Tag: Babies

Guest Post: 7 Reasons To Love The British Monarchy

As the catalyst for much social discussion, the subject of countless headlines and even the inspiration behind many protests, it’s difficult to argue that the Royal Family aren’t a conversation starter. Despite dividing the opinions of the public on occasion, there are seven very special reasons why you can’t help but love the British monarchy.

1. Without the Royals, there would be no Pippa. In April 2011, the world was caught up in a whirlwind of fairy tale romance, bunting and street parties – it was time for the much-anticipated Royal wedding. Whether you loved it or loathed it, the inescapable pomp presented something to the general public other than misty-eyed monarchs; Pippa Middleton’s posterior. The bridesmaid’s bottom quickly gathered a following of over 225,000 fan on Facebook, and suddenly gave the Great British public a renewed interest in the Royals.

2. Banking on a bank holiday. Each time that we are faced with an up and coming event involving the monarchy, almost all of us ask ourselves the same question; will we get an extra bank holiday out of this? Some of us may even and plan our much awaited long weekends around the schedules of the Royal Family. Whether it’s a jubilee or a wedding, you’re likely to find that every Brit can discard their stiff upper lip regarding the Royals in lieu of an extra day away from their desk.

3. Rock star royalty. You might not expect a member of the monarchy to be prancing around a Las Vegas pool table crudely cupping their privates in a farcical attempt at modesty, but luckily for us that’s when it’s Prince Harry’s time to shine. Providing a little comic relief to the stiff regiment that is the Royal Family, Harry’s antics have ranged from poorly advised and politically incorrect fancy dress costumes to reported recreational drug use. Living a lifestyle that even the most well-seasoned rock star would shy away from makes the Royals seem a little more human; after all, wouldn’t we all do the same if we were born into a world of fame and fortune?

4. Bringing Britain the bacon. It’s difficult to walk a few yards in London without being confronted with an array of keyrings, coffee mugs and keepsakes emblazed with the faces of the Royal family. The monarchy attracts attention from people all over the world which in turn increases the amount of revenue generated by tourism each year. The year ending March 2013 saw overseas tourists spend £19 billion in the UK, and the monarchy is a contributing factor to this staggering figure. As one of the few remaining countries to still uphold a monarchy, we have to be grateful. After all, hoards of cash-burning visitors wouldn’t stand in the howling wind and drizzle for just anybody!

5. Prince Phillips’s classic clangers. Long before Prince Harry, Prince Phillip was dropping countless clangers during his duties, some of which were so outrageous they verged on the unbelievable. For example, just earlier this year during a trip to Luton and Dunstable University Hospital, the Prince remarked to a Filipino nurse “the Philippines must be half empty – you’re all here running the NHS”. Other toe-curling off the cuff comments include telling a robed president of Nigeria “you look like you’re ready for bed”. Even at 91, Phillip’s wit shows no sign of waning, so there may still be more mortifying moments to come.

6. Make way for the Magna Carta. If you think that Prince Harry’s partying and collection of pretty young things was going mad with power, you haven’t seen anything yet. King Henry I implemented a levy known as “scutage” that was payable by knights who wished to exempt themselves from their fighting duties during his rule in 1100. However, the King soon saw the potential to make a pretty penny from this tax, and increased the fee by 300%. It is said that this outbreak of craziness later inspired the creation of the Magna Carta to carefully control the powers of the ruling monarch.

7. Britain comes together. We may not know the words to the national anthem or be able to name each and every member, but the Royal Family does bring a certain level of unity to the UK. For example, when it was announced that Kate Middleton had gone into labour to give birth to Prince George Alexander Louis, over 6 million comments mentioning the imminent arrival were posted on Twitter within a 48 hour period. Along with a cup of tea and a buttered crumpet, the monarchy represents something that is quintessentially British that we can all share, whether we’re waving flags or just wishing it would all quieten down.

Author bio: Rosie Percy is a freelance writer who explores a diverse variety of lifestyle and human interest topics. She has previously written for the Guardian and a host of sites across the web, sharing her insights via blogs. Rosie currently lives in Brighton and spends her spare time seeing friends and strolling along the seafront.

July 26, 2013
7 Reasons Blu-Tack Is Dangerous

When you think about it, the fact that there are not more pencil case injuries is staggering. Stationery is dangerous. You can staple your thumb to the wall, you can poke your eye out with a pencil, you can get a rubber lodged up places. All these potential hazards pale into insignificance however when you place them next to… wait for it… Blu-Tack.

Incredible Blu-Tack Spider by Elizabeth Thompson

1. Wall Collapses. Sadly, this is based on personal experience. Having used Blu-Tack to affix the DAB aerial to the wall in the hope of being able to hear Test Match Special, I then tried to pull it down as soon Geoffrey Boycott got his hands on the microphone. Unfortunately, I pulled a bit too hard. And while the aerial successfully came away from the wall, so did a non-too inconsiderate amount of plaster and plasterboard. It’s tough stuff Blu-Tack.

2. Monsters. Blu-Tack can be turned into giant spiders. Look at it! It’s huge! And not exactly un-lifelike either. Forget you’ve made this when you wander to the bathroom in the middle of the night and you’re going to get the fright of your life.

3. Typing. I like playing with Blu-Tack. It’s probably the equivalent of a comfort blanket. I have a blob (currently spherical in shape) on my desk and I always find myself rolling it around with my fingers. Half the time I don’t even realise I’m doing it. Nor do I realise that little bits get left on the tips of my fingers. This can cause problems. The other day, for instance, I was writing an email and my finger became stuck on the xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx. Marc still hasn’t replied.

4. Baldness. People suggest alopecia is the quickest and most terrifying way to lose hair. I disagree. Get Blu-Tack in your hair and it is there for good. The only way to get rid of it is to shave your head. Which is fine if you are thinking of popping down to the local Hare Krishna Temple, but not so great if your name is Rapunzel.

5. Goggles. Two years ago there was the bizarre story reported that teachers at one school ordered children to wear goggles before handling Blu-Tack. Their reasoning (and they one gave one) was that it prevented children from rubbing it into their eyes. I would say though, that wearing goggles is far more dangerous. Not only could it cause name-calling – four-eyes etc – you can be sure that the class bully will go up to one child, pull the goggles away from his eyes and then let go. With a thud the elastic will snap the goggles back into the unsuspecting child’s face and case rings around the eyes. You’re just giving bullies the equipment to bully. Blu-Tack shouldn’t be anywhere near the classroom. Over 18s only I say.

6. Spelling-Bee. Erm. It’s spelt blue. What sort of lesson are Blu-Tack setting to the younger generation if they so willingly spell words as they sound and not as they are rightly spelt? We’d have books full of ‘Terradactuls’ and ‘bagets’ and ‘leperds’ and ‘curnels’. What an abomination that would be. Blu-Tack are having a dangerous effect on our youth. Speaking of which…

7. Colour-Blindness. In their infinite wisdom Blu-Tack also sell Yello-Tack. Only instead of calling it Yello-Tack, they call it Blu-Tack. Which is bloody confusing. What happens if a baby’s first words in life are, “What’s this mummy?” as they hold up yellow Blu-Tack. The mother will say, “It’s Blu-Tack dear.” Followed by, “Oh my goodness! The baby’s talking! The baby’s talking!” In all the excitement they will totally miss the fact that they have just taught their baby that yellow is in fact blue. That will be ingrained on the baby for life.

October 13, 2011
7 Reasons That I Was Wrong About Children

Hello! Marc here. I have a confession to make. I’ve been really wrong for a long time about something really fundamental. When I was growing up, my stepfather would tell me that it “takes a big man to admit when he’s wrong”. Usually before admitting he was wrong. Well I’ve been very, very wrong. Wrong enough to make me a giant. Because I used to think that having a child would be among the worst things that could happen to anyone. But now that I’ve been the owner of a child for the past six months (he turned half last Saturday) I realise that it isn’t. In fact, having a child is bloody amazing. Here are seven reasons that I was wrong about children.

1. It’s Not Difficult. I used to imagine that being a parent was hard, but it isn’t. When you have a child, you’ll soon discover that you’re playing all the time. It’s amazing fun and it’s not at all difficult to do (in fact, it’s child’s play). Everything you do in your life with your child is a fun game. Teaching them to eat; teaching them to walk; introducing them to new colours and textures; changing a nappy, everything – however mundane – is a wondrous and fascinating experience for them, which makes it an intensely rewarding experience for you. Earlier today, my son and I spent half an hour banging on a window from opposite sides at each other. Half an hour! It was great.

2. It Doesn’t Age You. I previously thought that having a child was an experience that must surely prematurely age people as a result of the lack of sleep and the heavy burden of responsibility. But it turns out that the opposite is true. Spending most of your life with a creature to whom everything is new and exciting is a liberation. It’s an opportunity to view anything and everything without the burden of your own experiences and prejudices. It’s like seeing everything through a new pair of eyes. If anything, I would have to say that fatherhood has made me feel and act younger. Impossible as it may seem to anyone that knows me, I believe that having a child has made me more childlike than I was before.

3. Having Children Isn’t A Serious Business. I used to think that having a baby around wouldn’t be much fun, but it is. And even when babies aren’t being very entertaining, you can still have fun with them. Earlier today, my wife left our (not yet mobile) son unattended in the living room for thirty seconds, so I snuck in and moved him to the other side of his play-mat. “He’s moved!” She shrieked as she returned to the room while I dissolved into a fit of the giggles. Once she realised that this was not the case, she laughed too. Having a child around just makes our lives more fun. It’s made us more fun people.

4. Having Children Is A Very Social Business. I used to believe that having a child would hamper my social life: That a child would have a similar effect on my social life to the one that the iceberg had on the progress of the Titanic. But I was wrong. Because we didn’t know many of our neighbours before, but now we know almost all of them. And their many children. We share toys, baby accessories and childhood diseases with them and our children go to play-group together. If anything, our social life has been improved by having a child. It turns out that he’s not an iceberg, he’s an ice-breaker.

5. Having Children Makes You Less Selfish. I used to believe that having children would make me more selfish. That I would resent the intrusion that a child would make on my time and would guard it jealously. But it turns out that the opposite is true. When I went to bed at 2am last Saturday morning and my son saw me and decided that he wanted to play, I didn’t mind a bit. We played for two hours and it was great fun. Then I put him into his cot and he rolled around and barked like a dog for a bit. My wife and I just lay there listening to him and laughing. I had to be up at 7am to climb a mountain. Did I mind the unexpected impingement on my time and the weariness the next day? Not a bit.

6. Having A Child Does Not Make You Housebound. I used to think that having a child would mean that I’d get to go out less. But the opposite has happened. I’m out all the time! Weather permitting, we take our son to the park every day. I’ve spent more time in parks in the last six months than I had in my entire life before we had a child. I pretty much live in the park; I’m almost a part-time tramp. As my son and I were playing on our mat the other day, a woman came up to us and said “It’s so nice to see a father spending time playing with his son.” I smiled and told her that it was no chore. And it wasn’t. I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather have been or anything I’d rather have been doing than playing with my son in the park at that moment. I’m always out these days.

7. Children Do Not Make Everything Messy. I used to dread the effect that a child would have on the interior of my house. I thought that all of the gaudily-coloured accessories and accoutrements that are needed for children would clutter up my house and make it a (more) horrid place to be. But they’ve improved it. We’ve got owls on the walls and windmills in the garden. In fact, we’ve got owls everywhere. But I like owls. Now I get to buy really fun and interesting things to decorate the house with instead of sobre and tasteful grown-up stuff. Our house is much nicer now and we’ve got a crocodile on the upstairs landing! Who wouldn’t want one of those?!

September 30, 2011
7 Reasons That A Red Bucket Is The Most Amazing Thing In The World

Hello 7 Reasons readers. Due to unforeseen circumstances we’re going to publish a guest post on a Thursday, which is something that we’ve never done before. So here, taking up not very much space on the 7 Reasons sofa at all, but making quite a lot of noise and a bit of a smell that we’re pretending not to notice, is today’s guest poster. Possibly our youngest ever.

Hello! My name’s Byron Sebastian Fearns and I’m a baby. Now I may not have seen much in my five and three quarter months, but today the most wonderful thing happened and I was compelled to share with you what I discovered; it is the most exciting thing in the whole history of the world ever. It’s something called a red bucket. Here are seven reasons that it’s more amazing than anything else, even elephants and balls.

1. It’s Red! The first thing I noticed when my mother and father wheeled me through the big building full of shiny stuff and dishcloths and picked up my toy that I now know is called a “bucket” (which rhymes with “fuck it”, a phrase I heard my father say once shortly before mother became very cross) was that it is red. This means that it’s amazing and not blue or yellow like everything else that people buy for me on the basis that “it’s for a boy” or that “yellow is a neutral colour”. I don’t like blue (it is a colour that makes my father cry at football matches) and I’m not neutral. If I liked neutral colours I’d hurl magnolia coloured food at the walls rather than orange coloured food. I like bright colours! I like red!

2. It Makes A Noise! It does! As we perambulated through the big building full of shiny stuff and dishcloths Father turned the bucket upside-down and began banging on the bottom of it. It made a noise like the noise that the man next door makes all day long in his kitchen or the sound that Father sometimes makes with his head on the desk after he has stared at a white screen for a considerable period of time. I’m relatively new to the concept of onomatopoeia, but it made a noise that sounded like thump-thump-diddle-diddle-ump and was very loud. The ladies that live in the big building full of shiny things seemed most impressed.

3. It’s Hilarious! Then we took my bucket to the park where the trees and squirrels live. We lay down on the grass and, after I had completed a short bout of screaming for absolutely no reason, Father said “Look Byron” and put the bucket over his head. This was the funniest thing I have ever seen. Ever! Father then took it off his head and put it back on his head and I laughed again. We did this for hours! Father enjoyed this so much that he started rolling his eyes and staring at his watch with delight.

4. It Makes Another Noise! Just when I felt that I might eventually tire of Father putting the bucket on his head, taking it off again and then putting it back on his head, something amazing happened. Father coughed and it sounded like the deepest loudest sound ever heard by anyone at all. This was hilarious. I laughed for ages. Then Father made other noises in the bucket too and they were even funnier. They were so funny that I laughed more than I ever have before; they were so funny that Mother had to edge slowly away from us in case she injured herself with all of the fun; they were so funny that Father suddenly became religious and started asking god when he could go home. He spoke to god in the bucket! Oh, how I laughed.

5. It Moves! Then Father stood up and started running round the park with the bucket on his head and pretended to be a monster (which is a creature similar to a dog). “Rooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrr!” he said as he ran round a tree; “Roooooooooaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!” he said as he ran past a bench; “Rooooooaaaaarrrrrrr!!!!!!!” he said as he ran behind a bush”; “Aaaaaaaaaarrrrggghhhhhh!!!!!!” screamed a tour group from behind the bush; “Roooooaaaaaaarrrrrrr!!!!!” he said as he ran back from the bush; “OOOOWWWWWW!!!!!!!!” he said as he fell over a bin. Then he said a word that I’ve never heard before and Mother shouted a lot and we had to go home.

6. It’s Red Inside Too! On the way home Father put the bucket on my head and I thought it was the most awesome and amazing thing that it’s possible for any human to experience, ever. It turned everything in the world red and when I made a noise it was the biggest noise that anyone has ever made. It was bigger even than the noise that Father made when I weed on his coat as he was changing my nappy at the National Railway Museum. It was amazing! Then Father took the bucket off my head and the next-door-neighbours were there and they seemed concerned.

7. I Can Get In It! After a long – and really boring – conversation with the neighbours about babies and the bucket and stuff we got home and then something happened that was the most incredible, fantastical and phantasmagorical thing of all. I got into the bucket!

Look at me! I’m in the bucket.

Then Father took the bucket away and told me if I ever wanted to see it again I had to write today’s 7 Reasons post as he has something called a “headache”, which he says is a contagious disease that is contracted by proximity to children. So now I’ve written it I’m going to get the bucket back and play with it all day every day for a week. Or perhaps a month! I’m off to play with my bucket now. Bye-bye.

September 15, 2011
7 Reasons Not To Keep Twiglets In The Kitchen

Sometimes I have good ideas; sometimes I have brilliant ideas; sometimes I have ideas so utterly fantastic and ground-breakingly innovative that people actually gasp in wonderment and prostrate themselves on the floor in front of me. And much of that sentence is true. Earlier this week, however, I had a bad idea – one that seemed good at the time – but turned out to be a bad one, a stinker, a shocker; possibly, in fact, the worst idea I have had since I decided to ride my bicycle no-handed on a beach side path with a passenger on the back and the bottom of a cliff immediately to my left. I decided – as there were two 200g tubs of Twiglets in the house (it had been my wife’s birthday) that I should keep them in the kitchen, out of harms way, where I wouldn’t just sit and munch them, as I had been expressly instructed not to eat them all. Here are seven reasons not to keep your Twiglets in the kitchen.

A plate! What divine and decadent luxury.

1. Measuring Them Seems Easy. You will fill your hand with Twiglets every time you go to the kitchen. It’s simple: The Twiglets are a long way away from you in a room you’re not going to visit very often, so having a handful of them every time you’re passing will mean that you will consume a negligible amount. It won’t even register that they’ve gone. Unless, that is, you have enormous hands. A fact you will conveniently forget.

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

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

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

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

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

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

August 18, 2011
7 Reasons To Wear A Sling

Last night I found myself in a sling. Not because I had done a mischief, but because I had immersed myself in a role-play situation. Reasons for this are seven-fold and may or may not appear on this site later this week. While I was sitting there being slinged-up, it occurred to me that I had been missing a trick for twenty-eight years. I had never worn a sling. And because of that I was missing out on so much.

1. Sympathy. Not for the Devil or indeed for Adam, but for all of us. If we see someone in a sling we automatically feel sorry for them. How did they do that? Are they in pain? Can I help them carry their bags off the train? Wear a sling and you will get more love than you did that morning from your so-called loved one. Admittedly you may have destroyed their eight year-old cactus by dropping a pair of wet jeans on it, but even so.

2. Innocence. If there has just been a terrible crime and there are blood soaked bodies all over the road – or a box of tea-bags has gone missing from Sainsbury’s – it’s easy to look around and identify the suspect. You might not mean to do it, but it’s automatic. “There,” you think, “that youth in the beanie holding a machete is responsible for the murders.” He might not be. He might be a nice lad out for a stroll. But in our panic stricken minds we play to stereotypes. “That man there, the one who looks like he broke his arm recently and is now in a sling, did he commit these atrocities? No, of course he didn’t. He’s in a sling.” So you stop watching him. And off he wanders with 240 Gold Standard tea-bags stuffed down his trousers. Never to be seen again.

3. Massage. The problem with massaging your own neck and shoulder is that your arm gets tired very quickly. Arms were not meant to be positioned across your body at an upwards angle. They are meant to dangle loosely by your side and whack into door frames or old women. A sling, though, will give you that much needed support. You can massage your neck, shoulder and jab your collar bone with your fingers all day if you wish. Who needs an osteopath?

4. Discrimination. I’ve been for a few job interviews in the last six months and failed to land any of the jobs.* The reason for this has just dawned on me. I am perfect. Too perfect in every possible way. As a result employers can easily turn me away without the fear of a lawsuit being filed against them for discrimination. If I were to wear a sling though, well, things would be very different. They wouldn’t dare not employ me. If they did they’d know that I’d complain. They know I would sight the fact that they discriminated against me because I was wearing a sling. It would go to court. I’d get a lot of money. They’d go into liquidation. I’d win. That is the power of the sling.

5. Bullies. We’ve all heard the story of David walking along Brixton High Street only to be faced down by the towering figure of Goliath. What did he do? That’s right, he slipped out of his sling, picked a hypodermic needle up off the floor and fired it at Goliath’s head. Down he went, all hypodermatised. A lesson for us all. If you’re being bullied (or just passing through Brixton) wear a sling. No one will touch you.

6. Adoption. A sling is particularly helpful if you are an actress wandering about in a foreign country. It is quite possible that you may see a child you quite like the look of. A child who you think would enjoy the sights and sounds of downtown Beverley Hills. A child you want to keep. All you need to do is whip your arm out of the sling and pop whichever child that takes your fancy in it. Simple as that. You then get your lawyers to sort out the payment.

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7. Cold. In true 7 Reasons style we save the most obvious reason for last. The sling is basically just a big handkerchief. Which is ideal if you’ve got a big cold. Gone are the days of destroying rainforests for a box of Kleenex. Gone are the days of having to pile snot upon snot and then wiping it all over your face. A sling will allow you to blow your nose in the comfort of dry material at least six times. Thus curing colds in half the time a normal handkerchief would. Sometimes I think 7 Reasons should run the NHS.

*This is why I haven’t started calling myself Rebecca if you’re wondering what happened there.

July 19, 2011
7 Reasons That Seven Is Called Seven (probably)

Okay, people. You can’t have failed to have noticed that David and Victoria Beckham have had a daughter and that they’ve named her Harper Seven Beckham (unless you get your news from the News of the World, in which case time stopped yesterday). Now, we all understand why the Beckhams have named their daughter Harper; it’s because they’re aficionados that have been inspired by the American literary canon (and who amongst us wouldn’t rate Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird as a seminal work), but most people have been a bit nonplussed by their selection of the second-name Seven. As of yet, there’s been no official word on what the fuck they were thinking how they selected their newborn’s middle moniker so, in the best traditions of 7 Reasons (.org), we’re going to flail around and speculate wildly. Here are seven reasons that Seven is called Seven (probably).

1. They’re Big Fans! Well, we had no idea and frankly we’re a little overwhelmed and very flattered. You see, we have a number of American readers, though we know very little about them, we just know that we are read regularly in America. So, it’s possible that David and Victoria love our website and have named their daughter after us. After all, it’s easily possible that homesick Brits abroad would love to keep up with what’s going on at home and why wouldn’t the Beckhams want to know when one of the team gets stuck in a revolving door or the other one buys a new laundry bin? There’s no reason that they wouldn’t want to know that. None at all. Of course they’ve named their daughter after us.

2. Conception. The Beckhams are noted for naming their children for the place where they were conceived: Brooklyn was conceived in Brooklyn; Romeo was conceived in the back of an Alfa Romeo; Cruz was conceived on a cruise (spelling apparently isn’t their strong suit) and it’s easily possible that their latest child was conceived in hotel room number 7 somewhere, or (in a variation on the theme) at seven o’clock, or while watching Channel 7 (Australia). Or perhaps she was conceived near the River Severn. Whatever it is, it could be about the conception.

3. Dwarves. I know a bit about newborn babies – being the curator of one myself – and one of the most striking things about them is that they are tiny. Really, really little. Perhaps, as the Beckhams held their wee bundle in their arms, they looked at her and thought isn’t she small? Let’s call her Small. No, we can’t call her small, that would be silly. People will make fun. We’re going to have to take a more sophisticated approach than that. Let’s be clever. Let’s take the concept of small and be a little more oblique. What else is small? Dwarves! Let’s call her Sleepy! Or Dopey! No, we can’t call her that; it spoils a potential nickname. Let’s be a tad circumlocutory when we reference the dwarves. Got it! We’ll call her Seven.

4. Keeping Track. In the manner of farmers painting numbers on the sides of their cows (which is essentially a rural version of tagging perpetrated by ruddy-faced tweed-wearers in fields), it’s quite important to keep track of your herd. With the addition of Harper Seven Beckham, there will now be six members of the Beckham household. But thumbs are complex things, and when you’re counting to seven, it’s easy to make a mistake, right? After all, thumbs are only half the size of your fingers. Who wouldn’t find that confusing? Oh yes. Them.

5. Seinfeld. Okay, so maybe the Beckhams aren’t fans of our site: That would explain why the limited edition diamond encrusted version of our Blowers t-shirt remains unsold. But perhaps they are fans of Seinfeld. After all, George Costanza’s ideal name for a boy (or a girl) was Seven. Obviously, Jerry objected, but as he was the least funny thing in his own sitcom so it’s possible that the Beckhams ignored him. We have too. George is right.

6. Numerology. In 2011, the number seven is tremendously significant. We’ve done actual research and have discovered that, for numerologists, the number seven represents all manner of important stuff that we sort of skim-read. To our untrained eyes, it might appear somewhat similar to every other number and year, but to experts (and who’s to say that the latest celebrity craze isn’t Scientology or Kabbalah and that Posh and Becks aren’t, in fact, Grand High Poobahs of Numerology or Akelas or something ), it’s probably quite meaningful and important. And interesting. And had we looked at it closely, it might have seemed profound.

7. It’s Not The Worst Name They Could Think Of. I learned today of a worse baby name than Seven: also worse than Superman; and worse than Adolf. I discovered that a baby at my son’s baby group is called…Ian. That’s right, a baby called Ian. The boy Ian. Ian the baby. A name that’s only appropriate for a man in his 50s (or Ian Bell) has been given to tiny child. What sort of monster would name their child Ian? Never mind speculating about the name Seven, that’s a question we all need an answer to.

*The 7 Reasons team would like to congratulate the Beckhams on the occasion of the birth of their daughter, Harper Seven Beckham. Though we may have derived some humour from their choice of name (we are humourists, after all), we have nothing but admiration for their conduct as parents which, in an age where parenting skills often seem to be lacking amongst such a large section of the population, are an exemplary example to us all. Congratulations! But Seven? Really?

July 12, 2011
7 Reasons To Be A Father

This piece is entitled 7 Reasons to be a Father. It is not 7 Reasons You Fathered a Child, we all have our own reasons for that, often involving a combination of beer and lust or – for the less fortunate – calendars, timetables, fatigue and oh God, it’s bloody sex again. This is a plea to bring back into popular usage the title Father. It’s important that women read this too, as it’s mostly from them that children learn how to address their fathers. I’m printing this piece out and posting it all around the house when I’ve finished it for my wife to see because I, more than almost anything else, also wish to be addressed as Father. Here’s why.

1. Fathers Have A Day. Dads and daddies don’t have a day, but fathers do. It’s called Father’s Day, and it’s a whole day devoted to the celebration of fathers. Less formally titled male parents have nothing similar to Father’s Day. The nearest thing they have is Daddy Day Care, which is a film starring Eddie Murphy from 2003, made a mere eighteen years after he ceased to be funny.* If you want to be celebrated, you have to be a father.

2. It’s Not Mentioned In The Phrase “Who’s The Daddy”. I have an irrational hatred of the phrase “who’s the daddy” that borders on the pathological. I don’t know why people ever need to say this (actually, it’s usually bellowed, boorishly) but they do. I dislike this phrase so much that my (fortunately resistible) desire on hearing it is to beat the sayer around the head with the nearest sturdy but moveable objects to hand – which today, would be a large beige parasol and a teacup** – while saying “who’s the father“. This is problematic as the best known user of this phrase is Ray Winstone (in the film Scum), and in terms of people you’d be ill-advised to assault with a beige parasol and a teacup, he’s right up there with Sebastien Chabal and the hairy-armed woman from my local branch of Superdrug. If more people used the word father, I’d be in less danger.

3. It’s Your Duty. While my son and I were playing our version of peek-a-boo that bears the catchy name, Where’s Father? My visiting mother-in-law looked at me aghast. “He can’t call you Father” she said, “that sounds horrible. Fathers are remote and distant”. While I agreed with the first part of what she said (he can’t call me Father. He’s a baby. He usually refers to me as Agoo-Agoo), I wholly disagree with the latter part. Fathers are not remote and distant; bad parents are. Father is just a name associated with another age when the social norm was for parents (especially male ones) to be more distant from their children. Were all fathers cold and distant? No. Were all of these men bad parents? No. But they’ve been tainted by the modern distaste for the word father. Don’t we owe it to people who will be forever associated with the word father to reclaim the name, to show that being addressed as father and being a good parent are not exclusive? Yes. I think we do. Being addressed as Father, rather than as Daddy could be seen as performing a civic duty. A very untaxing one at that, which is by far the best sort.

4. The Name Father Lends Itself To Formality. If you ever ask a child what their dad has been up to, the answer is never good. It’s usually, “Daddy drank too much and fell asleep on the kitchen floor.” Enquire after a father, however, and surely you’ll get something more formal and considered: “Father imbibed injudiciously and was importuned adjacent to the pantry” or “Father’s club won a tournament of association football and, on his return to the familial abode, he was so awash with joy and hubris that he swooned in the scullery”. The more formal account of your character and your recent occurrences will give everyone a much better impression of you.***

5. Father Is Right For Our Era. It’s been a trend in recent years for children to be named more traditionally and formally and Britain is now teeming with Samuels, Lilys, Lottys and Benjamins. With superb irony, there was even a flood of Noahs two years ago. What better fit for the era then, than to be known as Father? Can you imagine any conversation beginning “Hephzibah.” “Yes, Dad”? No of course you can’t. Gary has a dad. Jeremiah requires a father.

6. The Word Father Is Synonymous With Excitement And Adventure. The word father is redolent of suitably-attired men drinking port in their oak-panelled libraries; of men that had rounded the horn six times afore the mast when they were scarcely twenty; of men that invented telephones and telegrams and multitudinous things that don’t begin with tele; of men that built vast industries where once there had been nothing; of men that – with scant regard for the peril they placed themselves in – explored and charted the world that was their plaything; of unreconstructed men that sallied forth to ride atop elephants and take pot-shots at tigers whilst clad in crisp linen; of men that reposed languidly – though impeccably – in the leather armchairs of their clubs and in the saloons of well-appointed hotels; of men that wore a panoply of hats – tall and short, soft and hard, cloth and silk – for every occasion, but never indoors; of men that marched long in shambling, hobnailed ranks to their capital when their families fell hungry; of bewhiskered men that shrank their world, bringing far-flung and wondrous exotica and ephemera to and from all the ends of the earth; of men that unsealed newly-received missives at their breakfast tables with a silver letter opener and a flourish; of good men whose reliability, indomitability, solidity and sheer bloody ability went unremarked upon though thoroughly remarkable; of men for whom adventure, discovery, conquest, knowledge, power, expansion, great works, boundlessness and greatness were commonplace. Those men were fathers. And dad? Dad drives to B&Q on a Saturday morning in his people carrier, puts up shelves in the afternoon, drinks crap lager while watching Britain’s Got Talent in the evening and then falls asleep at night during Match of the Day. And Saturday is the highlight of his week. Being a father is so much more exciting.

7. It’s Rare. There just aren’t many Fathers out there so you’ll stand out. This has other benefits too. Should you find yourself in a beer garden populated by the balding, the pudgy, the badly-attired and the bloodshot of eye, observe what happens when a child calls out “Dad”. Everyone stops what they are doing and looks around, certain that their progeny is in urgent need of their attention, only to discover that it’s the child of someone else who then announces to the assembled company that they have done a big plop. If your child calls out “Father”, you’re likely to be the only person that looks around so it’s not just more individual, it’s more sociable too, as no one else has their conversation about how much of Match of the Day they missed last night when they dozed off disrupted, and no one gets to hear about the big plop. Except you.

So, who’s the daddy? Who cares? Who’s the father? It’s me. Indubitably.

*Oh God. I’m old enough to remember when Eddie Murphy was funny. This is a truly horrific watershed moment.

**Note to self: Sit near more manly objects when writing.

***This may be fanciful. Learning to crawl up the stairs would be more efficacious.

June 28, 2011
7 Reasons Blackout Blinds Are Surprisingly Effective

My wife and I are trying to train our child to recognise the difference between day and night at the moment and the latest weapon in our armoury is a blackout blind: a blind which prevents any light coming through the window. This, we not unreasonably thought, would prevent our six-week old son waking up at 5am when sunlight streams through our East facing bedroom window and would help him get into a settled routine of sleeping at night. So far, it has proved effective (after a fashion).

1. Fitting. As the member of the 7 Reasons team that is competent at DIY I envisaged that there would be no problems installing our blind, and I was almost correct. It was incredibly simple to fit, with only a bit of light drilling required. And it was simple right up until the moment – while I was balanced precariously atop a step-ladder – that everything went dark. Not just dim, you should understand, but dark. Preternaturally dark. Darker than spending a dark night in the darkest room of the Prince of Darkness wearing a sleeping mask. Darker than anything ever. There was no light. “Help!” “Help!” I called until my wife came up the stairs and opened the door, flooding the room with light from the hallway. “It all went dark”, I explained to a sceptical wife who couldn’t comprehend – or didn’t believe – that something as insubstantial as a piece of material could block out all light. I climbed down from the ladder with my reputation for DIY prowess, if not my dignity, intact.

2. Baby’s Bedtime. In the evening our son fell asleep before we expected him to and, rather than look a gift horse (or a sleeping baby, which is a very similar creature to a gift horse) in the mouth, we decided we would put him to bed right then. We gingerly carried him up the stairs and swaddled him in his cot. We began to sneak out of the room and paused to close the blind on the way. Everything went black. We couldn’t see a thing. We partially raised the blind again so that we could find the light switch and turned on the light so that we could see the door and find our way out. This woke the baby. Bugger.

3. Mummy’s Bedtime. Eventually, we were able to get our son back to sleep and, quite soon after, my wife snuck up to bed. I have little idea what happened, but after a couple of minutes, from my position in the room below, I heard a loud bang, followed about thirty seconds later by the noise of the baby crying. Then I heard the sound of my wife trying to placate the crying baby with a cuddly toy, before my parental selective deafness kicked in and I returned to what I was doing.

4. Daddy’s Bedtime. Eventually, the baby became quiet again and, having spent the remainder of a fascinating evening reconfiguring the 7 Reasons W3 Total Cache plugin and our email servers*, it was time for me to go to bed. I went up the stairs and changed in another room, so as not to disturb anyone. Then I snuck across the landing into the bedroom and closed the door noiselessly behind me. Where once there would have had been some residual light filtering through the blind to aid my navigation across the room, now there was none. I knew roughly where the bed was though, and I took several tentative steps toward it before stumbling over something and letting out an involuntary scream as I lost my balance and landed in a heap on the bed.

5. “AAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Shrieked a lump in the bed from beneath me as, in the pitch darkness, a screaming and unknown assailant pounced on her. I groped around for the switch to the bedside light and, finding it quickly, turned it on. I looked behind me to see what was on the floor. “Are you drunk?”, the now slightly calmer lump in the bed enquired. “I fell over an owl,” I replied.

6. “WWWWAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!” Said a tiny voice from the other side of the room reacting to the sudden light. Eventually we were able to get him back to sleep.

7. Sleep. I was unaware of what occurred during the remainder of the night. I have since been told that the usual cycle of the baby waking up and requiring feeding and changing carried on unaltered by the loss of the light. I was told that this morning when, after what I can only describe as the most blissfully tranquil sleep of my life, my rather tired looking wife shook me awake and informed me it was 11am and that we were going to be late for our lunch appointment. “But it can’t be”, I replied, “It’s still pitch black”.

So there you have it. Blackout blinds do work, and you can use them to lull the unsuspecting into sleeping longer and later. They just don’t work on babies.

*I had hoped to watch a couple of episodes of Bergerac. We sacrifice a lot for 7 Reasons.

May 11, 2011
7 Reasons to Ignore What People Tell You About Babies*

Either I’m missing something or our six day old baby is defective. I was brought up to believe that parenthood was a living hell and that newborn babies were the worst things in all of existence. But, so far, and I hope I’m not tempting fate here, it isn’t and he isn’t. Doubtless there’ll be times when he’s poorly – or we are – and the going is really tough, but the babygeddon that I was led to believe I should expect as a new father has yet to materialise. I’m beginning to suspect that people have been lying to us.

It isn’t like this.

1. “It’s hard, it’s really hard. It’s awful. You won’t sleep for the first three years and then when you do, he’ll wake you up within five minutes just to spite you.” Blimey. Okay, so we need to feed and change him regularly day and night, but we seem to be getting loads of sleep. I actually feel guilty. I’ve begun stretching and pretending to yawn to make other parents feel better. “Oh, it’s absolute hell” I tell them in agreement, while wondering what all the fuss is about. Will it be possible for my wife and I to survive on only eight hours sleep per day each? Only time will tell.

2. “He’ll scream for hours for no reason.” No, there is a reason. In the case of the changing-table-screaming, it’s because he doesn’t want two giants tearing all his warm, protective layers off and attacking his bits with cotton wool every time he smells funny. I wouldn’t like it either. Nor would you. Fortunately we have worked out that we can distract him with the Poo Donkey; which is the donkey that comes and takes away the baby poo. (Not related to the father that takes the piss). Thank you, Poo Donkey, if it weren’t for you, the baby would still be screaming every changing time. Babies do scream for a reason. It just takes a bit of working out what it is.

All hail the Poo Donkey!

3. “You’ll never be able to go anywhere ever again.” Yes we can, and we have; every day. We’ve mostly been to Boots, Mothercare and the doctor’s surgery and we have to take a bit more stuff and it takes us a little longer to get ready, but we’ve been perfectly mobile. Okay, we get a few minutes of pushchair screaming which we don’t have a donkey to sort for us yet, but, with a bit of determination and preparation, a tiny child seems to be no obstacle to doing anything. I sense that only our own inertia would be.

4. “Boys will wee absolutely everywhere, on everything.” Yes, and babies are the same. Fortunately though, fast-hands can protect you from this. Yes, my nephew (also a baby) has managed to wee in my sister’s mouth and eye on more than one occasion, but this – I am sure – can be attributed to her having the spatial awareness and lightning reactions of a morphine-addled sloth listening to a tuba (throughout my sister’s childhood, the cry of “catch” was almost always followed by a sharp and unexpected blow to her forehead). For those of us with superhuman awareness and reactions (or even with human awareness and reactions) it is not difficult to place a hand between the source of the wee and the thing you want to protect from it. Sadly, my wife’s coat (on the back of a door several feet away) was sacrificed in the learning of this. But so far, we have not drowned in wee.

5. “There’s poo everywhere and you’ll spend your entire life cleaning it up.” No there isn’t, it’s conveniently contained within nappies, which – at this early stage – are not unpleasant to change (even for someone as squeamish as myself). Let’s say he does six poos per day and it takes five minutes each time to clean and change him. That’s only half an hour per day. The BBC have just axed My Family, so there’s half an hour. Now all we need is for them to axe EastEnders and Holby City and that’s a week we can spend dealing with shit, rather than watching it. Or we can just turn it off (the television, not the poo). Half an hour is not difficult to find. Half an hour is not all day, and half an hour every day is not an entire lifetime. For some people it’s not even an entire lunchtime.

6. “Newborn babies are really cute and their tiny little hands and feet are gorgeous. Awww. Sssswwwweeeeeettttt ickle babies. Do do do do do do do”. No they’re not. Our child has feet almost as large as his mother’s and fingers so long that he could probably play the piano if he could reach it. Or if we had a piano. Our son also has a hairier arse than most builders. Not all babies have tiny hands and feet.

7. “The baby will take over your life.” Yes – okay I have to concede that there may be a point there – and 7 Reasons apparently**. Expect us to have wrested some of it back from his evil clutches by next week though. Jon and I can take a baby in a fight. We’re not scared. Bring it on, you big baby!

*Don’t listen to me either, I expect that everyone’s experiences of parenthood are just different and we shouldn’t imagine that what we have undergone will be universally the same for others.

**We will be putting the baby away soon and normal service – rambling on about biscuits and France – will resume shortly.

March 30, 2011