Tag: and

7 Reasons That Gin is Never Wrong

It was my friend Jen’s birthday on Sunday. She was drinking gin. Via the medium of Facebook she suggested that I write 7 Reasons Why Gin is Never Wrong. I didn’t like that idea at all, but I found inspiration in it. So here are 7 Reasons That Gin is Never Wrong. Thanks Jen.

1. Gin Is Good For You. Gin contains all five of your five-a-day. Have a (large) gin and tonic, and there’s a portion of lime. Follow it with a martini, and there’s an olive. Have a few more martinis, and there’s some more olives (plus a few twists of lemon if you’re on a health drive). Then make a Pimm’s (the number 1 cup is gin-based) and lemonade and you’ve got a drink with the remainder of the fruit bowl plus a salad in it. That’s all of your five-a-day. You don’t even need to wash the salad because…

2. Gin Is Better For You Than Water. It’s true! Gin is medicinal. In eighteenth century Britain, the water contained all sort of nasties; cholera, typhus (and other bad things that I vaguely remember studying at college and don’t have time to research now. You’ll just have to take my word for it that water is bad.) and it was actually safer to drink the gin. So that’s what people did until the government rather meanly halted unlicensed production. If you consume your salad in your gin, it’ll be healthier than if you washed it. Probably.

3. Gin Is Logical. When people drink gin, it brings out their better natures and they usually do the most logical thing. Let’s look at what people do when they drink gin at home. They sometimes go online and shop (I’m sure we’ve all done it). And when they shop under gin’s good influence, they always buy the right thing. A pirate hat; a sports-car; a giant Anglepoise lamp are the sorts of things that people buy when in gin. When sober, however, people buy monumentally dull things such as ink-cartridges, socks and salad spinners. And who would – deep down, in their heart of hearts – rather have an ink-cartridge than a pirate hat? And no one has ever, in the annals of human history, drunk too much gin and purchased a salad spinner. That’s because gin makes you buy the right thing.

4. You Can Never Win An Argument With Gin. It’s a fearsome opponent. Argue with it and it will just stonewall you. Every time. You can rant, you can shout, you can be as incisive and logical as you like but you will never, ever win. Its silence will overwhelm any argument and make you look rather foolish. It will, however, clear you a nice space at the bar and prevent people from engaging you in conversation. On balance though, you shouldn’t argue with gin.

5. You Can Never Win A Fight With Gin. If arguing with it hasn’t worked, you shouldn’t consider fighting it either. If you start a fight with gin, it’ll just hurt your hand or slip from your grasp, depending on whether it’s bottled or not. And you’ll look silly. I once saw a man in a park get into a spat with a bottle of fortified wine and – despite his commendable footwork and really rather impressive growling – he came second best and ended up out cold in a flower-bed. And that was only fortified wine. Gin is twice as strong as that.

6. Gin Has Anti-Gravity Properties. Gravity is, on the whole, a good thing. It stops us hurtling backwards when we sneeze and prevents our ceilings from becoming cluttered, but it has its drawbacks: If you ever trip or stumble, beastly gravity will attempt to hurl you at the nearest horizontal surface, usually the floor (though occasionally a table and once, in my case, a canal) and it will hurt. Gin counteracts this. With the correct amount of gin within you, should gravity suddenly strike, you will feel no pain. Nor will you be concerned about any indignity arising from a brush with gravity. In a straight fight, gin beats gravity.

7. Gin Propagates The Species. When people drink gin in public, they make often passes at other people. Has anyone ever made a pass at you in a tea-house? No, probably not. Has anyone ever made a pass at you in a bar (where there is gin)? Yes, almost certainly. So, there you go. If it weren’t for gin, we’d have no children. Which, ironically, would obviate one of the main causes of drinking. But gin consumption is a necessary device for the continued existence of humankind: Now go forth and drink gin, you know it makes sense.

April 19, 2011
7 Reasons That I Hate the M&S Dine in for £10 Deal

Marks and Spencer have a Dine in for £10 meal deal in which you select a main course, a side-dish, a dessert course and a bottle of wine and pay only ten pounds for them. Other supermarkets have similar deals but I don’t shop at them, so I’m only qualified to write about my abject hatred of the M&S meal deal, which seems to be aimed solely at people who dine together in even numbers. Anyway, here are 7 Reasons that I loathe it. With every fibre of my being.

Grrr.

1. They’ve Got It Surrounded. It’s the weekend and there they all are. The throng. A grey horde of people aged over fifty-five standing four-deep, apparently transfixed, around the Dine in for £10 (But Only If There Are Precisely 2.0 Of You And Absolutely No Singletons Or Children Welcome) display. Some of them are actually viewing the food, picking it up and inspecting it, but many are not. A lot of these people seem not to have any involvement in the decision over what to eat at all, but there they stand, in the way of anyone else who might conceivably want to see the food. My wife, for example, will want to see the food. As will other customers so, if you’re not actively looking at the food, why not step away from the food? Hello! Hello! We want to see the food! Actually, I can already see the food – as all people over the age of fifty-five are tiny – but I can never get within nine feet of it for fear of damaging the doddering Lilliputians as I lumber through the waist-high mass of grey to get to the growers choice salad bag. Get out of the way! Other people want to see the food!

2. It’s A Compromise. Putting together a meal from the Dine in for £10 menu is a study in the art of compromise. And compromise is an abomination. Did Churchill compromise? Rarely. Did Neville Chamberlain compromise? Yes. Ergo, compromise is abominable and speaks with a Birmingham accent. So when my wife and I put together a meal from the Dine in for £10 menu it becomes a power-struggle that even the UN would back away interceding in (we don’t have any oil, for one thing). I approach the menu searching for the most interesting and tasty thing there, and my wife approaches it searching for the most insipidly dull and bland thing that they have which, in turn, causes me to become angry and refuse to compromise further on any of the other courses or the wine (just imagine Hitler food-shopping or, if you shop at the same branch of M&S as me, look for the angry giant bellowing “Who the hell has fish and chips with a side dish of rosemary new potatoes?!”). So in the end, neither of us get the meal we want. I can’t really blame M&S for this, it’s my own fault. If I wanted to eat nice, tasty, well balanced meals I should have followed Simon Cowell’s example and married myself.

3. It’s Discriminatory. I’m not a single person but, between bouts of not being single, I have been. I remember it well; a time when I would always find things exactly where I left them and had much more space in bed. But single people today need that extra space in bed because they are required to eat twice as much as people in couples to take advantage of the Dine in for £10 offer which will, ironically, increase their chances of remaining single. Or perhaps I’m being fanciful there. No one (in Europe) is actually going to eat twice as much to take advantage of a special offer, so the offer discriminates against single people. But M&S don’t care. They seem perfectly happy to condemn the single to evenings of dining – on full price non-special food – alone while viewing whatever television programme they fancy without interruption and in their pants. But surely being single is tough enough without being excluded from special offers? What if you were unfortunate enough to be a widower? What if, after the two of you have enjoyed a Saturday night ritual of dining in for £10 for a few years, your tiny grey husband dies (possibly crushed to death by a giant food-Nazi next to the ultimate potato mash)? There’d be no more Dine in for £10 menu for you. How iniquitous.

4. It Forces Extreme Measures. Many of the best ideas are borne out of adversity and, much in the noble tradition of Barnes Wallis inventing the bouncing bomb or Soviet cosmonauts using pencils in space, I have formulated a plan; a method by which single people might take full advantage of the Dine in for £10 offer and stick it to the man by enjoying a spinach and beef roulade followed by a raspberry panna cotta at the cheaper price. Single people need to find a food-buddy. They can do it by placing a personal ad like this:

Fiscally frugal food-lover (Male, early thirties, GSOH, NS, NK) with a penchant for rosemary and lemon crusted seabass and the green pea, bean and vegetable layer seeks similar to take advantage of the M&S Dine in for £10 offer. Must be willing to consume a lesser share of the profiteroles. All applications welcome but please, no time-wasters or merlot-drinkers.

By getting organised, single people can take advantage of the Dine in for £10 offer. But should single people have to resort to their guile, cunning and organisational adroitness to take advantage of the same offers that are unconditionally granted to couples?*

5. It’s Being Discriminatory Again. My wife and I qualify for the meal deal now, but what if we were to have a child one day? It’s not inconceivable (and nor are children, hopefully). Or three children? We’d be disqualified from the offer. Cruelly cast asunder by Marks and Spencer. Because you can’t feed three or five (or any other odd number, I won’t list them all) people from the M&S Dine in for £10 menu. In fact, only one person has ever successfully accomplished a similar feat: His name was Jesus and what he did with the wrong quantity of food for a gathering of people is spoken of as a miracle (which is a biblical word meaning fiction). So – miracles aside – families that contain an odd number of members are excluded from the deal too. The father, the son and the holy ghost can’t take advantage of the Dine in for £10 deal but Hitler and Eva Braun can.

6. Paying For The Thing. Okay, so – after about an hour of pushing tiny grey people around and bickering with your partner about broccoli – you’ve carefully assembled all of the components of the meal and you take them to the checkout. But when you get there they don’t ask you for ten pounds. They ask you for seventeen. “I thought that it was all a part of the Dine in for £10 offer”, you will state. And then they’ll press the Total button and say, “Oh yes, I hadn’t pressed the Total button”. This happens every time. Just press the Total button! We know we’re saving money, we don’t need you to remind us of that every time we buy the meal deal – that’s why we’re buying the bloody meal deal in the first place. All you’re accomplishing by reminding us of the money we’ve saved is to make the widow in the queue behind us cry.

7. The Third Pie. Marks and Spencer does something further to confound us all. As a part of their 2 for £10 menu Marks and Spencer offer a key lime pie. Which comes in three portions. Why three? We’ve already established that there’s only room for two people in this meal, what do they want us to do, fight over it? Go outside and scour the streets for a total stranger to hand it to as a random act of kindness? Perhaps they think we’re so abominably cruel that we’ll invite a dinner-guest – a single dinner-guest – round to watch us consume the rest of the menu before we reward them with a tiny dessert? I know this for certain; cats will not eat key lime pie, no matter how much cat food you mix in with it, so what’s with the third pie, Marks and Spencer? The third pie is sinister, frustrating and baffling. As is the rest of the Dine in for £10 deal.

*No. (But your conscience will surely have told you that already).

March 21, 2011
7 Reasons That The Pole Vault is Weird

It’s almost Christmas, dear readers, and what better and more seasonal topic is there to ruminate over than the pole vault? Well, possibly just about any other topic but, as I was lying in bed, unwell, with a bit of a fever, my thoughts naturally turned to the pole vault (well, whose wouldn’t?) and it struck me that the pole vault is really, really weird. Here’s why.

…and so does your sport.

1. Titular Obscurity. We all know what the pole vault is, because we’re introduced to it at a young age. But what if we didn’t know? Other athletics events are titularly obvious; the high jump; the long jump, we know what to expect from those just by their names. But what would we expect to see if told that we were about to witness the pole vault? It sounds like someone jumping over a pole, or a cellar for keeping Polish people in. Or leaping over a Polish person. Or Polish people vaulting. Or a storage area for poles. What the name doesn’t convey is anything at all about what you can expect to see, which is a Russian man with a stick jumping over a bar (which doesn’t resemble the sort of bar that you’d want to frequent at all, it’s just another stick the other way up, balanced between two other sticks). It’s literally all sticks. I would rather watch the cellar full of Polish people.

2. It’s Cheating. The closest relation to the pole vault must surely be the high jump; an event in which athletes compete to see who can jump the highest – something that we can all identify with and can do ourselves at home. But the pole vault takes the noble pursuit of seeing who can leap the highest, and adds a long pole into the mix so that competitors can go three times as high as they would naturally be able to. But why? Of course you can go higher if you have a ruddy great stick to help you. I can swim much faster than normal if I’m wearing flippers and Speedos with jet propulsion, but that doesn’t make me a good swimmer. Fortunately, I doubt that they’re going to make the 100 metres backstroke with flippers and jet-thrusting-pants an Olympic event alongside the regular swimming any time soon, which is a good thing, because I’d look bloody stupid in that getup and I never win anything anyway. And it would be weird, and we already have the pole vault for that.

3. They’re Missing The Point. Pole vaulters vault to see who can vault the highest, but that’s not even the point of vaulting. Because vaulting originated as a way for the Dutch to cross dykes (everyone glad that I’m not AA Gill at this moment? Good, me too). So the true measure of the vaulter’s prowess should be distance. In short, they’re doing it wrong. Let’s make them vault over a river; that would be true to the origins of the sport and a damned sight more entertaining. They’re missing the point of their own sport.

4. Exclusion. It keeps better events out of the Olympics. Because I don’t need to know who can jump very high with the help of a big stick. I want to see people test the limits of human performance without artificial aid. Do you know what I want to know? I want to know how fast people can spin, because we just don’t know that. I propose the one minute spin, an event in which each competitor stands within a circle a metre in diameter and has a minute in which to spin as many times as possible (clockwise or anti-clockwise, it’s freestyle), and the winner is the person who attains the highest rate of RPM. That’s what I want to see, and then I want to watch them trying to walk back to their chairs and attempting to put their tracksuit bottoms back on. Because that sort of spectacle would make the Olympics ten times better.

5. The Equipment Is Unwieldy. And what right-minded person would take up the bloody sport in the first place? If I were tall, athletic and good at going over bars (rather than sitting behind them. Still, two out of three isn’t bad) I’d choose the high jump. Because it’s exactly the same as the pole vault, but you don’t have to lug a pole around with you as a part of your kit. Because taking up the pole vault is like taking up the double bass or the tuba. It’s absolutely ridiculous. What if you were reliant on public transport? How would you fancy trying to get on a rush-hour tube train with a seventeen foot long pole? It’s difficult enough with a modestly proportioned holdall or a large satchel. Okay, so you’d be able to hold the doors open for as long as it took to get on but, I speak with absolute confidence here, it would be a bit burdensome. In fact, it would be a faff. In much the same way that holding up the world was a faff for Atlas.

6. Double Entendre. There is literally nothing that you can say about pole vaulting that isn’t a double entendre. After all, it’s a sport which involves physically exerting yourself until you’re panting and thrusting a long, rigid shaft into a box before you briefly soar heavenward and eventually end up lying sweaty and exhausted on a mattress with a horizontal pole. And if there isn’t scope for euphemism, metaphor, allusion and plain seaside postcard bawdiness there then…um…well there just clearly is. And Wikipedia isn’t even trying for innuendo when it says, “…pole stiffness and length are important factors to a vaulter’s performance.” It is impossible to discuss the pole vault without innuendo.

7. Confusion. Because while the name pole vault, as we have established, is misleading, once you’ve accepted the illogic of it, you’re in for further frustration and disappointment. When I was four years old and I started school, you can have absolutely no idea how excited I was when I was told that in the school gym there was a vaulting horse. A vaulting horse, I thought with wide-eyed astonishment. That’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard in my life. They’ve got a horse that can vault! A raging stallion that can shoot itself into the sky with the aid of a pole! A pony that can rocket over a lofty bar! A mare that can soar through the air and land on a mattress! They’ve got a wondrous, magical creature! The most awesome beast I ever will see! They’ve got an athletic super-horse! They’ve got…that wooden thing in the corner that looks like a weird shed for midgets? What the hell is that? Is life always going to be like this?

December 21, 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 We Should Trick Or Treat Ourselves Out Of The Deficit

At 7 Reasons (.org) we’re humourists, writers, film-makers and…well…those things. Occasionally though – very occasionally – we branch out. And today is one of those days. Because we’ve just had a really good idea. A brilliant idea, in fact. Britain can drag itself out of the current recession by trick-or-treating. Yes, that’s right. we really did just say “Britain can drag itself out of the current recession by trick-or-treating”. And it will work. Here are seven reasons why:

1. History. In Victorian Britain, you could barely move for ragamuffins up chimneys and urchins being put to work in blacking factories. Not to mention girls in t’mill or plying their trade as occasional flower-vendors. And Britain was the most prosperous, powerful and advanced society of the age; all built on the ruthless exploitation of children. Trick-or-treating our way out of the deficit is essentially a more modern and palatable version of the Victorian model. History commands us to do it.

2. Big Society. Love them or hate them, the Tory flagship policy is something called the ‘Big Society’. The premiss, if we understand it correctly, is that it empowers local people. Demanding treats from old ladies is also pretty empowering. Some people, especially those with chainsaws, are really good at getting big treats. Logic dictates therefore, that trick-or-treating is right up Big Society’s street. Which is convenient as this is where we should all be going on Sunday night. With or without tree surgeon utensils.

3. Balance of Payments. Americans are the greatest per capita consumers of confectionery in the world*. Having trick-or-treated vast quantities of sweets from our neighbours, we can export them to America. Not only will this be a healthy profit for Britain, it will also be a healthy profit for America; the nation that owns most British sweet manufacturers. This perpetual transatlantic sweet transaction will enrich both nations to the point where they will be able to rid themselves of their burdensome debts and counter the economic threat of emerging nations such as China and India.**

4. Incentive. Trick-or-treating happens once a year. Assuming you are doing it properly that is. If we fail to eradicate the deficit this year, we will have to live through a year of cuts until October 30th 2011 when we’ll get another go. Paper cuts, however necessary, are bad. Bread knife cuts, however necessary, are even worse. Bowl cuts, however necessary, are worse still. And they are nothing compared to the cuts, however necessary, that the coalition have just announced. So if you don’t want to get cut, get out there and get some money. Or some Dairy Milks.

5. Pumpkins. Most people who knock on doors and ask for a donation carry charity boxes. The volume of these is seldom satisfactory and rarely saves so much as a tin of tuna let alone a Whale. A pumpkin however can be very satisfactory in size. So, once you’ve hollowed out your pumpkin – but before you’ve made eyes and stuck a candle inside – whip up and down the street a few times. Actually, make it once. People might get annoyed/poor if you get repetitive. Oh, and once you’ve finished with your pumpkin, sell it. Ideally to Americans. They wear them on their heads.

6. George Osborne. Only time will tell, but given the current economic climate it is likely that Osborne will go down in history as either a genius or a buffoon. It’s fair to say, that at the time of writing, many people think he is a buffoon and they’d like to give him a slap on the chops. To others though, he is seen as a strongly-willed man making tough decisions when they are required. These people want to shake his hand. Sadly, George doesn’t have enough hands or chops to go around. Which is where this genius 7 Reasons idea comes in: Many people like dressing up and wearing masks when they set about trick or treating. This year all trick-or-treaters should wear a George Osborne mask. This way, for one night only, people all over the land get the chance to slap or shake the Chancellor.

7. They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? In the Great Depression (the last time things were this bad) people kept themselves entertained by participating in many dubious activities and entertainments: Dance marathons, jigsaw puzzles, penny-a-card bingo, pointing at aeroplanes and beating hoops with sticks were all popular leisure activities during the 1930s. By using these soporifically tedious activities to distract themselves from the straitened economic circumstances and widespread hardship, people were able to gaily throw their woes aside and the national mood – in contrast to the economy – was one of buoyancy. In 2010, we can learn from the past. By participating in something as brain-achingly tedious as walking up and down the street in the cold and meeting the neighbours – or ceaselessly answering the front door and meeting the neighbours – we will improve national morale and, with a new, breezy confidence to fortify it, the nation will boldly march its way clear of the deficit. And all because of trick-or-treat.***

*We assume, based on having seen them.

**This should work. We have no idea why “professional” economists didn’t think of this sooner.

***The 7 Reasons team can be hired for the writing of manifestos and speeches and are willing to discuss the exchange of principles for money. Or tea. Or tiramisu.

October 28, 2010