Category: Posts

7 Reasons Flyers Are Awesome

1. Distraction. Intrigue people and make them miss the bus.

2. Revision. Particularly helpful if you’re studying for a degree in Star Wars at Southampton Solent University.

3. State The Obvious. Give people what you say you will and nothing else.

4. Logic. Don’t make promises you can’t get someone else to help you keep.

5. Gift. If someone you know has let you down, show you can turn the other cheek by getting them some seafood.

6. Cruelty. Got some pent-up frustration you need to get rid of? Take it out on this guy.

7. Community Spirit. Looking wintery outside? Do something fun together.

All images and more can be found on happyplace.com.

September 1, 2011
7 Reasons to be Glad That The Transfer Window Has Closed

Hurrah! It’s finally over! And here are seven reasons to be glad that it is.

1. There’ll Be More News. The 24 hour rolling football will finally stop and news stations and channels will carry actual news: Proper news; vital news; weighty news of great import, historical gravity and epoch-defining momentousness. For all we know, Beyonce could be pregnant and because of the transfer deadline day absolutely no one in the world will have heard about it. Also, Colonel Gaddafi could still be hiding in a tunnel somewhere, possibly in Libya. Literally anything could be happening out there and we wouldn’t know because of the seemingly endless saga of will he/won’t he buy him, will he/won’t he join them and David Ngog? Hahahahahahaha!!!! Let’s find out what’s happening in the world.

2. There’ll Be Less Bullshit, Rumour, Bullshit, Bullshit and Bullshit. There’s a saying in motor sport: When the flag drops, the bullshit stops, but there isn’t enough fabric in the world to make enough flags to stop all of the falsity, mendacity and unabashed calumny that makes up the speculation on transfer deadline day. And even if there were, there wouldn’t be enough seamstresses to sew them, poles to fly them from and this analogy stops here as it’s making the writing part of my head hurt. It seems that absolutely anyone can say absolutely anything and get it reported by ordinarily sensible yet temporarily scoop-frenzied news organisations (and Sky) on transfer deadline day. You would think there would be a limited number of Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terrys that could possibly be at an airport terminal or a motorway service station to witness Sol Campbell (who by my reckoning is now at least eight thousand years old) heading off to one training ground or another, but apparently there aren’t. Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terry achieves absolute omnipresence on transfer deadline day as does Yossi Benayoun who, according to Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terry has now signed for at least six clubs and consumed twelve different flavours of Ginsters pasties at various motorway service stations across the land. And every word of this gets reported in every medium by every organisation reporting on the looming transfer deadline. Benjamin Disraeli said that there are“…lies, damned lies, and statistics”, but he never experienced a transfer deadline day. On transfer deadline day there are no statistics.

3. Arsenal Fans Will Seem Less Mad. If you’re of the opinion that Arsene Wenger has lost the plot in recent months with his bizarre refusal to sign any football player that is both over the age of twenty and has a spine, you could be seen to have a valid point. But Wenger’s reluctance to spend his football club’s money buying football players for their football team has made such blubbering wrecks of the supporters that Mr Wenger himself seems like the sanest man in the world (except David Dimbleby) in comparison to them. I’ve experienced this myself as, while I don’t support a Premier League club, I think that a strong and competitive Arsenal team is a lovely thing to watch and makes the Premier League competition far more exciting. Today I’ve frequently found myself foaming at the mouth and bellowing “Buy him! Buy him! Buy him!” This happens whenever Dan’s cousin’s osteopath’s brother’s friend Terry spots any footballer with at least one and a half working legs and the ability to grow even the sparsest of beards within a hundred mile radius of North London. The combination of Arsene Wenger’s parsimony and transfer deadline day have contrived to turn me into a babbling idiot (even more so than usual). It must be so much worse for those that actually care: Those poor people also have to bellow “Sell him! Sell him! Sell him!” whenever Nicklas Bendtner’s name is mentioned. It must be hell for them.

4. We’ll Rediscover Words. How often do you hear your own name said out loud? A couple of times a day? Ten times a day? It might be more if you’re gregarious or popular, I wouldn’t know. One thing I do know though, is that if your name is Scott Parker you’ll have heard it said out loud more often than anyone else in the entire history of humanity. Anyone that has watched a sport bulletin between May and September (that period we refer to ironically as “the summer”) this year will have heard the words Scott and Parker more times than they’ll have heard the words if, it, bit, but, the, a, dog and salamander combined. Oh, and and. Craig David has heard his name said out loud fewer times than Scott Parker has and he spends his entire life singing it at people.

5. We’ll Be Less Baffled. My wife knows less about football than I know about the female orgasm. Of the sea otter. And when she turned to me today and wearily asked “Why do they always leave it until the last minute?” I loftily dismissed her amateur enquiry and, in a knowledgeable and not un-patronising tone replied, “It’s because…”. That’s as far as I got. Because when the transfer window is open from the end of the previous season until the end of August, it’s absolutely barmy to be trying to buy a player (that the selling club usually need to replace) minutes before the window shuts. The buying club won’t find a bargain as the seller will be far more reluctant to sell them at that time and they won’t get a pre-season to help them settle into the squad. There is no level on which leaving buying a footballer until the last minute makes any sense. Unless it’s the same level on which Jedward are entertaining and Nando’s is a desirable place to go for dinner, in which case it makes all the sense in the world. More probably. All of the sense everywhere. Even the sense in the cupboard under the stairs and the sense that has dropped out of your trouser pockets and fallen down the back of the sofa. Am I still making sense? No? There, that’s how much sense leaving it until the last minute makes.

6. We Will All Be Safe. It’s okay. Really, it’s alright now. We can all breathe a deep sigh of relief and relax as we’re all perfectly safe now. Though it does seem that their strategy is to buy absolutely everyone in the world, there are rules and regulations to deal with that sort of thing and if you haven’t already been purchased by Manchester City (something that is worth checking), you won’t have to worry until January. I’ve spent much of the last month absolutely terrified that I’m going to get signed and dragged off to Manchester to play football in the rain, but I seem to have escaped. My five month old son (who can nearly stand up unaided) seems to have slipped the net too. We got off lightly, as it seems that they’ve even resorted to raiding hospitals to find players to sign.

7. Football Will Be About Football. Remember when football was about football? That wondrous, gilded, golden-age when football wasn’t about finance, negotiation, and acquisition? When it was about sport and not business? Now that the window’s slammed firmly shut, those of us that want to see business (and who amongst us doesn’t find watching a meeting utterly thrilling?*) can watch Dragon’s Den or The Apprentice and those of us that like football can watch football which is a sport, not a bunch of self-centred prima-donnas making utter cocks of themselves for our entertainment. Oh, it turns out that it is. Still, it’ll be nice change from all of the business. Until it all starts again in three months. Bugger.

*Yes, it’s me.

August 31, 2011
7 (+2) Reasons Nine Of Connie Stevens Sixteen Reasons Are Ridiculous

Unsurprisingly for someone who has been in pursuit of reasons every other day for the past two years, occasionally, just occasionally, it’s a bit tricky. You spend hours on Google hunting for inspiration and then, just when you find something with potential, you realise Marc wrote about it last November. All this lead me to discovering a music video on YouTube by someone I had never heard of. And it goes something like this.

I can’t say I’ll be downloading this song anytime soon and I know about as much about Connie Stevens now as I did when I pressed play, but that’s okay. All I need to know is right in front of me. Connie Stevens is wrong. Sixteen reasons? How ridiculous. It clearly should be seven. And for those who are good at maths that means nine reasons are wrong. Yes. Today is bonus reason day.

1. (One) The Way You Hold My Hand. Has anyone, ever, in the history of the world, decided, “Wow! That’s good use of the thumb! This one is definitely a keeper.”? I thought not.

2. (Two) Your Laughing Eyes. What does this even mean? Is it someone who blinks a lot? You just wouldn’t love someone because of that. You wouldn’t.

(Three) The Way You Understand.

3. (Four) Your Secret Sighs. What’s the difference between a normal sigh and a secret sigh? And if it’s a secret how does she know about it? Hardly the kind of thing one would keep looked in a drawer.

4. (Five) The Way You Comb Your Hair. Again, randomness bordering on the weird. Surely a more appropriate reason would be what your hair looks like. Unless you use a hedgehog there really is nothing special about the way one combs their hair. Stupid.

(Six) Your Freckled Nose.

(Seven) The Way You Say You Care.

5. (Eight) Your Crazy Clothes. No. Just no. No one loves anyone who wears crazy clothes. Jimmy Saville? Eighty-four, still single and still wearing tracksuits. Lady Gaga? Twenty-five, blonde, loaded and single.

6. (Nine) Snuggling In The Car. Who the hell snuggles in a car? Dogging in a service station car park maybe, but not snuggling. It just doesn’t happen.

7. (Ten) Your Wish Upon A Star. I don’t need to be a physicist to tell you that it is simply impossible to place a wish upon a star. In fact, it is impossible to place a wish anywhere. On top of the fridge. In a drawer. Down the back of the 7 Reasons sofa. You can’t do it. What Connie really means is, “I love you when I’m drunk, lying on the road and starring at the moon”.

8. (Eleven) Whispering On The Phone. Sounds dodgy to me. Is Connie listening to her lover whispering on the phone to her or is she listening to her lover whispering on the phone to someone else? Either way, it’s stupid. Just speak up. No one wants to keep saying pardon every few seconds.

(Twelve) Your Kiss When We’re Alone.

(Thirteen) The Way You Thrill My Heart.

9. (Fourteen) Your Voice So Neat. Not a phrase I am familiar with. Perhaps that’s because I have never had the misfortune of meeting anyone with a messy voice though.

(Fifteen) You Say We’ll Never Part.

(Sixteen) Your Love’s Complete.

August 30, 2011
7 Reasons To Play Croquet With A Flamingo

The other day a local magazine popped through the door. We get it every month. Usually it takes the small trip from the door mat to the recycling bin. This time though, for a reason I can’t describe, I felt compelled to flick through. It’s just adverts for businesses really. Hardly the stuff of legend. That is until I got to page twelve. When I was confronted by this:

Croquet without flamingos?! What?! How on earth can you play croquet without a flamingo? A flamingo makes croquet what it is. Need proof?

1. Alice. The first and obvious reason is that the flamingo itself makes a wonderful mallet – as so beautifully demonstrated by the the girl in Wonderland and the Queen of Hearts.

Of course, it could be argued that the hedgehogs and the cards help make a game of it, but the real challenge when using a flamingo as a mallet is making it have an erection. Of the neck obviously. What happens after this is really neither here nor there.

2. Smug. You may decide however that instead of playing with a flamingo, you want to play with a flamingo. Which, luckily, is something the RSPCA continually turn a blind eye at. The thing about playing against a flamingo is that they are just so damn smug. They’re so casual. They hit their shot then just stand on one leg watching as you line up your stroke. It’s enough to drive you mad. But, conversely, it makes you more determined. More focused. You will play like a legend. Has anyone ever told you they lost at croquet to a flamingo? Exactly.

3. Location. The chances of you borrowing a flamingo in the UK are fairly slim. They are nearly all in zoos or security patrolled wetlands. To check this I did call London Zoo and enquired as to whether it would be possible to borrow a flamingo, but upon telling them I intended to play croquet with it they lost any sort of interest I had earlier piqued. All this leads us to assume that we need to find a freelance flamingo. And our best chance of finding one of those is in South America, the Caribbean or the Galapagos Islands. Hardly bad places to go for a game are they?

4. Contacts. Flamingoes are one of the more social birds out there. Think Tara Palmer-Tomknison. They seem to know everyone. Usually when you play croquet you’ll end up being partnered with Dennis. He’s a nice guy, don’t misunderstand us. The thing is, he spent most of his life working in a signal box. It means he’s used to his own company. He has a few friends. You know, enough to keep him happy. But if you mentioned that you needed a plasterer he’d just raise his eyebrows and play his next shot. Tell a flamingo though and he’ll know bloody hundreds of them back at the colony. Your ceiling will be done in no time.

5. God. Be honest, who would like to play a round of croquet with God? Well, if you play with a flamingo that’s exactly what you’ll be doing. Sort of. Obviously it’s not actually God. It’s a living representation of Him. Sort of. It’s not actually that God. It’s the God, Ra. And Ancient Egyptians believed a flamingo to be the living representation of Him. But that’s still kind of cool isn’t it?

6. Pure Class. According to the Official Flamingo Database*, pink plastic flamingoes are popular lawn ornaments in the USA. And, if my trips through the town are anything to go by, Swindon. How utterly tacky. These people need to be shown up for the cheap, nasty, dirty beings that they are. Play croquet with a real life flamingo. Show these fools that there is more to a flamingo than decoration. I feel sick.

7. Entertainment. You just know that if you send out a few hundred Flamingo Croquet day invites, at least one person – probably not even the dyslexic one – will turn up dressed as a Flamenco dancer. Oh how you’ll laugh.

*Yes, it was wikipedia.

August 26, 2011
7 Reasons To Go Hitchhiking

It’s that age-old question. Should I take the bus or risk getting murdered by white van man? The vast majority choose the bus route, but here at 7 Reasons we want to encourage the protrusion of thumbs. Here’s why:

1. Adventure. When you get on the bus or the train, ninety-nine times out of a hundred you know where you are going. (For the purposes of this post we’re assuming your sober.) Your carriage takes you on the same route as you have seen so many times before. Nothing changes. Not even the traffic lights. So why not bring a bit of the unknown into play? Your friendly driver may show you a different route. You may end up going cross-country. You might foray into the bus lane. You might find yourself in the middle of a drugs run or importing illegals. Who knows? At the end of the day, the worst thing that could possibly happen to you is that you have a free trip to Leicester. So why not give it a go?

2. Conversation. Odd isn’t it? We get on the bus and the thought of talking to someone never crosses our mind. We even put our earphones in to make sure no one even so much as thinks of asking us the time. When we get in a car though, we feel impelled to talk. About the weather. About the traffic. About last night’s football that you didn’t even watch. About anything and everything really. Not talking is scary. So if you want to save your iPhone battery for the journey home, hitchhike in the morning.

3. Myth-Buster. See that sign above? The one that says ‘Hitchhikers may be escaping inmates’? Prove a driver wrong. Don’t get in the car and say, ‘Step on it! I’m being chased by a villain’, get in the car and say, ‘Hello. Thank you so much’. Even if you are escaping an inmate it’s useful to use the latter approach. Just shouting ‘Go! Go! Go!’ will most likely panic your driver and cause them to stall. Ten seconds later you’ll have a bullet in the back of your head.

4. Challenge. Of course the alternative is that your driver turns out to be a rapist/murderer/liberal democrat/Alan Carr fanzine writer. Or all four. Such situations challenge you to the hilt. (Wherever the hilt is). The question is, how will you get out of this one with your bottom still in tact, your life still in order, not becoming a murderer yourself and not signing up for a weekly e-newsletter? We can’t give you the answers. It’s up to you to work them out in the back of ‘Paul’s’ camper van. Go on, test yourself.

5. Sign Language. The ‘thumb up’ is the universal sign for approval. Or ‘I’m good’. Or ‘Okay’. So if you start telling drivers that you’re good, they might tell you that they’re good. Or they might give you another sign altogether. It’s a test of patience really. But if you can meet with thumbs up and middle finger salutes and treat those two impostors just the same; yours is the lift my son. Eventually. Maybe.

6. You Are Who You Aren’t. You don’t really get the opportunity at work to tell people you are really an MI5 operative. Mainly because they know you work in telesales. But a complete stranger, who you will never meet again, you can tell them anything you like. Perhaps you’re a pilot. Or a cocktail club owner. Or door-to-door fish salesman. Just be who you want to be. The chances are they design Formula One cars anyway.

7. Cred. Jack Kerouac wrote a novel based on his experiences of hitchhiking and made it cool. Tony Hawks wrote a book about hitchhiking with a fridge and made it even cooler. So logic would dictate that when you do it, you’ll be so friggin’ cool you’ll be like ice to touch. Not convinced? Well ask yourself this. Did Reg Varney make travelling by bus cool in On The Buses? Thought not.

*Yes. I did struggle to come up with a seventh reason. Well spotted.

August 24, 2011
7 Reasons I’m Not Sure I Suit A Wig

The other day I was invited by the nice people at Alpecin to test whether I was likely to go bald or not. I did so using their revolutionary baldness calculator. The results – given that I am already of the receding kind – came as no surprise. I’m going to be balding by my early to mid-forties. Disappointing, but at least it’s just on my head. I would hate not being able to trap bubbles with the hairs on my legs whenever I have a bath. The likelihood that I’ll be as bald as a coot does’t bother me in the slightest, but on Alpecin’s recommendation, I decided to look in to the possibility of wearing a wig. The results, thanks to a little dodgy photoshopping, are mixed. Let me know what you think though. It means a lot to me.

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August 22, 2011
7 Reasons Ian Dury’s ‘Reasons To Be Cheerful: Part 3’ Is Unreasonable: Part 2

In a late change to the 7 Reasons posting schedule, I am back again. Don’t worry though, apart from celebrating as you normally do when you realise it’s a Jonathan Lee day, you may carry on as normal. Now, tomorrow marks the ninth month anniversary of the 7 Reasons post, 7 Reasons Ian Dury’s ‘Reasons To Be Cheerful: Part 3’ Is Unreasonable: Part 1. To commemorate this occasion I thought I’d bring you part two. So, just to remind you, the last reason to be cheerful that we analysed was ‘jump back in the alley’. Right, on with the show.

8. 18-Wheeler Scammells. Lorries. Big ones. Now, I know you are supposed to get excited when you see an Eddie Stobart lorry, but that’s kind of a tradition. Along with having a fight with your brother and then being told off. Unless you are a lorry-spotter – and I am fairly confident that at least one of you is – I can’t imagine anyone breaking into a wide, toothy grin at the site of a lorry. Unless they’re an illegal looking for a way to get out of the UK anyway.

9. Dominecker Camels. General consensus has it that Dury wasn’t highlighting a type of black and white camel here, but instead referring to the cigarette brand, Camel. Not cool Ian, not cool. Smoking doesn’t make you cheerful even if the cigarettes are in the shape of a mammal. Smoking makes your clothes smell and your bank balance deteriorate far faster than the cool dudes sucking on straws and biros.

10. All Other Mammals. All other mammals? All of them? They can’t all make you cheerful. What about a lemming throwing itself off a cliff? That makes you happy does it? And what about the naked mole-rat? How can anything that looks like a nude Janet Street-Porter possibly make you happy?

11. Seeing Piccadilly. The only feeling I ever get when I see Piccadilly is one of frustration at the amount of people who think it is appropriate to stand in the middle of the pavement taking photos of massive electronic billboards shouting brand names at them. And then they take bloody ages to walk down the stairs to the Piccadilly Line platform too. I can only assume there weren’t as many idiots around in the seventies.

12. Fanny Smith And Willy. I didn’t know this, but apparently Fanny Smith is a professional skier from Switzerland and the logical conclusion would be that by Willy, Dury is referring to Willy Carson. I have to be honest and say that while Fanny is clearly lovely, there are far more attractive things to get cheerful about. Ian Bell batting for example. And as for Willy, the overriding opinion in the internet forums is that he is too small to cause any sort of penetrable excitement. So it looks like you are on your own here Ian.

13. Being Rather Silly. This is a simple one. You should either be very silly or not silly at all. Being rather silly is both pointless and tiresome. Either give it your all or not at all. As in the local pub, you only cause anger with half-measures.

14. Porridge Oats. I don’t like porridge. So the idea of being cheered by them is a totally alien concept. That’s probably a slightly unfair analysis though. So let’s do ourselves a cereal substitution. I like Shreddies. So let me go and pour a bowl to see if it cheers me up. (I am walking to the kitchen. I am opening the cupboard. I am picking up the cereal box. I am getting a bowl. I am pouring cereal into the bowl. I am looking at my bowl of cereal. I am walking back to the laptop). No. I feel exactly the same as I did before. Though maybe slightly frustrated that I now have to wash-up an extra bowl.

August 17, 2011
7 Reasons Being Left-Handed Is Not All It’s Cracked Up To Be

The two of you who read Friday’s post will know that Saturday was Left-Handers’ Day. To join in with the fun I decided that I would be an honorary left-hander for the day. How hard could it be? The problem was, by the time I had remembered I was supposed to be being left-handed for the day, I had already been right-handed for six hours. It didn’t really seem right to do a half-hearted job so I vowed to be a left-hander on Sunday instead. Only, I forgot. Again. So I wrote myself a note. On Monday I would be a left-hander. And I was. This is my story.

1. Tea. A disaster. From start to finish. Usually I am programmed to pour with my left hand and stir with my right. Having rewired myself – while the pouring was just as effective – the stirring was abysmal. I just couldn’t get into a rhythm. Tea was sloshing over the side. Across the work-surface. Onto the floor. And then there was the flicking off the tea-bag into the bin using the spoon. I missed the bin. I suspect you’re thinking it couldn’t get any worse? Sadly, it did. By the time I had finished we seldom had half a cup of tea between us. Shocker.

2. Writing Freehand Stylee. I made a few phone calls yesterday. That’s nothing new. I often like to leave answerphone messages for myself so I feel loved. Yesterday though I actually called some people who weren’t, never have and never will be me. I didn’t tell them though, it would have been bad for their morale. I used my left-hand to key in the number and hold the phone to my ear. This wasn’t a problem. During the course of the first call though it became abundantly obvious that I needed to make some notes. It’s at the point that I should have probably given up, used my right-hand and pretended this entire episode never occurred. But, dear reader, that would not be fair on you. If there is one thing we are on 7 Reasons, it is honest. So for your benefit I carried on in my pursuit of left-handed glory. I held the phone between my left-shoulder and left-ear and wrote with my left-hand. The result of all this is that I have a meeting on Thursday morning. Not that you would know unless you were hacking my phone at the time.

3. Application Of Cosmetics. On Sunday I got burnt by the vicious Kent 20 degrees sunshine. So come yesterday I was giving Sitting Bull a run for his money. As a result I needed to up the moisture levels of the affected areas using the various lotions and potions I could find lying around the house. Sadly for you I didn’t go for the tomato salsa. Instead I used Vaseline’s Essential Moisture Daily Body Lotion. It’s a tremendous product and I heartily recommend it. Applying it to my face with my left-hand was a doddle. I only wish I had recorded it for a ‘How To’ video on YouTube. Then came the difficult part. Tradition would have it that I apply moisture to my left arm using my right hand. I am sure you can work out what I had to do. The result was not only highly ineffective it also made me look as if I was doing The Funky Gibbon. Only it wasn’t funky and I didn’t have the Steve Wright intro or the future prospect of shrinking like Bill Oddie. Is it really possible to shrink about twenty inches while working with Kate Humble?

4. Mice. Having made half a cup of tea, written something even MI5 would struggle to decipher and performed an impromptu display of Swan Lake on acid, you would have thought not much more could go wrong. That’s when I tuned the computer on and realised I would have to bring the mouse to the other side of the keyboard. After an hour I was fairly proficient in keeping the cursor on the screen. Remembering which finger to click with though is something I never got used to. I was in and out of the recycle bin more times than a school-child watching Blue Peter. I also ended up watching Vanilla’s 1997 smash-hit No Way No Way. I’m still not entirely sure how.*

5. Lunch. Not difficult as such, just dangerous. Knives and Jonathan Lee don’t mix at the best of times. Throw in the fact that I was cutting left-handed while performing The Funky Gibbon in a sunburnt state to the rhythmic beats of Vanilla’s No Way No Way and it’s the kind of thing only a sick pervert would want to witness. As it happened he only stayed for the first half.

6. Photography. The more observant of you will note that every post on 7 Reasons is accompanied by a photo. Most of the time we just borrow one from Google Images, but on the odd occasion we carefully craft our own. Today’s photo – as I would hope you have guessed – is a first edition Lee. It seemed silly to write about my triumphs as a left-hander and then use someone else’s work to highlight it. Which is why I took the photo above. Never would I have thought using a camera would be an issue for a left-hander. But of course it is. I don’t know, maybe lefties actually use their right index finger and right thumb to press the various buttons and change settings? I guess it would make sense. Unfortunately for me though, 7 Reasons rarely makes sense. As such I used solely my left-hand to take the photo above. Twenty-three attempts it took me to finally take one that was both in focus and actually featured anything other than the floor.

7. Writing Keyboard Stylee. Having found six of my seven reasons in such quick time, I began to write this post yesterday afternoon. That brought with it its own problems. When you look at this post and compare it with Marc’s essays, you would wager that this post took far fewer hours to write. Oh how wrong could you be? Very actually. The whole point of being left-handed for the day was to use my left hand when on all other days of the year I use my right. As such my right hand went to the left-half of the keyboard and my left to the right. Three hours later this is the result.

*Honestly, I’m not. You have to believe me.

August 16, 2011
7 Reasons That Peter Allen Should Be On Twitter
Hello 7 Reasons readers! I hadn’t intended to write about Peter Allen or Twitter today. I had originally intended to write about Hitler and the British plot to add oestrogen to his meals but then, in a fleetingly overheard snatch of BBC Radio 5Live’s Drive programme, I heard Anita Anand exhorting broadcasting legend and curmudgeon’s curmudgeon, Peter Allen to open a Twitter account. Amazing idea, I thought, as all notions of one charismatic pint-sized despot receded from my mind, to be replaced by thoughts of Peter Allen using Twitter. That would be amazing. Here are seven reasons why.

1. The Username Potential Is Great. Anita Anand is presenting Drive all week alongside Peter Allen. Her Twitter-name is @tweeter_anita. Peter Allen could take the name @tweeter_peter. Could anything be sweeter than @tweeter_anita helping @tweeter_peter take his first tentative steps on Twitter? Well, yes, kittens and just about all other things in the known world, but the matching names sound like fun. They’d be the Howard and Hilda of the Twitterverse.

2. We’d Learn More About Him. What do we really know about Peter Allen’s life? Very little. I checked his Wikipedia entry and this is all of the information contained in the Personal Life section:

He follows Tottenham Hotspur, owns a barn and has a trademark grunt.

While every 5Live listener will be aware of the first and third things mentioned, that he owns a barn is a revelation that has piqued my interest and raises many, many questions:
- Why does Peter Allen own a barn?
- What colour is Peter Allen’s barn?
- What does Peter Allen keep in his barn?
- Where is Peter Allen’s barn?
- How long has Peter Allen owned a barn?
- Does Peter Allen allow other people into his barn or is it like a rural Essex-based version of Superman’s Fortress of Solitude where he goes to hone his opinions and polish his hair?
- Did Peter Allen wake up one morning and think, “You know, what I really need to complete my life is a barn”?
- Does Peter Allen actually live in the barn?
- Why can’t I stop thinking about Peter Allen’s barn?
I’ll try to contain my curiosity about Peter Allen’s barn for the moment. Essentially we’d get to know more about the man behind the microphone and the barn behind the man behind the microphone. That would be great.

3. He Would Bring Something Different To Twitter. According to people that spuriously concoct statistics on the internet* rather than researching things properly, the average age of a Twitter user is thirty-one. That isn’t high enough to make Twitter truly representative of society. Peter Allen is more than twice that age. He’d bring a rarely seen perspective of experience and the benefit of time-accrued wisdom to the social network. Twitter is – in my experience – also predominantly a happy and joyful medium. He’d soon sort that too.

4. He Would Be Better Informed. During Drive, he regularly solicits listener feedback via text and email. If he were on Twitter, he’d get feedback 24 hours a day, whether he’d asked for it or not. He’d get feedback about travel, he’d get feedback about news, he’d get feedback about sport, he’d get questions about the barn from me, he’d get tweets from his colleagues poking fun at him (which would stop Aasmah getting out of practice during her week off) and he’d get feedback about things that he didn’t even know he wanted feedback about. Peter Allen would be better informed than he’d ever been in his life. If you need an opinion on anything, it will find you on Twitter.

5. There Would Be Pictures. Radio is a non-visual medium, so the ability to post pictures on Twitter would probably be liberating for Peter Allen and enlightening for the rest of us. We’d get pictures of Essex, we’d get pictures of the studio, we’d get pictures of the most bountiful and luxuriant silver barnet in the known universe and – most importantly – we’d get pictures of the barn. Please.

6. He Would Be Good On Twitter. A lifetime spent in journalism and broadcasting is the ideal preparation for the successful use of Twitter. After all, the distillation of the essence of a news story down to a headline or the dogged pursuit of an insightful quote from a radio interviewee are pretty much the same skills that are involved in condensing a thought, experience or opinion down to 140 characters on Twitter. Peter Allen’s tweets are likely to be provocative, incisive and sharp. Or at the very least he’d be able to say “Go away!” with alacrity and authority when confronted with the ninth question of the day about the barn or the fifteenth about his hair. Probably by tweeting “Go away!”.

7. His Presence Would Provide Encouragement For Curmudgeons. Having such a high-profile, self-confessed Twitter-sceptic jump into the fray would be an interesting experience for the man himself, his listeners and Twitter users. What better way to introduce other sceptics, doubters, technophobes and the plain hostile to the medium than to hear someone with a similar mindset coming to terms with its use? He might even learn to love it or, at the very least, loathe it less; which possibly amounts to the same thing in his world. Peter Allen could blaze a trail for the timid, the wary and the sceptical to become late-adopters of Twitter and would probably entertain his listeners royally into the bargain. I’ve loved listening to him since Radio 5 (as was) started and I can’t help thinking I’d enjoy his presence on Twitter every bit as much. Anita Anand is right. #letsgetpeterallenontwitter as soon as possible. Then we can teach him what that hashtag means.

*Source: 7Reasons.org, 2011.
August 15, 2011
7 Reasons To Hug A Left-Hander Tomorrow

As I am sure all left-handers’ the world over are aware, tomorrow is ‘International Left-Handers’ Day’. Awesome. In my opinion not enough body parts get the recognition they deserve. Personally I would like there to be an ‘International Third Nipple Day’. Just so I can see which of my friends I need to start avoiding more often. But that’s for another day. Today is all about left-handedness and why we should show love to those of that unfortunate disposition tomorrow.

"Cheer up Monty, you didn't mean to drop that bread roll"

1. Death. On average, right-handed people live nine years longer than lefties.* Nine years! That’s a lot. I am sure we all have friends who are left-handed so tomorrow I suggest we whip round to their place and give them the news. Then it would be nice to give them a hug. Just to, you know, show them that you should be in the will.

2. Evil. This isn’t an easy thing to say, but you need to be told the truth. Left-handed people are in league with the devil. They dabble in witchcraft and sit on the panel of Loose Women. I’m not making this up. I read in in The Telegraph. The thing is, it’s not their fault. They were just born like that. Which is why we have to hug them. Just to, you know, see if they have a tail protruding from their anus.

3. Stationery. If having a short life-expectancy and being an incarnation of the devil wasn’t enough, the left-handed among us have long suffered at the hands of the right-handed. Quite literally. Ever tried using a pair of scissors with your left-hand? Painful isn’t it? Give a lefty a hug. Just to, you know, prevent them from seeing you laugh your head off at their misfortune.

4. Bias. Have you ever noticed that when it comes to money matters, your left-handed friend’s seem far better off than you? This has nothing to do with skill or talent. It is because when it comes to finance everything is strongly weighted in their favour. One typical example is the National Lottery logo. It comprises a left hand. Not a more commonplace right-hand, but a left-hand. So, tomorrow, go and give your left-handed chums a hug. Just so, you know, you can swipe their wallet from their back pocket and check the evening’s lottery numbers.

5. Intelligence. Apparently, left-handers are able to use parts of the brain to more effect than us normal folk. As such they are far more intelligent. So it’s useful to have a left-hander as a friend. A real close friend. A friend you you would hug at the next opportunity. Just so, you know, you can look over their shoulder at the answers to the pub quiz.

6. Effort. Have you ever seen a left-hander write? They make one heck of a mess. As soon as they write something they smudge it with the rest of their clumsy hand. So not only do they have to start their literary works all over again, but they also have to go and wash their ink dyed palms. It takes time and money being a left-hander. Time to write letters over and over again and money on more paper, more ink and more soap. It’s a tough life. So give one a hug, Just to, you know, prevent then shaking your hand with their inky paws.

7. Thievery. Have you ever been sat in a restaurant, enjoying a lovely meal and even lovelier chat, only for the person sitting on your right to spoil the whole mood by stealing your wine or bread roll? You’re nodding your head. This doesn’t surprise us. You may not have known this at the time, but the thief on your right was left-handed. While it is natural to the rest of us to pick up bread rolls with our right hand, it is natural for left-handers to use their left. As such they end up fatter and more drunk than their right-handed counterparts. It’s not their fault though. It’s the way they are wired. So give them a hug. Just so, you know, they’ll find it much harder to steal the mint than accompanies your post-dinner coffee.

*Left-handers I mean, not left-wingers. I think Maggie Thatcher and Bruce Forsyth have proved that righties comfortably outlive lefties by approximately two-hundred years.

August 12, 2011