Tag: ducks

7 Reasons That Anatidaephobia Must be Awful
Anatidaephobia is the fear that wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, a duck is watching you. While some people might see this debilitating condition as funny, we do not. We realise that it must be bloody awful, here are seven reasons why.

1. It’s Not Taken Seriously. People are often crass, insensitive and immature. While they would shy away from mocking the sufferers of other phobias they think nothing of making fun of anatidaephobes, solely for their own puerile entertainment and amusement. Well at 7 Reasons, we’re bigger and cleverer than that. We know what not to show an anatidaephobe.

This is what not to show an anatidaephobe.

2. At Home. Anatidaephobes must find it terribly difficult to cope at home. After all, they’ll believe that when they’re there a duck is watching them. And how is anyone supposed to relax with a duck watching them? And how are they supposed to tell if a duck is watching them or not when they’re suffering from snow-blindness? Or soft-furnishing-induced vomiting.

3. Escape. So they’ve got a duck staring at them at home. What to do? What to do? Get away from it all, that’s what. Get away from the daily grind, the endless plates and pitchers, the white stuff all over the place, the searing pain in their eyes, the duck that may or may not be there staring at them and head off on holiday. To somewhere far, far away from the many, many cups and saucers and the sinister duck.

4. Having A Lovely Time, Wish You Were…Oh…You Are. Well, apparently to anatidaephobes, flying isn’t a barrel of laughs either. But a journey in an aircraft is a temporary annoyance – unless it plummets from the sky in a fiery ball and hurtles at several hundred miles an hour into a mountain, in which case it’s a more permanent irritation – and, having escaped the duck at the aeroplane window, the travelling anatidaephobe can finally emerge from the aircraft all set to begin their relaxing holiday in Osaka.

5. Look On The Bright Side. Well okay, Osaka may not be as relaxing at they’d hoped. But sufferers of anatidaephobia can console themselves with the thought that the big yellow duck isn’t real, and it’s not like ducks hang around in large gangs. That would be terrifying.

Yes. This would be terrifying.

6. It’s Still Not Being Taken Seriously. Well it seems we’ve been rumbled. There does appear to be a series of images in this post that would be terrifying to anyone with a fear of ducks and, if you’re an anatidaephobe that’s made it this far down the page, we apologise for our silliness and can reassure you that there are absolutely no more photos of ducks in this post. It’s all just text from now on.
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7. Comparison. Okay, that was a cheap shot (which is great as there’s a global recession) and, you might reasonably ask, would we make fun of people who suffer from other debilitating ailments; people that are scared of the dark, for example, or the morbidly obese? And the answer is no, we probably wouldn’t. A series of pictures of the dark would be very dull indeed, and a post full of pictures of fat would be totally disgusting and would put everyone off their sandwiches. The good news, however, is that unlike the fear of the dark – or fat people – anatidaephobia isn’t real. It was made up by Gary Larson – he of The Far Side fame – so we can all relax now. Unless you’ve ever claimed to be an anatidaephobe or have been reading this piece through the gaps between your fingers, in which case you’re a simpering nitwit and we can heartily recommend this fine web page.
February 16, 2011
7 Reasons Not to Write in the Park

Last week, I wrote a piece entitled 7 Reasons To Write In The Park. I did this because it was a nice day and I thought it would be a good idea to combine a visit to my local park with writing, Having come up with the title for the piece before I set off, I felt duty-bound to complete it, even though my experience showed me that the park isn’t the ideal place to write at all. This is why.

Picture by www.webbaviation.co.uk

1. Sunshine. It was sunny in the park. I discovered that sunlight is incompatible with writing as I couldn’t see what was on the screen of my laptop. I’m not the most accurate of typists and being able to see what I’m keying in is vital to me. After I’d finished writing, I returned home to find that I’d written this:

I had to spend hours rewriting it from memory. Indoors.

2. The Descent Of Man. There’s an ice cream vendor at my local park so I bought an ice cream which, as it was a hot sunny day, melted and made both of my hands very sticky. I needed to type but I didn’t have a tissue or a wet wipe with me; because I’m not very organised and also because I’m not a woman (I don’t even own a dress). I ended up having to clean my hands by dragging them around on the grass. And so it was that I, a modern man, was reduced to savagery by something as simple as a defrosting confection. Pathetic.

3. Women. There were scantily clad women sunbathing in the park; some of them were reading too. This is a distraction I never encounter when writing at home and I got quite hot under the collar (an idiomatic one, I’m not a dog). As I sat there trying to write, I found myself thinking about how attractive women with books are. For reasons that I can’t fathom, a woman reading Dostoyevsky is at least 70% more attractive than a similar looking woman that isn’t reading anything. I was supposed to be writing and instead, I found myself just sitting there, wondering if I’m a book fetishist or even if there is such a thing. Is it the paper? Is it the font? Is it the rustling sound of the turning pages? Anyway, the upshot was that I lost at least half an hour of writing time worrying that I’m some sort of biblio-pervert.

4. Ducks. It’s not possible to write anything near a duck. I know, I’ve tried. They do three things that are distracting; they quack, they waddle and they sleep with their heads facing backwards. How are you supposed to write anything near a creature like that?

5. Words. I overheard a man and a woman that were seated near me on a bench. I listened, because you never know if you might be able to use what you hear as dialogue later on. The woman had a very distracted, slightly disconnected, manner of speech; she would leave long pauses mid-sentence before eventually resuming. At one point she said “…of course, Mike would fall for her…she’s very…”. It was during the final pause that the word bendy popped into my head and caused me to burst into – what outwardly appeared to be spontaneous – laughter. The couple – who had previously observed me dragging my hands around on the ground – soon moved on, presumably a little concerned. Or even a lot concerned.

6. Tan. I thought I’d tanned slightly while I was writing in the park but it turns out that I hadn’t. The following morning I woke with one red arm. It’s a completely different colour to my other arm but, as my highly amused wife pointed out to me, it does go better with the kitchen.

7. Just Because. I don’t know what I was thinking, Trying to write in the park was clearly a foolish act. It’s the wrong thing to do there: it’s not what parks are for. I should have been running around with a ball or a Frisbee (again, I feel I should stress that I’m not a dog) or reading or feeding the ducks. Writing there was a disaster. In conclusion; if you need to write anything, the park’s the wrong place to do it.*

*And it’s full of book-perverts.

May 24, 2010
7 Reasons To Write In The Park

Something amazing happened yesterday; the sun came out in Yorkshire. With a mixture of delirium, excitement and astonishment I abandoned my plans and headed off to my local park. I decided to justify this dereliction of home improvement duty by coming up with 7 Reasons To Write In The Park.

Picture by www.webbaviation.co.uk

1. Fitness. I walked to the park, something that probably counts as one of my five portions of exercise per day. Had I stayed at home to write I would have had to have paced up-and-down to achieve the same effect. Not for very long, the park’s just around the corner, but still, it all helps.

2. Ice Cream. There is no ice cream in my house, but my local park has an ice cream vendor. I love ice cream, and it turns out that it’s a brilliant accompaniment to writing, better even than the bananas that usually fuel my compositions. Obviously your local park might not have ice cream, but it’s not my fault if your park sucks and mine doesn’t.

3. Inspiration. While I was writing in the park two middle-aged men, deep in conversation, walked past me and I overheard one of them exclaim, “…I don’t even own a dress!” I have no idea what the context was, but at some point I’ll be able to use this in something. It’s currently a monologue, but eventually, I may be able to use it as dialogue – or perhaps even trialogue – if such a thing exists. Those words came free at the park; I wouldn’t have heard anyone say them at home. And by that, I don’t mean that I own a dress, I mean that I wouldn’t be saying it aloud to myself while writing. My wife wouldn’t say it either. She has loads of the things. They’re everywhere.

4. Sunlight. Often, when writing, the location of the writer means that they don’t see much sunlight. In my case, I usually write near a window in a West facing room in North Yorkshire so I’m more likely to see a unicorn piloting a zeppelin to Greenland than I am to see the sun. Yesterday, however, as I emerged from my house blinking and startled into the sunlight and headed off to the park it felt good. I may have even tanned slightly while writing! Extraordinary.

5. Ducks. There are ducks in the park. Ducks are among the cutest animals in the world; they’re amazing. Right about now, you’re probably asking yourself: How did the ducks help with the writing? Well, if I hadn’t seen the ducks, I wouldn’t have mentioned them and these words wouldn’t be here and you’d just be staring at a blank screen. That’s how the ducks helped. Bet you’re glad I didn’t see geese.

6. Comparison. When I write at home I write in a room full of books. From my desk I can see a sizable collection of exalted works by a canon of noteworthy authors. This is intimidating company for anyone trying to write anything. In the park, I was free from any feelings of inferiority and was able to scrawl my hackneyed musings…er…compose my insightful witticisms unabashed. I did briefly sight a man that resembled the late poet Philip Larkin, but it wasn’t him. The real Philip Larkin would never have tripped over a sunbather.

7. Just Because. It’s just nice in the park. It was a glorious day and had I stayed at home I’d have been obliged to varnish the garden furniture or paint a wall or something. But I didn’t. I went to the park, had a good time writing and was nearer to the pub when I’d finished. The whole experience left me feeling thoroughly happy and with a great sense of well-being. In conclusion; if you need to write anything, the park’s the place to do it.*

*Unless you’re Philip Roth or James Ellroy, I don’t need the pressure.

May 20, 2010