Category: Guest Posts

Guest Post: 7 Reasons That It’s Pimm’s O’Clock

It’s another Saturday here in Blighty and that means another chance for Marc and I to leave the comfort of the sofa and go and air our hairy legs. All four of them. In our place today then, is John Phipps. A man who, when not painting Gordon Brown’s face, can be found doing other things. Though we’re not quite sure what. For those of you in the twitterati, you can follow John here. But do that after he’s talked to you about Pimm’s. It’s only courteous.

So far in England we’ve had a summer of sporting mediocrity – topped off with headaches from the whine of Vuvuzelas and Sue Barkers’ bitter tone. Amazingly the sun is still looking favourably upon our otherwise gloomy Nation as music festivals and sporting events help draw our attention away from our melancholy lives.

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to a proper English summer. With everything in place, it seems appropriate that the mind should turn to Pimm’s – the quintessentially English Summer drink. In its traditional style, 7 Reasons is here to help celebrate “Pimm’s O’clock” with seven somewhat ironic, self-mocking pointers.

1. Quality refreshment. A sensible man would say refreshment comes in the form of water. Brian Badonde would even join me in saying “Bah!” to those opting for some Council juice on a warm day. What sets Pimm’s aside from the rest is its ability to truly refresh. The fabulously fruity rich mix, shifts the clouds with sweet honey-like sunshine resin. Your palate will explode long before your bladder as you taste the heady delights of the English summer.

As an added bonus for those of you clogging up the NHS, the fruit not only gives added enjoyment but counts for a significant part of your important 5 a-day too.* Your Consultant will be (slightly) pleased.

2. Prudence. Guardian columnist Oliver Thring (who by the way sports a truly magnificent side parting) wrote that Pimm’s “epitomises seasonal events featuring irritating rich people: trilbied fops in preposterous blazers; hawing women in silly hats; drunken trustafarians lounging on riverbanks; fans of Nigel Farage doorstepping ahead of European elections.”

Now, I’m not a fan of Nigel Farage, more of a Bercow man myself, but young Oliver is spot on; this bizarre scene is a fundamental part of the attraction. Some drink Stella and go home and beat their wife. Others sip Pimm’s and go home after beating themselves because they threw a game of croquet. It’s a drink for those with common sense.

3. Social Mobility. Fortunately the price seems to dissuade anti-socialites and general miscreants from dropping their favoured bottle of White Lightning for a Pimm’s. I defy anybody to find evidence of Pimm’s being drunk neat, or otherwise, on park benches by the Adidas tracksuit brigade. It is widely believed too that Staffordshire Bull Terriers will not drink this refined goodness. That being said, there is every opportunity with Pimm’s to elevate your standing – therefore perfect for the character who some years ago failed the 12+ or an entrance exam at Stowe and ended up carrying a briefcase into a modern Comprehensive on his first day in Year 8.

You see a nice ‘whistle’ or a posh frock only go some of the distance in pushing you up the ladder. However, put a jug of Pimm’s on the table and a glass in hand and you my friend could be someone with symbolic capital. The power of absolute mobility that this drink possesses is indeed, absolute.

4. Grandeur. Only a sexually insecure beefcake or a leftie with a face like a melted wellington would refuse a Pimm’s – regardless of cost. Pimm’s is Land Of Hope And Glory and Jerusalem in a glass. It screams Pomp and Circumstance with its typeface let alone its taste. It arouses illusions of grandeur, times gone by; an idealised Nation; a Country under Thatcher; a home-grown Wimbledon winner; Mr Darcy; cricket at Wormsley, the majesty of Temperate House; an impassioned Glyndebourne.

Prince William and his Army chums once cleared the supermarket shelves in Weymouth just after I bought my first bottle of the summer. I hope the lucky bar-stewards didn’t choke on a strawberry, but love him or hate him, be assured that this is a drink of Kings.

5. Women. Proper ladies don’t drink Pints of lager; it’s not the done thing, so be on guard for freeloaders. Make sure your flys aren’t undone etc. First impressions count and Pimm’s has already done the hard work for you. Don’t let yourself down.

6. Create Perfection. The official recipe is one part Pimm’s to three parts lemonade, strawberry, orange and mint, mixed generously with ice. Generally speaking one should stick to it. I would suggest perhaps using Tonic Water instead of lemonade, adding cucumber and maybe a stick or two of celery.

If your greengrocer has run out of celery, a Chelsea fan is bound to have some.

7. Imitation is suicide. The world is full of pretenders, I urge you not to join them by succumbing to a cheaper and quite frankly, poorer alternative. You will think you are cool, but instead you are unquestionably sad. You need to ‘wake up and smell the cock’ before your half-empty glass ruins your life.

You will not reach more of a lower point in life than if a guest samples your fake product and comments accordingly. At this point you will probably continue drinking the alternative just to forget what happened. This is not clever and you really should have read points 1-6 more carefully.

*Not scientifically proven, just an educated guess.

**DRINK RESPONSIBLY. Pimm’s is not good to binge on and can make quite a mess for your partner to clear up the next day. It will also quite probably smell most foul.

July 24, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons To Be Happy That She Hates That You Love Sports

If there is one thing you know about us, it is that we are British. As a result the website is full of British humour. So it’s always interesting when we get comments from abroad. We know for instance, that the Dutch find us quite amusing, while the French…erm…well let’s put it this way, we are never going to have a French Guest Writer. So far, all of our guest writers have been British. Or at least half-British*. Today though, that is changing. Because, in the first of what we hope will be many international escapades, we are all off to Iowa. Or, more accurately, Iowa is coming to our sofa. And with Iowa comes Sandra McAubre, a lady who writes on the topic of Sports Management Degrees over at SportsManagementDegrees.Net. She also very much welcomes your comments, so when you’ve finished reading her post please do send her an email and ask her what a ‘brickbat’ is. Then let us know. Thanks.**

There are some men who would read this title and think I was nuts, and they’re justified for thinking so. They’re the ones who always seem to be at the receiving end of the wrath of the fairer sex for their obsession with sports. Every time there’s a big game on, they’re faced with a combination of excitement and apprehension – the latter because they’re worried about the brickbats that their significant other, be it spouse or girlfriend, is going to be throwing around. Yes, there are women who enjoy a game as much as the testosterone-fueled men seem to do and others who are understanding and even accommodating during games, but then, every other man I’ve met is of the opinion that they’ve missed out on meeting specimens of these rare breeds. Even so, I still persist with the opinion that you must take satisfaction in the fact that your woman hates that you love sports. Because:

1. You Can Hate That She’s Too Sappy. If your girlfriend/wife is understanding about you watching sports when there’s a game on, then you can bet your last dollar that you’re going to have to reciprocate the favor in kind – just when you’re in the mood for some love, she’s going to be bawling her eyes out watching a sappy love story and you’re going to have to keep your mouth and much more zipped up!

2. You Don’t Have To Reciprocate In Kind. Worse, if she watches the games with you, you’re going to have to summon up some tears during that oh-so-boring movie (with nary a bang-up fight) too; but then, I think the idea of keeping more than your mouth zipped up should bring on the waterworks naturally enough!

3. You Have Genuine Reason To Hang Out With The Guys. If sport is banned at home, then you (can hope) you don’t get into too much trouble when you stop over at a bar to catch the last quarter of the big game before heading on home!

4. Christmas And Birthdays Become More Fun. No more boring ties for you in return for all the sparklers you love to (you’re forced to?) buy for your girl; rather, you’re awash in season tickets with premier seating (after you give her an infinite number of not-so-subtle hints of course) for the best games in town.

5. You Don’t Have To Tolerate Her Friends. If your game buddies are banned from your home, then it’s only fair that she can’t expect you to lock yourself into your room when her girlfriends are over for whatever it is that women do when they get together; and on the bright side, you could sneak away to watch a game on your friend’s big screen TV when the female brigade comes calling!

6. Your Beer Belly Is Under Control. With a supportive wife/girlfriend, you’re going to guzzle bottles and bottles of beer and continue eating countless chips when watching your game, little realizing that they’re all heading straight for your gut and on the road to making you fat and unhealthy. So maybe the disapproval can help you stave off the food and drink you seem to push down when it’s game time and save your health in the process.

7. You Get Some Quality Time Alone. And finally, no matter how much you love your significant other, there are times when you prefer to watch your game in solitude (if you can’t enjoy the company of your beer buddies, of course) without being interrupted by questions and remarks that you have absolutely no interest in at the moment. So if she hates that you’re into sports, maybe, just maybe, she’s going to be sulking till the game’s over, after which you can do some crawling to get back into her good books!

*Or completely Australian, which is not in Britain at all.

**Apparently I’m the only one who had never heard of the word brickbat. I feel a bit silly now.

July 17, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Why Teaching Is (Mostly) The Best Job In The World

A few weeks ago, you may remember Liz Gregory telling us why Summer was great. There was so much agreement with her in the 7 Reasons HQ that we just had to get her back on the sofa. Thankfully, Liz was only too keen to make a reappearance. And this time she’s bought along her box of chalks. Or are they marker pens? I can never tell when I’m sans contact lenses. If you didn’t check out Liz’s blog – Things To Do In Manchester – last time, then you better do it today. Unless you want detention. Right, enough of the stupid school quips, I’m off to the bike sheds.

1. Holidays (Part One). We may as well deal with any resentment up front, so we’ll start with holidays. I get 11 weeks per year. Teachers in schools get more. I understand that people in the real world get insultingly poor amounts of annual leave, and I feel bad about this. But no-one, anywhere (that includes you, Cameron) will take my glorious six-week summer off me.

2. Holidays (Part Two). Last year the afore-mentioned six week summer break began on July 7^th. The Ashes series started on July 8^th. This point needs no further expansion.

3. The Students. Yes, I know this one is hard to believe; even a cursory glance at The Daily Mail will indicate that the youth of today are a snarling, feral mass, pausing from their casual sex and drug-taking only to mug passing old ladies and commit knife crimes. You may be disappointed to learn that actually, today’s teenagers are pretty much the same as any other generation of teenagers: moody, unpredictable, funny, witty, charming…in short, they are good company. Although I do query some of their musical taste, and the overall aesthetics of wearing one’s jeans halfway down one’s backside.

4. Talking About What You Love, All Day Every Day. I teach English, which means that rather than answer telephones and push bits of paper around a desk all day, a typical Monday might include reading Wuthering Heights (and indeed performing the Kate Bush caterwauling classic as a Christmas treat), acting out bits of Streetcar Named Desire (Stellllaaaaaaa!), and teaching how to write scripts, articles or short stories….it’s amazing.

5. Seasonal Celebrations. Christmas is fun, sure. Christmas in a college with hundreds of sixteen-year-olds who are desperately excited but are trying equally desperately not to show it is even better. Students are also very keen on the confectionary that tends to accompany such seasonal celebrations, and bring it in by the bucket load; there is surely not a teacher in existence who has not felt their waistband constrict at Easter or Christmas due to a surfeit of Quality Street.

6. Stationery. This may actually be specific to English teachers, but every September the pain of a new academic year is soothed by an almighty trip to Paperchase to stock up on novelty pens and notebooks with monkeys on. This is an essential part of teaching, and its impact on the economic stability of Britain must not be overlooked.

7. Students Suddenly Realising You’re Not Ninety. I am not particularly advanced in years, but to my youthful charges I may as well be approaching my hundred and twelfth birthday. Until, of course, you are spotted outside of work, wearing jeans, talking to friends, and maybe (gasp) drinking wine. This prompts much admiration, as students recognise you for what you truly are – a plucky old person with a life outside college. This will raise your kudos above every member of the maths and science departments almost instantly.

July 10, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Not To Move House

Returning to the 7 Reasons sofa for his second stint as a guest poster is student and Muse fanatic Rob. A. Foot. When he’s not loading the back of removal vans he can be found playing his saxophone/piano/harp/french horn/penny whistle (all at the same time) on his blog, There Is Music In The Breakdown.

1. Tidying. A horrible piece of collateral that comes with moving. First of all, you have to tidy up the clutter that has gathered around the house since the day you moved in. No matter how tidy you think you’ve kept the house, there’s always more. Looked behind the sideboard? The plant pot? Under the sofa? There’ll be more behind the desk, all those little things that have been knocked off over the years. Good luck picking up all of that rubbish.

2. Estate Agents. Widely regarded as the slippery eel career, a nasty necessity of the moving business. First of all you have to show a number of them around your house, just so you can see how much money they think that they can get out of the poor sod who has to buy your house. Then you hand over a key to them. The equivalent of handing the key to heaven to Lucifer, but with slighty less ramifications to all humanity.

3. Having people look round your house*. So, you’ve tidied your house, chosen the most ambitious estate agent, now you just have to do one little thing. Find someone who actually wants to buy it. Hmm. That means having people look round. Which means polishing every visible surface until you can see the inevitable fly in the air, hovering around the house and not wanting to leave. Then you leave the house in the hope that the estate agent doesn’t scare off any potential buyers, and that the fly hasn’t started breeding.

4. The post-visit call from the estate agent. So, did the people like it? Or did they think that the garden wasn’t big enough for the horses that they planned to get? Well, they’re certainly not going to tell you their concerns to your face, they aren’t going to be that impolite. So, you wait for the call from the estate agent to hear what the damage is, and how little they want to move into your house. So you then repeat steps 3 and 4 until, mercifully, someone decides that they want to buy the house. Then you get more problems for your trouble.

5. Finding a house. So, you’ve finally managed to sell your house. But, it has taken so long, you’ve lost the original ambition and optimism that arrive with putting the house on the market, when you scouted around for suitable houses. All the houses that looked to be perfect were sold months ago, so you now have to find something that will always pale to that ideal house which you had found. It now becomes a slog as you look round house after house, all with their flaws. Until you give up and go for the least bad house.

6. Moving Day. I consider myself a veteran of moving days. Having experienced 7 of these in the 17 years of my life, I’m getting bored of them, to say the least. First, you have to make sure that you have packed everything away in the correct boxes and that they’re sealed up and marked correctly. Then, check that you haven’t left something important and expensive, but small, say, a camera or gold plated iPod, lying in a corner somewhere, waiting to be left behind and found by the next family to live in what was your house. Then you have the fun moment of arriving at the new house and checking through every box to make sure that the removal men haven’t broken anything valuable, say, some expensive china crockery given to your parents as a wedding gift 20 years ago. Then you get to unpack. Fun.

*7. The surprise visit. The worst nightmare of any prospective homeseller. The people who “happened to be in the area” with the estate agent decide, on a whim, to have a look round your house. You’re lucky if you get a phone call half an hour before they arrive. So, you have a mad panic to make the house presentable, which, inevitably, doesn’t help much. So you edge around the house while they look round, trying to avoid confrontation, where they may ask what sort of fire is in the hearth, when it is clearly an open fire. This is where a buyer bunker would come in handy. You’d stick it in the bottom of the garden, underground. You could kit it out with all that you need, a digital radio so you can listen to Test Match Special and a packet of Hobnobs.

July 3, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Watching Slovakia vs Italia Was An Education

After an eventful week – in which we concentrated mainly on football, John McEnroe’s hair and lots of funny codes doing lots of unfunny things and destroying the internet in the process – we are taking the day off. Slipping onto the sofa for the very first time is Gina Boiradi. Over to you Gina.

I’m going to start with a rather controversial statement. I hate football. I am a 16-year-old female and I follow Rugby Union and Cricket with all my heart, but I can’t stand watching football – in part due to the awful diving and injury-faking. Nevertheless, I cannot help but watch every single World Cup game. Being English with an Italian father, I watch England and Italy with the same nervousness and delight. After the glorious England game against Slovenia, I tuned into Italy vs Slovakia with the same optimism. Oh dear. Anyway, at least it was an education. Here are the reasons why.

1. Commentators. They are very annoying. They come out with such ridiculous phrases and it makes me very frustated. “Fabio Cannavaro disappears, perhaps forever!” Um, news flash – he’s not dead. Nor has he been ushered away by a mysterious Sicilian bloke making him an offer he can’t refuse.

2. Mucho Do About Nothing. If you are a Slovakian goalkeeper, then you should all consider careers as actors. Seriously. Mucho was diving all over the bloody place with such melodrama, Dame Helen Mirren would be proud. I can see an Oscar nomination and an appearance in “The Bill” coming up right away.

3. Referees. Not all English referees are as hopeless as Graham Poll. Howard Webb did grand trying to contain the players. Diving, falling, tripping, fighting. It was a referee’s nightmare, yet he soldiered on. Even adding additional time onto the additional time because of Slovakia’s obvious time wasting. Good on him.

4. Papa’s Army. There is such a thing as too old a squad. Approximately 79% of the Italian squad were over 65*. I was ever so worried one of them may pop their hip out, or some other stereotypical pensioner ailment. Four years ago, that Italian team were in their prime (obviously, as they won) but now they are old. Bless ’em.

5. Iaquinto. He scares me silly. He is a man I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark, Italian alley. Or any other alley for that matter. But also seems like a right lovely bloke. Also, he adds some needed eye candy for us female viewers. Even if his nose is like a vuvuzela.

6. Pretty Boys. Posing, oiled-up in your undies is very good for your World Cup playing abilities. Beckham did it and, even though he’s not playing, England are doing well (Come On England!). The Portuguese captain I refuse to mention by name since last World Cup’s winking incident (I shall call him “The Winker” from now on) did it, and Portugal are also through. The Italian team did it 4 four years ago and they won. I’m getting distracted by images of oily Italians in undies. I shall move on.

7. It’s All In the Name. Bringing on substitutes with extraordinarily long names will do wonders when you are struggling. Quagliarella was brought on and scored a goal that got the ball rolling again (no pun intended) and provided the kick up the backside (again, no pun intended) needed by Italy – but sadly, too little, too late. England need a few subsitutes called “Hamilton-Wilkins” or “Mandeville-Brown” or something.

*Disclaimer: may not be true.

June 26, 2010
Sorry, things went a bit awry.

Hi, Marc here. The non-Kent-dwelling half of the 7 Reasons team. Yesterday, we had a bit of a catastrophic failure of our website, which meant that no one got to see Jon’s beautiful video about John McEnroe’s hair. Our website is still a bit fragile at the moment, but after spending about twenty hours in the corner of my dining room (except for football breaks) crunching numbers, downloading, uploading, reconfiguring php.myadmin files and /htaccess.docs, renaming plugin files (it was as interesting a day as it sounds), we seem to have most of the elements of our website up and running again, though not all (it’s still a bit fragile, read it gently).

So, today (Tuesday) didn’t happen and we apologise. But, no matter, today will become yesterday eventually and tomorrow will become today and, in the fullness of time, you’ll forget that yesterday didn’t happen. You will, however, remember tomorrow’s (today’s?) brilliant video about the hair. Which will appear later. After I’ve had a lie down and checked my calendar. Or is that earlier? I don’t know any more. Just…sorry…and enjoy.

June 23, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons To Shop At Ikea

Another Saturday comes by and with it another chance for Marc and I to get up from the sofa and stretch our legs. I am stretching them quite far today. From Fulham to some place in Kent. I’m moving you understand. But that’s enough about me, let’s focus on the issue in hand. Today’s 7 Reasons piece comes from regular 7 Reasons contributor, Simon Best. Who, when he’s not writing for us – or shopping in Ikea – can be found writing on twitter. He also does some other things that no one quite understands.

1. Names. Everything they sell at Ikea from the largest kitchen unit to the smallest tealight has a name, the vast majority with a Scandinavian touch, some with more imagination than others: the ‘Dimma’ lamp, the ‘Pyra’ wok, the ‘Slitbar’ knife. I doubt that ‘Slitbar’ is actually the Swedish for knife but it is not beyond the realms of possibility. The names are also the answer to parents who don’t want to name their offspring Apple or Chardonnay – Knubbig, Gnistra and Ivar offer perfect alternatives – it’s only fair after Ikea stole the name ‘Billy’ for their best selling item – it is now more widely associated with a bookcase than a boy.

2. Showrooms. Much of the space in Ikea is taken up with showrooms displaying Ikea furniture in various combinations: kitchens, bedrooms, offices, living rooms. They’re often given a lived in look which reassures you that it is not just you that left your bed unmade and a pile of washing up in the sink. They also show you how the furniture you buy will never look in your house, after all if they lose bolt E or joint B then there is a shop full of them, then there is a shop full of them.

3. Pencils. Everywhere you look in Ikea there are little wooden pencils. They’re handy for writing down measurements or noting down the location of things you want to buy. They’re also perfect for sticking behind your ear which is essential for making you look as if you are competent at DIY. The reality is that most men walking round Ikea with a pencil behind their ear are there because their wives have sent them out of the house while a professional comes round to fix the damage that they did the previous weekend with their drill. The preponderance of pencils in Ikea is mirrored by one in my house. I don’t buy pencils any more, I just go to Ikea, stick one behind each ear and forget they are there until I get home.

4. Lack of piped music. One of the things I hate about going shopping is the musak that pervades high street stores and shopping malls. When I go to the supermarket I don’t want to listen to THIS [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oofSnsGkops] I want to listen to Test Match Special so that I can hear England slump from a respectable 70 for none (by the cheese counter) to a disastrous 104 for 5 (while I’m deciding whether to buy Braeburns or Granny Smiths). Ikea has no music, which is a relief because I don’t think the world could cope with a cover of Waterloo or Super-Trouper played on Guatemalan panpipes.

5. A masterclass in bad parenting. Most of the people shopping in Ikea are families. People go at the weekend and take their children. Now Ikea stores are big but they’re not a park or an adventure playground.Children spend most of their week in pre-fab buildings with bright furniture and at the weekend they should be outside playing football or building treehouses or riding their choppers (oh, sorry I forget it wasn’t 1985 anymore). When children are taken to ikea they get bored – which is understandable as the only interest they have in furniture is its capacity to be adapted to a pirate ship or be used to shut their younger sister in. As a result parents get angry and shout. Go to Ikea on a weekend and you will observe a masterclass in bad parenting.

6. Trolleys. When you enter Ikea you’ll see normal shopping trolleys by the door. My advice is to leave them where they are. When you get to the warehouse where all the furniture is stacked you’ll find much more exciting flat-bed trolleys. While you are looking for Aisle 4 Section 17 to pick up your table they make excellent scooters – that is until you collide with a large woman carrying four pot plants and a selection of candles. You might even find the bored children following your example. Something that their parents will doubtless thank you for.

7. Meatballs. Quite possibly the best thing about Ikea is the restaurant – and specifically the meatballs with lingonberries Where else can you find delicious international cuisine for astoundingly good value. People go to Ikea at dinner time just to have some meatballs with the furniture being a side attraction.* You can even take some meatballs home with you to microwave which is a good thing as there is no way you’re going to have that kitchen unit assembled and be able to cook dinner in the space of a day.

June 19, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Why Summer Is Ace

Oh how we do like to be beside the seaside. Which is why today Marc and I have dressed in our nauticals and headed off for the beach. In doing so we leave the 7 Reasons sofa in the capable hands of Liz Gregory. Someone who probably now wishes she was at the seaside with us instead of clearing up our biscuit crumbs. Once you’ve read Liz’s piece, do pop over to her blog, Things To Do In Manchester, and say hello. She’s waiting for you. With an ice-cream.

1. More Daylight. This is of course the original and best reason why summer is better than winter. You don’t feel like you’re getting up in the middle of the night to go to work, and you don’t have the urge to put your pyjamas on the second you get home – somehow the day just seems to have more hours in it. Although mathematically, of course, it doesn’t.

2. Barbecues. What other occasion allows you to consume a meal consisting entirely of meat? Sure, you may wish to bump up the nutritional value by adding a fruit/vegetable item such as ketchup, but you are under absolutely no pressure to do so. There is no other repast in the world that permits this kind of sausage-based frenzy, so we should embrace it while we can. And because the food is eaten outside in the fresh air, it is officially incredibly healthy and good for you.

3. No Tights. I admit this is largely a female-interest point (or so I presume), but I’m sure men have an equivalent item they are glad to leave behind come summer. Where there are tights, there is discomfort, particularly for tall girls who may encounter gusset-issues, or smaller girls who may suffer from bagging at the ankles. Summer weather frees us from such tyranny, and as a bonus also allows for the painting of toe-nails and the donning of flip flops.

4. Acceptability of Pink Wine. There are certain drinks that are only acceptable in the summer months, pink wine being one of them. Anything tastes nice when consumed outside in the sunshine, leading people with normally impeccable taste to enthusiastically adopt drinks they would eschew at other times of the year; Pimm’s also falls into this category. Somehow, in June a glass full of sweet alcohol crammed randomly full of lumps of cucumber seems right; you will have returned to your senses by Autumn, so do not be frightened by this kind of temporary lapse.

5. Beer Gardens. Sometimes better in thought than actuality; many of the beer gardens near where I live are in fact trestle tables lined up around the edge of the car park. Still, use your imagination (or simply live in the country as opposed to central Manchester), and you could be somewhere really picturesque. Plus, there’s always the amusement of watching someone at a nearby table leap up and hare across the pub, pursued by angry wasps who wish to share their pint of lager.

6. Tabloid Newspapers. Tabloids were made for summer. Hot days will inevitably lead to pictures of bikini-clad lovelies cavorting in fountains, dogs playing with hose-pipes and parrots eating ice-cream; this is a part of our cultural heritage of which we are justly proud. Real news is simply put on hold until September, or is tucked safely away behind the pictures of children with Slush Puppy cartons on their heads.

7. The Seaside. The British seaside is a wondrous thing, demonstrating the wonder of humanity in its many forms. Here we eat bubblegum-flavoured ice-cream, paddle in seaweed-infested waters, and trample on the complex sandcastles and villages that nearby children have spent hours crafting. Pack a lovely picnic (must include pink wine – see Reason 4) and enjoy the feeling as your shoulders start to burn; remember, the rest of the summer will be wet, so plenty of time for the redness to fade.

June 12, 2010
Guest(ish) Post: 7 Reasons We Should Be Kept Well Away From Photoshop

Today’s guest(ish) post comes to you courtesy of Marc Fearns, who can usually be found doing stuff here, and the amazing Ceci Masters of Swanning About fame; a blog so good that it’s in The Times’ list of the top 50 cricket blogs, along with the blog of another friend of 7 Reasons, Sarah Ansell, and forty-eight other blogs that we’re less interested in.

This guest(ish) post is a little unusual. It tells the tale of last Friday evening when, shamefully, Ceci and I were both at our homes, with our Photoshop software open.

1. Crouching Crouch Hidden Dragon. It started innocently enough. Ceci – inspired by the film Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon – produced this picture for the Facebook group, Hollywoodgate: Onde futebol e película cruzam. She also put it on Twitter.

2. Hiding Crouch Tiger-Dragon. And Twitter is where I saw it, while I was in the middle of photoshopping something else (a cat in a submarine, I think). Anyway, I was struck by the wordplay potential so within five minutes, this was winging its way to Ceci.

3. Crouch’s Tiger Hiddink’s Dragon. Then, about five minutes after the previous picture, Ceci put this one up. There was only one way that this was going to go.

4. Grouchy Tiger Smitten Crouch. We had become embroiled in a duel. A frenzied maelstrom of a contest in which PCs were pistols and Crouch crouching crouchy tigery tiger tiger-dragons were our ammunition. In short, we had lost the plot. I made this one. But girls are sensible, and you can always rely on them to stop the madness, can’t you?

5. Hiding Tiger Crouch With Drag On. No, it turns out that you can’t. You can rely on them to take the madness and add big hair and sequins to it.

6. Crouch In Drag On Ridden Tiger. Now, Ceci’s previous picture was not only brilliant, it was also a bit frustrating, as I’d already got started on this one before I discovered that she’d used drag too. But now that we’d started coming up with the same ideas we agreed that it was time to call a halt to things, and we established a truce.

7. Crouch In Tiger With A Bag On. The truce lasted a full three minutes or so, until I thought of this.

That’s why Ceci and I should be kept well away from Photoshop but, like predatory beasts, we’ll be watching, waiting, ever-ready to pounce during the World Cup. The moment that Crouch does anything that even remotely resembles the words tiger, dragon or hiding, one of us will strike. Well, unless his solicitors get in touch which, on balance, seems entirely possible.

June 5, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons I Prefer Blackpool To Cardiff

It’s Saturday, so the 7 Reasons team are off doing Saturday things somewhere – probably in the shops or the pub – but don’t panic: Taking the helm of the 7 Reasons sofa today is Derek J. Gafney, the Middlesbrough-based-writer, of Gaffer’s Sports Blog fame. When he’s not watching sport, thinking about sport, or writing about sport he can be found here, tweeting about sport or here…er…tweeting about sport. Thanks Gaffers!

As the Championship play-off concluded on Saturday gone and the seaside town of Blackpool began to celebrate promotion to the Premier League, I realised I have several reasons to agree with them achieving this success.

In fact I have SEVEN reasons, which back up my originally just wanting ‘The Tangerines’ to win the play-off final against Cardiff City, the original reason being simply the romance of such an achievement.

Now I could back it up with my seven reasons, so here goes…

1. Orange. Unlike a certain Graham Taylor, I do like orange, it is a colour which is synonymous with the game of football and a welcome addition to the top flight of English football.

The great Dutch team of the 1970′s, the amazing skills of the Blackpool side containing Sir Stanley Matthews in the 1950′s, the infamous and well missed orange footballs when the snow had laid on a winters game.

This is a true football colour and the Seasiders’ faithful will brighten up many a dull away ground in the coming season.

2. Memories. Oh the memories, I have only been to Blackpool once, it’s a fair trek from Middlesbrough you know!! But I had a cracking weekend, admittedly this was more so due to the fact I was 17 and every pub served us without hesitation.

But fond memories all the same. The town appears to have deteriorated over the past decade and the input of the Premier League wealth will hopefully aid in returning the place to its former glories.

If you’ve never been and you go based on this guest post, I am in no-way responsible for what happens to you in Blackpool, hope that covers me, should do, shouldn’t it?

3. Ian Holloway (pictured below). A genuine football man, a genuinely likeable man and a genuine family man. If you don’t like Olly (Ian Holloway’s nickname) then personally there has to be something wrong with you, or he owes you money, or something along those lines.

The type of person, genuine (used it four times now) football fans want to see do well in the professional game. A combative midfielder in his day playing almost 600 career club games and a hard-working manager to boot.

He will light up the dull, monotonous Premier League, adding character, honesty and the occasional quote of pure comedic genius!!

4. Day at the seaside. We all love a day out at the seaside, its part of the culture of these fair isles. The temperatures hit the high teens and we pack up the family and the car and head to the coast. Now you can take in a top flight football game as part of the experience. Nana will love it!!

Seriously, it will mean so much to the local economy, with away fans using it as an excuse to head to the seaside for a weekend and spend much-needed money in reviving the local economy and the pubs and clubs too.

I recommend you visit, though yet again I am not liable for this recommendation. Phew!!!

5. EN-GER-LUND. It is as simple as that, if we aren’t going to allow the Scottish into our leagues then surely it’s best to keep the Welsh out too. All jokes aside, I’m serious about this as we have the Welsh in already, then surely we can’t be arguing against St. Mirren or Cork City wanting in too.

Can we? Keep out all of you, create your own leagues, oh no you’ve already done that, well Cardiff, go play in that league or else!! (I rescind this comment as I think those Cardiff boys like a fight, see reason seven for more)

6. Chopra, Ridsdale, Hamann (pictured below) et al. I have no reason whatsoever to have any form of hatred towards anyone person associated with Blackpool and their football club, yet Cardiff City seem to want to offer me plenty of reasons to want to see them fail at the final hurdle and laugh out loud.

Michael Chopra, Peter Ridsdale, Sam Hamann, Steven Gerrard’s cousin and well as you can see the list goes on and on and on!!

You know I’m right on these points and the list could go on, nothing personal, no actually it is personal!!

7. Zero Tolerance. As we enter a crucial period in our bid to host the 2018 World Cup we need to have a zero tolerance approach prior to the bid result in December of this year.

I don’t want to seem stereotypical, but Cardiff fans along with several others have a reputation for enjoying a fight or two with opposing fans, whether it’s based on the Welsh versus the English or it’s just a general theme, I must admit I am not sure.

But, having heard, read and witnessed their fans at first hand, I am pleased they will not be able to take the spotlight and potentially spoil our hosting bid, though let’s be fair, we are more than capable of spoiling our bid ourselves and don’t need any help thank you very muchly!!

Blackpool deserve their moment in the big time and my reasons are purely comedic and light-hearted in their approach. Good luck to the Tangerines when they begin their life in the Premier League.

I truly hope they survive more than one season and, who knows, it maybe Cardiff joining them in 2011/2012. Personally, as long as Middlesbrough are promoted I don’t honestly care.

Cheers.

Gaffers

May 29, 2010