7 Reasons

Tag: 7 reasons

  • 7 Reasons Flyers Are Awesome

    7 Reasons Flyers Are Awesome

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

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

    7 Reasons Flyers Are Awesome

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

    7 Reasons Flyers Are Awesome

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

    7 Reasons Flyers Are Awesome

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

    7 Reasons Flyers Are Awesome

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

    7 Reasons Flyers Are Awesome

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

    7 Reasons Flyers Are Awesome

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

  • 7 Reasons to be Glad That The Transfer Window Has Closed

    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.

    EPL

    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.

  • 7 (+2) Reasons Nine Of Connie Stevens Sixteen Reasons Are Ridiculous

    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.

  • Guest Post: 7 Reasons Mobile Broadband Can Save Your Life

    Guest Post: 7 Reasons Mobile Broadband Can Save Your Life

    Today we welcome back to the 7 Reasons sofa, Rob Clymo. We didn’t make it easy for him mind, we hid the sofa in a derelict house. He found it though. Using mobile broadband. Right, cheesy set-up out of the way, here’s Rob.

    7 Reasons Mobile Broadband Can Save Your Life
    Comes With Mobile Broadband

    Mobile broadband allows people to contact you pretty much anywhere you go. Is that a good thing? Not if you’re on the run, but if you’re a social networking slave then it can be an essential. Who knows, it may be so invaluable it could even save your skin…

    1.  Starvin’ Marvin. It’s late, you’re on the train going home from work and the fridge is gonna be empty when you get there. So why not whip out the laptop and order some goodies online? You’ll be lucky, because our rail network seems capable of knocking out all but the most resilient of mobile broadband services. Which one is best then? Read the reviews silly.

    2.  Keep Your Girlfriend. You’ve forgotten her birthday yet again and you’re not able to pick up a pressie because you’re holed up in the local hostelry. What better use for mobile broadband than to order up a gift and get it over to her thanks to the power of the internet. Some virtual flowers might not go amiss either.

    3.  Tickets Please. She’s made you go on an adventure weekend in the middle of nowhere and some seriously limited sporting event tickets are coming up for grabs. Nip out to the loo with your netbook in hand and, under the cover of darkness, log in before you log out. The tickets will be our own little online secret and she’ll be none the wiser.

    4.  Get Me Home. You’re on the way back from said adventure weekend when the biggest part of the odyssey turns out to be the journey back itself. You’re lost in the back of beyond with only sheep for company and with little left in the tank. Mobile broadband bails you again, thanks to sat nav apps. Your little box of tricks can even tell you where the cheapest petrol prices are. Neat huh?

    5.  Speed Impresses. So mobile broadband provides you with a window on the world no matter where you are. In fact, just as long as you can get a signal you’ll be in touch with friends and family at all times. Sure, network providers say in their advertising that you’ll get blistering speeds, but when pages take minutes rather than seconds to load you might not be so convinced. You wanna watch a movie while you’re out and about? Go to the cinema…

    6.  GGGG. Things will get better though thanks to the forthcoming 4G network upgrade that’s set to come online in the next couple of years. What’s that? Oh yes, they haven’t even sold the licenses for it yet and the auction to bid is set for next year. So truly high-speed mobile broadband is coming and good things come to those who wait. Just make sure you’ve got a device that’ll be able to use it. Which means you’ll have to buy all new kit right?

    7.  Night Nurse. Gadgets are getting more sophisticated all the time, and now with apps aplenty being available for the likes of the Apple iPad and countless Android tablets, you’ll soon be able to use your tech kit to carry out just about any task you care to mention. There are personal trainer apps already and a few medical related ones too – how soon before your sickly body is looked after by a virtual doctor? Not that long by the sound of it. Nurse, the screens…

    Rob Clymo writes on behalf of Broadband Genie and Mobile Phone Genie, the independent comparison websites for broadband, mobile broadband and smartphones.

  • 7 Reasons To Play Croquet With A Flamingo

    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:

    7 Reasons To Play Croquet With A Flamingo
    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.

  • 7 Reasons That a Dream Bath is Better Than an Actual Bath

    7 Reasons That a Dream Bath is Better Than an Actual Bath

    Hello 7 Reasons readers!  I have a confession to make.  I love baths, but it turns out that for years I’ve been bathing wrong.  I know this because this morning I had an epiphany (or should that be a baptism as I’m writing about baths).  I woke up, having dreamt that I’d had a bath, and that dream bath was better than an actual bath.  Here are seven reasons why.

    Fortunately not my bath.

    1.  It Saved Time. The major problem with taking a bath – and the reason that most people end up settling for showers – is the amount of time it takes.  It takes time to fill them up and you tend to spend a lot of time in them.  This takes a substantial chunk out of the day.  Dream baths, however, are different.  You can spend hours in a dream bath and it’ll only take seconds out of your life.  That’s time that you would have been using to sleep anyway.  It’s like being given the gift of time but there’s no wrapping paper to recycle, which saves further time.  It probably makes time.

    2.  It Was The Right Temperature.  My dream bath was the correct temperature, which is approximately halfway between “Ooh!  Ooh!  Ooh!  Ooh!  Ooh!” and “Gah!”  Actual baths are always intemperate and usually end up turning that initial cautious toe either red or blue.  Or brown, if the bath hasn’t been cleaned.

    3.  I Was Able To Share It.  Sharing an actual bath is seldom the dreamy, romantic pastime it is popularly portrayed as.  When sharing a dream bath though, your eyes will already be closed so you can share it with absolutely anyone.  I shared mine with my wife who was a reluctant and water-shy cat named Marmalade.  Eventually she settled down and enjoyed the bath, right up until the moment that she morphed into a roof-tile and sank without trace at the tap-end, forcing me to eat the rest of the yoghurt alone.

    4.  Finding The Soap.  In your actual bath, you’ll probably find that you spend approximately 8.4% of your time trying to find the soap that you’ve just dropped (which is not as surprising an experience as trying to find it when in prison, but it is still rather an irksome chore).  In the dream bath, however, there’s always soap, probably from Lush.  And you can bathe safe in the knowledge that it will never, ever have a pubic hair stuck to it.  Unless, of course, that’s what you dream about, in which case you’re making my dreams seem positively conventional.  And you should never sleep again.

    5.  No Interruption.  My dream bath – unlike my actual baths – wasn’t interrupted by anyone knocking on the bathroom door asking to use the toilet.  It was interrupted by a pelican asking for directions to Mr Bobble’s House of Wobbles, but I got rid of him simply by clapping my hands together and shouting “Muffins!”  He was far easier to deal with than the desperate and persistent aspiring toilet-users that blight actual baths.  Sometimes it seems that pregnant women want to pee just to spite you, and during a long bath, when you’re sharing a house with a pregnant lady, you can find yourself being spited several times.  Then that finishes and for the next eighteen years you’ll have a child that will interrupt you in the bath.  In my dream bath that did not happen.  Obviously, my sleep was interrupted by the child, but that’s a slightly different thing.  Probably.

    6.  No Cleaning.  Unlike your actual bath, you’ll never have to clean your dream bath – unless you actually dream about cleaning baths, in which case, thank you, mine was spotless when I got in and I really enjoyed the scented candles and the petals floating on the surface.  The meticulously constructed wigwam of bath-towels might have been a step too far though, but you won’t find me complaining.  Not least because I can hide in the wigwam while I’m doing so.  For other people that don’t clean baths in their sleep, the good news is you won’t have to clean the bath in your sleep.  That’s good news.

    7.  Wake Refreshed And Ready.  Nothing prepares you for your day like a dream bath because – like nothing – having a dream bath is not actually having a bath.  You will, however, wake feeling refreshed, invigorated and ready for your day; I know I did.  You’ll have to spend a large part of that day dodging mirrors and people with a sense of smell, but surely that’s a small price to pay for the amazing time saving and great start to the day.  And how close do you really want people to stand to you anyway?  With a dream bath, you can keep them at armpit’s length.  It’s all win.

  • 7 Reasons To Go Hitchhiking

    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:

    7 Reasons To Go Hitchhiking

    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.

  • 7 Reasons I’m Not Sure I Suit A Wig

    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.

    1.7 Reasons I'm Not Sure I Suit A Wig

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    7 Reasons I'm Not Sure I Suit A Wig

  • Guest Post: 7 Reasons I Am Most Probably Half-Greek

    Guest Post: 7 Reasons I Am Most Probably Half-Greek

    We’ve never really mentioned publicly our gratitude those of you who submit guest posts. Mainly because the vast majority of them give writing a bad name. One lady who hops, skips and jumps her way to the other end of the spectrum though, is Things To Do In Manchester supremo, Liz Gregory. Regular 7 Reasons readers will remember with great fondness Liz’s previous posts about dolphin’s embodying the devil and mince pies. So you, like us, will be delighted to see her back on the 7 Reasons sofa today. Though it has to be said she looks like she’s having a bit of an κρίση ταυτότητας. And if that sounds greek to you, that’s because it is. Here’s Liz:

    7 Reasons I Am Most Probably Half-Greek

    Having recently returned to rain-drenched Britain after a week in Kefalonia, I have decided that I am not in fact a pasty-faced Mancunian but indeed something far more exotic. I realise now that I am at least half Greek, and can offer the following evidence to any doubters (including, perhaps reasonably, family members).

    1.  The Weather. In Greece, it is sunny. Always. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the temperatures in Greece are actually just silly. Such heat makes any kind of strenuous activity impossible, and forces one to spend the entire day lying quietly by the pool, drinking cold beer in a frosted glass, and occasionally having a quick frolic in the water to cool off. I found, to my surprise, that I was good – no, make that very good – at doing this; I would even say I was something of a natural.

    2.  My Wardrobe. I essentially wear the same clothes all year round, and am the proud owner of approximately 1,297 pretty much identical little dresses with flowers on them (or sometimes, a daring stripe). Imagine my delight to find that in Greece, such items can actually be worn ON THEIR OWN, without the addition of cardigans, thick tights and leggings (sometimes all at once) – a truly liberating feeling.

    3.  The Tan. For reasons hitherto beyond my comprehension, I have skin that tans exceptionally easily; this is now easily explained by my new-found Greek heritage. I have returned from my holiday a most pleasing colour, which looks all the more striking when cunningly accessorised with an obviously non-Greek husband who appears to have come back paler than when he went.

    4.  The Food – Part One. My favourite crisps in the whole wide world (and I am quite a connoisseur if I do say so myself) are Walkers Sensations. In Greece, these are called Lays Sensations. I like this name better, and am therefore obviously both a/ Greek and b/ the owner of a very mature sense of humour.

    5.  The Food – Part Two. One of the best bits of being on ANY holiday is that you are forced to eat out every night, and are thereby released from the drudgery of trying to think up exciting new ways with the excess of whatever item is dominating the vegetable box this week. Greek food is particularly rewarding, offering meaty goodness at every turn and merrily deep-frying any passing vegetable until all its nutrients are safely neutralised. I am clearly cut out for this kind of diet, as I have come back weighing less than I did before, despite eating a kilo of bread before every meal and consuming three cows and a lamb during the course of my stay.

    6.  The Alcohol. I am not really one for drinking spirits in the UK, preferring to up my 5-a-day fruit and vegetable quota by having wine instead. However, I enjoy both Ouzo and *whispers* Metaxa Brandy, and only a properly Greek person could say that.

    7.  My Promising Fluency In The Greek Language. Obviously, the Greek language does itself no favours by using silly squiggles and shapes instead of proper letters, but despite such obstacles I found myself in full possession of an almost entire vocabulary after just a few days. I can say: hello, good morning, good evening, goodbye, please, cheers, how are you, and very well thank you; what more, frankly, does one need? By the way, all the haters on Twitter who suggested I should learn the useful phrase “more please” were roundly ignored.

    So there you go; incontrovertible proof of my inherent Greek-ness. Now all I have to do is sort the maths out, as I’m fairly sure I’m half Spanish and half Italian as well…

  • 7 Reasons Not To Keep Twiglets In The Kitchen

    7 Reasons Not To Keep Twiglets In The Kitchen

    Sometimes I have good ideas; sometimes I have brilliant ideas; sometimes I have ideas so utterly fantastic and ground-breakingly innovative that people actually gasp in wonderment and prostrate themselves on the floor in front of me.  And much of that sentence is true.  Earlier this week, however, I had a bad idea – one that seemed good at the time – but turned out to be a bad one, a stinker, a shocker; possibly, in fact, the worst idea I have had since I decided to ride my bicycle no-handed on a beach side path with a passenger on the back and the bottom of a cliff immediately to my left.  I decided – as there were two 200g tubs of Twiglets in the house (it had been my wife’s birthday) that I should keep them in the kitchen, out of harms way, where I wouldn’t just sit and munch them, as I had been expressly instructed not to eat them all.  Here are seven reasons not to keep your Twiglets in the kitchen.
    A plate! What divine and decadent luxury.
    1.  Measuring Them Seems Easy.  You will fill your hand with Twiglets every time you go to the kitchen.  It’s simple: The Twiglets are a long way away from you in a room you’re not going to visit very often, so having a handful of them every time you’re passing will mean that you will consume a negligible amount.  It won’t even register that they’ve gone.  Unless, that is, you have enormous hands.  A fact you will conveniently forget.

    2.  It Makes Them More Tempting.  Is there a temptation greater than forbidden fruit?  A philosophical question that has been asked throughout the ages, and now there is an answer.  Yes.  It’s forbidden Twiglets.  It’s like the prohibition era or being told not to tie your younger brother to a lamp post.  The more restrictions that are placed on doing something, the more glamorous and fascinating it becomes.  You may be sitting in the living room ostensibly watching a film, but your increasing fixation will cause your every pore and sinew to be strained, consumed as you are with longing and desire for the Twiglets.

    3. You’ll Become Devious.  In the grip of Twiglet-fever, you’ll begin to make excuses to visit the kitchen: “Oh, I seem to have run out of beer,” you’ll say, before popping back to the kitchen for more beer (and Twiglets).  A few minutes after having returned, your lust for those Twiglets will rear its head again and you’ll down another beer: “Oh, I seem to have run out again”, you’ll announce blithely as you head once more to the kitchen.  This is a pattern that will repeat itself during the course of the evening until eventually you will find that you feel bloated and rather tipsy.   Not much room left in my stomach, you’ll think to yourself and with abject brilliance you’ll decide that this is because the beer is taking up too much of it and that now is the time to switch to shorts.  But it turns out that drinking a beer for every handful of Twiglets is rather sensible when compared to drinking a whisky for every handful.  You’ll find that you’re soon going to the kitchen for Twiglets three times as frequently as you were before but it’s taking you four times as long to get there.  And the kitchen door’s suddenly become really complicated.

    4.  Your Hand Will Become Brown.   Your hand is dark brown.  In fact, your hand is exactly the same shade of brown as a Twiglet.  Your chin is also brown as, in fact, is just about everything you have touched.  This is bad, as you will make this discovery while using the toilet.  On leaving the bathroom, you head back to the kitchen to wash your hands and to stock up on Twiglets.

    5.  It Will Make You A Bad Person.  The Twiglets will make you tell untruths.  If they were right there in the living room with you, you wouldn’t be in their thrall, gripped by a seemingly insatiable Twiglet-mania, but they aren’t and you are.  “Have you been eating the Twiglets?”  “No!” “Are you sure?” “Yes.”  The Twiglets have made you fib.  If the Twiglets were in the living room and everything were out in the open and you were in a relationship based on complete Twiglet-candour you wouldn’t have to resort to lying about them but they aren’t and you’re not.  You’re a big, fat liar with a brown hand.  “Fancy a glass of wine, darling?”  You enquire as you head toward the kitchen, pants blazing merrily away behind you.

    6.  It Will Upset Your Children.  Eventually, as is usual, you’ll hear your baby begin to stir.  “I’ll go”, you’ll will shock your wife by saying, as you head to the baby’s room (via the kitchen).  It turns out that he’s not hungry and he doesn’t need changing; he just wants to play.  As you play with your teething baby – who is going through that stage where he just wants to suck everything – he will grab your fingers for the umpteenth time that week and shove them into his mouth.  Slowly, the delighted expression on his face will change.  The new face is a little difficult to describe:  Try to imagine Geoffrey Boycott sucking a lemon-flavoured wasp.  Now try to forget that.  Difficult, isn’t it?  Then he will begin to scream inconsolably and loudly for a very long time.    After a while, your wife will appear: “What’s up with him?” she’ll enquire.  “I don’t know”, you’ll state, “he won’t stop crying.  Would you like a turn?”.  Handing the baby to your wife, you’ll head back to the kitchen for Twiglets.

    7.  It Has Consequences.  The next morning you won’t feel so good, you’ll have brown hands, the mother of all hangovers, an angry wife, a wary baby, unaccountably slippery kitchen door-knobs, a higher salt content than most seas and, most irritatingly of all, no Twiglets left.  If only you’d kept them in the living room.