Tag: Humour

7 Reasons To Play Croquet With A Flamingo

The other day a local magazine popped through the door. We get it every month. Usually it takes the small trip from the door mat to the recycling bin. This time though, for a reason I can’t describe, I felt compelled to flick through. It’s just adverts for businesses really. Hardly the stuff of legend. That is until I got to page twelve. When I was confronted by this:

Croquet without flamingos?! What?! How on earth can you play croquet without a flamingo? A flamingo makes croquet what it is. Need proof?

1. Alice. The first and obvious reason is that the flamingo itself makes a wonderful mallet – as so beautifully demonstrated by the the girl in Wonderland and the Queen of Hearts.

Of course, it could be argued that the hedgehogs and the cards help make a game of it, but the real challenge when using a flamingo as a mallet is making it have an erection. Of the neck obviously. What happens after this is really neither here nor there.

2. Smug. You may decide however that instead of playing with a flamingo, you want to play with a flamingo. Which, luckily, is something the RSPCA continually turn a blind eye at. The thing about playing against a flamingo is that they are just so damn smug. They’re so casual. They hit their shot then just stand on one leg watching as you line up your stroke. It’s enough to drive you mad. But, conversely, it makes you more determined. More focused. You will play like a legend. Has anyone ever told you they lost at croquet to a flamingo? Exactly.

3. Location. The chances of you borrowing a flamingo in the UK are fairly slim. They are nearly all in zoos or security patrolled wetlands. To check this I did call London Zoo and enquired as to whether it would be possible to borrow a flamingo, but upon telling them I intended to play croquet with it they lost any sort of interest I had earlier piqued. All this leads us to assume that we need to find a freelance flamingo. And our best chance of finding one of those is in South America, the Caribbean or the Galapagos Islands. Hardly bad places to go for a game are they?

4. Contacts. Flamingoes are one of the more social birds out there. Think Tara Palmer-Tomknison. They seem to know everyone. Usually when you play croquet you’ll end up being partnered with Dennis. He’s a nice guy, don’t misunderstand us. The thing is, he spent most of his life working in a signal box. It means he’s used to his own company. He has a few friends. You know, enough to keep him happy. But if you mentioned that you needed a plasterer he’d just raise his eyebrows and play his next shot. Tell a flamingo though and he’ll know bloody hundreds of them back at the colony. Your ceiling will be done in no time.

5. God. Be honest, who would like to play a round of croquet with God? Well, if you play with a flamingo that’s exactly what you’ll be doing. Sort of. Obviously it’s not actually God. It’s a living representation of Him. Sort of. It’s not actually that God. It’s the God, Ra. And Ancient Egyptians believed a flamingo to be the living representation of Him. But that’s still kind of cool isn’t it?

6. Pure Class. According to the Official Flamingo Database*, pink plastic flamingoes are popular lawn ornaments in the USA. And, if my trips through the town are anything to go by, Swindon. How utterly tacky. These people need to be shown up for the cheap, nasty, dirty beings that they are. Play croquet with a real life flamingo. Show these fools that there is more to a flamingo than decoration. I feel sick.

7. Entertainment. You just know that if you send out a few hundred Flamingo Croquet day invites, at least one person – probably not even the dyslexic one – will turn up dressed as a Flamenco dancer. Oh how you’ll laugh.

*Yes, it was wikipedia.

August 26, 2011
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 To Go Hitchhiking

It’s that age-old question. Should I take the bus or risk getting murdered by white van man? The vast majority choose the bus route, but here at 7 Reasons we want to encourage the protrusion of thumbs. Here’s why:

1. Adventure. When you get on the bus or the train, ninety-nine times out of a hundred you know where you are going. (For the purposes of this post we’re assuming your sober.) Your carriage takes you on the same route as you have seen so many times before. Nothing changes. Not even the traffic lights. So why not bring a bit of the unknown into play? Your friendly driver may show you a different route. You may end up going cross-country. You might foray into the bus lane. You might find yourself in the middle of a drugs run or importing illegals. Who knows? At the end of the day, the worst thing that could possibly happen to you is that you have a free trip to Leicester. So why not give it a go?

2. Conversation. Odd isn’t it? We get on the bus and the thought of talking to someone never crosses our mind. We even put our earphones in to make sure no one even so much as thinks of asking us the time. When we get in a car though, we feel impelled to talk. About the weather. About the traffic. About last night’s football that you didn’t even watch. About anything and everything really. Not talking is scary. So if you want to save your iPhone battery for the journey home, hitchhike in the morning.

3. Myth-Buster. See that sign above? The one that says ‘Hitchhikers may be escaping inmates’? Prove a driver wrong. Don’t get in the car and say, ‘Step on it! I’m being chased by a villain’, get in the car and say, ‘Hello. Thank you so much’. Even if you are escaping an inmate it’s useful to use the latter approach. Just shouting ‘Go! Go! Go!’ will most likely panic your driver and cause them to stall. Ten seconds later you’ll have a bullet in the back of your head.

4. Challenge. Of course the alternative is that your driver turns out to be a rapist/murderer/liberal democrat/Alan Carr fanzine writer. Or all four. Such situations challenge you to the hilt. (Wherever the hilt is). The question is, how will you get out of this one with your bottom still in tact, your life still in order, not becoming a murderer yourself and not signing up for a weekly e-newsletter? We can’t give you the answers. It’s up to you to work them out in the back of ‘Paul’s’ camper van. Go on, test yourself.

5. Sign Language. The ‘thumb up’ is the universal sign for approval. Or ‘I’m good’. Or ‘Okay’. So if you start telling drivers that you’re good, they might tell you that they’re good. Or they might give you another sign altogether. It’s a test of patience really. But if you can meet with thumbs up and middle finger salutes and treat those two impostors just the same; yours is the lift my son. Eventually. Maybe.

6. You Are Who You Aren’t. You don’t really get the opportunity at work to tell people you are really an MI5 operative. Mainly because they know you work in telesales. But a complete stranger, who you will never meet again, you can tell them anything you like. Perhaps you’re a pilot. Or a cocktail club owner. Or door-to-door fish salesman. Just be who you want to be. The chances are they design Formula One cars anyway.

7. Cred. Jack Kerouac wrote a novel based on his experiences of hitchhiking and made it cool. Tony Hawks wrote a book about hitchhiking with a fridge and made it even cooler. So logic would dictate that when you do it, you’ll be so friggin’ cool you’ll be like ice to touch. Not convinced? Well ask yourself this. Did Reg Varney make travelling by bus cool in On The Buses? Thought not.

*Yes. I did struggle to come up with a seventh reason. Well spotted.

August 24, 2011
7 Reasons I’m Not Sure I Suit A Wig

The other day I was invited by the nice people at Alpecin to test whether I was likely to go bald or not. I did so using their revolutionary baldness calculator. The results – given that I am already of the receding kind – came as no surprise. I’m going to be balding by my early to mid-forties. Disappointing, but at least it’s just on my head. I would hate not being able to trap bubbles with the hairs on my legs whenever I have a bath. The likelihood that I’ll be as bald as a coot does’t bother me in the slightest, but on Alpecin’s recommendation, I decided to look in to the possibility of wearing a wig. The results, thanks to a little dodgy photoshopping, are mixed. Let me know what you think though. It means a lot to me.

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August 22, 2011
Guest Post: 7 Reasons I Am Most Probably Half-Greek

We’ve never really mentioned publicly our gratitude those of you who submit guest posts. Mainly because the vast majority of them give writing a bad name. One lady who hops, skips and jumps her way to the other end of the spectrum though, is Things To Do In Manchester supremo, Liz Gregory. Regular 7 Reasons readers will remember with great fondness Liz’s previous posts about dolphin’s embodying the devil and mince pies. So you, like us, will be delighted to see her back on the 7 Reasons sofa today. Though it has to be said she looks like she’s having a bit of an κρίση ταυτότητας. And if that sounds greek to you, that’s because it is. Here’s Liz:

Having recently returned to rain-drenched Britain after a week in Kefalonia, I have decided that I am not in fact a pasty-faced Mancunian but indeed something far more exotic. I realise now that I am at least half Greek, and can offer the following evidence to any doubters (including, perhaps reasonably, family members).

1. The Weather. In Greece, it is sunny. Always. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the temperatures in Greece are actually just silly. Such heat makes any kind of strenuous activity impossible, and forces one to spend the entire day lying quietly by the pool, drinking cold beer in a frosted glass, and occasionally having a quick frolic in the water to cool off. I found, to my surprise, that I was good – no, make that very good – at doing this; I would even say I was something of a natural.

2. My Wardrobe. I essentially wear the same clothes all year round, and am the proud owner of approximately 1,297 pretty much identical little dresses with flowers on them (or sometimes, a daring stripe). Imagine my delight to find that in Greece, such items can actually be worn ON THEIR OWN, without the addition of cardigans, thick tights and leggings (sometimes all at once) – a truly liberating feeling.

3. The Tan. For reasons hitherto beyond my comprehension, I have skin that tans exceptionally easily; this is now easily explained by my new-found Greek heritage. I have returned from my holiday a most pleasing colour, which looks all the more striking when cunningly accessorised with an obviously non-Greek husband who appears to have come back paler than when he went.

4. The Food – Part One. My favourite crisps in the whole wide world (and I am quite a connoisseur if I do say so myself) are Walkers Sensations. In Greece, these are called Lays Sensations. I like this name better, and am therefore obviously both a/ Greek and b/ the owner of a very mature sense of humour.

5. The Food – Part Two. One of the best bits of being on ANY holiday is that you are forced to eat out every night, and are thereby released from the drudgery of trying to think up exciting new ways with the excess of whatever item is dominating the vegetable box this week. Greek food is particularly rewarding, offering meaty goodness at every turn and merrily deep-frying any passing vegetable until all its nutrients are safely neutralised. I am clearly cut out for this kind of diet, as I have come back weighing less than I did before, despite eating a kilo of bread before every meal and consuming three cows and a lamb during the course of my stay.

6. The Alcohol. I am not really one for drinking spirits in the UK, preferring to up my 5-a-day fruit and vegetable quota by having wine instead. However, I enjoy both Ouzo and *whispers* Metaxa Brandy, and only a properly Greek person could say that.

7. My Promising Fluency In The Greek Language. Obviously, the Greek language does itself no favours by using silly squiggles and shapes instead of proper letters, but despite such obstacles I found myself in full possession of an almost entire vocabulary after just a few days. I can say: hello, good morning, good evening, goodbye, please, cheers, how are you, and very well thank you; what more, frankly, does one need? By the way, all the haters on Twitter who suggested I should learn the useful phrase “more please” were roundly ignored.

So there you go; incontrovertible proof of my inherent Greek-ness. Now all I have to do is sort the maths out, as I’m fairly sure I’m half Spanish and half Italian as well…

August 20, 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 Ian Dury’s ‘Reasons To Be Cheerful: Part 3’ Is Unreasonable: Part 2

In a late change to the 7 Reasons posting schedule, I am back again. Don’t worry though, apart from celebrating as you normally do when you realise it’s a Jonathan Lee day, you may carry on as normal. Now, tomorrow marks the ninth month anniversary of the 7 Reasons post, 7 Reasons Ian Dury’s ‘Reasons To Be Cheerful: Part 3’ Is Unreasonable: Part 1. To commemorate this occasion I thought I’d bring you part two. So, just to remind you, the last reason to be cheerful that we analysed was ‘jump back in the alley’. Right, on with the show.

8. 18-Wheeler Scammells. Lorries. Big ones. Now, I know you are supposed to get excited when you see an Eddie Stobart lorry, but that’s kind of a tradition. Along with having a fight with your brother and then being told off. Unless you are a lorry-spotter – and I am fairly confident that at least one of you is – I can’t imagine anyone breaking into a wide, toothy grin at the site of a lorry. Unless they’re an illegal looking for a way to get out of the UK anyway.

9. Dominecker Camels. General consensus has it that Dury wasn’t highlighting a type of black and white camel here, but instead referring to the cigarette brand, Camel. Not cool Ian, not cool. Smoking doesn’t make you cheerful even if the cigarettes are in the shape of a mammal. Smoking makes your clothes smell and your bank balance deteriorate far faster than the cool dudes sucking on straws and biros.

10. All Other Mammals. All other mammals? All of them? They can’t all make you cheerful. What about a lemming throwing itself off a cliff? That makes you happy does it? And what about the naked mole-rat? How can anything that looks like a nude Janet Street-Porter possibly make you happy?

11. Seeing Piccadilly. The only feeling I ever get when I see Piccadilly is one of frustration at the amount of people who think it is appropriate to stand in the middle of the pavement taking photos of massive electronic billboards shouting brand names at them. And then they take bloody ages to walk down the stairs to the Piccadilly Line platform too. I can only assume there weren’t as many idiots around in the seventies.

12. Fanny Smith And Willy. I didn’t know this, but apparently Fanny Smith is a professional skier from Switzerland and the logical conclusion would be that by Willy, Dury is referring to Willy Carson. I have to be honest and say that while Fanny is clearly lovely, there are far more attractive things to get cheerful about. Ian Bell batting for example. And as for Willy, the overriding opinion in the internet forums is that he is too small to cause any sort of penetrable excitement. So it looks like you are on your own here Ian.

13. Being Rather Silly. This is a simple one. You should either be very silly or not silly at all. Being rather silly is both pointless and tiresome. Either give it your all or not at all. As in the local pub, you only cause anger with half-measures.

14. Porridge Oats. I don’t like porridge. So the idea of being cheered by them is a totally alien concept. That’s probably a slightly unfair analysis though. So let’s do ourselves a cereal substitution. I like Shreddies. So let me go and pour a bowl to see if it cheers me up. (I am walking to the kitchen. I am opening the cupboard. I am picking up the cereal box. I am getting a bowl. I am pouring cereal into the bowl. I am looking at my bowl of cereal. I am walking back to the laptop). No. I feel exactly the same as I did before. Though maybe slightly frustrated that I now have to wash-up an extra bowl.

August 17, 2011
7 Reasons Being Left-Handed Is Not All It’s Cracked Up To Be

The two of you who read Friday’s post will know that Saturday was Left-Handers’ Day. To join in with the fun I decided that I would be an honorary left-hander for the day. How hard could it be? The problem was, by the time I had remembered I was supposed to be being left-handed for the day, I had already been right-handed for six hours. It didn’t really seem right to do a half-hearted job so I vowed to be a left-hander on Sunday instead. Only, I forgot. Again. So I wrote myself a note. On Monday I would be a left-hander. And I was. This is my story.

1. Tea. A disaster. From start to finish. Usually I am programmed to pour with my left hand and stir with my right. Having rewired myself – while the pouring was just as effective – the stirring was abysmal. I just couldn’t get into a rhythm. Tea was sloshing over the side. Across the work-surface. Onto the floor. And then there was the flicking off the tea-bag into the bin using the spoon. I missed the bin. I suspect you’re thinking it couldn’t get any worse? Sadly, it did. By the time I had finished we seldom had half a cup of tea between us. Shocker.

2. Writing Freehand Stylee. I made a few phone calls yesterday. That’s nothing new. I often like to leave answerphone messages for myself so I feel loved. Yesterday though I actually called some people who weren’t, never have and never will be me. I didn’t tell them though, it would have been bad for their morale. I used my left-hand to key in the number and hold the phone to my ear. This wasn’t a problem. During the course of the first call though it became abundantly obvious that I needed to make some notes. It’s at the point that I should have probably given up, used my right-hand and pretended this entire episode never occurred. But, dear reader, that would not be fair on you. If there is one thing we are on 7 Reasons, it is honest. So for your benefit I carried on in my pursuit of left-handed glory. I held the phone between my left-shoulder and left-ear and wrote with my left-hand. The result of all this is that I have a meeting on Thursday morning. Not that you would know unless you were hacking my phone at the time.

3. Application Of Cosmetics. On Sunday I got burnt by the vicious Kent 20 degrees sunshine. So come yesterday I was giving Sitting Bull a run for his money. As a result I needed to up the moisture levels of the affected areas using the various lotions and potions I could find lying around the house. Sadly for you I didn’t go for the tomato salsa. Instead I used Vaseline’s Essential Moisture Daily Body Lotion. It’s a tremendous product and I heartily recommend it. Applying it to my face with my left-hand was a doddle. I only wish I had recorded it for a ‘How To’ video on YouTube. Then came the difficult part. Tradition would have it that I apply moisture to my left arm using my right hand. I am sure you can work out what I had to do. The result was not only highly ineffective it also made me look as if I was doing The Funky Gibbon. Only it wasn’t funky and I didn’t have the Steve Wright intro or the future prospect of shrinking like Bill Oddie. Is it really possible to shrink about twenty inches while working with Kate Humble?

4. Mice. Having made half a cup of tea, written something even MI5 would struggle to decipher and performed an impromptu display of Swan Lake on acid, you would have thought not much more could go wrong. That’s when I tuned the computer on and realised I would have to bring the mouse to the other side of the keyboard. After an hour I was fairly proficient in keeping the cursor on the screen. Remembering which finger to click with though is something I never got used to. I was in and out of the recycle bin more times than a school-child watching Blue Peter. I also ended up watching Vanilla’s 1997 smash-hit No Way No Way. I’m still not entirely sure how.*

5. Lunch. Not difficult as such, just dangerous. Knives and Jonathan Lee don’t mix at the best of times. Throw in the fact that I was cutting left-handed while performing The Funky Gibbon in a sunburnt state to the rhythmic beats of Vanilla’s No Way No Way and it’s the kind of thing only a sick pervert would want to witness. As it happened he only stayed for the first half.

6. Photography. The more observant of you will note that every post on 7 Reasons is accompanied by a photo. Most of the time we just borrow one from Google Images, but on the odd occasion we carefully craft our own. Today’s photo – as I would hope you have guessed – is a first edition Lee. It seemed silly to write about my triumphs as a left-hander and then use someone else’s work to highlight it. Which is why I took the photo above. Never would I have thought using a camera would be an issue for a left-hander. But of course it is. I don’t know, maybe lefties actually use their right index finger and right thumb to press the various buttons and change settings? I guess it would make sense. Unfortunately for me though, 7 Reasons rarely makes sense. As such I used solely my left-hand to take the photo above. Twenty-three attempts it took me to finally take one that was both in focus and actually featured anything other than the floor.

7. Writing Keyboard Stylee. Having found six of my seven reasons in such quick time, I began to write this post yesterday afternoon. That brought with it its own problems. When you look at this post and compare it with Marc’s essays, you would wager that this post took far fewer hours to write. Oh how wrong could you be? Very actually. The whole point of being left-handed for the day was to use my left hand when on all other days of the year I use my right. As such my right hand went to the left-half of the keyboard and my left to the right. Three hours later this is the result.

*Honestly, I’m not. You have to believe me.

August 16, 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
Guest Post: 7 Reasons To Visit India

Today we welcome to the 7 Reasons sofa James Cave. A man who needs little introduction… if you know him. The chances are though that you probably don’t. So let me tell you about him. He’s a man. And he’s called James. Right, over to him.

A local gets in the way of the archery tournament at Thaipusam Festival

Book cheap flights to India, a land where anything goes. Here are seven weird reasons to inspire your visit:

1. Fortune Favours The Brave. The Thaipusam Festival takes place in temples across Tamil Nadu during the Tamil month of Thai (January/February) on the full moon. It involves devoted Hindus taking extraordinary measures – piercing body parts with alarmingly sharp objects and walking across burning coals in order to be cleansed of past misdeeds. Beating drums, bugles and chanting help to help create a frenzied atmosphere. It’s a hair raising spectacle but not for the faint hearted.

2. A Deadly Dining Experience. The New Lucky Restaurant, Ahmadabad, India. Death might be a part of life but now it’s a part of lunch. This eatery has gained notoriety not only for its cuisine but the 22 cement coffins dotted between the tables and chairs. The milky tea and butter buns are to die for!

3. Toilet Humour Required. We spend a lot of time on the toilet so why not take home some ideas for a new throne by paying a visit to The Sulabh International Toilet Museum in New Delhi. It’s a museum dedicated to the toilet where you can view a rare collection of toilets and other toilet paraphernalia dating from 2,500BC to present day.

4. Ghost Busting – India Style. The Indians are a superstitious lot. But who doesn’t love a good ghost story? To see thousands of real life ghouls cleansed and exorcised by witchdoctors, the ‘bhooton ka mela’ or ‘fair of the ghosts’ is held in the village of Malajpur in Madhya Pradesh in February. It’s an frantic, otherworldly event – the only one of its kind in India. Spooky.

5. Spice Up Your Travels. To prove that the Kama Sutra originated in India, the Khajuraho Monuments in Madya Pradesh makes for an eye opening experience. Explicit erotic art and sexual carvings abound here. What exactly were the creators thinking?

6. Rats Rule. Animal fanatic or a bit strange? Prove your love by paying a visit to this strange place of worship in Deshnoke, Rajastan. The Karni Mata Temple is where rats, yes rats, are worshipped as a tribute to the rat goddess, Karni Mata. Home to some 20,000 rats, they scuttle and scurry across marble floors while people eat, pray and pay their respects.

7. Loose Yourself In The Moment. Infamous trance parties take place on Anjuna beach, Goa between Christmas and New Year when the full moon shines. People watching is a must as such an event attracts the freakish, weird and the wonderful from all corners of the earth. Revellers loose themselves in big beats and psychedelia on this hypnotic night.

Convinced? Flights to India go from most of the world’s major airports. Just a few hours packed into a sardine can and you could be looking at historic porn, losing yourself in a trance party or letting loose at the International Toilet Museum in New Delhi.

August 13, 2011