like cheating. When did they start doing that? The potential of failing to complete the album is one of the most important parts of the sticker-album experience: It makes the investment in stickers a gamble. And it’s important to teach children to gamble because…um…okay, perhaps it isn’t. But it is important to teach them that sometimes life is hard, and that desire and effort alone often aren’t enough to succeed. We need to beat the hope out of them while they’re still young. Never mind mollycoddling them with the certainty of a complete album. Bastards!

6. Referees. There aren’t any referees in the album. But I’m supporting Howard Webb this World Cup; I think he can go all the way to the final. I’ve never complained about the lack of a picture of a former policeman from Rotherham before – possibly no one has – but why aren’t there any refs? Surely if there’s room for players that aren’t playing, there should be room for officials?

7. The Customary Descent Into Panini Madness. My birthday occurs during the World Cup. What do you think I’ve asked for? Clothes? Furniture? A bicycle? Beer? No, eschewing all sorts of cool and interesting presents, I’ve asked for stickers. Lots of stickers. Because I want to complete my Panini album (without resorting to cheating) more than I want anything in the world. In fact, I’d probably get more satisfaction from completing it than I would from an England World Cup victory. It’s only day one, and already my Panini album has caused me to lose all sense of proportion. Where will it end?

June 11, 2010
7 Reasons I Should Be Celebrated The World Over

Today I turn 27. I is Jon. Happy Birthday to me. Thanks. This very special day gives me a wonderful opportunity to indulge in a little piece of narcissism. Well, I say narcissism. It’s more a chance to try and make the world a better place.

Image Courtesy of Ceci Masters

1. Holiday. June 10th would automatically be made a public holiday. And just before you start thinking this could never happen, well it already has. In Portugal.

2. Statues. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not so vain that I think there should be statues of me in every town, village and hamlet. But one in every 50sq miles sounds about right. The simple fact of the matter is that there are 6.2 billion people on this planet and I can’t get round to everyone. A statue does exactly what I do. Apart from get injured when someone takes exception to seeing me everyday and knocks my head off.

3. Italians. As this short film demonstrates, they need to sort their attitude out. I am hoping that if the rest of the world celebrate me then the Italians might join in. Voluntarily or otherwise.

4. Common Denominator. There is a lot of bad blood between a lot of people in this world. What the world needs now is love sweet love, but if we can’t get that we need something else. Something that ignores borders. Something that ignores beliefs. Something that ignores opinions. Something that ignores The French. Something that everyone can agree is beauty. Maybe then, with common ground, we can build a better world for our children. That something, is me.

5. I Do The Things That You Don’t Have To. For the most part of my life, I have been getting on and doing the jobs that otherwise you’d have to do. Trying to become an international athlete for instance. Or deciding that I could take on – and beat – Australians at every single sported ever invented. Or spending three years of my life searching for my friend’s look-alike – and then writing a book about it. Or planning to catch one hundred London buses in one night. If it wasn’t for me, you’d have had to do all that. You’d be the one who was a bit…erm…strange.

6. You Again. Have you sent me a Birthday card for today? The chances are you probably haven’t. But that’s not necessarily your fault. It may simply be a case that you don’t know me. If you don’t know me you can’t be expected to know when to start looking at Birthday cards. If I was celebrated all over the world though, you would know. Clinton Cards would put adverts up and stuff.*

7. 7 Reasons. If I was celebrated the whole world over, I wouldn’t have to spend ages, in the early hours my birthday, trying to think of a poxy seventh reason as to why you should celebrate me.

*If you do know me and you haven’t sent me a card, I would like to know why. Thanks.

June 10, 2010
7 Reasons Marc Is Wrong About The Nautical Look

Yesterday, Marc wrote a post called, 7 Reasons That The Nautical Look Is Objectionable. I read it aghast. How could someone so intelligent be so wrong? Today, I aim to put right his wrongs.

1. Saturation Point. Too much of a thing is never good – which is why I’m editing this with a hangover – and the nautical look is everywhere. It’s finally reached saturation point and now it seems that almost every woman in the UK is dressed as a sailor. Now, there’s nothing wrong with women dressing as sailors, or anything else that takes their fancy, but that doesn’t mean that every woman should dress as one. Wouldn’t it be nice to see some of them dressing in outfits without horizontal stripes and rope motifs? Perhaps as spacewomen or conquistadors. Or Minnie Mouse. Or just as themselves. Our high streets look like a production of HMS Pinafore at the moment. What Marc seems to be forgetting here is why nearly every woman in the UK is dressing as a sailor. It’s fairly simple. This is the UK. We are a sea-faring nation. It’s in our blood. So when Marc asks why aren’t women dressing as Minnie Mouse or conquistadors, it’s because British women have no emotional attachment to these themes. And because they’d look stupid.

2. Confusion. It’s confusing. Sailors are sailors: we can tell that by their uniforms and their weatherbeaten faces. Women are women: we can tell that because they smell nice and have soft hands. But the nautical look blurs the issue somewhat. No, it doesn’t. Nor is it confusing. It might be confusing to Marc, but that is because he doesn’t have the required imagination. I see nothing wrong with this overlap. In fact I see a very positive outcome. The classic ‘woman dressed as a sailor’ fantasy. Allow me to demonstrate using science…or maths (It’s definitely one of those things).

A Venn diagram illustrating the 'woman dressed as sailor' fantasy.

3. Anchor. When choosing an outfit with a decorative motif, is it really wise to choose one that rhymes with wanker? Yes, it is. Much more wise than to have a decorative motif of – and I do apologise in advance for saying this – a punt.

4. The Next Step. Many women are currently dressing as sailors, but what if this fad takes a slight twist? What if sailors start dressing as women? A fair point you would think. Unfortunately, Marc has this the wrong way round. It’s the fact that sailors originally started dressing as women – in the 1800’s when men were on ships together for months and months on end – that has made the women adopt the nautical theme for themselves.

5. Weather. Now I’m sure the nautical look would look fine and dandy when worn on the back of a motor-yacht moored in Porta Banus or Cannes. But it isn’t. It’s being worn in Manchester, where it rains all summer. The last time I checked, rain was wet. And it formed puddles. The sea is wet and is one big puddle. Wet weather, therefore, would seem to be perfect for the nautical look.

6. Do It Properly. The nautical look is being done in a half-hearted manner. Wearing a stripy top under a blue jacket is lame. If you want to do the nautical look well, wear a tricorn hat, an eye-patch, a peg-leg, a hand-hook; carry a parrot around. Wear vast epaulettes dripping with gold braid and the full cuff insignia of an Admiral; accessorise your outfit with a telescope or a sextant. Ditch your umbrella in favour of a Sowester hat, oilskins and a life-jacket. Grow a beard. This isn’t really doing it properly. This is dressing like a pirate. Marc wants you to drop your nauticals in favour of his pirate vision. Don’t do it.

7. Paris Hilton. Paris Hilton’s a big fan of the nautical look. Paris Hilton’s also an idiot. Do you really want to dress like an idiot? I use Paris Hilton as a general guide to life. You can too. Whoever you are, whatever you’re about to do, ask yourself the question: Would Paris Hilton do this? If the answer is yes, don’t do it. Okay, he’s not totally wrong here. Marc is right on one aspect. Paris Hilton is an idiot. But actually, if we are honest with ourselves, we are also a little bit jealous. Paris Hilton is a millionairess – in her own right – for doing pretty much nothing with no talent. I like that idea. I like the idea of becoming a millionairess for doing pretty much nothing, with no talent. And, if adopting the nautical look is part of the ‘doing nothing’ masterplan, then I’m in. And I’m not even a woman.

June 8, 2010
7 Reasons It’s Outrageous The BBC Have Cancelled Last Of The Summer Wine

1. It Has Sunday Written All Over It. Last Of The Summer Wine is Sunday. On it comes at around 6pm and immediately the nation realises it will soon be Monday. That is Last Of The Summer Wine’s job. Getting people depressed so they start the week off in the right way. Now what are we going to do? We can’t be happy on Monday morning. That would be wrong.

2. The Joke. It’s the same one. It always has been. I haven’t watched every episode of every series. In fact I don’t think I’ve watched even thirty seconds of every series, but that doesn’t matter. Because I know what the joke is. Three blokes flying down a hill in a bath tub. Or on a sofa. Cue two policeman looking alarmed as it buzzes by them. (One of them drops a sandwich too). They don’t write jokes like that anymore. Where am I going to go for my sofa fix?

3. Sex In The Countryside. There is something beautifully innocent about old women sitting in a lounge, eating sticky buns, talking about their husband’s inability to remember to take off their muddy shoes when they come home of an evening. That’s what women should be talking about. We won’t have that again. Instead we’ll have repeats of four forty-somethings, sitting in a New York restaurant, discussing the size of Samantha’s latest pepper grinder conquest. Disgusting. You hear me? Disgusting.

4. Holmfirth. For the uninitiated, this is where Last Of The Summer Wine is filmed. I have never been. Because I don’t need to. Every year, if I want to, I can see how much the place has changed on the TV. Along with all other eight regular viewers. But what are we going to do next year? When it’s no longer on. I’m going to have to go on a coach trip to Holmfirth with eight randomers. I don’t want to go to Holmfirth with eight randomers. It’s bloody miles away.

5. Something Else Not To Watch. I don’t watch Last Of The Summer Wine. No matter what you may think. When the final series finishes though, I won’t be able to not watch it. So that means I’ll have to find something else not to watch to restore the happy balance in my TV viewing. This is pressure. I can’t choose Loose Women because I already choose not to watch it. I’l have to find something I don’t know about on some channel I don’t know about and not watch that instead. What a waste of time.

6. Potential. It promised so much didn’t it? And it was so close to achieving it. What with Russ Abbot playing a milkman who thinks he was once in MI5. What a shame to cancel the show just as it was reaching its climax.

7. 2010: The End. What with Lost ending this year. And 24. And Heroes. And Flashforward. It feels a bit like a salt in the wound to also have Last Of The Summer Wine ending on us. And this comes from someone who didn’t even watch 24. Or Heroes. Or Flashforward. Or Last Of The Summer Wine. Which only goes to show how ridiculous and painful the BBC’s decision is.

June 4, 2010
7 Reasons to Have a Lie-In

1. Avoid The Sun. Spending an extra hour in bed in the summer means that you avoid an extra hour of exposure to the sun, This is a good thing. The sun gives cancer; the sun gives burn; the sun can cause blindness. It’s a hazard. When people are exposed to the sun, their skin warms and darkens like that of a chicken in an oven. This is because the sun is slowly cooking us, though for what nefarious purpose, I cannot begin to speculate. The sun is evil: Stay in bed and avoid it.

2. Regress. Being a grown-up is not always fun – I am told – and sometimes a return to more infant-like-state is just the tonic that an adult needs. Being in bed is oft compared to being in the womb; naked, yet protected, insulated from the outside world by the smothering, security of the duvet. It’s better than that though. Being under the duvet is also like being in a den. And what better place is there for your inner-child than a den?

3. Mornings. The morning is the wrong time to be up and about. It’s the time of day when you stumble around bleary-eyed trying to pour coffee and multivitamins into yourself in an attempt to feel vaguely human, and usually fail. The morning is full of dull events like selecting a shirt; commuting; the consumption of muesli; junk-mail; conversations about last night’s television. If you lie-in though, you suffer less morning and you’re more alive and alert when the best part of the day comes; the evening. All of the best, most glamorous and wondrous things happen in the evening; award ceremonies; parties; dining out; gigs; owls; theatre performances, they’re all things that happen at the better end of the day that you shouldn’t be too tired to enjoy.

4. Plans. People plan things, it’s what we do. You probably had today already mapped out before you went to bed last night. But plans aren’t a good thing: The CIA planned to assassinate Fidel Castro; Hitler planned World War II; the VCCP agency planned the Compare The Meerkat advertising campaign; an idiot planned Milton Keynes. If you spontaneously decide to lie-in, you say “no” to plans and liberate yourself from their fiendish tyranny.

5. Toast Avoidance. One of the hazards of mornings is toast which, for some reason, doesn’t exist after 11am. Stay in bed: Avoid toast.

6. Romance. You don’t have to lie-in alone, you can share your den…er…bed with someone else. You can even have breakfast-in-bed together. Not toast, obviously, as the crumbs will get everywhere and could be physically painful: Imagine trying to sleep on a toast-crumb covered pillow. But, even if there is toast, it’s still quality time with a loved one, and that must be a good thing.

7. Health. Sleep debt is the name for a cumulative lack of sleep. It is said to shorten life. So, logically, for a longer life you should be in sleep credit. A lie in will help with this. You can also become immortal by sleeping for 24 hours per day – though modern science is yet to cotton on to this – which, ironically, would make immortality almost exactly like death, but without the flowers. Or I may have dreamt that last bit during a lie-in, I’m not certain.

June 3, 2010
7 Reasons To Experience A Simple Pleasure

7 Reasons is, by and large, a humour site. At least that’s what we like to think. You may have noticed that occasionally we divert from this, although it must be said that half the time it is probably not that intentional. Today, you’ll be pleased to hear though, it is. So there’s no need to laugh. I was walking back from Tesco the other day when my phone vibrated in my pocket. It got me thinking about simple pleasures. I know what you are thinking, but no, it wasn’t that kind of pleasure. Well it was, but that’s not what I am talking about. It was a text from someone and it made me smile. And I thought to myself, while stubbing my toe, that sometimes it’s the simplest things in life that are the best. So, if you want a simple pleasure today, try these.

1. Tea. There is nothing quite like a cup of tea. Nothing. Despite what 50% of the 7 Reasons creative force say. A good cup makes you go ‘Ahhh’. Ahhh-ing is the ultimate simple pleasure. Unless it’s…

2. Confectionary. There is nothing quite like the satisfaction you get from biting all the chocolate off a Kit-Kat finger without breaking the biscuit. Or letting a Rolo melt in your mouth without giving into the temptation to bite in to it. Or getting a Malteser stuck up your nose. Unless it’s…

3. Displaying Knowledge. There is nothing quite like answering a question no one else knows the answer to. Especially when you declare your answer with, ‘I know this! I’ve done it! It’s sodomy!’. Unless it’s…

4. Finding Treasure. There’s nothing quite like putting your hand in your pocket to find a forgotten pound coin. Or a five pound note. Or that you’ve got someone else’s trousers on. Unless it’s…

5. Child’s Play. There is nothing quite like walking past an empty playground, looking around to see if anyone is about and then quickly nipping over to the swing for one last ride. And then trying to jump off and forgetting to let go. Unless it’s…

6. Winning/Insulting The French. There is nothing quite like finding you can use the last couple of letters on your scrabble rack to spell the word ‘Francophobia’. Unless it’s…

7. Unexpected Research Results. There is nothing quite like researching for the most popular simple pleasures and being presented with the website SimplePleasure.org.uk. And then clicking on the link and discovering it’s a site for sex toys. Just as your housemate enters your room to ask you a question.

June 2, 2010