Tag: 7 reasons

7 Reasons They Were Very Wrong

It’s the 3^rd of December and, to save you wondering why that’s significant and making you worry that you’ve forgotten your birthday or Easter or something, we’ll tell you. On this day, in 1929, U.S. President, Herbert Hoover, delivered the first State of the Union Address since the Wall Street Crash to Congress. But this wasn’t your run of the mill State of the Union Address where nothing much of interest gets said. Well, it was, but in the middle of all of the traditional consciousness-bothering guff, Herbert Hoover said something so obviously, epically and unarguably wrong that he has inspired us to bring you seven of our favourite examples of wrongness.

President Hoover. Talking.

1. Herbert Hoover. “While the crash only took place six months ago, I am convinced that we have now passed the worst and with continuity of effort we shall rapidly recover.” And following those fine, rousing, confident words, America and the rest of the world plunged into The Great Depression, which saw American production fall by 46%, foreign trade fall by 70%, unemployment rocket by 607% and shanty-towns filled with the homeless spring up around every major U.S. city. They called them Hoovervilles.

2. Dr Dionysius Lardner. “Rail travel at high speed is not possible, because passengers, unable to breathe, would die of asphyxia.” The professor of Natural Philosophy and Astronomy at University College London was wrong on two levels here. One; trains don’t actually reach high-speed in this country because there is always a poxy cow on the line, and two; if passengers unable to breathe did get on a train, they would already be dead.

3. Glenn McGrath. The great Australian bowler predicted Ashes whitewashes in 2005, 2009 & 2010/11. With England on the receiving end. He was wrong. The fact that he got it right in 2006/7 is more a testament to infinite monkey theorem than to any logical analysis*. And to the fact that England were rubbish.**

4. Sir William Preece. The chief engineer of the British Post Office said in 1876, “The Americans have need of the telephone, but we do not. We have plenty of messenger boys.” So in Victorian Britain, not all boys were up chimneys or in the workhouse; they were carrying messages which, according to Sir William Preece, is the ideal way to have a chat with your mother who lives a hundred and fifty miles away. “Hello Mother, how are you?”, you would write, before summoning one of the multitudinous boys to bear your message to her. And when he returned, breathlessly, a mere fortnight later with the reply, “Fine, thank you,” you would send him straight back again with a note inscribed, “And how’s Father?”. In the Preecian vision of the future of communication, Americans could have a ten-minute-long conversation with their mothers while the British would have a forty-two-week-long one which would cost the lives of approximately nine urchins. Perhaps to make his idea more marketable to the communications industry he considered the slogan: The future’s bright, the future’s boys. Or perhaps not.

5. Newsweek, In an issue looking into the future of travel, Newsweek magazine carried this prediction of popular holiday destinations for the late 1960s. “And for the tourist who really wants to get away from it all, safaris in Vietnam.” Erm…yeah. Now Newsweek weren’t totally wrong here. Vietnam did receive a massive influx of American tourists with rifles in the late 1960s, it’s just that they weren’t there to safari. Or to sit by the pool.

6. Lord Kelvin. In 1883, the President of the Royal Society, said, “X-Rays will prove to be a hoax”. To this day, I bet he wishes he had said the ‘X-Files’. It’s a shame though really, because if X-Rays were a hoax then that cracked fibula I suffered could also have been a hoax. As would be the inevitable snapped fibula. And all the surgery. In fact, my whole life would have been a hoax. But it’s not. Because X-Rays are real. And so am I.***

7. Major General John Sedgewick. While directing artillery placements, Sedgewick and his corps came under fire from Confederate sharpshooters about a thousand yards away. As his officers and men ducked and scurried away, General Sedgewick loftily dismissed the notion of taking cover saying, “What? Men dodging this way for single bullets? What will you do when they open fire along the whole line? I am ashamed of you. They couldn’t hit an elephant at this dist…”. They were his last words.

*Glen McGrath is an infinite monkey. You heard it here first.

**Except Ian Bell.

***Jonathan Lee is real. You heard it here first.

December 3, 2010
7 Reasons It’s A Disaster England Lost The Bid To Host The 2018 World Cup

1. Qualifying. England have got to do it. And that’s worrying. Ever so often they cock it up. And the qualifying campaign for the 2018 World Cup could be the ever so often.

2. Scotland. Russia have won the bid. That is one hell of a long way to go to just to put in a spirited performance – albeit in defeat – against Brazil and then lose 4-0 to Japan. They could have lost at St. James’ Park and then slipped back over the border unnoticed.

3. England. Russia is a long way to go to lose on penalties to Portugal. We could quite easily have done that at home. Or in Portugal. And the players could have done it without wearing gloves.

4. Children. Given that 66% of children think ‘The War Of The Roses’ has something to do with those sweets that aren’t Quality Street, England hosting the 2018 World Cup would have been the perfect opportunity for the BBC to do those profiles of the host country. Like they did in South Africa. They would have taught the youth of the year after the next seven all about England’s rich heritage. Instead they are going to learn about Russian dolls. And I don’t mean Anna Kournikova.

5. Economy. Let me be the first to tell you that Russia is three hours ahead of the UK. That means games during our afternoons. You can bet your last fiver that England will be playing Cameroon on a Wednesday afternoon at about 2pm BST. And it’s a game they are going to have to win having previously lost 2-1 to Romania and drawn 0-0 with a country no one has even heard of. Despite the fact that we will be rubbish, people will still be skipping work to watch the game. It’ll be enough to plunge us into a recession. Probably the same one we are in now.

6. Press. If England do make it through to the World Cup, for one whole day Sky News will be covering the ‘England Leave For Russia’ story. We’ll have to endure watching the England players walk up some steps and onto a plane. Probably followed by Gazza with a fishing rod and a bucket of chicken. Then six hours later we’ll have to watch them walked off the plane in Moscow. Followed by a drunk Gazza with a fishing rod and no chicken.

7. It’s Coming Home! If England had won the bid, we could have listened to this song while it made sense. Now, we’ll have to listen to it trying to work out how Russia is the home of football. And Baddiel and Skinner will be 54 and 61 respectively. They’ll have probably gone all Chas’n’Dave on us.

December 2, 2010
7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Watch The American

The new Anton Corbijn film – The American – starring George Clooney is out in the UK right now. I saw it on Saturday, here are seven reasons that you shouldn’t. (and don’t worry, there are no spoilers)

1. The Unconcious. The pace of the first half of The American is slow. It’s so slow, in fact, that if anyone had said “so slow”, it would have come out as, “sssssssssssssssssssssssssssooooooooooooooooooooooooo sssssssssssssssssssssssllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww”. Someone may even have said it, but I’m not sure, as I was dozing. Not a deep and satisfying slumber, but the fitful sort where you find yourself alternating between brief bouts of consciousness and unconsciousness, with occasional forays into semi-consciousness and thoughts of what the hell is happening to me, is this what old age is like (ness). So, I’ll sum up what I saw in the first half of the film (without spoilers). I saw George Clooney living the soporifically mundane daily life of a hit-man. In a series of slowly cut shots with no dialogue I watched him: Counting his bullets, drilling a series of small holes in some tips, oiling his mechanism (not a euphemism), polishing his barrel (nope, nor this), adjusting his sights, rearranging his small change on a table, lining up his fish fingers in size order, adding up all of the telephone numbers on his mobile and dividing them by four, testing the accuracy of his oven timer against his wristwatch (an Omega Speedmaster Professional with a black dial and black leather strap: model number 3870.50.31, I had time to note), comparing the shapes of his fingernails with his toenails, dusting his light bulbs, and staring into an empty fridge while over his head a strip-light buzzed (I may be wrong on some of these, but if they weren’t there, it felt like they were).

2. The Conscious. That’s not fair, you’re probably thinking, if you’d been awake, it probably wouldn’t have seemed that dull. But I wasn’t the only person that was sleeping during the first half. Because when I was in the toilet after the film, a man standing behind me said, “You were asleep during the first half” and, as I prepared to answer him, the man at the urinal next to me replied, “I know, it was really slow”. It turned out that they were friends and that I wasn’t being addressed at all. So there you have it. Based on the available evidence, there are two distinct types of human-behaviour that occur during the first half of The American. There are the Sleepers, who sleep, and then there are the Sleeper-Watchers who, while they have remained conscious, aren’t watching the film either; they’re watching people sleep so they can tell them about how they slept later, in great detail; “You kept leaning forward, and then you fell back, and then you leant forward, and then you fell back, and then you leant forward, and then you fell back, and then you said “chopsticks”, and then you fell back…” was my personal Sleeper-Watcher’s epic account of my movements. So, during the first half of the film, 50% of the audience are sleeping and the other 50% are watching them sleep and compiling a dossier on their movements, their utterances and their dribbling. Which means that 100% of the audience are not watching the first part of the film. That’s how dull it is.

3. Lust. And then the second half of the film begins. It begins with Violante Placido in bed with no clothes on and, in the words of my personal Sleeper-Watcher, “…you sat bolt upright and stared at the screen while breathing rapidly, remaining in that position for the rest of the scene, before you settled back in your seat and stayed awake for the rest of the film”. So not only do you get a full report on how weird you are in your sleep, you get a full report on how lecherous you are when you’re wide-awake too.

4. Clooney. And then there’s Clooney. Now I understand that George Clooney’s playing an emotionless, calculating and reserved man. But we see his bottom in The American, and I can state categorically, that his arse has a greater number of expressions than his face in this film. Here is his full range of facial expressions in The American (sorry if you were hoping for an arse montage, though we do have one of those on the About Us page):

7 Emotions : 1 Face

5. References. During the film, in a scene where Clooney is counting the grains of salt contained in a salt cellar before he thinks about Switzerland for five minutes in a bar with formica tables, something distracting happens in the background. There’s a film on the television. It’s Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West. God, I love that film, I thought. It’s in my top ten films of all time. Why aren’t I watching that? Why in God’s name would you taunt the viewer by placing an iconic piece of cinematic brilliance within your own, not brilliant, movie. So, he’s made me fall asleep, he’s made me appear lecherous, he’s made me watch a man iron his vast collection of handkerchiefs with a lukewarm spoon, and now Anton Corbijn is actually taunting me. He’s showing me a bit of a film that I love that’s better than the one he’s made and that I’m watching, I thought. While screaming inwardly.

6. The Pants. And then there are the pants. Violante Placido, for reasons I won’t bore you with, decides to disrobe (except for her pants) and go swimming in a river. But why would anyone take all of their clothes off except for their pants? Then they’d be wet once they got out of the water. And they’d have to go home wearing wet pants. And who wants to wear wet pants for an afternoon? And I know that you’re thinking that it was for the sake of modesty, but it wasn’t. Because they became completely transparent the moment they got wet, a fact that my Sleeper-Watcher noted later, before he informed me that I, “…sat bolt-upright and made some sort of involuntary tongue noise. And didn’t blink for eight whole minutes” in reaction to this scene. Three days later, after a great deal of thought, I still can’t fathom the pants.

7. The Ending. Again, I won’t tell you what happens, but there’s a moment of awareness when someone alters the thing. And when that person – whose gender I won’t digress – alters the thing that I won’t name, I had a moment of clarity. I knew, in that instant, that the character that was going to do the deed would be thwarted by the one that altered the thing and that the other character that I also won’t name would eventually have to do the deed – not with the broken thing that had been altered, but – with another thing but that we hadn’t been introduced to, and that the deed would end badly. Not only for the character who had been forced to do the deed with the new thing, but also for the character to whom the deed was being done, that countered the deed with his own thing, having previously sparking this chain of events by altering the initial thing in the first place. And it was just bloody obvious that was going to happen a long time before the end.

So, to summarise: During the first half of the film you will fall asleep or resort to watching someone else sleep to keep you entertained; you will then be branded a pervert, be partially baffled by facial expressions, taunted by the director, and then wholly baffled by pants before eventually spotting the blatantly obvious ending many minutes before the film ends. I don’t think ungoing is an actual thing, but I want to do it. Right now.

December 1, 2010
7 Reasons This Is Not The Perfect Gift For Everyone

With Christmas less than four weeks away now, I last night decided to browse the web for present inspiration. Having examined the merits of both vacuum cleaners and laundry baskets alike, I came across this mug. A mug that Jamie Oliver has got someone to design for him. The spiel accompanying the Foxy Lady mug says, ‘This Is The Perfect Gift For Everyone’. Incorrect. The only thing it is perfect for is a 7 Reasons post. For these people, it most certainly is not perfect.

1. My Mum. I am sure my Mum had her moments in her younger days – and according to ‘friends’ at school during her middle years too – but they are moments I do not wish to know about. My Mum is my Mum. Good at cooking, ironing, forwarding mail and reminding me when it’s my Grandmother’s birthday. In other words, she’s great. Generally when she has performed these tasks well, I say, ‘Thanks Mum’. And that’s where it ends. Never have I found myself uttering the words, ‘Thanks Mum. By the way, you are seriously foxy today.’ I suspect such a statement would be followed by many years of uncomfortable silence. As a result, I shall not be buying my Mum this mug.

2. My Dad. For as long as I can remember, my Dad has been a man. It is never something I have felt the need to question him on – probably because he has a beard. If indeed he had a spell as a Foxy Lady sometime in the mid-1970s – which I suppose is a possibility given that he was in the Navy – well that is entirely his own affair and something that deserves to remain a secret. The last thing we need as a family is for me to embarrass him on Christmas Day by giving him this mug.

3. My Brother. Again, definitely a man. Given his disheveled archaeologist looks, he is highly unlikely to be masquerading as a Lady. And even if he were, it’s nigh on impossible that he’d described as a foxy one.

4. My Grandmother. I don’t need to explain myself. All I will say is that this post gets more wrong the further down the page you read.

5. Yoko Ono. As a bizarre looking woman/prominent anti-hunt protester, a Foxy Lady mug is more patronising than perfect.

6. Megan/Samantha/Edward/Ruel Fox. There are very different reasons why a Foxy Lady mug is not the perfect gift for these four people. But thankfully not enough reasons to convince me to write a whole other post. If I was to give a Foxy Lady mug to either Megan or Samantha Fox I’d have a lot of explaining to do. So I shan’t. Not that I was planning to anyway. And if I was to buy Edward or Ruel Fox a Foxy Lady mug I’d have even more explaining to do. Mainly to myself.

7. Me. Occasionally I do buy myself presents. Last week, for instance, I bought myself a haircut. And very pleased with it I am too. I look much more like the Jonny Wilkinson my girlfriend wants me to look like by the hour. And that has to be a good thing. For both of us. A Foxy Lady mug would just spoil all my hard work. So instead, I am going to spend £10 on a rolling pin so I can keep injuring myself.

November 30, 2010
7 Reasons That A Drawn First Test Was The Best Result For The Ashes

1. England. For England, a draw in the Brisbane test is certainly a good start to proceedings. We’ve already made certain that there will be no repeat of the 5-0 whitewash in 2006/7 (that I can’t remember) and we’ll be all the more confident as a result of that and, with the monkey off our back, we’ll be able to play more freely; without protests from animal rights activists angered by our wearing of the back-monkey.

2. Australia. For Australia, despite being the home team, and despite the stunning manner in which they won their last home series, a draw isn’t a bad start either. Now that many of their cricketing greats have retired, to devote more time to highlighting their hair and creosoting themselves – leaving Australia with players in their team that even Australians have to google – it was always going to be a tough series. A loss would, quite simply, have been devastating for them. At least with a draw the Australian public will retain some hope and confidence and will continue backing their team; whoever they are.

3. Andrew Strauss. A draw’s a good result for Straussy personally. It means we’re still in the hunt for The Ashes and, while this test can be seen as a positive in terms of his captaincy, will give him much needed time to work on his abysmal batting form. Strauss was England’s lowest scorer in both innings at Brisbane scoring 0 and 110 runs respectively, which is 192 runs fewer than his opening partner. A poor show indeed.

4. Ricky Ponting. A draw, for Ricky Ponting, is no bad result. He’s already received a lot of criticism from his countrymen and a draw is unlikely to add to that. Despite him being the most dislikeable man in the history of Australia, I almost felt sorry for him earlier today (? Yesterday? I just don’t know any more) while he was being booed by both of his own crowd. And I would have done. If I were mental. Or he wasn’t Ricky Ponting.

5. @theashes. Yes, the Twitter user with the best name on Twitter will also benefit from the draw. The feckless American who decided to give herself the name @theashes without checking Google or Wikipedia first and now has over 5000 new followers and more Twitter mentions than…er…the actual test match got (remember the cricket anyone?) now has a few days (I still haven’t worked out how many, I have no idea what day it is and am also surprised to note that it’s now light outside) to choose which team she wants to support as the two teams are still level. Then, when a Twitter-mob quickly forms to campaign to send @theashes to The Ashes, she can choose sides without accusations of glory-seeking, before payment is required for a plane ticket and the Twitter-mob dissipates even more quickly than it was formed.

6. Spectacle. The draw leaves the rest of the contest evenly balanced and, as history has shown us, the best, the absolute best Ashes series are the closest fought ones. Was the 2006/7 Ashes series actually exciting? I asked someone who actually remembered the series and he said “No.”… “Mate”. But the 2005 series and the 2009 series were both epic, close-fought affairs in which both teams gave their all and that everyone remembers fondly. In fact, most right-thinking cricket-fans don’t mind their team losing in a close and exciting contest at all.*

7. International Relations. Because of the draw we can continue to talk to Australians and they can continue to talk to us with pride and dignity intact all round. We can pretend that Finn and Swann didn’t get knocked around the park a worrying amount in Australia’s second innings and that South Africa is just west of the Isle of Wight, and Australians can pretend that there were people in the stands on Monday and that they were just very small. And quiet.

*Did I mention I haven’t slept since…Tuesday?

November 29, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday: Help Us Help You

If you are a proper England cricket supporter, you will have no doubt found yourself assisting your country in their times of need. If they need a wicket, there is nothing quite like disappearing from the room for five minutes to make a cup of tea or visit the bathroom or just sit on the stairs. Whenever England take a wicket, it is very rare that the bowler should be congratulated. One of us should. The one who had the gumption to leave the room and go a make a sock drawer. And we have a similar approach to batting. In England’s hour of need, when they really could do without losing another wicket before lunch, it is down to us to make sure they don’t. This is generally accomplished by remaining motionless on the sofa. Or standing on one leg. Or thumping your thigh to the rhythm of Cilla Black’s Anyone Who Had A Heart. If the stumps are demolished, you can be sure it’s because some twat, somewhere made him/herself more comfortable between overs.

Here at 7 Reasons, despite what you may think, we are not infallible. Sometimes, this really is a tough job. Much tougher than working out upon which strip Mitchell Johnson is next going to pitch the ball. This week was a turgid one. In fact, it was as tough a week as we have ever experience. For the majority of it we were completely devoid of inspiration. Hence the fact that on Tuesday Marc wrote about writers block, on Wednesday we had a guest post and on Friday we both advised you not to ride a crocodile. It was only when I was attempting to get England that vital breakthrough on Friday morning by walking around the coffee table backwards, that I realised 7 Reasons could do with some assistance from our supporters. So this post is aimed at all four of you. But don’t think we’re being selfish. This is not a question of you giving up your time just to make 7 Reasons better, you actually get a choice. With that in mind, we have devised six positions we would like you to adopt depending on what you want out of 7 Reasons. All we ask is that you perform one of these positions at around about 8.45am each day. That’s generally the time Marc and I realise there is no way we are going to meet the 9am deadline. We are sure, with your help, we’ll never be devoid of inspiration again. Thank you.

November 28, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons I am Better Than You

Hi there, it’s Saturday, so here’s a guest post. Curling up on the 7 Reasons sofa today is Horatio Pyewackett Caractacus Fearns who – when he wakes up – wants to explain why he’s better than you. And us, probably.

1. Fur. Ever tried to wear fur? No, of course you haven’t you timorous numpty, you timid wretch, you cowardy, cowardy custard. Because you’re fearful. You’re afraid of PETA. You think that if you don a fur coat you’ll be attacked by a mob of militant lefties who object to your sartorial decisions. But I’m not scared, PETA aren’t going to object to me wearing fur, because I’m better than you; wearing fur is my birthright, and I wear it as if to the manor born, without fear of reproachment. Because I’m awesome! Because I’m a cat!

2. Benevolence. I’m kind to my minions. Very kind. And I’m uber-agile, in fact, I can bend over backwards and lick my own bottom. But you can’t. You have to scrape bits from trees and roll them up into a ball in order to clean your own fetid arses. This is because you’re pathetic and incapable of washing yourself properly. But I’m not, I’m wondrous and supple and can cleanse my own ring with my tongue. Which, let’s face it, saves you a job, so I’m benevolent too.

3. Competition. So who’s the most awesome human that there is? That’s right, Superman. He can leap twenty times his own height; he can hear things that are going on miles away and he can’t be snuck up on while he’s sleeping. Well, me too. Superman, however, can be defeated by kryptonite. But I can’t, I can do all of those things with no fear of kryptonite or of looking like a dweeb at the fortress of solitude. Because I’m magnificent, and because I’m still rocking my fur coat while Superman’s attired in a thin, shiny number with his pants outside outside his lycra leggings. He looks like the world’s worst-dressed cyclist ever, and I just look amazing. Look at ME!

4. Night. You blundering dunderheads can’t even see in the dark. Want to know how many times I’ve fallen over a human when the lights are off? None. When oversized, underbalanced simpletons like you wander around without burning electricity, however, you’re endlessly falling over me (especially the tall one with the ginger beard). Because I’m abso-fucking-beauteously wonderful, and because I like to hang around in the hallway. To mock you. Because I can.

5. Temperature. You mewling, simpering feckless nonentities can’t even regulate your own body temperatures, but I can; I’m the master of my own temperature. The nearest you feeble people come to accomplishing that is the human inhabitants of the North-East of England: Geordies. But they lack my sonorous voice and natural grace. Also, despite their bravura, many of them die of hypothermia on their way home in the winter. But I haven’t. Ever. It would be a waste of one of my nine lives (eight better than you) if I were to do so, and I’m not prepared to do it.

6. Size Is Important. Just look at the size of yourself, you lumbering bioped. Look at the amount of space that your unwieldy, bloated, overstuffed body takes up. Where human designers prattle on about space efficiency as some sort of ideal, I live it. I am space efficiency. Because I take up less space than you. I can curl up into a tiny-weeny ball. Can you? No. Not at all. But I can. I’m fantastic.

7. Nature. I’m just naturally better than you. I am. When you poo, does anyone scurry around to scoop it up? No, of course not. You have to dispose of it yourself. But when I shit, one of my underlings comes and disposes of it for me. Every time. Because I’m a cat, and they’re not. In fact, everything revolves around me, abso-fucking-lutely-everything. Dinner is served at the regular hour at which I require it. Tradesmen come to repair the home in which I dwell and the humans who live here to serve me pay for it themselves. And, when they’re not feeding me or opening doors for me, they even let me use them as chairs. Would they do that for you? No, of course not. But they do it for me, because I’m better than you.

November 27, 2010
7 Reasons to Love Snovember

It’s Snovember! Here are seven reasons to love it.

1. The Title. As a portmanteau word combining both weather and a month, Snovember works better than almost any other. In snow terms, its closest rivals are Snarch, Snuly and Snebruary, and although other weather events/months exist; Sune, Haily and Thunduary don’t even come close to Snovember for catchy, popular appeal and ease of pronunciation.

2. Effect. The snow buries things, which is excellent. Today it’s burying ongoing news stories such as the Irish financial crisis, higher rail ticket prices and other depressing news that we now have no chance whatsoever of hearing from the other side of the world, leaving us only with a vague sense that Ian Bell was very good and that there’s snow outside. Look! Snow! See the snow! Touch the snow! Smell the snow! Think only of the snow! It’s THE SNOW!!!

3. Thanksgiving. That’s right, it’s Thanksgiving day in the U.S. but now you won’t have to read about that here, because we’re far too excited by the snow to write about it. We don’t even know what they’re giving thanks for: Turkeys? Football? Macy’s? We don’t know, and we don’t care. Because it’s Snovember; we can see actual snow and because of that we won’t be hearing about turkeys on the evening news or anything else related to pilgrims or thankfulness that we don’t understand.

4. Safety. Councils in the UK tend to stockpile their grit in time for December and could potentially get caught out by the early snowfall but fortunately, as the wintry weather has come in Snovember, we have plenty of ashes* left over from bonfire night to spread on it. If the snow occurred in other months, we’d have had to cover it in tinsel, chocolate eggs or pumpkins; and falling over a pumpkin on your way to work is not the best start to the day.**

5. Indolence. The early snowfall gives everyone the excuse to do what they’ve really wanted to do since October and give up all outdoor exercise until the Spring. No rational person wants to go out running, cycling or canoeing during the cold half of the year and the snow is our opportunity to stop doing those things and concentrate on what we really want to spend the winter doing; which is eating our own bodyweight in Twiglets and drinking ourselves into a mulled-wine and sloe-gin induced stupor. We may all become hideously fat as a result, but the extra weight will just make us more stable in the snow and better protected when we fall over. Which will help offset the effect of the glühwein. And the winter Pimm’s.

6. Shopping. It’s Snovember! And rather than the snow reminding people that it’s Christmas soon and they need to go and do their shopping, it will prevent them from going out and buying Yule-related things. This means that we won’t have to devote as much time to arranging Christmas as usual and, even though we’ll now have less time to organise it, it will turn out exactly the same as every other year. And somehow, somewhere, it might just enter our thick skulls that we don’t need to devote a quarter of the year to organising bloody Christmas and it will happen anyway, regardless.

7. Preparedness. The trial run in Snovember will prepare us for winter proper. We’ll be able to get the annual bout of complaining that; our cars won’t work in un-driveable conditions, that the local council haven’t magicked the snow away, and that the entirely predictable snow in Sweden doesn’t cause chaos, out of the way and then get on with our lives as usual. Or we’ll just use it as an excuse to get in some extra complaining. Either way, we’re all benefiting from Snovember. In fact, we’re off to play in the snow right now. We’ve never even heard of cricket. It’s Snovember everybody! Look! Snow!

*We can’t emphasise enough how lower-case that entire word is.

**We’re not entirely certain about that, it might be bloomin’ marvellous, but we rather suspect that it may be a little undignified. Not to mention painful.

November 25, 2010
Special Guest Post: 7 Reasons I’m Backing Us To Win The Ashes

Hello! It’s Wednesday, and regular 7 Reasons (.org) readers might be surprised to find a guest post here. But today is special. Because today is the day that The Ashes begins, and I can’t begin to tell you how excited the 7 Reasons team are by this. Well, I could begin, but I’d never be able to stop myself and we’d all miss the cricket while I babbled on and on. So, joining us on the 7 Reasons sofa today is Sir Straussy who has taken time out from his busy cricketing and tweeting schedule to explain why he’s backing us to win The Ashes. And by us, I sincerely hope he isn’t referring to the 7 Reasons team; that would be a disaster.

Disclaimer: The views expressed by the England Captain are entirely his own and do not represent those of 7 Reasons (.org)*

1. It’s In The Toss. This is nothing new, but Ricky Ponting and I are tossers. We have to be. It’s in the contract. To be a captain you must be a tosser. And I am very proud to be both. So is Ricky. The difference between us is that, while I’m a good tosser, he’s a useless tosser. The stats don’t lie. Using the motto ‘tails never fails’ I have won 59% of tosses as England captain, Ricky has won a mere 49% in his role as an Australian tosser. And with the toss being so crucial these days, that 10% will give us the edge. But, I hear you ask, what happens if tails fails? Is that it? Shall we give up? Forget about this Test? No, certainly not. Again, let’s examine the stats, in the 41% of matches in which tails never fails has gone tits down, I have led England to victories 64% of the time. And as for Punter? Well, under his tossership, Australia have won just 30% of the Tests in which he has lost the toss. So, just remember, if my tossing goes wonky, don’t worry, I still produce results.

2. Younger, Fitter, Stronger. Assuming we go into the first Test with the team I want and Australia go into the first Test with the team I want, the average age of the England team is going to be twenty years lower than that of our counterparts. And even if Australia don’t go with Dame Edna Everage and Bill Lawry, our boys will still be younger on average. If the probable teams that have been bandied about in the papers for the last few days are to be believed, we’ll step onto the field with the average age of 28 years and six months. Australia will wheel themselves onto the field averaging 31 years. That age difference means we’re much fitter. Just take a look at our bodies. No one can tell me Dougy Bollinger is fitter than pin-up sensation Stuart Broad. Or Simon Katich is fitter than Brighton favourite Jimmy Anderson. Or podge-face Punter is fitter than the hairy-armed version of myself.

3. The Hair Apparent. According to the internet, the American writer, actor and comedian Larry David once said, ‘Anyone can be confident with a full head of hair, but a confident bald man – there’s your diamond in the rough’. He was talking about Matt Prior. The one player in world cricket whose surname inexplicably can’t be used with an O or Y to form a nickname.

4. Names. And talking of nicknames, should you wish to use ours on the Scrabble board we will score you an average of 9.5 points per player. That’s a staggering 0.9 points more than the Aussies. When you also throw into the equation that this includes the nickname-less Prior, it almost defies belief. How is this going to help us win the Ashes though? Well, it’s not directly, it was more an observation I made playing online scrabble with Lady Straussy. But it did get me thinking. Us English and South African-English just whack a Y on the end of a surname and be done with it. We then get on with the cricket. The Aussies though, well judging by some of the nicknames for their players, I imagine they spend a great deal of time in the middle trying to think of something wondrous. That must be why Haddin is called BJ, Bollinger is called Eagle, North is called Snorks and the 27 year-old new boy, Xavier Doherty, is called X. You need to concentrate on the game in this game, not faff around thinking of schoolboy nicknames. In some ways this is why I hope Usman Khawaja plays. Though I suspect he’s called Koala.

5. The KP Factor. With his Movember challenge nearly at an end – a contest Monty has dominated from an early stage – and his blindfold cricket ‘viral’ video for Brylcreem out of the way, KP now has the chance to concentrate on what he loves. And, talking about love, the other day the lads saw that the fat lad Warney had said KP needed loving again. So that’s exactly what we have given him. Lots of it. Aussie, watch out.

6. Midge. That’s the nickname of Mitchell Johnson, presumably because like a midge he has no sense of co-ordination. Anyway, he has vowed to make me crumble. Which is lovely. I’m looking forward to it at tea. But Midge has also vowed to make me suffer under a bouncer barrage. This goes back to the 2006/7 Ashes where I fully admit I got out hooking twice. Midge wants to exploit this perceived weakness. Given that I was caught behind four times in the same series, one could be forgiven to think I am far more susceptible to the one that pitches in the corridor of uncertainty and moves a fraction away off the seam. Mind you, Midge’s corridor of uncertainty is only slightly smaller than Steve Harmison’s, so perhaps that’s what he means anyway.

7. We Are England! To paraphrase Hugh Grant, ‘We may be an England cricket team, but we are a South African one too. A country of Allan Lamb, Basil D’Oliveira, Tony Greig, Robin Smith, Robin Smith’s brother. Nasser Hussain’s index finger. Nasser Hussain’s middle finger come to that. And a friend who bullies us is a Commonwealth country that wants to become a Republic. And since bullies only respond to strength, from now onward, I will be prepared to whip out my guns more often. And the whole of Australia should be prepared for that.’ Actually, it sounds much better like this.

*Unless he makes fun of Ricky Ponting or the French.

November 24, 2010
7 Reasons That Writer’s Block is Frustrating

Whether you’re a blogger, a journalist, a novelist, a playwright or a poet, writer’s block can be both debilitating and frustrating. Here are seven reasons why.

Yes, It's Microsoft Word 1897!

1. Because You Call Yourself A Writer. I sometimes call myself a writer. Mostly because that’s what I do. I write. Every day. I didn’t start doing it regularly until my thirties, but I’ve studied literature my whole life, from pre-school to university. And I feel comfortable when I refer to myself as a writer; because I do it all the time and, I like to imagine, quite well. I don’t make my living from writing: I’ve never even been paid for writing; in fact – owing to the vagaries of the publishing system – I’ve been offered more money not to write than I have to write. Yes, actual soft cash (made of paper, so better than hard cash), and I turned it down. Because I’m an idiot. And I would have had to have called myself a not-writer. A professional not-writer. And that’s not who I am. But you can only call yourself a writer if you actually write something.

2. Because It’s Hard To Explain. It’s hard to explain not being able to write to non-writers, because – to them – it’s a natural state. How would you explain the absence of writing to someone that isn’t a practitioner of the art? I’ll have a stab at it: Imagine that you’re reading a blank page. But that page is important. In fact, the words on that page are fundamental to your very life, soul, being, self-image and existence. But you can’t see them. And you need them. They’re vital. Oh, and you’re naked. Well that’s pretty much what it’s like. But much worse. Because your foot hurts and it’s cold where you are.

3. Because You Can Think Of Things To Write, They’re Just Not Appropriate. I could, right at this moment, fashion a discourse highlighting the influence of John Mayall on the British blues movement or analyse Romania’s under-reported role in the holocaust. But I’m not writing a piece on the development of British music, or on World War II, I’m writing for a humour site. Which is a shame as there’s very little else in my head except for: “There’s nothing in your head you silly man”, “My foot hurts” and “Oooh, I quite fancy a sandwich”; yet eating the sandwich won’t help you because…well…it’s eating a sandwich, which is different to writing (it’s more Marmitey and less like Tolstoy) and your audience probably won’t appreciate a piece entitled 7 Reasons I Stopped Staring Blankly at a Screen and had a Sandwich Instead as it would be at least six reasons light and it would probably make them hungry. Well, half of them, the other half probably don’t like Marmite.

4. Because You Have A Deadline. Yes, there’s always a deadline that you need to hit. And, when I was staring at my blank screen it was imminent. After all, I have other things to do in addition to writing. I’m a man, I need simple things; that sandwich, sleep, words to magically appear on my screen (or in my head, I’m not lazy, I’ll happily type them out), but mostly sleep. Because I’ve been busy all day and I’m tired. But I need to write these words, so with bloodshot eyes I continue to stare at the screen, because inspiration will strike if I stare at it for long enough, surely?

5. Because Of Modern Technology. And I’m staring at the blank screen on a computer. That’s right, a computer. A machine connected to the world that contains many, many distractions. So when you find yourself failing to write words on a screen, you’ll soon find yourself watching people falling off bicycles on Youtube. And shortly, you’ll find yourself on Twitter. Not tweeting about WWII or John Mayall, but about other topical and funny stuff. And you’re actually being funny on Twitter. In the written word! But not in any way that inspires your next day’s piece, and that doesn’t help matters; in fact, it’s bloody frustrating, as the irony of the situation won’t escape you. You will briefly toy with the idea of tweeting tomorrow’s piece, and disregard it. Eventually. But not before you’ve wasted much precious writing time considering it, while sucking on a pencil: A pencil without any lead in it.

6. Because Of Self-Doubt. Why do I write? If you ever found yourself asking that, you would never, ever do it. Because writing defies all logical sense. Why, in the name of all that is holy, in the name of all that is unholy, or in the name of all that isn’t there (I think I’ve covered everyone) would anyone choose to spend their time spewing-forth words from their brains to their fingers to their screens. “I could be doing other things at the moment,” you’ll find yourself thinking. “I could be doing other things that normal people do like watching other people sitting in a “jungle” or watching other people dancing badly or watching other people that can’t sing, sing or”…and suddenly writing makes sense again.

7. Because You’ll Get There In The End. And eventually, you’ll think of something to write about. Because that’s what you do, you’re a writer. Even if you do end up writing about not-writing, even if you end up raw-eyed and sweaty, even if you end up writing with the rapier-like-insight and élan of an addled baboon, there’ll be something. Because however much you think you have nothing to say, however hard you think it is, there will always be something. And that’s when you know that you should write. And that you should have a shower.

November 23, 2010