Tag: Chores

Guest Post: 7 Reasons Why Men Are Scared Of Washing Machines

Historically much maligned for their domestic idleness, men have come a long way in recent years. Comfortable in the kitchen, happy to do the vacuuming and occasionally enthusiastic about childcare, the age of equality is very much here. Just don’t mention the laundry. It remains a baffling world where fancy, shiny, modern washing machines are viewed as Cyclopean nemeses, brooding away in the corner, ready to punish the simplest label-reading error or colour mix-up.

Here are seven very good reasons why doing the washing is anathema to the male of the species:

1. Men are confused that it has to happen at all, and with such astonishing regularity. Some would quite happily revert back to Victorian times when poor children were sewn into their clothes at the start of winter and then unstitched come the warmer months. Men will happily recycle a garment from the “floordrobe” – pick it up, dust it down, give it a cursory sniff and put it right back on. Who cares if it’s Thursday and they’ve been wearing it since Monday?

2. Powder, tablets, balls, gels – the list of things you can put in a washing machine has seemingly grown exponentially in recent years. It used to be simple – you put the powder in the drawer and that was it. Now some things go in the drawer, some go in the drum and some go in a bag in the drum – it’s become a very, very confusing world. Men would rather not risk putting the wrong thing in the wrong place.

3. Can he put his bath towel in with his pants? Can he wash that white merino wool sweater with his new red socks? Can he chuck his jeans in with his chinos? Constructing the ideal load is a minefield and best left to the experts. Especially after what happened to her favourite white top the last time he tried to be helpful. . .

4. Why are clothing labels full of symbols akin to those found on the walls of Egyptian tombs? A man shouldn’t need a copy of the Rosetta stone to decipher the care label on his favourite T-shirt. All those triangles, squares and circles resemble some kind of devilish cypher that war-time codebreakers would struggle to crack.

5. And if the clothes labels are bad, what about the dials on the machine? All those symbols, programmes AND temperatures – they are just a recipe for disaster. What’s wrong with a big button that just says “wash clothes”?

6. Men famously struggle with having a thorough look for something. A so-called “man look” involves confidently claiming to have looked everywhere for the house keys with no success.

Her: “Have you checked the top drawer in the hall?”
Him: “Yes, I had a look and they weren’t there.”
[Two minutes later]
Her: “Here they are.”
Him: “Where were they?”
Her: “In the top drawer in the hall. You must have had a man look.”

What does this have to do with washing? Well, there are all those pockets to go through and a man knows that he will inevitably fail to remove a golf ball that will proceed to rattle around the washing machine drum for half an hour or a tissue that will deconstruct itself all over a favourite jumper. Oh, and has anyone seen the cat?

7. Finally, doing the washing invariably leads to another baffling exercise: ironing. And that is not a path down which any man wishes to voluntarily tread . . .

July 25, 2013
7 Reasons The Zoo Is My Habitat

Last week I did something I hadn’t done since I was a boy. I went to the zoo. I’m not going to lie, I immediately felt at home. Here’s why:

Zoolympics Challlenge 1: Stick Your Head Through A Set Of Shark Dentures And Look Sexy

1. Playground. As I may have expressed before, I am a boy trapped in a man’s body. Though whose it is, I am yet to establish. I have never grown up and I don’t intend to. I like being silly. Silly is good. I also like swinging from things while being silly. I saw monkeys at the zoo. They were being silly. And swinging. And picking their noses. It looked awesome. Well, maybe not the picking the nose bit. That made me a little bit sick. But the silliness and the swinging was definitely for me. I want to do that.

2. Sleep. Generally, after I’ve had a day of being silly and swinging around the clothes line, I like to have a sleep. Unfortunately I am prevented in this pursuit by one of two things. Either Claire arrives home or, as sometimes happens, Claire is already at home. Such appearances from my future wife make it very hard to sleep when there are important things to do such as make dinner, plan weddings* or – and the notion still makes me shiver – talk. At the zoo, there was silliness, swinging and sleeping. A whole lot of sleeping.

3. Talk. As previously indicated, I’m not a big fan of talking. I absolutely loathe small-talk. And, as for big-talk, I would rather do a naked lap of St. Andrews. (The football ground, not the golf course. My embarrassment does not need enhancing by the cold Scottish winds). It’s not that I’m uninterested in what you have to say, it’s more that The Tremeloes said Silence Is Golden and I have never stopped listening to them. The thing I noticed at the zoo was that animals don’t talk. Not even a little bit. They make weird noises occasionally – which is nice – but there’s no talking. And no animals asking other animals to talk to them either. Which means more time for silliness, swinging and sleeping. They’ve got it sorted.

4. Feeding. Some of the animals are fed upwards of four times a day. And I’m not talking about snacks here, I am talking proper meals. Four proper meals. Each day. That’s my kind of feeding.

5. Chores. With the exception of the ants who seemingly work all day and all night carrying bits of leaf over logs, non of the animals at the zoo have to work. Or go to school. Or get the shopping in. Or iron their trousers. (In fact, many of the animals I saw were naked). Animals, from what I have seen, don’t do any of the boring stuff at all. They’ve never had to write essays on Pride & Prejudice. They’ve never had to stand in a queue at the bank. They’ve never experienced an episode of Time Team. Their work-life balance is perfect. No work, all life. And life, as I’m sure we can all agree, is for living. It is not for spending in Barclays.

6. Vanity. It’s an alarming statistic, but if I was to walk down the entire length of Regent Street ten times in a row, only on seven of those would someone stop and take a photo of me. For someone who fancies themselves quite as much as I do and does their very best to live up to the meaning of their name – Gift Of God – it’s rather upsetting when someone just walks past without even so much as a raise of the eyebrow. In the zoo though, everyone would be taking photos of me. I’d probably even appear on postcards and desktop backgrounds and t-shirts. And that is the way it should be.

7. Olympic Qualities. As I was walking around the zoo I was challenged to a number of Olympic contests. The Zoolympics they called it. A name that made me chuckle uncontrollably for at least twenty-two seconds. From what I experienced the Zoolympics were designed to belittle me. In less than three hours I discovered that my reaction time was slower than the Blue Dart Frog, my wingspan was shorter than the Wandering Albatros and my backside wasn’t as stripy as Okapi. Which all leads me to believe that if I want to win Gold at anything, anytime soon, I need to move to the zoo to be pumped full of whichever Performance Enhancing Drugs the zookeepers have access to. I felt stupid being outwitted by a frog. Really, really stupid. But at least I beat my Dad.

*You do only have one wedding don’t you? It’s just that having booked both the church and the reception venue there is apparently so much still to do. How? I would like to know how?

September 7, 2011
7 Reasons To Pretend You’ve Been Hypnotised

Now, I’m no expert on hypnosis. I have never been hypnotised. Or at least I don’t think I have. Like I say, I’m no expert so how would I know? But anyway, as I was saying, I have never knowingly been hypnotised. But I have always liked the idea of pretending to have been. Just to, you know, amuse myself. Oh, and because it’s a very useful skill to possess.

1. Chores. It’s a quite brilliant way of getting out of doing them. Touch the vacuum cleaner and pretend to be riding a horse; start the washing up and pretend to be a dolphin who loves soap suds; begin dusting the shelves and pretend you’re a rock climber. You’ll probably wreck the house in the process, but at least you won’t be asked to clean ever again.

2. Paying. At the sound of the word ‘money’, you’re an alien. Obviously. This would work brilliantly in Tesco; on the bus; if your partner mentioned she was going shopping. Expand your eyes, make fish lips and move your head in circular motions. The results will be staggering. The cashier will pay out of their own pocket just to get rid of you, the bus driver will run away and leave you to drive to a destination of your choice and your wife will charge out of the house in a huff. Leaving you to watch Sky Sports all day. Aces!

3. Answers. I’m a man. As a result, I don’t like being asked questions. Not because I don’t like the questioner or indeed the question, but, more often than not, because I don’t like my answer. It’s generally something unimaginative. Or incriminating. Or both. Until now, I hadn’t found a solution. So do check back next week for, 7 Reasons I Shouldn’t Have Answered Every Question By Pretending I Was A Dog.

4. MI5/MI6. I suspect this reason will only apply to a select few of our readers, but I’m sure everyone else will forgive us while we do our duty for Britain. So members of our secret services, just imagine, heaven forbid, that some henchman of an evil empire (including France) has captured you. They’re going to want answers. And you are probably not going to want to give them. If you do the world might explode. Or, even worse, you might get a slap. So what to do? Well, pretending you like a bit of S&M everytime the word ‘torture’ is mentioned should do the trick. Though what trick it is remains to be seen.

5. Charity Workers. I am sure they mean well, or at least one of them does, but they’re just very, very annoying. When I lived in Fulham, walking to the tube station was like negotiating the guantlet on Gladiators. It’s not so much that I didn’t want to adopt a leopard or a granny, it’s more that…okay, I just didn’t want to adopt a leopard or a granny. As a result I used to shout out, ‘Sorry!’ and charge on past. But what if you’re not like me? What if you are an unsuspecting individual and have a habit of walking slowly? You’ll be pounced on. I’m sorry, but you will. Time to pretend to by hypnotised. You could either go one of two ways here. As soon as you see the clipboard you could pretend to be a granny who loves riding leopards – this would scare and confuse in equal measure – or you could pretend that you repeat every question you’re asked. They’ll soon get bored and move out of Fulham altogether.*

6. Drink. An inevitable part of indulging in alcoholic beverages, is that one day you will drink a bit too much. Unless you’re my mum. But you’re not, so listen up. I would never condone it, but being drunk is good fun. Unless you realise you are drunk. As soon as you realise you are drunk you realise you are going to be ill the next day. And as soon as you realise you are going to be ill the next day, you stop enjoying yourself. This is when you need to pretend that you are not drunk, but, in fact, in a wonderful state of hypnosis. You’ll probably believe yourself because you’re drunk. The great news is – apart from maybe finding lampposts strangely attractive – there are no side-effects from hypnosis. This means not being ill the next day. Obviously you will be ill the next day. Even more ill than if you’d stopped enjoying yourself when you realised you were drunk. But at least you won’t have stopped enjoying yourself. And that has to count for something doesn’t it?

7. Party Trick. Parties can be awkward. Especially the kind where one git decides that you should all demonstrate a party trick. 99% of the population don’t have party tricks. Unfortunately, the 1% that do, all seem to be at the party. This is when you need to blag it. And you blag it by hypnotising yourself. Or pretending to. Swing your finger back in front of your eyes and chant something along the lines of, “You are falling into a deep sleep. When I click my fingers you will stand on your head everytime you hear the word ‘superfluous’.” Then you click your fingers. If you are lucky you will be at a party where no one can pronounce ‘superfluous’ and even if they can, you know how to stand on your head. If you don’t, well you’ll probably concuss yourself anyway. And that means sitting in the corner being looked after.

*When you’ve done this please let me know. I left a sock behind when I moved.

October 4, 2010
7 Reasons To Be Self-Employed

1. It’s 00:00 to 23:59, not 9:00 to 17:00. You can choose when you work. If you want to work at 3am on a Sunday morning then that is fine. You answer to no one but yourself. Unless you live with your partner and your computer is in your bedroom. They probably don’t want to hear you bashing one out in the middle of the night. An email I mean.

2. Social Media. To a normal boss in a normal company, the likes of twittering and facebooking are seen as distractions. To the self-employed though, they are vital tools of the trade. All self-employed people have a streak of the entrepreneur about them. They are always on the look out for ideas. Which is why conversation about ‘imaginary friends’ on twitter is classed as research.

3. Sport. A whole lot of sport happens during the day. Cricket, tennis, golf, baseball, The Olympics (all forms), various World Cups and World Championships. That is a heck of a lot of sport you are missing while working for some major conglomerate. Or the Co-Op. Not only do the self-employed watch all this sport, they all use it to their advantage. Watching Stuart Broad knock over Ricky Ponting’s poles doesn’t half motivate you. Okay, it motivates you to keep watching, but when the day’s play is over, then you are pumped to do some work. Or you will be after dinner. And the highlights. Actually, you’ll be ready at the end of the Test. But you will be ready. Just a shame the deadline has passed really.

4. Chores. They can be done at anytime you like. Cleaning the bathroom can be Monday at 10am. Food shopping can be Tuesday at 2pm. Having your haircut can be Wednesday at 11am. And if you are really lucky you’ll get the OAP rate.

5. The IT Department. Everyone in IT is a muppet. It’s official. They think you should know what SMPT means and how to locate the back-gate entrance for Microsoft Outlook. No one knows that stuff. I don’t even think there is a back-gate entrance for Microsoft Outlook. I think he was trying to make himself sound clever. The thing about working for yourself is that if something goes wrong you don’t have to phone someone up to ask them how to fix it. You can press reset and blow all the dust away from the back of the PC. And more times than not it works. Within minutes you are flying through the front door of Microsoft Outlook. In your face Sam in IT.

6. Tea-bags. You don’t have to share them and no one is going to steal them. They are yours. You can also have the brand and flavour you want. None of this value stuff, you can have proper tea from a proper tea plantation. Imported directly to you if you like. I get mine from Sainsburys.

7. Your Fee. It can be what you want it to be. If you want to charge £300 an hour, you can. You won’t get much work unless you are Pete Doherty’s solicitor, but that’s irrelevant. You can go around saying, ‘I charge £300 an hour’. Though when you end up working in the local pub you should probably stop. It makes you sound like a prat.

April 19, 2010