Tag: 7 reasons

7 Reasons I Should Have Made My Omelette First

Yesterday I made an omelette. Two in fact. While I don’t except any congratulations for this – I have, after all, done the same many times before – I am not averse to receiving any adulation you wish to bestow. That said, given the state of the second omelette – the one I had – you may find it more fitting to belittle and mock. I won’t hold it against you if this is your choice. I am, however, going to explain why the second omelette was such a disaster. There are – as I am sure you would expect – mitigating circumstances surrounding the event. Probably seven.

1. Rushing. I don’t know whether you have ever made two omelettes before, I suspect you are not as maverick as I and as such have not. Let me tell you now though, it is not as easy as it sounds. Unless you are a greedy bugger – or hungry – the chances are you are making two omelettes because there are two people wishing to have one. This was the case last night. I wanted one. My girlfriend agreed that she would have one. Being nice and not wishing to relinquish control of the frying pan, I made my girlfriend her omelette first. But then I wanted to eat mine with her. (I have long suspected we are the last two romantics in the Maidstone catchment area.) As a result I rushed the manufacture of my omelette. And as I am sure you are aware, a premature omelette is not an omelette at all. It’s a mess.

2. The Difficult Second Omelette. We have all heard of the phrase, ‘the difficult second album’. Apart from maybe Oasis. And Toploader. Though admittedly Toploader struggled with their first album too so maybe that doesn’t count. Anyway, I digress. My point is that the pressure was on and, instead of just concentrating on making the second omelette the best it could be, I tried to make it as good as the first omelette. As soon as I did that I was in competition with myself. And I cracked under the strain.

3. Whisking. The trick with making a good omelette mixture is not too whisk it too much. I forgot that it had been whisked before the making of omelette number one. So I whisked before construction of number two. The result was too light and runny. As a result I got air pockets under my omelette. I was trying to salvage the mission from that point on. And that is not an environment conducive to success.

4. Mixture Fail. There is also another reason omelette one was more a success. There was enough mixture to comfortably fill the frying pan. When it came to the second effort, there wasn’t. I’ll be honest. I was stretching the credibility of myself as an omelette maker here. Without enough mixture I added a little milk straight into the frying pan. That was stupid. The frying pan spat it back at me.

5. Tosser. To toss or not to toss? This question is widely debated in omelette making circles. I adhere to the point of view that – before filling is added – the omelette should be tossed. Yesterday, I tossed one of the omelettes and didn’t the other. I’ll let you guess which is which.

6. Filling. We have a rule in our house. As I am the man, I have more food. I like this rule and I didn’t even think of it. So when it came to filling the omelettes, I made sure there was more filling for me. Unfortunately, the amount of filling was calculated on how big the omelette would be. As my omelette was 80% of it’s intended size I really should have put 80% of the filling inside. But I didn’t. I’m a man. So I put it all in. And then I tried to fold the omelette in half. And that is when it snapped at the seams.

7. Manoeuvring. Taking the omelette from pan to plate should be a simple process. Assuming you have actually made an omelette it is possible to tilt the pan and watch the omelette slide into position. Which is what happened with omelette one. Omelette two though wasn’t an omelette. It was a mess. And the mess containing cheese which was now sticking to the pan. I had no option but to shovel it out. And that’s what I did.

November 12, 2010
7 Reasons I Ended Up Appearing Quite Mad Yesterday (Even Though I’m Not)

Sometimes, when you’re sitting around, minding your own business, an event occurs. An event to which you are compelled to react. And, while your reaction is brilliantly conceived and perfectly rational, a chain of events ensues that eventually makes you appear irredeemably, unutterably, stupendously mad. Like yesterday.

This is not my neighbour's cat, nor is it my cat, nor is it my wall. This cat on a wall is from the internet.

While I was writing, a cat appeared on the six foot high wall at the bottom of my garden. One of next door’s cats. Now, I don’t want any of next door’s cats in my garden, because it’s where my cat lives. I want him to be able spend his time in the garden sleeping, licking, and staring at the gate unmolested by other cats. So I had to let the other cat know that he wasn’t welcome in our garden. Now I know how to scare a cat; it’s easy. But going outside and hissing and shouting at this cat wasn’t going to convey the right message. I needed to let the interloper know he was in another cat’s territory, and that he should stay away.

1. Plan A. I went and fetched my dozing cat from the sofa. My cat didn’t want to know. I showed him the intruder through the dining room window. He saw the other cat and ignored him. This was disappointing. This isn’t going to scare anyone I thought, as my cat fell asleep on the windowsill. This wouldn’t even scare mice. Nervous mice.

2. Plan B. Right, I thought. If the sight of my cat asleep on the windowsill isn’t enough to strike the fear of god into the intruder, I’ll have to escalate things. I’ll have to send my cat out to deal with him. I woke him up, reminded him of the presence of the other cat and carried him into the utility room. I placed him on the floor, next to his cat-flap; I delivered a rousing speech to him and then opened it so that he could sally forth to dispatch his foe. He didn’t move. He sat and purred at me. I tried to usher him through his flap, but he clearly wasn’t going to go. My cat, I thought, is a disappointment.

3. Plan C. I know, I’ll open the back door really loudly. If I can’t scare him away with a cat, then at least opening the door loudly will make the intruder run; and my cat might conceivably think that he’s the one causing him to flee in terror and emerge with feline dignity intact and be that bit braver next time. As loudly as I could, I unlocked the door and, with as much speed and force as I could muster, I heaved the door open. I was rewarded with the sight of a terror-stricken cat, fleeing for its life. Bugger, I thought, as I went to retrieve him from behind the sofa. This isn’t going well.

4. Plan D. I picked him up, returned to the utility room and carried him through the back door. “Look”, I said to the other cat, “I have a cat here and I’m not afraid to use him”. The other cat was not as moved by our presence as I had hoped that he would be. Impassively, he licked his paw and turned his head away.

5. Plan E. Okay, I clearly wasn’t being terrifying enough. I raised our cat above my head so that he was higher up than the cat on our wall. This will do it, I thought, there are only two things that can possibly go through the other cat’s mind. One: “Blimey! What the hell is that hideous giant cat/man hybrid creature over there, I’d better run for it”. Or two: “ Blimey! Look what that man’s doing to that feckless fat-cat from next door. I’m probably next. I’d better run for it.” But if these things went through his mind, he didn’t show it; unless this cat instinctively displays abject terror by blinking slowly, that is. I was going to have to get nearer.

6. Plan F. With my arms fully outstretched, cat held aloft, above my head; I charged toward the other cat. It didn’t move. I was closing quickly and when I got to within eight feet it still hadn’t moved.

7. Plan G. Realising that my charge wasn’t unnerving enough, I decided that I needed a war cry, and I began to roar (at a volume which surprised even me) as I charged through the garden. But the other cat still hadn’t moved, and I was almost upon it. I realised it needed a little more time to realise the desperate situation it was in, so I pulled away at the last moment to run a lap of my garden, still roaring and, as my cat and I rounded the top of the garden and turned to face the enemy once more I saw him react, startled, jump down from the wall and run. My jubilation was short lived. I also saw…

…My neighbour emerge from her back door, the sound of which had presumably – unbeknownst to her, as she couldn’t possibly have seen it – scared the other cat away. I slowed to a halt and stopped roaring. “Hi”, I said, breezily, realising I still had the cat above my head, and that I probably looked quite foolish.

“Er…Hi”, she replied.

I felt self-conscious, and it occurred to me that some sort of explanation of my behaviour was required. “I was just scaring the cat”.

“I’m not surprised”, she replied.

November 11, 2010
7 Reasons You Should Not Kayak Across The Pacific Ocean

If you are one of these hipsters who likes to engage in social networking via the likes of facebook and twitter, it is very likely that one, two or maybe all of your friends have posted a ‘funny’ piece of travel advice they have found on Google Maps. I say ‘funny’ in inverted commas because it is actually a very serious matter. The matter I refer to is the ‘joke’ that tells prospective travellers to make the journey from the USA to Japan via the Pacific Ocean in a kayak. How utterly irresponsible. There are many, many reasons why one should not do as Google Maps suggests, but to save my sanity (and your life) here are just seven.

1. Food. An average kayaker will travel at 5mph. Given that Google Maps says the distance – via Hawaii – between USA and Japan is 2,756 miles, it will take the adventurer just over 551 hours to make the journey. That’s a touch under 23 days. That’s 23 days worth of food you have to take with you. Now, assuming – as is very likely considering the departure point – that the traveller is American, that’s 89,537 calories. Or 92.7 Big Mac Meals. A kayak has storage for about 20 Big Mac Meals. You do the maths.

2. Sharks. The good news is, that out of the 440 species of shark found on our planet, only 36 of them exist in the Pacific Ocean. (Approximately. I am sure others visit for a day now and then.) Unfortunately, within the 36 species is the Great White Shark. The Great White Shark accounts for 20% of worldwide shark attacks. And, just before you come back at me with the stat, ‘of the 108 unprovoked attacks within the Pacific Ocean in the 20th century, only five included kayakers,’ let me tell you that there has never, ever been a Great White Shark attack on a plane.

3. Paddle. You may have heard of the phrase, ‘Up the creek without a paddle’. For those of you who haven’t, it basically means you are in a very serious situation and you haven’t got a bloody clue how you are going to get out of it. If you drop your paddle between the USA and Japan, you can change the word ‘creek’ for ‘Pacific’ but you can’t change the meaning.

4. Iodine. The average human will die if they go for more than three days without water. Luckily, in the Pacific Ocean you will find loads of it. Unluckily, if you drink too much of it, you will also die. That’s because it’s saltwater. If you are going to survive you are going to have to desalinate the seawater. You can do this by either attaching a desalination plant to your kayak – in which case you’ll sink before you even leave the beach – or you can use iodine. You will have to leave ten Big Mac Meals behind, but to survive it is probably worth it. The problem comes when you try and desalinate your beaker of water. You’re in a kayak. On the ocean. It’s bumpy. You have your paddle in one hand, the iodine in the other and the beaker between your legs. Now, I’ve never tried desalinating my penile appendage, but if I did, the middle of the Pacific Ocean, in a kayak, is a place where I know I couldn’t possibly fail. Unless…

5. A Sudden Wave hits the kayak. In which case the iodine might go overboard and desalinate the whole of the Ocean. You are going to murder many, many saltwater fish. And you’re heading to Japan. A country that’s built on fish (one in ten fish is eaten there). They’re not going to greet you warmly are they?

6. Tankers. Generally these are big ships who have very little interest in small-fry like you in your kayak. Mainly because they are always on auto-pilot while the captain has a snooze. If you just happen to be having a snooze at the same time, you are going to get crushed. And, just a warning, if you do survive, there is no point in shouting ‘Tanker!’ at them and waving your fist, if you do, you’ll miss the giant squid that’s about to squirt you with ink.

7. Jovan Pestoric Will Kiss You. In doing my research for this post – I came across the following Yahoo! Answers page where Lovely had asked if it was possible to kayak across the Pacific Ocean. There were only a few answers. One gave Lovely some valuable advice and advised it was not possible. They then said ‘Have fun!’. Then Javon Pestoric announced, ‘yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! omg if u do it ill kiss u’. I have no idea who Jovan is and, if watching people kayak over the Pacific Ocean is his kind of fetish, I don’t think I want to know either.

November 10, 2010
7 Reasons You Know it’s Autumn (in Yorkshire)

As I walked down the street yesterday, something suddenly hit me: It’s Autumn; here in Yorkshire. Here’s how I can tell.

1. Leaves. The leaves turn brown and fall from the trees. This, you may be thinking, is not unique to Yorkshire, and you would be correct. But here, the leaves fall horizontally and, while I was walking down the street yesterday, a large wet leaf flew from a tree at incredible speed and slapped me in the face. Aha, I thought, it must be autumn again. And ouch. And several minutes later, I developed the traditional Yorkshire ruddy complexion, which will probably last me until March.

2. Water. You may also think that water isn’t unique to Yorkshire and once more, you would be correct. But the fact is that wherever you live – unless you live in the sea – we probably have more of it than you. Whenever there’s a drought in the UK we still have water, and it’s often transported to drier counties (usually Kent) via tanker. And you can tell it’s autumn here because (incredibly) the daily rainfall increases from monsoon to biblical and our rivers get restless and start to explore the surrounding areas. There’s one hanging around at the end of my street right now.

3. Mud. You probably have mud in your gardens that you put your geraniums in, but that doesn’t really prepare you to see Yorkshire autumn mud. I have no idea where it comes from, but our mud is epic. All through the autumn, it’s bloody everywhere, just oozing from things: From our riversides to our footpaths, it eventually covers our towns and cities in a sludgy goo. In fact, Yorkshire is brown until the winter comes, and then it becomes brown and cold.

4. Darkness. On some Autumn days in Yorkshire, it just doesn’t get light. At all. And, when you’re trying to do something in the kitchen at lunchtime (usually making lunch) and you have to switch the lights on, you know it’s autumn. Or you’ve forgotten to open the blinds, but no one would blame you for that, as your view for this quarter of the year is mud, water, flying leaves and darkness. If darkness is even a view.

5. Meanness. Yorkshire folk have quite a reputation for meanness. Some of this is undeserved: The rumour that branches of the Yorkshire Bank don’t have a safe but do, in fact, keep all of their money under a giant mattress is not true and was started by some horrible foreigner (or me, as I sometimes call myself). But in the autumn, people in Yorkshire become chronically mean. Only yesterday, as I walked through the wind and the rain, coat wrapped tightly around me, I saw a man being dragged along by a large umbrella step into a six-inch-deep puddle, soaking his leg. And I laughed. And that was when the leaf hit me. And he laughed back. We’re mean in the autumn.

6. Millinery. Now, it’s also a fanciful stereotype that Yorkshire men wear flat caps all the time. This is not true. Even Yorkshire men don’t wear flat caps in the summer. How do you think many of them get their red, peeling scalps? The flat cap is seldom donned until the autumn. And then it’s worn pushed firmly onto the head to keep it from blowing away. When you see flat caps you know it’s autumn in Yorkshire. Or winter. Or spring.

7. People. Yorkshire is a beautiful place that rightly attracts a lot of tourists. And in the summer, they’re everywhere. Walking slowly and pointing. In the autumn, however, they disappear. I don’t know where they go: Perhaps they drown, perhaps they blow away, perhaps we just don’t see them in the darkness, but they do disappear. Hopefully to somewhere nice as it’s bloody grim here right now.

November 9, 2010
7 Reasons We Should Congratulate Rupert Bear On Reaching Ninety

As I am sure all you bear aficionados are aware, today marks Rupert Bear’s 90th Birthday. Even if you don’t regularly read his adventures in the Daily Express – and let’s be honest, that’s all of us – you should raise a glass in his name. Or, at the very least, don’t go on about how much you love Paddington Bear. It’s called respect.

1. Loyalty. In case you are wondering why I mentioned the Daily Express above, it’s because Rupert was created for the paper in 1920. The aim? To increase sales. Did it work? Wikipedia doesn’t say. And I can’t be bothered to do that much research. What I did research though is that Rupert has outlasted nineteen Daily Express editors. Nineteen! That’s quite a lot. On any other day it I’d have rounded it up to 20. But that’s nineteen different people who have given up on the paper. Rupert hasn’t given up once. He’s there, everyday, trying to increase sales. And that has to be applauded. Even if it is the Daily Express.

2. Fashion. Sadly for the world, I wasn’t around in 1920, but I would be very surprised if Rupert’s choice of attire matched the fashion of the day. A red jumper, white shoes and matching yellow-checked trousers and scarf? It’s unlikely, isn’t it? But that’s just one reason why Rupert should be celebrated. He was a bit of a maverick. He was a trend-setter. Whether the trend comes to fruition in my lifetime, who knows, but one day, everyone will be dressing like Rupert.

3. Respect. Rupert has and continues to spend many-a-day in the presence of his friends. The trusty and originally named Bill Badger. The stodgy Podgy Pig. The delectable Edward Trunk*. And my personal favourites, Ming The Dragon and Pong-Ping The Pekingese. And yet, despite chewing the fat with them for the best part of century, not once has Rupert ever uttered the immortal line, ‘Have you ever heard of deed-poll?’

4. Role Model. While Rupert’s main rivals for our affections have tragic and cliched characteristics, Rupert was the real deal. Take Winnie The Pooh for instance. Ignoring the fact that he looks cuddly, what have you got? A honey-monster who has a habit of forgetting to wear trousers. Hardly inspiring. And then we have Paddington Bear. An immigrant from Peru whose idea of helping the economy is to create a marmalade deficit. Not the role models our children need. Rupert on the other hand is everything a bear should be. Clever, loyal, adventurous and trousered.

5. Paul McCartney. Rupert remains the only bear ever to have inspired a Beatle. Paul McCartney – Rupert And The Frog Song.**

6. He Defied Hitler. Not even a war could stop Rupert. And I am not talking about a silly, little war. I am talking about World War II. Despite the fact that there was a severe paper shortage – we needed it for planes – Rupert still got an annual out and onto the shelves every year throughout the conflict. Along with Churchill sticking two fingers up, Rupert getting his annual out epitomised Britain’s approach to the war. We were never going to be beaten. And we were going to read tales of a bear going on an underwater mission in the process.

7. Alternatives. Look, it’s only right that you should celebrate one 90th Anniversary in 2010 and if you’re not going to choose Rupert to congratulate then it’s going to have to be the Bangor Operatic Society. Make the right decision.

*Edward Trunk was an elephant. Clever.

**This might cause nightmares. Or daymares. Just don’t smash your computer. You’ll regret it tomorrow.

November 8, 2010
We’ve Moved!

It’s Sunday, so no reasons today. Here’s something different. Last week we brought you a tale of horror and woe, and this week we bring you…a tale of horror and woe, because we have an announcement:

We’ve moved! You may not have noticed yet, but we have. We’ve moved from Gloucestershire to Kent. Strange, the website doesn’t look any different, you’re probably thinking; I can’t see any oast-houses or Dover Castle or France, but I promise you that we’ve moved. We’ve changed our web-hosts from Fasthosts to EZPZ hosting.

And we hope the new web-hosts that we’ve moved to will provide you, the reader and us, the men who have spent many, many, many of the hours that they should have spent writing in the last year trying to get answers from Fasthosts about why our website wasn’t being hosted effectively, with a more reliable experience. As our experience with Fasthosts has been appalling.

In fact, we started monitoring our site’s uptime over the past few weeks, and it turns out that with Fasthosts, our site was working less than 99% of the time. Imagine if you had a car that wasn’t there 1% of the time when you came to use it. Or your house wasn’t there for over three and a half days out of the year, but you didn’t know when that would be, or that the sun vanished intermittently.

And it’s not just that the site would disappear while we were trying to read it; it would also disappear while we were trying to write it, which resulted in an awful lot of lost work. In fact, I’ve found myself spending a lot of time that I should have spent creating stuff and writing for the website monitoring its performance and corresponding with the web hosts.

As a result of the many support tickets that we have raised and the many questions we have asked them in the past year, Fasthosts have properly investigated our downtime twice. And they’ve come to the conclusion that there isn’t a problem at their end and that it must be our fault, which is strange as, since we’ve moved the website, it has been working for 100% of the time. Which rather undermines their claims.

It’s not just technical incompetence. A couple of days ago – we disabled the auto-renew facility some time ago – they tried to take money from my credit card to pay for web hosting for the coming year (something they didn’t have permission to do). Fortunately, they have the details of an old card and it didn’t go through.

Anyway, we’ve moved and we wanted our experiences with Fasthosts to have a home on the internet so that anyone thinking of using them and perhaps googling “Should I switch to Fasthosts”, “Are Fasthosts any good” or, “naked web hosting” (people search for almost everything pre-fixed by the word naked) would find this piece and would be forewarned.

Hopefully now, the 7 Reasons team will have less correspondence like this:

Jon,

I fully intended to forward any response on why we’re down to you. But, other than the initial automated (and pointless) response to our first email from Shithosts, there has been none. Nor have they replied to us via Twitter. This is on their webshite:

Websites hosted on 88.208.252.193 will currently be unavailable. Our engineers are investigating.

Update: 8:35: Our engineers have found the cause of the issue. However, it is likely that a resolution will require a server rebuild. We will restore all data from a recent backup and will update this page when further information and a completion time become available. Please accept our apologies for any inconvenience this may have caused.

This issue is presently under investigation:

Our ip address is 88.208.252.3:21so whether this applies to us is a mystery to me, I’ll update you as soon as I hear anything/they bother to reply/I turn up at their offices in Gloucester brandishing a weapon,

Marc.

P.S. Makes me really glad I spent 8 hours working on today’s post now.

P.P.S. Do you have backups of all of the posts that you uploaded yesterday?

P.P.P.S. We were on course to have one of our best Mondays ever yesterday. Before our site disappeared.

And more correspondence like this:

Jon,

The website is working fine. It’s nice here in Kent. Look, I can see deer strolling through the meadow next to the tiramisu farm. Would you like some beer from the perpetual fountain?

Marc.

In conclusion: If you are looking for web hosting. Never, ever use Fasthosts. They’re no good at web hosting, their customer service is woeful, they can’t be trusted with your credit card details and they’re expensive (our new hosting is almost two and a half times cheaper).

7 Reasons (.org) will return tomorrow; I can state with utter confidence.

November 7, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons You Should Reduce Your Carbon Footprint

A few weeks ago you may remember Sam Murray telling us to keep our doors shut in case Vampires wanted to get in. With that sort of insight, we just had to get Sam back on the sofa. And here he is. Wiping his dirty footmarks off the 7 Reasons carpet. Right, I’m off. There’s someone at the door. It only ever seems to happen when Sam’s on the sofa. Coincidentally, today’s guest post was written by Sam in association with Yale Door, who are committed to reducing the carbon footprint by supplying energy efficient front doors for homes .

We have all heard of it and some of you might have even tried doing it, and no, wearing smaller trainers doesn’t count. For those of you that don’t know and have been living in a cave for the past few years a carbon footprint is “the total set of greenhouse gases (GHG) emissions caused by an organization, event, individual or product”. More importantly, it has a direct affect on climate change which, as we are told, will have a direct affect on us in the not too distant future (don’t worry not you, unless this post has been archived and is being read in 2080)

Anyway, if you needed further encouragement to reduce your carbon footprint then here are 7, naturally:

1. Otherwise You Will Be Having Breakfast With A Polar Bear. With the polar ice caps melting the increasing rise of water will open up a swimming lane direct to your door. Polar bears are strong swimmers; they often swim across bays or wide leads without hesitation and can swim for several hours at a time over long distances. They have actually been tracked swimming continuously for 100km. So make sure you pour enough cereal for two and put the kettle on.

2. To Make You All Smiley And Happy. Do you ever get the warm and fuzzy feeling when you have done a good deed? Start small by recycling and re-using items and by the time you go to bed tonight you will sleep well in the knowledge that the world is that little bit nicer than it was when you bought the paper this morning. Or if you are more of a ME man than an US, it has been proved that performing good deeds can boost your health and self-confidence.

3. No More Snow Fights. What is our fascination with the small white ice particles? We just can’t get enough of it. It remains the only time when you are allowed and even encouraged to throw things at people. So to cling onto this excuse, reduce your carbon footprint!

4. To Let Animals Get Their Full Quota Of Sleep. You know how bad you feel after a bad night’s sleep so can you imagine how grumpy a bear would feel after his hibernation is disturbed? After numerous studies Scientists believe that global warming is and will continue to affect hibernating animals, causing them to wake up earlier. The shortened hibernation period is affecting several species, including chipmunks and brown bears. If animals do reduce their hibernation period or refrain from hibernating at all it can cause quite a significant environmental problem as it can cause starvation and, possibly, increased numbers of some animals being eaten by predators.

5. Give Al Gore An Early Christmas Present. What better way to show one of the most well known environmental activists that you care by reducing your carbon footprint.

6. To Gain Membership Into Captain Planet’s Inner Circle. For all those that remember the cartoon series Captain Planet and dreamt of one day joining the gang, ‘The power is yours’. We have a duty and the ability to continue protecting the environment when Captain Planet is gone, and since the last show aired in 1996 I think it is about timer we stepped up. Sing along with me – “Captain Planet he’s our hero, gonna take pollution down to zero.”

7. The Prices Of Sunglasses And Sun Cream Will Rise. Yep, that‘s right, although you may rejoice in the warmer climate eventually shrewd suppliers will have to raise the prices of sunglasses and sun cream. Don’t blame me; it’s the pesky ‘supply versus demand’ theory.

November 6, 2010
7 Reasons Bonfire Night Is Traumatic For Adults

After the success of last week”s joint post (it was on Thursday if you missed it) we have decided to produce another. Once again we”ve gone for that topical/helpful format. Here it is:

Jon Didn’t Mean To Burn Down His Girlfriend’s Shed. It Was Just In The Way.

1. Anxiety. Because your neighbours let off fireworks. And your neighbours are idiots. They can’t be trusted to close their own garden gate properly, let alone to discharge pyrotechnics with any degree of responsibility. And, when their rockets are bouncing off your roof and crashing into your shed, you’ll find yourself thinking: “Where’s our bucket?”; “is the house insurance up to date?“; “I hope that the cat’s inside“;”I’m going to put a fish through their letter-box when they go away on holiday“.

2. Guy Fawkes. It seems somewhat ironic to celebrate the failure of the mission to burn the House of Lords to the ground by creating a massive bonfire, but that’s how it is. And who would have it any other way? Well, probably adults. Especially those with children. Because as well as having a traditional bonfire, there is also the traditional Guy Fawkes effigy that is chucked atop the flames. The effigy is usually made by the children using old clothes. Unfortunately, the children also like dressing up in old clothes. So by the time the effigy is due to be burnt, adults are terrified. ”Is that definitely the Guy or is that my son?’‘ And, more importantly, ”Is that my Hugo Boss suit?”

3. The Inner Child. Once you’ve seen about five bonfire nights, you have seen them all. In theory, as adults, we should all find them terribly boring and treat the event as something for the children. The trauma begins though, because bonfire night is epic. Rockets banging and then flashing in the sky. Photographs of your wife’s ex on the bonfire. It’s really rather exciting. Admittedly the excitement is nearly always alcohol induced, but it is there. And this is when all adults look at the children pretending to be Red Indians running around the bonfire and wish they could join in. But you can’t. Because you are an adult. And adults must be adult-like. Oh, the agony

4. Food. On the one night when burning is the order of the day, it seems odd that, having been put in charge of the food, you are absolutely determined not to burn the baked potatoes. And this really is a mission. While preventing the potatoes becoming charcoal, you also have to drink, pay attention to the fireworks, check your son hasn’t crawled under the bonfire and pay an interest in your neighbour”s annoying five year-old daughter who has shoved yet another sparkler up your nose. Sometimes, you wonder why you bother.

5. Men. As a man you”re in charge of the fireworks. They’re your responsibility and it”s unmanly to get the launching of them wrong or show any fear of them. And you know it can go wrong, because you”ve seen Youtube. And you also know that any idiot can set them off, because you’ve seen Youtube. Even though you know it’s not compulsory to insert the rocket into your bottom before lighting it, being in charge of the fireworks is an onerous responsibility. You don’t want to be the one that lights the blue touch-paper and runs away screaming like a girl, do you? Unless you are a girl, in which case it would probably be quite fun; and a nice change from all those anxious men setting them off.

6. Firemen. This year – due to the strikes – there won’t be any available. That means you are going to have to douse the flames flying up from your garden shed yourself. And the only way you can do this is by dressing up in protective clothing. Sadly, the only protective clothing you have are your wife’s gardening gloves, your leaky wellington boots, waterproofs that aren’t actually waterproof and a pith helmet. It might be dark out there, but you’re still going to look like an idiot. Oh, and the sprinkler attachment on the hose is stuck too.

7. Hedgehogs. It”s the nagging doubt that near-paralyses every right-thinking person hosting an event: What if there’s a hedgehog in the bonfire? What if I accidentally burn one to death? What if the children attending the bonfire see me light it only for a phalanx of flaming hedgehogs to scuttle out of it squealing, half a minute later? They’ll probably need several years of therapy and I’ll be forever known as Uncle Marc the Hedgehog Killer. Bonfires are a minefield. But with blazing hedgehogs instead of mines. Seriously, check for hedgehogs.

November 5, 2010
7 Reasons I Feel Sorry For Dundee

I wouldn’t blame you if the subject for today’s post has passed you by. The only reason it didn’t pass me by is because I spend a great deal of my life browsing the world wide web for inspiration. Unfortunately I stumbled across this. Dundee is getting it’s very own V&A Museum. Yesterday, the winning design was chosen. Given the design of the Scottish Parliament Building, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that it was ugly. Curious as to what this abomination had been chosen over, I took a look at the shortlist. And then I realised I felt very sorry for Dundee indeed. Well, the whole of Scotland actually. Here is that shortlist:

1. The Stephen Holl Design. One of the first things you should notice about this is that you access the museum via one of those bridges you usually find spanning motorways should you wish to get from one service station to another. While this is a nice touch, I can’t be so complimentary about the rest of the design. It’s very tall, very thin and appears to be doing a bad impression of ‘the robot’. In other words, it’s a bit like Peter Crouch.

2. The Sutherland Hussey Design. What we have here is a box. With a few bits cut out. I used to have a Micro Machines military base that looked very similar. Only that was cool. To give the Architects some credit though, they have realised the error of their ways. That’s why they added a picture of a small boy trying to jump over the wall. I’d probably join him if I was confronted by this.

3. The REX Design. The last time I saw something like this, I was watching Superman. Only Superman wasn’t in Dundee, he was on Krypton. The effect, I suspect, would have been very similar though. What I particularly love about this design though, is that it clearly doesn’t have a roof. That’s why it’s filled with water. Genius.

4. The Snohetta with Gareth Hoskins Architects Design. I can’t comment on other angles, but from the one we are given above, all I can see is a submarine with a large whale not doing a very good job of hiding behind it. The submarine is also a bit too bling for me. I suspect it will blind more visitors than satisfy them. On the plus side, nice use of the skateboard ramp on the walkway.

5. The Delugan Meissl Design. If you are not thinking, ‘Sydney Opera House meets Pyramids meets Lord’s Cricket Ground Media Centre meets Alien Aircraft’ then there is something a bit wrong with one of us. And I am pretty sure it’s not me. Ignoring the design for a second, there is also something unreal about the architects impression. Bright blue sky. It just doesn’t happen in Dundee. As the other images on this page will confirm.

6. The Kengo Kuma Design. Before we go any further, let me tell you right now that this design won. That’s right, the Dundee V&A Museum is going to look like an image that hasn’t quite quite loaded properly. That, though, is just about the only criticism I have. Everything else (i.e.: the water, the sky and lack of people with dogs) I love. Good job.

7. The 7 Reasons Design. This didn’t make the shortlist, but I still see it as an improvement on all of the above. We’ve gone for ‘minimillistic with a casual twist’. The casual twist is the upside down brick. I can’t see any problems with this design, except maybe the fact that the building sits on the water and we haven’t provided a walkway for visitors. This might just encourage people to visit the proper V&A Museum in London though. So it’s win-win.

November 4, 2010
7 Reasons the Anglo-Franco Defence Agreement is a Good Idea

Yesterday, at 7 Reasons (.org) we ran a post entitled 7 Reasons The Anglo-Franco Defence Agreement Is A Bad Idea. I discovered that we had done so while I was eating my breakfast, and it’s fair to say that I was quite stunned. In fact I, the Jacques Tati obsessed, Voltaire-reading, coffee-guzzling half of the 7 Reasons team (the one with the French name), almost choked on my croissant. “A bad idea?!” I exclaimed in a voice so high that it was only audible to very small dogs, “but it’s a brilliant idea!” And it is. Here are seven reasons why:

1. History. The most notable occasion on which we’ve had a defence agreement and a joint expeditionary force with France was the Second World War. And, as I’m sure you’re aware, we won that. Obviously it didn’t work out too well for France, what with Germany annihilating the French army and occupying most of their country, and Britain blowing up the French navy before going home to dine on powdered egg with the Americans. But we did win, so defence agreements with France are a proven success. And now that we have the Channel Tunnel, their government will be able to flee to London so much more quickly than last time. If that’s possible.

2. Cuisine. Working together will rid both nations of antiquated ideas about the other nation’s diet. They will come to realise that there’s more to British cuisine than roast beef – because we’ve had branches of McDonalds since at least the 1970s – and we will come to realise that there’s more to French cuisine than frogs legs. They’ll introduce us to soufflé: An insignificant, over-inflated tart that shrinks at the merest hint of a knife, and Quiche Lorraine: A dish that they readily share with Germans – usually as a starter – which is often followed by a generous helping of their speciality, crêpe à la guerre.

3. Wisdom. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer: A line from The Godfather – often wrongly attributed to Sun Tzu – that’s a very wise strategy indeed. And who is the enemy in this case? Well, it’s France: The nation we’ve spent more time at war with than any other. They are l’ennemi traditionnel, and by being on board the same ships with them we’ll be able to keep a very close eye on them. Also, should a war break out between the nations, civilian casualties will be minimised as the theatre of war will be far smaller than usual; sometimes it will even be confined to the same engine room or bridge. And remember, should the enemy sink one of our aircraft carriers, they will bear half the cost.

4. Finance. Even if you’re not au fait with the minutiae of military funding it’s bleeding obvious that we’re going to save lots of money by sharing spending with France. Look at paint. All armed forces need lots of paint and, by getting together we’ll have greater purchasing power when it comes to procuring it. We’ll make substantial savings on grey paint for navy use, and camouflage paint for army use. And we’ll make even bigger savings on red, white and blue paint as we’ll need bloody loads of that now that we’ll need to paint a French flag on one side of things and a British flag on the other. The savings will be enormous. Énorme.

5. Efficacy. The measure by which all branches of the armed services are judged is their strike-capability. And by entering into an agreement with the French, we’ll increase the strike-capability of our military substantially. In fact, with the French on board, our strike capability will be the highest of any force in the world; our strike-capability will be infinity, which is greater even than the combined forces of China, North Korea, Iran, Christmas Island, Easter Island, Chuck Norris and Malta.

6. Co-operation. When Britain and France work together, the two nations have been able to affect profound and lasting positive sociological change. The channel tunnel, for example, which was first proposed in 1802 and was completed a mere 192 years later, allowed refugees of many nationalities to complete the final leg of their epic journeys of migration; fleeing hardship and squalor from across the four corners of Northern France, to civilisation in Southern England; where they were able to escape the tyranny of boules, cycling and listening to Johnny Hallyday and were introduced to the more civilised British pastimes of cricket, morris dancing, and the Daily-Mail-witch-hunt.

7. Culture. Our nations have much to learn from each other and the accord will doubtless be a civilising influence. As we get to know each other as individuals there will be a significant breakdown of prejudice and an increase in cultural exchange. We will teach the French to drink copious quantities of beer and fight with bald men in shirts at the weekend, and they will teach the British to drink copious quantities of wine and run from bald men in shirts at le weekend. We will teach the French to make popular music that will be cherished the world over, and they will teach the British how to sneer at the X-Factor. We will teach them that France is the ideal holiday destination, and they will teach us that France is the ideal holiday destination. It’s a match made in heaven. The Anglo-French defence agreement is going to be great.

November 3, 2010