7 Reasons

Tag: Conversation

  • 7 Reasons Not To Have A Conversation With Someone You Think You Know, But Don’t

    7 Reasons Not To Have A Conversation With Someone You Think You Know, But Don’t

    7 Reasons Not To Have A Conversation With Someone You Think You Know, But Don't

    I have half-an-hour to go before my meeting so I take cover just outside Liverpool Street Station. I’m not alone. Despite the rain we’re a hearty brollyless bunch. A man quips about it being a good job the Evening Standard is now free. We laugh. Probably for a bit too long. A woman decides she’d prefer to get wet. The space she leaves is immediately filled by a man. A man about my age. A man who I end up performing a double-take toward. “I know him!” I think to myself, “That’s.. erm.. that’s Tom!”

    1.  Introduction. I move towards Tom. He hasn’t seen me yet. I wonder if I should jab him in the ribs or tickle him, then I decide probably not. We hadn’t seen each other for years and even when we did frequent The Mitre in Fulham our relationship never reached rib-jabbing levels. Instead I manoeuvre into his vision and say, “Hello!”

    “Hi,” he says back, a little less excitedly than I had hoped.

    “Been a while, huh?” I say, lifting my eyebrows in the process as if to add weight to my observational skills.

    “Urm, yeah,” he replies, adding lack of interest to his already unexcitable bearing.

    2.  Awkward Situation One. I get the feeling that Tom doesn’t really want to talk to me. Maybe he has an interview. Maybe he still reckons I owe him for a pint. I rack my brains. I was always good at paying for my round. In fact, I think Tom owes me. I can’t be sure so I decide to let it go. And anyway, I have more pressing matters. Like working out what to do now. It would look weird if I just walked away wouldn’t it? I decide to try and bring him out of his shell.

    3.  Small Talk. “You still living in the place?” I ask.

    “Er.. yeah.”

    “Still with Harriet?”

    “Who?”

    “Harriet? You still with her?”

    “I don’t know anyone called Harriet,” he replies. And for the first time he looks directly at me. I freeze.

    4.  Awkward Situation Two. This isn’t Tom! I don’t know this bloke at all! He doesn’t even look anything like Tom now. What the hell must he be thinking? What the hell am I going to do now? Do I just apologise and move back to my spot? Do I leg it?

    5.  Weirdness. Then something really odd happens. He doesn’t make his excuses and walk away. He doesn’t just completely ignore me. He doesn’t ask me who I am. Instead he asks me a question. A question I have to ask him to repeat. Twice.

    “Do you mean Hannah?”

    Do I mean Hannah? Do I? I don’t know. I mean, I do know. I know I don’t mean Hannah. I know I mean Harriet. But this looks like an escape route. A small ray of light down a dark tunnel. I decide to take it.

    “Hannah! Yes, not Harriet, I mean Hannah! How is she?”

    6.  Awkward Situation Three. “Ah, didn’t you hear?”

    “Hear what?”

    “She died.”

    Oh. Bloody hell.

    7.  Goodbye. If you’ve never been in the situation where you’ve introduced yourself to a stranger only to be told that the stranger’s girlfriend is now dead, I urge you to avoid it. It is quite frankly the worst situation I have ever found myself in. And that includes my next-door neighbour’s garden when I was nine. It took me well over a decade before I was able to look at naked women again. (Mind you that wasn’t down to a lack of effort on my part). I didn’t quite know what to say. I think I just stared at Tom opened mouthed. I couldn’t quite believe it. I suspect we were only stood there for a few seconds not saying anything, but it could have been ten minutes. It’s all something of a blur. I could not quite believe how I had managed to find myself in this situation.

    “Anyway,” began ‘Tom’, “I’m going to be late. Sorry just to burden you with that news. Give me a call. We’ll go for a beer.”

    He held out his hand. I shook it.

    “Yeah, that would be good,” I said, as he began to walk away. “Take care.”

    And with that he was gone. I couldn’t call him. I couldn’t go for a beer with him. I didn’t have his number. I had no idea who he was. All I knew is he was a bloke who had once lost someone called Hannah. I headed off towards my meeting feeling a profound sense of sadness. It started raining harder. I held my Evening Standard above my head.

  • 7 Reasons To Carry A Laundry Basket At All Times

    7 Reasons To Carry A Laundry Basket At All Times

    Hello 7 Reasons readers, it’s Marc here, and I have news!  Now you might find it hard to contain your excitement when you read this, but I’ve bought a new laundry basket!  Now, I have to admit that this is something I wouldn’t usually share with 7 Reasons readers, but the purchase of the laundry basket (pictured below this paragraph) set in motion a chain of events that led me to realise that life would be immeasurably improved for people that carried a laundry basket around with them at all times.  Here’s why.

     

    Yes, it's a laundry basket!

     

    1.  Wear It As A Hat.  “I’m not sure I’ve thought this purchase through,” I found myself saying as I was leaving my local laundry basket emporium, “I’m going to be lumbered with this thing for the evening now”.  “Well, if it rains, you can always wear it as a hat,” said the woman at the checkout, helpfully.  She’s right, I thought as I strolled out of the store.  Throughout human history, the fundaments of our very existence have been food, reproduction (of which more later) and shelter.  Now you can’t eat your laundry basket, and you can’t mate with it (and certainly not in the car park), but if you’ve a laundry basket with you, much in the manner of a snail with its shell, you are assured of shelter in all circumstances.  You can wear it as a hat in moderate weather, and in extremis you can climb inside and fasten the lid.  With your laundry basket you will be inured from the effects of wind, rain, sun, snow, hail; in fact, most of the elements except for lead.

    2.  Financial Gain.  Arriving at the supermarket (forward planning is really not my thing), I picked up a shopping basket and, with a basket in each hand now, I set off to gather my goods.  As I walked round the store, I soon found that I was being followed by a security guard who became quite agitated when I entered the spirits aisle.  Then I realised something.  A laundry basket would be a great thing to fill with goods, but is too conspicuous by half to be used for the purpose of theft.  Then, I had an idea:  For six months, I could take my laundry basket wherever I went.  Everyone would notice this so in very little time, the entire city would come to know me as Laundry Basket Man: the harmless eccentric that carries with him, as his constant companion, his empty laundry basket.  And then, once this reputation had been earned, I could begin to shoplift with it.  After six months carrying an empty laundry basket around, who would suspect me?  Or you?

    3.  It Makes People Feel Good.  Having devised a fiscal plan for my future, I arrived at the checkout.  As I queued, the couple in front of me kept looking back, then whispering between themselves and giggling.  They paid for their goods and left, and then it was my turn.  As I put the laundry basket down, the girl at the checkout glared at it as if I’d just placed a leprechaun in front of her, or a turquoise baboon.  Realising that this was something that she had not been expecting to face and that I had taken her somewhere out of her comfort zone, I knew that I needed to say something, preferably something witty, to diffuse the situation.  I thought hard while the girl continued to stare at the basket.  After several seconds, the silence was weighing heavy and the situation was becoming uncomfortable, I needed to say something – anything – as soon as possible.  What to say?  What to say?  Ah, got it! “I’ve brought my laundry basket out with me,” I stated, matter-of-factly.  The girl stopped glaring at the laundry basket and, with an expression of pure contempt, turned to glare at me.  As I paid for my goods and sloped out of the supermarket, I realised something.  I realised that many insecure people feel better about their own life when they have someone to look down on (this is why bullying happens) and, that if you were to carry a laundry basket about, you’d be performing a valuable public service.  You’d be making people feel good about themselves.

    4.  It’s Distracting.  It was half past six.  As I strode along the pavement past roads full of gridlocked traffic, I could sense that everyone, in every car, bus and van, was staring at the laundry basket.  I realised that this could be a useful thing.  Have you ever had a spot?  Have you ever had a bad hair day?  Perhaps you have a spot so well established that it’s having a bad hair day of its own?  Well, worry no more.  When you carry a laundry basket around, no one will notice.  You’ll never need to do your hair again or iron your trousers – you’ll even be able to wear purple – as all eyes will be on the basket.

    5.  It’s A Talking Point.  I arrived at the pub*.  Taking a seat at the bar, I placed my laundry basket down beside me.  Now you might think that a laundry basket at a bar would be a similar thing to the elephant in the room, but you’d be wrong.  The elephant was larger, greyer and no one was talking about him.  He seemed a bit piqued.  The laundry basket, however, was on everyone’s lips.  If you want to hear references to Ali Baba, snake charming, washing machines, midget-smuggling, The Wicker Man etcetera, etcetera, et bloody cetera, carry a laundry basket with you.  There’s never an uncomfortable silence when you have a laundry basket.  Or any silence.

    6.  Reproduction.  Something else occurred to me while I was in the pub:  I’m married, but I know that for single people, meeting prospective partners is difficult.  As the father of a small child though, I know how to break the ice and meet people and, should anyone have a penchant for crazed women over the age of forty-seven, I would advise that they carry a small baby around with them.  They will meet absolutely everyone’s batty aunt (whether they want to or not), and sometimes a whole mob of them.  But perhaps your tastes are different?  You might want to meet younger people of the opposite sex?  People of the same sex?  Perhaps you’re a Justin Bieber fan who wants to meet people of indeterminate sex?  When you carry a laundry basket, you’ll get to meet – and talk to – absolutely bloody everyone, so your chances of finding a partner are significantly increased.  Your chances of murdering the ninety-fourth person that asks if they can see your snake are quite high too, but for the patient and tolerant, a laundry basket is a shortcut to sexual success.

    7.  Keep Track.  Finally, after as many conversations about Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves as any man could bear, I headed home to surprise my wife with the laundry basket**.  Having negotiated the front door I strode into the house, stepped into the living room, placed my surprise on the floor and, with a quiver of excitement in my voice announced, “Look darling!  I’ve bought…a laundry basket.”  “I know,” she replied.  “How?” I enquired, disbelievingly.  “I’ve had texts”.  She showed me her phone.  She certainly had received texts.  Texts that said: “I’ve just seen your husband walking down the street with a laundry basket”.  Texts that said: “Ooh, I like your new laundry basket.”  Texts that said: “Just seen Marc in the pub with a laundry basket”.  It turns out that all of York was abuzz with talk of the laundry basket.  So, if you’re a bit forgetful or prone to getting lost, carrying a laundry basket will ensure that your other half will receive a detailed up to the minute report of your every movement from her network of spies friends.  You’ll also: have a permanent shelter; be better off financially; bring joy to others; never have to worry about your appearance; never be lost for conversation, and – if single – you’ll be more sexually successful.  The next time you go out, don’t forget your laundry basket.

     

    *A laundry basket is not the strangest thing that one of the 7 Reasons team has taken to a pub.

    **Yes, our life really is this dull.

     

  • Russian Roulette Sunday: In Conversation With Jonathan Lee

    Russian Roulette Sunday: In Conversation With Jonathan Lee

    In an interview that is still being talked about fondly in at least one corridor in Nottingham University’s halls of residence, the co-founder of 7 Reasons, Marc Fearns, was interviewed by another co-founder of 7 Reasons, Jonathan Lee. If you missed it you still have time to check it out. It won’t be coming down until yesterday at 6pm when the world ended. This link will take you there. Do come back though because this week the tables have been turned. Or at least the sofa has. Or at least it was going to turn. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances, Marc can’t be here. Being the creative chap Jon is though, he has decided to press ahead with the interview. So, here is Jonathan Lee in conversation with himself.

    Russian Roulette Sunday: In Conversation With Jonathan LeeJL: Thanks for coming Jon.

    JL: No problem.

    JL: I like what you’re wearing.

    JL: Ah, thanks. Claire doesn’t wear it much these days so I thought I’d give it a whirl.

    JL: You can pull it off.

    JL: I can, but not right now. We have an interview to do.

    JL: Yes, sorry. So, 7 Reasons, how much longer are you going to keep doing it for?

    JL: Who knows. At present working for myself means I can take time out to think of and write posts as well as all the other admin that goes into making it a ‘success’. That’s not going to last forever though. At some stage in the near future I expect to be working for someone else again and that means time for 7 Reasons will be heavily reduced.

    JL: So 7 Reasons might come to an end soon?

    JL: I didn’t say that.

    JL: It’s what you intimated.

    JL: It’s always a possibility and Marc and I both know this can’t last forever.

    JL: So, this time next year, will 7 Reasons be around?

    JL: It’ll be around, in what form I don’t know. You’ll see a slow down in the number of 7 Reasons posts we churn out before we say goodbye permanently. I would be surprised if we are posting every single day this time next year. But I thought that last year too. We’ll be two years old in a few months and writing every single day in the same format for two years is hard work.

    JL: Are you tired then?

    JL: Very.

    JL: Is there anything you want to achieve with 7 Reasons before you shut the door on it?

    JL: We’re working on a couple of things outside of the 7 Reason website. I’d be surprised if we don’t make at least one of those happen. Certainly from my point of view I would like the 7 Reasons concept to be able to exist without the website.

    JL: So are we talking about an Edinburgh Fringe show?

    JL: Maybe.

    JL: When you look back, what one moment stands out for you?

    JL: England winning the Ashes in Australia, just fractionally ahead of winning the Rugby World Cup.

    JL: I really meant within or because of 7 Reasons.

    JL: Oh. I don’t have one. When people say they’ve enjoyed reading a post that’s very gratifying, unless it’s a Marc Fearns post in which case it’s a bit sickening to watch to be honest.

    JL: Is there a rivalry between you?

    JL: I’m not sure. I think we drive each other to try and be better writers, but there is no jealousy if the other’s post is picked up by Umbro or The Guardian or whoever. We know that 7 Reasons is the sum of its parts and it simply wouldn’t work if one of us wasn’t there.

    JL: That’s nice.

    JL: Next question.

    JL: What’s the worst post you’ve ever written?

    JL: Anything that attempted to drive audience participation. Whether there was our quest to find the ‘8th Reasoner’ or our challenge for readers to ‘Pimp Our Sofa’. I completely misjudged just how lazy our audience was. And the ideas were rubbish. We had entries – some good ones – but ultimately they didn’t inspire the majority.

    JL: And the best?

    JL: Probably the posts that I have ghost written for other people.

    JL: You do that?!

    JL: For a fee.

    JL: How much did SirStraussy pay you?

    JL: He wrote that himself.

    JL: And finally, you’re getting married next year. Is there going to be a 7 Reasons theme?

    JL: No chance.

    JL: Why not?

    JL: You’ll have to read this forthcoming Tuesday’s post to find that out.

    JL: Thanks for talking to us. I had fun.

    JL: I’m glad one of us did.

  • In Conversation With Marc Fearns

    In Conversation With Marc Fearns

    In something of an oddity, we’re both on the sofa this Sunday. Usually it’s just Marc and his spam fetish, but this week we thought we’d bring Jon into the equation to give things a little more substance. 7 Reasons has been going on twenty months now. Given our success we would have thought we’d at least have been interviewed on Yorkshire based radio station Whippet FM by now. Sadly, we haven’t. And that’s really disappointing. But, being innovators of great stature, we have decided to do what Whippet FM hasn’t. We are going to interview ourselves. In this two part special we are going to be sitting on the sofa talking to each other. Via the medium of email. This week, it’s Jon interviewing Marc. Here we go.

    Russian Roulette Sunday: In Conversation With Marc Fearns

    JL: Hello Marc. Nice baby/glasses. Why did you feel it necessary to involve me in 7 Reasons?

    MF: Hello Jon.  Nice fiancé/biscuits.  It seemed logical. I realised that with someone else on board, I would only have to come up with three and a half reasons per day and – I’ve been told – that doing things on your own is less fun.  The first seven reasons piece that I wrote (which was on my own blog, before the provisional concept of the site came to me in the bath) was also partially your idea, so it seemed like the thing to do.  It does have its drawbacks:  Not being the best writer on my own website occasionally irritates me and I’ve learned more about Whitstable than I ever wanted to but, those minor matters aside, time has proved that it was the right decision.  It’s a bit like a variant on infinite monkey theory:  If there are two thoroughly daft people in the world with roughly compatible interests and skill-sets, eventually they’ll end up running a website together. Or annoying a woman.  Or both.  I’m also a big fan of the writing of Jonathan Lee.  This way I can see it more often (and get to remove the rogue apostrophes).

    JL: It’s nice to hear you’re such a fan, but let’s talk about you more. Almost two years ago you quit the wine industry to start 7 Reasons and redesign the whole of your house. Which do you feel has been more successful?

    MF: Well, I do now have a library, a loft, a working roof and a big muddy hole in the front garden but parts of the house are still pink.  7 Reasons, on the other hand, isn’t pink at all.  It is also visible from Rio de Janeiro.  Definitely 7 Reasons.

    JL: We’re approaching our 500th post Birthday. That’s a lot, especially when you consider we use the same formula every single day. Have you ever been tempted to call it a day and go back to fearns.blogspot.com?

    Oh, most days.  Usually when I’m stuck on five reasons.  But other than that, no, not really.  I test myself occasionally just to ensure that I retain the ability to write without counting to seven, but 7 Reasons is much more fun and some days it just seems to write itself.  Saturdays, mostly.

    JL: Obviously an ability to write and count up to seven are essential requirements for a 7 Reasons writer  – and may I just say on one of those counts you succeed admirably – but are there any other skills that you feel lend themselves favourably to being part of the 7 Reasons team?

    MF: Yes.  Anyone can write seven reasons for something, but to make it entertaining requires some sort of minor unhinged-ness, eccentricity, neurosis, and perhaps a soupçon of Francophobia.  Most people, for example, on hearing the captivating tones of the woman next door singing lullabies to her children would think no more of it and carry on.  A member of the 7 Reasons team would have a different thought process:

    That’s the woman next door singing a lullaby.  Wow, she’s got lovely pitch and an impressive range.  I wish my child’s mother could sing this well to him.  Perhaps I could convince the woman next-door to sing to him occasionally, he’d like that…  Wait!  What am I doing?  I’m coveting my neighbour’s wife!  I’m not supposed to be doing that, the Bible says not to (possibly).  And I’m not even coveting her out of lust!  I’m coveting her for her parenting skills, which is probably an even worse betrayal of my child’s mother than coveting a woman for more conventional reasons.  Or is it?  Does this mean I’m going to hell?  Can I get a 7 Reasons post out of it?

    That’s the sort of mindset that the 7 Reasons team bring to the plate every day.

    JL: What about the need to have a thick skin? You recently wrote a piece about the M&S Dine In For £10 deal. On reading the article, Mark Spencer (probably not his real name) suggested that you were a complete idiot and proffered that you were someone who moans about anything and everything. He then called you an idot. An improvement on idiot though one suspects not overly complimentary. How do you deal with the personal insults?

    MF: Before he(she?) called me an “idot”, which as a fan of irony, I heartily approve of, he(she?) also complained (semi-literately) that I wrote a full article on the subject.  Presumably he(she?) inhabits a world where people that disagree with him(her?) can only do it in that arcane and obscure form, the partial-article.  Either that or Mark Spencer (or, more accurately, Anonymous-From-The-Internet) is a bit unhinged and should really be ignored by right-thinking people.  After all, if you have to resort to abuse where there is room for debate and opinion, you’ve really already marked yourself out as not worthy of anyones’ consideration or attention.  Generally, I’m happy that I write fair-mindedly, and if people choose not to read things in that manner, that’s really up to them.  And most people do, which is heartening.

    JL: 7 Reasons is very much concept driven, in a marketplace full of content driven websites do you think the 7 Reasons approach has helped or hindered its growth?

    MF: No.  Or yes.  Or, more accurately, I don’t know.  I think it adds a nice hook to the titles of pieces and gives the potential reader some sort of inkling of what to expect.  If you imagine the titles of our pieces without the prefix 7 Reasons, what you might expect to see when clicking on that link would be far less clear.  I think people realise that they’re not going to get some dull, sprawling, ranty tract that will take all day to read when they see that there are a fixed number of reasons.  Plus it gives people that have failed to observe the name on the link or the website’s header the chance to say of any given post, “What, only seven?” and wear their own ignorance as a badge.   They seem to like doing that.

    On balance, I think the concept helps to attract an audience, but it isn’t the key to retaining them.  That’s the role of the content.  And all I need to do now is add the phrases “evolve viral experiences”, “synergize leading-edge web-readiness” and “drive front-end bandwidth” to this paragraph and then I can draw a cock on my own back and beat myself to death with an iPad.  Great question, Jon.  Thanks.

    JL: They don’t call me the young Michael Parkinson…actually, that sentence stops there. They don’t call me the young Michale Parkinson. In what will hopefully be a more enjoyable question to answer, which three posts, from the 500 plus that have been published, stand out in your mind?

    MF: 7 Reasons Not to Write on a Train stands out.  I really enjoyed writing that one, though it really sticks in my mind as a result of the epic battle I had to upload it from Essex the next day.  The friends that we were staying with had a broken internet connection that I could have fixed but they couldn’t remember their password.  Then it turns out that no establishment in Essex (apart from one place) had working WiFi.  Then the working WiFi in the place with the working WiFi stopped working just as I started using it, and many of the places that advertised WiFi weren’t there any more.  After six hours of trying to upload the piece from Essex I had to abandon my wife and friends to go to London to use the internet.  And to have a beer.

    7 Reasons We Love Propaganda Posters also stands out.  Just because there are websites out there that have accepted our posters and explanations as historical fact and there’s a part of me that finds that very funny.

    7 Reasons Sports Personality 2009 Was A Joke also stands out, mostly for the debate about sport in the 1990s that ensued in the comments section.  I don’t think you’ve ever researched anything as thoroughly as you did the sporting year of 1994 during that debate.  And then someone else we knew turned up and commented thinking that our website was The Guardian.  Fun all round.

    JL: And finally, what hopes do you have for 7 Reasons in the future?

    MF: Untold riches, tiramisu, world domination and minions; it’d be great to have some of them.  Oh, and a book deal.

    JL: Well best of luck with that Marc Fearns. Thank you for talking to us.

    MF: We’re welcome.

    Next week: In Conversation With Jonathan Lee!

  • 7 Reasons The Gents Is Not The Place For Conversation

    7 Reasons The Gents Is Not The Place For Conversation

    Given my reputation as someone who has a butler, this may come as something of a shock. I use public toilets. Though sometimes I wish I didn’t.

    7 Reasons The Gents Is Not The Place For Conversation

    I follow the maze of corridors and eventually find the door to the Gents. It’s empty as I walk in. And silent. Until I hear…

    1.  “Alright?” I’m a bit startled by this. A voice has never said ‘alright’ to me before. Not in the toilets. I spin around but there is no one there. No one. Not a sign of life anywhere. This is new territory. And I don’t like it very much. Now, for 7 reasons that I can’t explain, I believe in God. And one day, if I’m good, I hope to meet him. What I never expected, was that I’d meet him on a Saturday afternoon in the pub toilet. I suspect that is probably the romantic in me. I’m not quite sure what to say back. With my hand hovering near my flies I suddenly feel very self-conscious. Part of me thinks, ‘Hello Sir’ would be a suitable reply, but then my legs seem to want me to curtsy. My thinking must have lasted quite a while because before I have the chance to reply I hear the voice again.

    2.  “Hello.” This time I follow the direction in which the voice has come. And I see a cubicle with a shut door. I immediately feel stupid. It wasn’t God. It was some bloke sitting on the loo. And all of a sudden this thought hits me very hard. There is a bloke; sitting on a loo; in a public toilet; trying to talk to me. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. I want to run but I haven’t even started my public facilities objective yet. I hurry to the nearest convenience, desperately hoping I don’t hear the voice again. But I do.

    3.  “How’s it going?” How’s it going? How’s it going?! What sort of a question is that?! Between you and me, I can tell you it was going very nicely thank you, but I’m not going to tell him that am I?! My heart is racing a bit now. I know exactly what is happening. All this sweet talking has one and only one aim. He wants to pick me up.

    4.  “Hey Dave, that is you isn’t it?” Ah. Well maybe I was wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want to pick me up. Maybe he just wants to pick Dave up. Relief. At least relief until he says, “Dave?” And now I have a new problem. Quite clearly I am not Dave. I don’t look like Dave, I don’t sound like Dave, I don’t have a bladder like Dave’s. I’m Jon. But of course the bloke doesn’t know this because he can’t see me and I haven’t said anything. So to him, I am definitely Dave. So what do I do? I can’t say, “No, sorry mate, I’m Jon”. That would just embarrass both of us. I suppose I could pretend to be Dave, but when you are standing in the toilets the last thing you really want to be doing is pretending you are another man. So my only other option is to stay silent. And so that is exactly what I do. And silence works. Silence tells the bloke that I am not Dave. Silence tells the bloke that this is now an uncomfortable situation for both of us and as such he should remain in his cubicle until I have left. But that’s not what happens. Because all of a sudden I hear the sound of…

    5.  Water Flushing. What the hell?! What is he doing?! Doesn’t he know I am still here?! I feel like shouting, “Stay in there man! Do not leave the cubicle.” I need to get out of here. Before he opens the door. But I have had tea. A lot of tea. And, a bit like one’s relationship with Pringles, once one’s popped one can’t stop. I am sorry, but I have to tell you this so you understand the gravity of the situation, I am going on forever. But the good news is that the man hasn’t left the cubicle yet. Maybe he is waiting. Maybe it’s all going to be okay. I make it to the sink to wash my hands. And then the…

    6.  Door Opens. And our eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror. And for some reason neither of us can stop staring at each other. He looks uncomfortable. I feel uncomfortable. And we are still staring at each other. It’s only when I realise that I am scolding my hands under the hot tap that I can finally look away. He uses the sink next to me. I don’t dare look in the mirror. Instead I move quickly to the paper towels to dry my hands. Finally, the tension in the room is snapped, as someone enters the gents. I don’t care who it is, I don’t need to find out, I don’t need to look at them. I am just very grateful to them. Then they walk behind me and say…

    7.  “Alright Jon.” I spin around and say, “Hi!”. At exactly the same moment as the other bloke says, “Alright Dave.”