Tag: Comedy

7 Reasons That a Dream Bath is Better Than an Actual Bath

Hello 7 Reasons readers! I have a confession to make. I love baths, but it turns out that for years I’ve been bathing wrong. I know this because this morning I had an epiphany (or should that be a baptism as I’m writing about baths). I woke up, having dreamt that I’d had a bath, and that dream bath was better than an actual bath. Here are seven reasons why.

Fortunately not my bath.

1. It Saved Time. The major problem with taking a bath – and the reason that most people end up settling for showers – is the amount of time it takes. It takes time to fill them up and you tend to spend a lot of time in them. This takes a substantial chunk out of the day. Dream baths, however, are different. You can spend hours in a dream bath and it’ll only take seconds out of your life. That’s time that you would have been using to sleep anyway. It’s like being given the gift of time but there’s no wrapping paper to recycle, which saves further time. It probably makes time.

2. It Was The Right Temperature. My dream bath was the correct temperature, which is approximately halfway between “Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!” and “Gah!” Actual baths are always intemperate and usually end up turning that initial cautious toe either red or blue. Or brown, if the bath hasn’t been cleaned.

3. I Was Able To Share It. Sharing an actual bath is seldom the dreamy, romantic pastime it is popularly portrayed as. When sharing a dream bath though, your eyes will already be closed so you can share it with absolutely anyone. I shared mine with my wife who was a reluctant and water-shy cat named Marmalade. Eventually she settled down and enjoyed the bath, right up until the moment that she morphed into a roof-tile and sank without trace at the tap-end, forcing me to eat the rest of the yoghurt alone.

4. Finding The Soap. In your actual bath, you’ll probably find that you spend approximately 8.4% of your time trying to find the soap that you’ve just dropped (which is not as surprising an experience as trying to find it when in prison, but it is still rather an irksome chore). In the dream bath, however, there’s always soap, probably from Lush. And you can bathe safe in the knowledge that it will never, ever have a pubic hair stuck to it. Unless, of course, that’s what you dream about, in which case you’re making my dreams seem positively conventional. And you should never sleep again.

5. No Interruption. My dream bath – unlike my actual baths – wasn’t interrupted by anyone knocking on the bathroom door asking to use the toilet. It was interrupted by a pelican asking for directions to Mr Bobble’s House of Wobbles, but I got rid of him simply by clapping my hands together and shouting “Muffins!” He was far easier to deal with than the desperate and persistent aspiring toilet-users that blight actual baths. Sometimes it seems that pregnant women want to pee just to spite you, and during a long bath, when you’re sharing a house with a pregnant lady, you can find yourself being spited several times. Then that finishes and for the next eighteen years you’ll have a child that will interrupt you in the bath. In my dream bath that did not happen. Obviously, my sleep was interrupted by the child, but that’s a slightly different thing. Probably.

6. No Cleaning. Unlike your actual bath, you’ll never have to clean your dream bath – unless you actually dream about cleaning baths, in which case, thank you, mine was spotless when I got in and I really enjoyed the scented candles and the petals floating on the surface. The meticulously constructed wigwam of bath-towels might have been a step too far though, but you won’t find me complaining. Not least because I can hide in the wigwam while I’m doing so. For other people that don’t clean baths in their sleep, the good news is you won’t have to clean the bath in your sleep. That’s good news.

7. Wake Refreshed And Ready. Nothing prepares you for your day like a dream bath because – like nothing – having a dream bath is not actually having a bath. You will, however, wake feeling refreshed, invigorated and ready for your day; I know I did. You’ll have to spend a large part of that day dodging mirrors and people with a sense of smell, but surely that’s a small price to pay for the amazing time saving and great start to the day. And how close do you really want people to stand to you anyway? With a dream bath, you can keep them at armpit’s length. It’s all win.

August 25, 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 That Peter Allen Should Be On Twitter
Hello 7 Reasons readers! I hadn’t intended to write about Peter Allen or Twitter today. I had originally intended to write about Hitler and the British plot to add oestrogen to his meals but then, in a fleetingly overheard snatch of BBC Radio 5Live’s Drive programme, I heard Anita Anand exhorting broadcasting legend and curmudgeon’s curmudgeon, Peter Allen to open a Twitter account. Amazing idea, I thought, as all notions of one charismatic pint-sized despot receded from my mind, to be replaced by thoughts of Peter Allen using Twitter. That would be amazing. Here are seven reasons why.

1. The Username Potential Is Great. Anita Anand is presenting Drive all week alongside Peter Allen. Her Twitter-name is @tweeter_anita. Peter Allen could take the name @tweeter_peter. Could anything be sweeter than @tweeter_anita helping @tweeter_peter take his first tentative steps on Twitter? Well, yes, kittens and just about all other things in the known world, but the matching names sound like fun. They’d be the Howard and Hilda of the Twitterverse.

2. We’d Learn More About Him. What do we really know about Peter Allen’s life? Very little. I checked his Wikipedia entry and this is all of the information contained in the Personal Life section:

He follows Tottenham Hotspur, owns a barn and has a trademark grunt.

While every 5Live listener will be aware of the first and third things mentioned, that he owns a barn is a revelation that has piqued my interest and raises many, many questions:
- Why does Peter Allen own a barn?
- What colour is Peter Allen’s barn?
- What does Peter Allen keep in his barn?
- Where is Peter Allen’s barn?
- How long has Peter Allen owned a barn?
- Does Peter Allen allow other people into his barn or is it like a rural Essex-based version of Superman’s Fortress of Solitude where he goes to hone his opinions and polish his hair?
- Did Peter Allen wake up one morning and think, “You know, what I really need to complete my life is a barn”?
- Does Peter Allen actually live in the barn?
- Why can’t I stop thinking about Peter Allen’s barn?
I’ll try to contain my curiosity about Peter Allen’s barn for the moment. Essentially we’d get to know more about the man behind the microphone and the barn behind the man behind the microphone. That would be great.

3. He Would Bring Something Different To Twitter. According to people that spuriously concoct statistics on the internet* rather than researching things properly, the average age of a Twitter user is thirty-one. That isn’t high enough to make Twitter truly representative of society. Peter Allen is more than twice that age. He’d bring a rarely seen perspective of experience and the benefit of time-accrued wisdom to the social network. Twitter is – in my experience – also predominantly a happy and joyful medium. He’d soon sort that too.

4. He Would Be Better Informed. During Drive, he regularly solicits listener feedback via text and email. If he were on Twitter, he’d get feedback 24 hours a day, whether he’d asked for it or not. He’d get feedback about travel, he’d get feedback about news, he’d get feedback about sport, he’d get questions about the barn from me, he’d get tweets from his colleagues poking fun at him (which would stop Aasmah getting out of practice during her week off) and he’d get feedback about things that he didn’t even know he wanted feedback about. Peter Allen would be better informed than he’d ever been in his life. If you need an opinion on anything, it will find you on Twitter.

5. There Would Be Pictures. Radio is a non-visual medium, so the ability to post pictures on Twitter would probably be liberating for Peter Allen and enlightening for the rest of us. We’d get pictures of Essex, we’d get pictures of the studio, we’d get pictures of the most bountiful and luxuriant silver barnet in the known universe and – most importantly – we’d get pictures of the barn. Please.

6. He Would Be Good On Twitter. A lifetime spent in journalism and broadcasting is the ideal preparation for the successful use of Twitter. After all, the distillation of the essence of a news story down to a headline or the dogged pursuit of an insightful quote from a radio interviewee are pretty much the same skills that are involved in condensing a thought, experience or opinion down to 140 characters on Twitter. Peter Allen’s tweets are likely to be provocative, incisive and sharp. Or at the very least he’d be able to say “Go away!” with alacrity and authority when confronted with the ninth question of the day about the barn or the fifteenth about his hair. Probably by tweeting “Go away!”.

7. His Presence Would Provide Encouragement For Curmudgeons. Having such a high-profile, self-confessed Twitter-sceptic jump into the fray would be an interesting experience for the man himself, his listeners and Twitter users. What better way to introduce other sceptics, doubters, technophobes and the plain hostile to the medium than to hear someone with a similar mindset coming to terms with its use? He might even learn to love it or, at the very least, loathe it less; which possibly amounts to the same thing in his world. Peter Allen could blaze a trail for the timid, the wary and the sceptical to become late-adopters of Twitter and would probably entertain his listeners royally into the bargain. I’ve loved listening to him since Radio 5 (as was) started and I can’t help thinking I’d enjoy his presence on Twitter every bit as much. Anita Anand is right. #letsgetpeterallenontwitter as soon as possible. Then we can teach him what that hashtag means.

*Source: 7Reasons.org, 2011.
August 15, 2011
7 Reasons That Attacking A Train With A Bag Of Stones And Excrement Is A Bad Idea

It is said that everyone remembers where they were when they heard that JFK had been assassinated. Similarly, that everyone remembers where they were when Princess Diana died. I don’t know about that. One thing is for sure though, I will always remember where I was when I heard that a train had been attacked using a bag containing stones and excrement suspended from a wire. Here are seven reasons that it’s a bad idea.

1. It’s Unfriendly. I admit, sometimes we’ve had houseguests that have overstayed their welcome and I’ve wanted them to go and I’ve become fractious and my conversation has become terse and curt, and my wife has rebuked me for that by suggesting that I’m, “…not being very friendly”, but never, ever have I considered attacking a houseguest with a bag of stones and excrement. This would be the level of friendliness you could expect if your enemy’s enemy was Uday Hussein. On the Hitlerian scale of unfriendliness (which, having just thought of it, I’m going to begin work on right now), this will rate quite high.

2. It’s Mind-Boggling. What do you hope to accomplish by attacking a train with a bag of stones and excrement? If we consider it as an act of vandalism, I can understand the use of stones*. But excrement? Why would anyone do this? What is the point of this? It’s so mind-boggling that it defies both rational and irrational explanation (which is a shame, as that’s one of my “gifts”). My mind is officially boggled.

3. It Serves No Purpose. While, in major cities across the nation, there are people committing antisocial acts for personal gain and ending up owning iPhones and Tesco Value Basmati Rice, what happens in Yorkshire? A train is attacked with a bag of stones and excrement. But it’s hard to see the benefit of covering a train in poo. While Londoners are sitting back and watching their new, free HDTVs (or HD ready if they nicked the wrong one) what does the perpetrator of this act gain? The satisfaction of having got poo on a train? You could just visit the restaurant car for that sensation. There is no rational motive.

4. It Causes Temporary Homelessness. When I saw the headline Vandals attack train with bag of stones and excrement yesterday, I have to say that it caused me to laugh. Rather a lot. In fact, I laughed so long and so hard that I woke my wife from her afternoon nap and she banished my son and I from the house. It was raining so we had to go to the pub. This is not a complaint, by the way, it’s an observation.

5. Seriously, It’s More Mind-Boggling. PC Gary Shepherd of the British Transport Police said: “A lot of planning must have gone into this…”. He’s right. Where do you get a bag of excrement from? Is it something that the culprit found lying around? Did they have to shit into a bag for several weeks until they had enough? Did he** solicit the help of friends and family? Did he offer to buy the poo from strangers? Did he steal the poo from somewhere? Outside of a blaxploitation flick, where the hell do you get a bag of shit from?

6. Frustratingly, It Hints At Greatness. What begets greatness? Usually a fusion of innovation and endeavour. No one can deny that attacking a train with a bag of stones and excrement is innovative: Infinite monkey theorem suggests that, “a monkey hitting keys at random on a typewriter keyboard for an infinite amount of time will almost surely type a given text, such as the complete works of William Shakespeare”, but could a monkey with a bag and some stones living near a railway line ever conceive of this act? I think not. It also shows dedication. Not only was the bag meticulously rigged, but the act of gathering (or producing and collecting) all that poo shows dedication, self-motivation and commitment to the cause. This person could probably produce work of greatness and real cultural and social worth. If they weren’t a vile and abhorrent weirdo that gets their jollies by spattering trains with a cocktail of turds, that is.

7. What If You Get Caught? It’s an oft-repeated maxim that “if you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.” But what is the time in this case? It’s a life sentence, because anyone being convicted for attacking a train with a bag of stones and excrement would surely receive a massive amount of publicity. International publicity. Every last person in the world would know who this person was, and there’s only one nickname that would be bestowed on him. Shitbag. People will point in the street and shout “Shitbag”. People in the pub will greet him by saying, “Evening, Shitbag”. It will become so ingrained that his family will probably address him as Shitbag: “Can you pass the gravy, Shitbag?” “Don’t forget it’s the PTA meeting this evening, Shitbag.” “Oooh, look into my eyes and tell me I’m your little panda-bear again, Shitbag.” That’s a proper life sentence. Shitbag.

*I can’t really, it’s just a lot more conventional.

**It’s a he. While I’m a firm believer in equality, this is too weird for a woman to be involved in.

August 11, 2011
7 Reasons That It’s Not As Bad As You Think

Okay! This is a humour site and my country’s been on fire for the last couple of days, so there’s only really one thing that I can write about today, so let’s be funny about the riots. Except, no. That isn’t really going to work, is it? There are people out there losing their homes and livelihoods as a result of them and I’m sure we all have friends and family that are affected, so writing a lot of nonsense about how good the coverage of the riots will look on a brand new (and free) HD television, or how phoning 999 to report themselves will be so much easier now that everyone with a hooded top has an iPhone would seem trite and foolish. Fortunately, though, while events may have saddened me and affected my sense of humour, they haven’t affected my spirit, my love of humanity and my wonderment at peoples’ innate capacity for good and their astonishing ingenuity. Accordingly, here are seven reasons that it’s not as bad as you think.

1. Innovative Brilliance. “Necessity is the mother of invention” said Plato (in Greek, probably) and our brave and hard-working police force need tea. These lovely people have taken the time out to make them some. They’ve also devised the absolute best way to use a riot shield. Is there an image that captures Britain’s spirit better than this?

2. Collective Brilliance. The riots have demonstrated the country’s capacity for collective brilliance. Many, many people decided that they weren’t going to let their (our) streets be wrecked by the mindless idiocy of a few. The Twitter account @riotcleanup was set up and it now has almost 80,000 followers. That’s more people than have been involved in rioting and looting. People have got together in overwhelming numbers for the power of good. This picture by @lawcol888 is wonderfully uplifting.

3. Individual Brilliance. Oscar Levant said that there was “a fine line between genius and insanity” and, from that very line, this woman bravely berates rioters and looters. That there are people in this country courageous and brilliant enough to stand up to a mob so eloquently is wonderful.

4. Expectation-Altering-Brilliance. Stan Collymore (What? Wait, he’s gone mad. He’s been lauding examples of brilliance and now he’s writing about Stan Collymore!?), former Premier League footballer and someone that I have occasionally thought of as a bit of an idiot over the years tweeted this earlier:

Now, professional footballers (and former professional footballers) are often pilloried – sometimes rightly – for behaving poorly and setting a bad example to people and this was unexpected, but it was a cheering and most welcome thing to see, even if he did make me feel like a git.

5. Technological Brilliance. It’s been a while since Britain has seen rioting on this scale and there’ve been a lot of technological advances in the meantime, so it’s fair to say that any online response to it was going to be breaking new ground. The innovative use of social media as a response to events has been staggering. Almost as soon as disturbances began in Birmingham yesterday, the rather brilliant @caseyrain set up a Birmingham Riots Tumblr account to document events in the second city while the attention of the national media was focussed on London. There have been many, many other wonderful examples of innovative use of social media, with Facebook groups (,http://www.facebook.com/londoncleanup), Tumblr accounts (http://catchalooter.tumblr.com/) and websites (http://www.londonrioters.co.uk/identify/) used to promote various causes and to mobilise people into various types of action. That people have used the internet and social media so effectively to mobilize themselves into making our streets better and catching the looters is both marvellous and demonstrative of a laudable degree of collective will and creativity. Oh, and the looters are helping by using Facebook too.

6. Just Utter Brilliance. Don’t want the rioting and looting to ruin your evening? Simple. Just pretend it isn’t happening. “Riot, what riot? I say, could you pass the port, my good man?”

7. Historical Brilliance. The oft-cited high-water-mark of societal unity, sacrifice and collective accomplishment was the way that Britain dealt with the blitz during World War II. The blitz spirit is something that is often mentioned in articles that decry modern society to illustrate a decline in standards and unity, and many commentators on the current situation have spoken of the riots as being symptomatic of a breakdown in society. But rioting and looting are nothing new. During the blitz – that exalted time when our society is seen as having been at its strongest and most cohesive – with a war-depreciated police force and abundance of opportunity there was widespread looting and criminality too. The truth is that there has always been a sociopathic minority in our country ready to exploit any weakness (lack of police cover, evacuated streets etc) for their own personal gain, regardless of the consequences to others. That we don’t let the looting during the blitz affect the high regard in which we hold the selfless sacrifice of the majority during the second world war speaks volumes about us. History tells us that it’s possible to have a strong, dynamic and caring society despite having a minor element that riots and loots. And the way that the majority of Britain has reacted today to the events of the past few days suggests that little has changed. That is heartening.

August 9, 2011
7 Reasons That I Hate The Mayor Of Vilnius

Unless you have been on the moon for the past few days (and perhaps even if you have) you will have seen this video of the mayor of Vilnius keeping the cycle lanes clear in his city by crushing illegally parked vehicles with a tank. This video has been everywhere. And it’s annoyed me. A lot. Here are 7 Reasons that I hate the mayor of Vilnius.

1. The Mayor Of Vilnius Is A Liar. The message in the video is that if you park in the cycle lane, the mayor of Vilnius will crush your car with a tank. But he doesn’t have a tank. Look at it. Look at it! It’s got wheels and there’s a distinctive lack of a huge gun at the front to shoot things with, tracks and other tank-y accoutrements that are the universally acknowledged signifiers that the vehicle is a tank. That means that it’s not a tank. What it is, is an armoured personnel carrier. What it is not, is a tank. The mayor of Vilnius is fibbing.

2. The Mayor Of Vilnius Is In The Least Convincing Video Ever. I have seen theatre sets that look less staged than this video. I have seen ham actors less hammy than the acting in this video. In fact, I’ve seen entire pig farms less hammy than the acting this video. The man that gets “his” car crushed is the single worst actor that I have ever seen, and I’ve seen Piers Brosnan. The video wouldn’t be less believable if it was narrated by Jeffrey Archer. No it would. But still, it’s not a convincing video.

3. The Mayor Of Vilnius Hates The Poor. During the video, there are three examples of illegal parking. In the first two, a Rolls-Royce and a Ferrari are illegally parked and are not run over by the mayor of Vilnius in an armoured personnel carrier. A third illegally parked car (a knackered old Mercedes worth almost nothing) is run over by the mayor of Vilnius in an armoured personnel carrier. What sort of message does this send? Poor people of Vilnius: The mayor of Vilnius is after your cars. Run (drive?) for your lives, he’s got a grudge against the impoverished and an armoured personnel carrier and he’s not afraid to use it! The message it sends out to the wealthy is somewhat different though. Rich people of Vilnius: Feel free to park wherever you like. Sit back, relax, and eat a diamond or two while you enjoy the spectacle of a man menacing the poor with a “tank”. This is not a nice message to send out.

4. The Mayor Of Vilnius Is The Wrong Man For The Job. People like to have sensible, solid, reliable citizens as their mayors. Qualities that they don’t like in a mayor are publicity-hunger and buffoonery. The evidence for that is clear: The population of the world is 7 billion people and the population of London is 7.7 million people. This means that by far the vast majority of the planet’s population choose to live in the world, which is outside London. If they wanted a buffoon for a mayor, they’d live in London where, incidentally, everything within in the cycle lane is mown down by taxis. The people have spoken and we don’t want buffoons.

5. The Mayor Of Vilnius Is Missing The Point. Why does it even matter if people are parking in the cycle lanes there? Judging by the film, it would appear that Vilnius is the world’s emptiest city. The mayor of Vilnius seems to be some sort of latter day Omega Man cruising the deserted streets in his armoured personnel carrier desperately searching for signs of life. The only person using the cycle lanes in Vilnius is the mayor of Vilnius. Why not use the empty road? No one will ever know.

6. The Mayor Of Vilnius Isn’t Even A Proper Mayor. He’s obviously the mayor by default because he’s the only citizen of Vilnius. Look what happens after he crushes the Mercedes: He has to stop and clean up the glass. He’s the parking enforcement officer, the military, the mayor and the street cleaner all rolled into one. If the mayor of Vilnius became embroiled in a corruption scandal – a quite common occurrence in local government – he’d end up having to arrest himself, but that would be okay, because he’d be able to pay himself a bribe and get the whole thing swept under the carpet. Then he’d be free to win the next mayoral election by a margin of one. Again. Doesn’t the man have any ambition? Why doesn’t he enact a constitutional monarchy and appoint himself King of Vilnius? Emperor? God of Vilnius! If you’re self-appointed, think big!

7. It All Boils Down To Envy. It looks like fun. I want a go.

August 5, 2011
7 Reasons That Men Shouldn’t Wrap Birthday Presents

Did I give this the title 7 Reasons That Men Shouldn’t Wrap Birthday Presents? I didn’t really mean that. I meant 7 Reasons That Me Shouldn’t Wrap Birthday Presents. Or I, to be correct about it. Because I’m sure that there are some men out there that are good at wrapping presents. Neat, methodical men that actually welcome the task; men that positively enjoy it, in fact. The thing is though, that I’m definitely not one of them. And I’m sure that somewhere there must be other people (most likely men) who are as ill-suited to wrapping gifts as I am. Possibly. Here are seven reasons I shouldn’t be allowed to wrap stuff.

Finished! At last!

1. Loathing. I fundamentally dislike wrapping gifts. I’m not good at it and I don’t enjoy it; much like dancing a ballet or sketching a bowl of fruit, I’m temperamentally unsuited to it and it’s much better when done by others. This affects my whole approach to the burden of having to wrap presents. I will procrastinate; I will obfuscate; I will participate in the most mundane or bizarre displacement activities to avoid it. I would literally rather do anything (photograph my belly-button fluff; listen to Jedward; fellate a baboon) than wrap a present. This leads to problems.

2. Delay. It means that I will leave performing the odious task until the last possible moment. And then, when that arrives, I’ll leave it for an hour or two more. Then I’ll have a beer or two, which I may follow with some gin or – as preceded one spectacularly disastrous present-wrapping session – absinthe. I will not wrap a single birthday present until I am so tired that I absolutely have to go to bed on the eve of the birthday. Only then is it time to start wrapping.

3. Practice Makes Perfect. It’s then of course, that I am reminded of how epically, stupendously, mind-bogglingly bad I am at wrapping presents. It’s something I get to do so rarely (thankfully) that I believe I may be getting worse at it with every passing year. I only do it rarely, not because I am ungenerous, but because I am forbidden to do so. My wife – having seen many examples of my wrapping – would rather allow Prince Phillip and Pete Doherty to mind our baby for a weekend than let me wrap a gift that anyone will see (feel, or even be within the same postcode as). This division of labour suits me fine as it leaves me in charge of hammering stuff and assembling things, but it leaves me ill-equipped for the four occasions per year on which I am called to wrap presents.

4. Wrapping Is Dull. There are few tasks duller than wrapping presents. Probably. I’ve been trying to think about something duller than wrapping a present for several minutes now and have so far failed to come up with anything that tops the unremitting tediousness that is covering things for other people in paper. So I would be better off if I had a distraction from the wrapping. But I can’t watch television or listen to music while I’m wrapping because of the hour and because rustling wrapping paper is the loudest sound known to humankind outside of Muse and Vanessa Feltz being sucked into a jet engine. When you are wrapping presents, you are wrapping presents. There. Are. No. Distractions.

5. Sellotape. But there is Sellotape. There’s a fundamental flaw with Sellotape; one that renders it almost all but unusable to me. It has two sides; one of which is smooth and presents me with no problem, and then there’s the other side, which is sticky. The sticky side adheres to everything: It sticks to me, it sticks to itself, it sticks to the table, it sticks to the floor, it sticks to anything that has fallen from the table to floor and retains it in the form of a visible mass of crumbs, dust, fluff and (always) a single pubic hair stuck between the Sellotape and the wrapping paper. The only thing that Sellotape does not do – in my hands – is affix neatly and evenly to the edges of wrapping paper. One birthday, I got this reaction: “Thank you for the present, Darling. Why is there a tortilla chip stuck to it?”

6. Paper. Because I am emphatically not in charge of wrapping anything ever, I am often presented with a problem when it comes to paper. I buy wrapping paper all the time. Lots of paper. Because of this, I always expect to find an abundance of wrapping paper when I – with heavy heart – am obliged to wrap a present. But because my wife spends her entire year wrapping presents in my absence, by the time I need wrapping paper, there’s none left. Things I have been forced to resort to using in the past include: tissue paper, newspaper, plain brown paper, white A4 paper and lined A4 paper. I have also given the gift of a small and delicate bracelet presented in a large metallic red bottle bag. Last night I had to resort to using Christmas wrapping paper to wrap my wife’s birthday presents. Fortunately I was able to talk my way out of the situation this morning: “Those? Those are birthday trees, Darling…Merry Birthday!”

7. Apology. There are also many apologies involved in wrapping presents: Apologies for waking the household up by bellowing obscenities at an odd-shaped overnight bag (or Sellotape, we can’t be certain) at 0330 in the morning; apologies for affixing a dead woodlouse to the wrapping of a tub of handcream that bore the words “Be My Valentine”; apologies for the (unaccountably) ginger pubic hair that was stuck to the tube of Pringles; apologies for the “Birthday” trees line that seemed certain to work and apologies for arriving in bed with a ball of Sellotape stuck to my arm which eventually transferred to my wife’s back when she rolled over. It turns out that wrapping birthday presents is a sorry affair, as well as a messy one.

*I would, of course, like to wish my wife a very happy birthday (if not a well wrapped one). Happy Birthday, Darling.

August 1, 2011
7 Reasons to buy an Austin Seven

What’s this? You’re doubtless thinking. A 7 Reasons post on a Sunday? That’s never happened before. And you’d be right (probably). But today, history has provided us with one, in the form of an Austin Seven advert from 1933. And it’s brilliant; I’m so convinced by the arguments contained within it that I want one. So here, for your entertainment, amusement and personal betterment, is the amazing advert and also a bit of an analysis.

1. “It provides the cheapest form of road travel-a penny a mile for four, all in.” This is astonishing. If you (or I) were to purchase one of these and operate it as a taxi the profits would be so vast that we’d soon be richer than Croesus. And conveniently, less dead. Less than a penny a mile!

2. “It is extremely easy to drive, easy to park.” That’s brilliant. That will save me spending ten minutes reversing and going forward in a car before saying “fuck it” and abandoning it in the middle of the road. It will also make it easy to train others to drive it (of which more later).

3. “It needs no mechanical knowledge; it is trouble-free.” It’s an everlasting car that never needs to be tinkered with. Fantastic.

4. “It is good for five, six or even more years of hard use.” Oh, so it isn’t then. Still, that’s quite a lot of use. Especially hard use. After all, it’s hard for cars to float on the sea, so for it to last five, six or even more years when being used to drive to and from France would be a good performance.

5. “It is as fully equipped and finely finished as cars three times its size.” Superb. It’s every bit as good as the Austin Twenty-One then.

6. “It is free from superfluous weight, being the lightest saloon car made-hence its unburdened power and light running costs.” Unburdened power: I like the sound of that and, even if there are costs involved in running the lights, I don’t care. I’m sold on it. I want one.

7. “It is the only baby car proved by the public for over twelve years. No other car can give you equal results.” Wait! Baby car? That’s amazing. I have a baby. I won’t even have to drive it myself! I’m going train him to drive (it’s easy to drive, remember) and put him to work as a taxi driver. Then I can sit back and wait for all of the money to come flooding in. This is going to be amazing.

*7 Reasons will return tomorrow, probably in diamond-encrusted form, with gold taps.

July 31, 2011
7 Reasons That The Top 100 Boys Names List 2010 is Intriguing

The ONS list of the most popular baby names in the UK during 2010 has been published and there are some stunning results. We’re not going to look at the girls names (because they could be used for a second post), today we’re going to look at boys names. Here are seven reasons that the list is intriguing.

1. Political Impact. The name Cameron has steeply declined in popularity. In 2000 it was the 24th most popular boys name; in 2009 it had fallen steeply to number 52, and in 2010 it fell further to number 61. For the sake of political balance we’ll take a look the opposition too: Ed hasn’t been in charge for long enough to be of any use, so we’ll look at the name Gordon. Gordon is such a deeply unpopular man…sorry…name, we’re discussing names here, that it doesn’t appear on the list at all. Not in 2010, not in 2009 and not in 2000. It turns out that Gordon has always been deeply unpopular. Oh, and as for Nick, who cares? Nope, me either.

2. The Unusual. The name Kayden, which languished at number 1425 at the turn of the millennium (who knew that the word millennium had two Ns?) has rocketed up to number 99 on last year’s list. Now I don’t know any Kaydens and nor, I fervently hope, do you, so I wondered if there was a famous Kayden responsible for the increased popularity of the name. It turns out there is. She’s called Kayden Kross and she’s a porn actress who got into the business because she wanted to buy a pony. People are naming their boys after a porn star. A female porn star. That is weird. They would have been better off naming them after the pony.

3. F1. The name Jenson has risen in popularity over the last ten years from 273 up to 96. This can surely only be attributable to the popularity of Jenson Button. The name Lewis also appears at number 27 on the list. Okay, so it’s decreased in popularity a bit over the last ten years, but it’s still a very well-used name. As for the name Fernando, well that appears nowhere, which is how I like it. It goes to show that the British public do have some taste. Despite the weird porn thing.

4. Alexander: A safe name; a solid name; a sensible name; a reliable name and some might say, a dull name. But that just isn’t true. The facts tell us that the name Alexander is more exciting than you (okay, I, mostly I) had previously supposed. From its year 2000 position of number 21 it went on a rollercoaster ride in which it plunged to number 22 in 2009 and then, in a monumental upswing of fortunes in 2010, scaled the list back to number 21. Breathtaking. Turns out that Alexander isn’t as dull as we thought it was.

5. Noah. Over the past ten years, the name Noah has risen from number 134 on the list to number 18. I’m sure we all know a Noah*. But I’m not keen on this name at all. In fact, I firmly believe that the popularity of this name could be a consequence of society having become increasingly more noisy over the past ten years. After all, it’s easy to mishear a mumbled reply of cluelessness when near heavy traffic, a mobile phone or a laptop:

What shall we call him, darling?

Noah, dear.

That’s certainly more probable than everyone making the same feeble joke about a boy being born or conceived at a time of heavy rain, isn’t it? I hope so.

6. Robert. What the hell has happened to Robert? It’s at number 90! When I was at school it seems that approximately a third of all boys were called Robert but now it’s only the 90th most popular name in the UK. Here are some names from last year that are considerably more popular than the name Robert: Ethan, bloody Noah, Jayden (which is the correct spelling of Kayden), Riley, Logan, Tyler, Finley, Mason and Kai. Kai! Who the hell knows more Kais then they know Roberts, Robs, Robbys, Bobbys and Bobs? In 2010, Robert has plummeted so far in popularity that it’s lower on the list than Caleb. How many Calebs have you ever met? It turns out the only thing you can do to have a less popular name than Robert is to be called Gordon or be related to me.

7. Self-Interest. One of the most striking things about the list itself is that none of my immediate family are on it. I’m not on it. My son’s not on it. My wife isn’t on it (the girls version of the list, obviously). Fred and Rose make the lists – despite the exploits of the West family – but no one that shares my surname is on them. I can’t help but feel a little left out. Does this epic societal rejection make us the least popular family in the UK? Should we change our names by deed poll to sensible conventional names like Harley, Hayden, Jayden, Kayden or Kai? Are we going to be cast adrift in a lifeboat or exiled to the Isle of Wight? I suspect it’s going to mean that we’re just going to have to continue spelling our names out to people, but still, it would be nice to be loved.

*That’s a top clothing and accessories bit of wordplay especially for girls, right there.

July 28, 2011
7 Reasons Not To Have A Bat In Your Dining Room

This may come as something of a surprise to regular readers of 7 Reasons, but we’re not experts on everything that we write about. Often, our pieces contain much speculation and conjecture. Today’s piece, however, is different. Today’s piece is written from experience. If you should find yourself in a dining room with a bat, this is exactly how it will go down.

1. Surprise! As you sit in your dining room on a quiet Saturday night catching up on missed television programmes using the iPlayer, you’ll feel relaxed and at ease. You’ll take a sip of your drink and languidly stretch out your legs. You’ll stifle a yawn and stretch out your arms. Eventually, you’ll lean back in your seat and glance up toward the ceiling light, to ascertain what is casting the strange shadow that you have seen from the corner of your eye for the past few seconds. Then you’ll scream involuntarily and bolt from the room and slam the door shut behind you. A large bat flying around your dining room will come as something of a surprise to you.

2. Disbelief. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Your wife will enquire in a startled manner, somewhat surprised by your shrieking.

“There’s a bat in the dining room.”

“What?”

“There’s a bat in the dining room.”

“What?”

“Bat!” (You’ll flap your arms about miming flight at this point). “Dining room!” (You’ll also point at the dining room.)

“What’s it doing in there?”

“Flying around the ceiling lamp and watching a documentary about Stalin.”

Rather disbelievingly, your wife will go to the dining room, open the door slightly and peer through the gap. On closing it very quickly, she will then announce that “there’s a bat in the dining room”.

3. Spin. Anxious that you should always see the positive side of any situation, you’ll start brainstorming. A bat in the dining room could be a good thing, you’ll think. A bat in the dining room would mean that there would never be any insects in there. A bat in the dining room would ensure that you could write in there with absolutely no chance of interruption: You could look at the internet with no chance of interruption! A bat in the dining room would…be a bloody great bat in the dining room. It turns out that the elephant in the room is that there’s a bat in the room. There’s no upside so good that it can surmount the fact that your dining room contains a bat.

4. Whimsy. Having established that having a bat in the dining room is a bad thing, you’ll turn your mind to what the hell to do with it. “We could call the RSPCA”, your wife will suggest.

“We’re not being cruel to it. We’re being inconvenienced by it.”

“Perhaps there’s a local bat group.”

“Yes, maybe they could send some sort of bat man.”

“A dog warden?”

“Or, we could call Commissioner Gordon and he could raise the bat-signal. Perhaps we could…”

5. Motivation. “…Oh my god!”

“What?!”

“My gin and tonic’s in there!”

6. De-batting. “Darling”, you’ll say, “We’re just going to have to man-up and deal with the bat ourselves…In you go.” This motivational speech will fail to make her deal with the bat on your behalf, so you’ll have to work as a team. You will close every door in the house (so the bat can’t start terrorising you in other rooms) and your wife will peer back into the dining room. She will find that the bat is still flying around in there, fluttering in haphazard circles around the ceiling light like a terrifying and gigantic moth. A behemoth*. You’ll formulate a plan. You will run in, raise the blind, open the window and run out again: Your wife will be in charge of opening and closing the door. You’ll take a deep breath and steel yourself for the task. Eventually, though too soon for you, your wife will open the door and you will burst into the room and stride toward the blind. Startled by the sudden presence in the room, the bat will realise that flying around is not a safe thing to do and he will decide to land. At the very instant that you arrive at the blind, the bat will land on it, inches from your face. “Aaaarrrgghhh”, you’ll scream as you run out of the room. Your wife will close the door.

You’ll realise that another plan is called for. If you raise the blind with the bat on it, you’ll just squash the bat. You’ll have a flat bat. And bats, if you flatten them, appear bigger. So, if you can’t raise the blind and open the window, you’ll have to trap the bat and remove it. Having rummaged in the kitchen cupboard for a suitable container for a considerable time, your wife will emerge with her Tupperware bat-trap. This time, she will be in charge of trapping the bat, and you will be in charge of the door (yay!) and the lid (boo!). You’ll open the door and your wife will stride in and head toward the blind with the container held out in front of her. Arriving at the blind she’ll cover the bat with the container. Now that the bat is safely contained, you’ll enter the room clutching the lid. You’ll slide the lid slowly and carefully between the blind and the Tupperware box and affix it. Phew.

7. Post-bat. As you breathe your sigh of relief the bat will let out a heart-rending squeak. Your wife will head into the back garden to release the bat and you’ll be in charge of the back door (yay again!). The moment that the lid is removed, the bat will flutter out and your wife will scream and run toward the door, which will cause you to laugh. Briefly. Eventually, having congratulated your wife on her brave conduct in the face of a big, scary bat and having closed every window in the house (twice), you’ll return to the comfort and security of Josef Stalin and your gin and tonic. Then you’ll discover that the bat has left you a “present” on your white Verner Panton stackable chair.

So there you go. That’s roughly what will happen if you have a bat in your dining room. I don’t recommend it.

*You’ll be inordinately proud of that wordplay.

July 26, 2011