Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed 7 Reasons readers, people of the internet, lovers of SPAM; we have an exciting prize to offer one lucky person.
You may remember a reference from a 7 Reasons post earlier in the week to the giving of the gift of a tin of SPAM. Well, that didn’t go too well. Consequently, we’re now in the position to offer you, the reader, that very self-same tin of SPAM, though now with a slight dent on it.
The Prize (pen, notebook and table not included)
Sadly though, we haven’t had much time to devise a competition – and one of the team also has something of a headache – but we’ve realised something: That 7 Reasons readers are probably creative and resourceful people too. Accordingly, we’re setting you a challenge.
To win this tin of SPAM, which will be dispatched direct from Yorkshire, simply come up with a competition to win a tin of SPAM and send your entry to [email protected]. We’ll judge the entries and the winner will be the person that that has devised – in our opinion – the best competition. You’ve got full licence to be as innovative and creative as you like (in fact, we positively encourage it). Feel free to send illustrations too, if you feel they will enhance your presentation. We’ll announce the lucky winner next Sunday. We might even use the winning competition in the future.
So get your thinking caps on as fame, fortune and a tin of SPAM await you. Oh, and enjoy the rest of your weekend. See you tomorrow.
Welcome to another Saturday and another in our long line of world class guest posts. This week it’s Chris Johnson’s turn on the 7 Reasons sofa. A sofa that has been treated like royalty in the last two years. And deservedly so. It’s been to Paris and Sydney and Chicago and Birmingham to name a few. So which luxury destination is it off to this week? Yes, that’s right, Chris’ shed. But it’s not just any shed. It’s a cool garden shed. Obviously. What other type of shed is there? All garden sheds are cool. As Chris will now explain.
I feel pretty bad for sheds. They just sort of sit at the back of the garden with no love or attention given to their woody selves. It is therefore my aim to provide you with 7 pretty believable reasons why sheds actually are pretty cool!
1. You Can Make A Horror Film In Them. Sheds can be pretty creepy in the dark. More often than not, they’re rotting messes with all kinds of creepy crawlies in them. Take a video camera and rope in your mates. Have someone wield an axe while someone cowers in the corner amongst the lawnmower and shovel. You instantly have the perfect setup for the next blockbuster slasher film. It will be better than Saw 7 anyway.
2. You Can Make A Den In Them. Transport yourself back to your childhood. Clear out all that junk and fill it with pillows, blankets and large quantities of Haribo. Chill out with your mates amongst the soft furnishings and tell each other ghost stories as it gets dark. If you’re really daring, you could even introduce a couple of beers into the equation and see what happens!
3. You Actually Have Two Houses. Nobody ever really considers that a shed could be considered a second house. If it was painted up all pretty with a sofa and a bed, you instantly have a second home right in your back garden. It’s unfortunate that they are left in a dirty, uninhabitable state. Many people on the streets would love to live in your shed. Stop taking it for granted and turn it into something to keep your mother-in-law in!
4. You Could Have A Secret Life In Them. Playing on the idea that it’s your second home, you could have an entirely separate life in your shed. Transform into the opposite sex as you step into your second life if that floats your boat, or become an owl in the middle of the night. Your family has no idea where you are because, well, you wouldn’t be in the shed would you? That would be ludicrous! That’s what you want them to think!
5. You Can Pretend It’s A TARDIS. Why should the Doctor be the only person with a TARDIS? Tell your mates that you too are a Time Lord. Paint your shed in brilliant blue, and dazzle your friends by showing them that your shed is actually bigger on the inside. Of course, if it isn’t actually bigger on the inside, just tell them that your TARDIS is feeling slightly unwell. Of course, there is one downside this amazing plan: you could be carted off to the crazy person place. But there’s no harm in trying!
6. They Are Something Top Gear Would Blow Up. Now, I’m not suggesting you should blow your shed up. That would be a bit dangerous, and frankly I don’t want to be liable for whatever would happen to you should you take dynamite to your poor garden shed. But you have to admit, those crazy old guys on Top Gear would love to blow up a shed. For absolutely no reason at all. And Top Gear is a cool programme, right? We’ve all seen the infamous caravan explosion. What would be even better is if Top Gear turned a shed into a car. It would be like a caravan, but made of wood. Interesting,
7. They Are Cool, Because They Are Cool By Nature. Well, yes, this one is pretty obvious, I admit. Sheds are just so damn cool because it’s unlikely you’ve installed central heating in there, right? I bet sheds get pretty cold at night, just imagine how cool they are in the winter. If this reason isn’t enough to convince you that sheds are cool, then I am afraid you have wasted your time in reading this. Ah well.
Hello 7 Reasons readers. I’m almost breathless with excitement as I’ve just worked out what we should all be wearing and it’s…a top hat. Here’s why.
1. You Can Cause A Stir. The sight of the top hat was initially shocking; according to an officer of the Crown the wearer of the first one, James Hetherington “…appeared on the public highway wearing upon his head what he called a silk hat (which was shiny luster and calculated to frighten timid people)”, he also stated that “…several women fainted at the unusual sight, while children screamed, dogs yelped and a younger son of Cordwainer Thomas was thrown down by the crowd which collected and had his right arm broken”. Now, top hats are less shocking these days than they were in the eighteenth century, but you’ll still cut a dash.
2. It Will Make Us Better At Sport. Now it might not be immediately obvious why this is so and you’re probably thinking that surely a top hat would be a little cumbersome to wear during sport, and you’d be right too. But let’s look at what happened the last time top hats were popular; one of the most popular pastimes for urchins (after picking pockets, bursting into song, pilfering roasted chestnuts and suffering from rickets) was knocking the top hats off gentlemen by hurling things at them. Surely this would be just as much fun for modern children (and me, come to think of it). In fact, knocking people’s top hats off would be all the motivation that our young people would need to spend their time diligently honing their throwing actions, and pursuing them after they’d done so would improve their running skills too. If we wore top hats, we’d surely see an improvement in cricketing standards some way down the line.
3. It’s An Act Of Benevolence. When was the last time that you saw someone with a tall cylindrical head? That’s right, you probably haven’t, and do you know why? That’s because unfortunates with heads shaped like the funnels of steamships probably feel too self-conscious to leave the house. So what better way of restoring to them a normal, dignified life would there be than for us all to wear top hats? Then having a tall cylindrical head would cease to be a stigma for sufferers who could disguise it with a top hat themselves.
4. It’s An Egalitarian Act. At the moment, the foremost wearers of top hats in the UK are Eton schoolboys, but should Etonians get all the fun? After all, they get to spend years wearing a top hat and, eventually, they get to run the country too. If we want a more equitable society then we need to reclaim the top hat from the privileged few and wear it ourselves. We may not get to be in charge, but we’ll look bloody marvellous while we’re going about our business of not running things while in a really good hat. We’ll be recovering a grand traditional item of apparel that is as quintessentially British as cheese and chutney sandwiches or being attacked by a wasp in a beer garden. What’s more, we’ll be reclaiming it for the masses. That’s us!
5. It’s A Practical Hat. Nowadays almost everyone has at least one digital camera with them when they go out, but people rarely carry tripods. A top hat though, with its horizontal surface is an ideal camera platform. You can also keep your camera in your top hat as there’s a fair bit of storage space there. You can use it to store other things too; biscuits, a small owl, a good book, a book by Dan Brown, a series of smaller top hats ever diminishing in size: The list of things you can carry in there is boundless. In fact, ironically, the list of things you can store in your top hat is so large that it’s one of the few things that you won’t be able to store in your top hat. You’d need a cavernous hat to store the list in; a veritable behemoth of a hat; a hat the size of a house; a hat that you could get lost in. Where was I?
6. It Aids Peer Recognition. Most social groups have shared readily identifiable features that their members can use to spot one another. Hipsters can tell other hipsters by their shirts and glasses; MCC members can recognise other MCC members by their egg and bacon ties; gits can spot gits by looking into a mirror and seeing Piers Morgan, and 7 Reasons readers can distinguish other 7 Reasons readers because they are carrying their laundry basket around with them. If you wear a top hat, you’ll be able to spot your peers – other top hat wearers – in a crowd, from the other side of moderately high walls and in cars with sunroofs. You can’t put a price on the camaraderie of the hat.
7. It Helps Others. Want to help a humourist who’s just decided to spend his birthday money on a top hat? Of course you do. You can do that just by wearing a top hat, thus making him feel slightly less self-conscious about wearing one himself. Because I’d like to don a top hat and amble around the streets of my city without people pointing and mocking; without being shrieked at by hideous hen parties and being taunted by even more hideous groups of stags; without children guffawing at my distinctive and wondrous headpiece while shouting, “hat!”. I’d consider it a personal favour if everyone that has read this were to go out and buy a top hat today. We could start a revolution, or at least make me look a little less ridiculous, which would be no mean feat. Go now. Go buy a hat!
This is the second 7 Reasons post I have written today. The first, entitled ‘7 Reasons Harry Potter Was Plagiarised*’, will sadly never see the light of day. I lost my nerve when I discovered JK Rowling has a habit of suing people for defamation. It’s a shame really because I had some wonderful insights for you. Harry Potter stealing John Lennon’s glasses for example. And JK Rowling herself stealing the name of Jamiroquai’s lead vocalist. It’s also a shame because I’ve written about hiding in suitcases. And, I’ll be honest with you, it’s not very good. You can stop here if you want? Up to you.
Oh, hi. Thanks for sticking with me. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though. So, yes, today’s piece is about a suitcase. You may have seen the story this week about a Mexican woman trying to smuggle her husband out of prison in a suitcase. They nearly made it too. They got as far as the main door. In laymans terms that’s about as far as Big X got in The Great Escape. It was a foolhardy attempt. Here’s why.
1. Suffocation. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell you there isn’t much oxygen in a suitcase, but I asked one anyway. And this is what he said. “There isn’t much oxygen in a suitcase.” So there you have it. From a rocket scientist himself. If you get in a suitcase, you might die. And escaping from prison in a coffin is not quite the same thing.
2. Pain. Only four kinds of people can get into a suitcase. Babies. And not many babies go to prison. Dead people. And not many dead people go to prison. Contortionists. And not many contortionists stay in prison – they usually escape through the bars. And finally, idiots. Only an idiot would get into a suitcase. And a desperate idiot at that. Get into a suitcase like this guy above and you will not walk again. You will have to roll. Which means you can only go down. To get home each day you will have to wait 24 hours for the earth to spin on its axis.
3. Reliance. Once you get in a suitcase you are very much reliant on other people. Now I have never got into a suitcase, but if it’s the same as a post bag I know you can’t open them from the inside. Especially if someone has attached a padlock. As popular culture has shown, things go wrong in prison breakouts. Either your accomplice is killed or they turn out to be working for the police. Or both. If you’re going to get into a suitcase, you must, must, must do your background checks first. And even then I would advise just walking out of the gates as most in the UK seem to.
4. Left Luggage. If you do make it out of the prison, you can’t just get out of the suitcase in the car park. That would be silly. Instead, you have to wait until you reach home. Which means you’ve got to get home. Now, if your accomplice is your wife – as it was in suitcasegate – or your husband, or another family member, or a friend, this is dangerous. Except on prison visits they probably won’t have seen you for a while. You’re not a big part of their life anymore. I am sorry to say this, but they have probably started to forget about you. Which is why they may well forget they’ve got you with them. It’s only after they watch the bus drive off that they realise they’ve left you on board. Who knows where you’ll end up? Probably Wandsworth. That’s where most buses end up.
5. Expense. Perhaps, though, home is further away than a bus journey. Perhaps you need to get on a plane. Not a problem if you’re going with British Airways. A major problem however if you’re going with Ryan Air. The £1 seat may have looked bargain when you booked it, but now it’s going to cost you £2,000 in excess baggage.
6. Solo. So far we have assumed – fairly it has to be said – that you have an accomplice. But what if you don’t? What happens if you just climb in a suitcase and hope? Exactly, you’ll be a person in a suitcase. Hoping. And prison breakouts don’t come to those who get in suitcases and hope.
7. Storyline. There are many great films and many great books about escaping from prison. Some based on real events – Escape From Alcatraz, Colditz, Le Trou – and some not – The Shawshank Redemption, Cool Hand Luke. In none of these did anyone try to escape in a suitcase. Why? Because you can’t film inside a suitcase. It’ll just be dark. And it you want 90 minutes of staring at darkness you may as well just switch the TV off. Or go to Great Yarmouth. If you are going to escape from prison, dig a tunnel. Or build a rocket. At least that way there is a chance someone will turn your exploits into a major motion picture. Otherwise it’s just a waste of time isn’t it?
I have a problem. Le Tour de France is French. I know. Shocking isn’t it? But that’s not really my biggest problem. The biggest problem is that I like Le Tour de France. A lot. I always have. Ever since Gary Imlach was born. This all means that I like something French. Bad times. Here’s why:
1. Time. This isn’t just a case of me liking France for eighty-minutes (I have been known to support them over Wales, Scotland & Ireland in the past – purely for England’s gain you understand). This is a case of liking France for three whole weeks. Three! Weeks! That’s nearly a month! It’s 5.7% of the year! That must be against the law.
2. The Countryside. I hate the way TV directors cut to aerial shots of the French countryside. The sprawling fields. The streams. The chateaux. Even the vineyards – and I’m not a wine fan – look appealing. And the sun’s always shining. The sun always shines in France. And in that minute I forget myself. And I fall in love. I fall in love with France.
3. Village. On ITV’s coverage they send Ned Boulting off up the road to a small remote village that last saw pair of shorts in 1972. In a matter of hours 180 cyclists are going to zoom through the place, so Ned enquires with the locals as to how the preparations are going. Are they excited? Do they know what a bike is? Usually they seem somewhat bewildered. Which is understandable. Given Boulting’s passing resemblance to Matt Allwright, through the haze of Gauloises one could be forgiven for thinking they are about to star in a poor man’s Rogue Traders. It never happens though. Boulting just talks about bikes. And the old man continues smoking. And I fall in love with this place. And I want to go there. Right that instant. I want to go to France.
4. Art. If I went outside with my chalks and started wrote ‘Allez Claire!’ on the hill, I would get some funny looks. I’d probably also get a visit from the Police. During Le Tour however, anyone can write anything on the roads apparently. Particularly in the mountains. I can only assume this is because the Gendarmes can’t be bothered to go all the way up Alpe D’heuz to slap a €100 fine on someone who will have long gone. The art itself is brilliant. It’s like wordle. On a road. genius. I want to be a French graffiti artist.
5. Supporters. I have seen Le Tour de France live twice. Once in 1994 when they went through Sussex – and I lived twenty minutes away – and once in 2007 when they rode around Buckingham Palace and I lived a ten minute walk away. In terms of effort, it didn’t take much on my part. The French though, they head up mountains in their caravans and then wait for days until the peloton (plus the stragglers) pass them. It’s a whole lot of effort for a few minutes of live action. And I love them for it. Because they’re stupid. I love the French public.
6. Laurent. You might be startled to hear this, but my favourite rider is the late Laurent Fignon. A Frenchman. And it has absolutely nothing to do with his ability as a rider. It’s because he wore glasses. It’s because, due to his glasses, he was nicknamed ‘The Professor’. It’s because he looked a bit like Christopher Walken. Without his glasses.* So what? Well, in the days before I wore contact lenses, I wore glasses. And let me tell you, riding your bike, in the rain, with glasses on, is terrifying. It’s also thrilling. Which is why, whenever I went out cycling in the rain, I would pretend I was Laurent Fignon.** And every year, when Le Tour is on, I am reminded of this. I am reminded of the time I loved pretending I was a Frenchman.
Laurent Fignon (Not former 7 Reasons guest writer, Dr Simon Percy Jennifer Best)
7. The Run In. The final stage of Le Tour sees those who have managed to stay on their bikes for the duration cycle towards the finish on the Champs-Elysees. The best thing about this is that it is tradition for all the riders to drink Champagne on route. Then, when they’ve knocked backed the bottles, they put their heads down prepared for one last race around downtown Paris. An eight-lap course which features a significant section of cobblestones. This is French ingenuity at its best. Not only have you pushed your body to its absolute limit with little more than bum blisters and crack rash to show for it, now you’ve been intoxicated with alcohol ahead of one of the most dangerous surfaces on which one could possibly ride. Well done France. You’re funny.
*At this time A View To A Kill was my favourite Bond film. The first half of it anyway.
**Wondering who I pretended to be when I played cricket in the garden? Listen to the all-new 7 Reasons podcast this forthcoming Russian Roulette Sunday. ***
Yesterday, we showed you some of the search terms that people have used to find our website but, as is often the case, no sooner had we posted that piece, someone discovered our website in a new, and not entirely unalarming way. Someone in the Netherlands (thus confirming at least one national stereotype about the Dutch) found our website by entering the search term “what to do if I had sex with a penguin”; a search for which we rank number one on Google. Now, we have no idea why we rank so high for this search term, it’s not as if the team spend their days thinking about – or writing about – having sex with penguins (until today) but, seeing as we rank so highly, we feel it is our duty to tell people not to have sex with penguins and to point out that it is wrong. Here are seven reasons why.
1. They’re Hard To Get Hold Of. I’m not thinking of the technical difficulties of having a dalliance with a penguin, you’ll be pleased to note – though they do look slippery – but more about their scarcity. In the UK, they are rarely seen in our waters which means that, for the casual penguin-fucker, the most likely place to find a partner is a zoo. Because of this, if you wanted to have sex with a penguin, you’d have to break into a zoo at night. If successful, you’d run the risk of being eaten by a lion and if unsuccessful, you’d face a very interesting conversation with the police, a series of eye-grabbing headlines in the local paper and a rather high level of public opprobrium.
This would be bad.
2. They’re Hard To Get Hold Of II. Or, you might decide to save yourself a breaking and entering charge by committing the act at a time when the zoo is open. Now, as a new father, I’ve recently begun to develop a fear of answering difficult questions from a growing son with an enquiring mind but, I have to admit that nothing I have thought of so far fills me with as much dread as the question, “Daddy, what’s that man doing to that penguin?” That’s the sort of question I definitely intend passing on to my wife. And I’d also prefer to be addressed as Father, but most of all, I’d prefer not to be put through it in the first place.
3. It Would Be A Backward Move. Penguins – though they might be confused with fish by the unaware and…well…me* – to the rest of humanity, are birds. But surely (and I’m sure we’re all grateful for this) no one in this country has had sex with a bird since the heyday of On The Buses in the mid-1970s. There’s no way we should start doing that again, that would be a backward step. Nor we should we address anyone as “Love”, though that’s a different post.
4. You Are A Man. Men shouldn’t have sex with penguins because if, as a result of your inappropriate interspetial intercourse, you should sire any progeny, you are in for a big shock: While fathers of human babies can usually get away with changing about one in three nappies and don’t have the equipment to feed a human baby (so can be pretty hands-off) as the father of a penguin you’ll be expected to go to the South Pole and balance your offspring on your feet for months. That looks tedious and you’ll miss a lot of cricket as you stand there with all the other penguins hoping not to get eaten by a polar bear and looking at the snow.
5. You Are A Woman. As a woman, should you end up bearing the child of a penguin you’ll…actually, I don’t believe that any woman has, at any point, ever considered having sex with a penguin. I just refuse to believe that women are that weird. Obviously I’m still open minded though so, if you are a woman that has considered having sex with a penguin, please let us know via the comments section. We want to hear from you.
6. Black And White. Penguins are in black and white and – for the most part – no one has sex in black and white, that’s just not the British way of doing things. Look at Brief Encounter: a mannered depiction of repression, subsumed emotion, inhibition and tea at railway stations. That’s in black and white, is there any sex in it? Hell, no. Want to take a penguin for tea at a railway station? Fine, that’s your business. Want to have sex with a penguin? Well you can’t. It’s not how we do things.
7. There’s No Future In It. When seeking prospective long-term partners, not smelling of fish is high up the list of things that people look for in a mate. There are other things that are up there on the list of desirable attributes too: Not having a beak; not having flippers; not having webbed feet (except in Dorset); not walking like a penguin in fact, not being a penguin are all right up there. In a game of Ideal Mates For Humans Top Trumps, the penguin card would be the one no one wanted to be saddled with. And if you were dealt a hand that contained both the penguin and the Ryan Giggs cards, you could pretty much abandon all hope of victory.
We don’t do eighth reasons around here but if we did, we would offer you this piece of information that comes to us courtesy of writer, solicitor, giant and friend of 7 Reasons, Richard O’Hagan. He tells us that under (the rather brilliantly numbered) section 69 of the Sexual Offences Act 2003, having sex with a penguin is against the law. I briefly thought I’d found a loophole, but it seems that even though penguins can blow, that’s precluded in section 78. So it’s not just logic that says you shouldn’t have sex with a penguin, it’s the law too.
*They can’t fly, yet they do swim and they’re often chased by killer whales, how is that not a fish?
Loyal readers, the 7 Reasons team have an announcement to make. It looks as if we’ll be going away for a while. We don’t want to, but a combination of circumstances means that we might not have any say in the matter. Allow us to explain.
A long, long time ago, though in this galaxy – indeed, on this very website – we published a piece entitled 7 Reasons That Looking Like A Horse Shouldn’t Be A Barrier To Success. In it, we looked at how seven celebrities had overcome their rather equine looks to make a success of their lives, and one of the people we featured was Her Royal Highness, The Princess Royal. The piece proved popular, so popular in fact, that it now ranks rather highly on Google. As a consequence, if you go to Google and type in “Princess Anne looks like a horse” we’re the first thing that comes up for that search. We discovered this the other day and tweeted about it. We then forgot about it and got on with our lives. A day later though, we received this tweet from Princess Anne:
This was rather a rather unexpected development and also a rather unwelcome one. We’d rather not go to the tower, thank you, and here are (because it’s us and this is what we do) seven reasons why. Ma’am.
1. Familiarity. It breeds contempt. Now, this may come as something of a surprise to you, but we don’t hang around together very much. At all. In fact you can count the number of times the team have gone to the pub together on one hand. Captain Hook’s hand. And it’s probably this that has helped 7 Reasons run for as long as it has. Apart from that phase when Jon kept uploading jpegs instead of gifs and the time when Marc thought it would be a great idea to do Blowers’ t-shirts and then went away for the weekend, we have got on pretty well. The last thing we want to do therefore is end up in the same small, dank, dark, locked room with each other. We will drive each other mad.
2. Pigeons. We both have connections. We both have people who could break us out of the tower. However, given that it is unlikely that we will have access to Twitter in the Tower, we’ll need to employ a different method of communication to contact the Mongolian Navy. Being high up in a tower lends itself favourably to one method. The carrier pigeon. Only there are no carrier pigeons around the Tower. They are all far too scared of the ravens. And who has ever heard of a carrier raven? Exactly. We’re doomed.
3. Tourists. The Tower is open to the public, which means we are going to be on show to thousands and thousands of Japanese, American and German tourists every week. Not to mention all the Australians who make the trip over from Shepherds Bush. We are going to be publicly humiliated. It won’t be long before one of us snaps and shoves a long lens somewhere where the exposure don’t shine.
4. We Have A Viable Compromise. Princess Anne was probably a fine filly in her day, but that day was Thursday June 4th, 1969. She also wants to lock us in a tower. But that’s almost exactly the opposite thing to what we want to happen and we won’t go willingly. Our ambition has long been to be handed the keys to Pippa Middleton’s dungeon*, so we’re prepared to offer a compromise. Send us somewhere halfway between a tower and a dungeon, do something that’s halfway between handing us keys and locking us up and have it done by someone who’s neither royal nor common. So that’s the 7 Reasons team not locked up on the ground floor by Jennifer Aniston. That’s the sort of punishment we can take.
5. Republicanism. Prepare yourself for a shock, but it might surprise you to learn that half of the 7 Reasons team is (gasp) a republican that just doesn’t believe in monarchy. He also doesn’t believe in god, ghosts, fairies, goblins or leprechauns. But being in the Tower of London might have a profound effect on this. After all, if he were to see evidence of god, ghosts, fairies, goblins or leprechauns he’d be forced to believe in them. Not that he’s likely to see them in the tower, but he would be considerably more likely to see a monarch. He almost saw one as a child, but fortunately our queen is so tiny that all he saw was Prince Philip speeding past in the back of a Rolls Royce seated next to a large blue hat. You can’t play fast and loose with people’s belief systems, it’s inhuman.
6. Ravens. It’s not just the carrier pigeons and the Mongolian Navy that are afraid of the ravens. It’s us. Have you seen the things? They’re enormous wing-ed creatures with piercing eyes, razor-sharp beaks and plumage as dark and shiny as crude oil in a mirror. Plus they’ve got talons! And it’s not just out of fear that we don’t want to be near them. Being locked in a tower with someone who insists on bickering that it’s a crow, a jackdaw or a rook every time you spot a raven during your afternoon game of i-spy is a sure recipe for disaster. It would only be a matter of time until the answer to “I spy with my little eye something beginning with C”, would be “corpse”. Or cadaver.
7. It Wasn’t Us. When Jon sees a beefeater, his thoughts turn to steak restaurants. When Marc sees a beefeater, his mind turns to gin. What sort of monster would put these two – for the most part, harmless – men in an environment where they would be cruelly deprived of both of these things, yet constantly reminded of them? To quote Alexander Pope: “Who breaks a butterfly on a wheel?” To quote Oliver Cromwell****: “I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible you may be mistaken.” Because Princess Anne is mistaken. After all, it was Google that made us number one for “Princess Anne looks like a horse”, not us. She needs to lock Google in the Tower. Or perhaps the internet. Just anyone but us. Please.
7 Reasons may or may not return tomorrow.
*Fiancés of the 7 Reasons team: Marc wrote this**.
**Wives of the 7 Reasons team: Jon wrote this***.
***7 Reasons team: That will definitely work, well played.
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.
Yesterday Marc gave you 7 Reasons To Be A Father, so, in line with my attitude as to do as little work as possible, I have changed just two letters. Today it’s seven reasons to turn yourself into one of these:
A Farmer
1. Burglars. Late to bed, early to rise. As farmer’s sayings go, that isn’t a particularly popular one. But that does not make it any less true. Most plummet at 11pm and arise at 4am. That gives your average robber only a five hour period to commit their crimes. Most people have the correct amount of sleep and thus give burglars a further three hours to work in. So yes, ‘Stop Crime, Become A Farmer’. And of course, if you do find someone fiddling with your cucumbers, you have a pitching fork to stab them with. Assuming Big Dave pushes through this whole ‘fewer rights for burglars’ thing, you’ll be good to poke his eyes out too. The burglar’s, not Cameron’s.*
2. Machines. Not only will you get your hands on a Land Rover, you’ll also have a legitimate reason to have one. And an even more legitimate reason not to wash it. But that’s not all! Oh no. You’ll also have a combine harvester, a quad bike, a tractor and one very good excuse to spend all your time in the garage. Which means your farmer’s wife (or husband) has a very good reason to stay in the kitchen making you pork pies.
3. Scarecrow. No more fancy dress shops for you. Your ready-made costume is in that field. Never have your looked so good in you dad’s clothes.
4. Ooo Arghhh! Everyone likes putting on an accent, but there is a time and a place. The Brixton-bound 192, for example, is not the bus on which to pretend you are a native Jamaican. (That woman’s accusation that I was reenacting a scene from It Ain’t Half Hot Mum still upsets me to this day). Anyway, the point is that as soon as you become a farmer you get the accent. Whether it be a West-Country burr, an East-Anglian whirr or the hoity-toityness of an organic crop grower.
5. Dog. If you want a four legged friend but your partner doesn’t, become a farmer. All farmers have to have a dog. It’s like a rule or something. A farmer without a dog is like a football match without Ashley Young diving. Or Gordon Brown playing a game of marbles without being tempted to whip his glass eye out. It just doesn’t happen.
6. Wellington Boots. Apart from those couple of days in January and one weekend in June, when else do you where your boots? Exactly, hardly ever. Wellington boots have one of the highest ‘cost to use’ ratios of any product in the world. Ever. Unless you are a farmer. Because if you are a farmer you always wear boots. In the winter and the summer. In the cow shed and the bath. On the farm and the dog. Farmers have the best ‘cost-to-use’ wellington boot ratio of anyone in the world. Ever. Fact.
7. Hay. Some farmers loan out their fields. Some loan out their barns. Some loan out their wives. What I have a never seen a farmer do, however, is utilise the amount of spare hay they have. Which seems odd really. With so many horny people about, they could easily charge £10 for a roll in the hay.
*Sorry if this disappoints you.
NB: I came up with five of these. The best two came from someone else. And she’s not even a farmer. Weird.
This piece is entitled 7 Reasons to be a Father. It is not 7 Reasons You Fathered a Child, we all have our own reasons for that, often involving a combination of beer and lust or – for the less fortunate – calendars, timetables, fatigue and oh God, it’s bloody sex again. This is a plea to bring back into popular usage the title Father. It’s important that women read this too, as it’s mostly from them that children learn how to address their fathers. I’m printing this piece out and posting it all around the house when I’ve finished it for my wife to see because I, more than almost anything else, also wish to be addressed as Father. Here’s why.
1. Fathers Have A Day. Dads and daddies don’t have a day, but fathers do. It’s called Father’s Day, and it’s a whole day devoted to the celebration of fathers. Less formally titled male parents have nothing similar to Father’s Day. The nearest thing they have is Daddy Day Care, which is a film starring Eddie Murphy from 2003, made a mere eighteen years after he ceased to be funny.* If you want to be celebrated, you have to be a father.
2. It’s Not Mentioned In The Phrase “Who’s The Daddy”. I have an irrational hatred of the phrase “who’s the daddy” that borders on the pathological. I don’t know why people ever need to say this (actually, it’s usually bellowed, boorishly) but they do. I dislike this phrase so much that my (fortunately resistible) desire on hearing it is to beat the sayer around the head with the nearest sturdy but moveable objects to hand – which today, would be a large beige parasol and a teacup** – while saying “who’s the father“. This is problematic as the best known user of this phrase is Ray Winstone (in the film Scum), and in terms of people you’d be ill-advised to assault with a beige parasol and a teacup, he’s right up there with Sebastien Chabal and the hairy-armed woman from my local branch of Superdrug. If more people used the word father, I’d be in less danger.
3. It’s Your Duty. While my son and I were playing our version of peek-a-boo that bears the catchy name, Where’s Father? My visiting mother-in-law looked at me aghast. “He can’t call you Father” she said, “that sounds horrible. Fathers are remote and distant”. While I agreed with the first part of what she said (he can’t call me Father. He’s a baby. He usually refers to me as Agoo-Agoo), I wholly disagree with the latter part. Fathers are not remote and distant; bad parents are. Father is just a name associated with another age when the social norm was for parents (especially male ones) to be more distant from their children. Were all fathers cold and distant? No. Were all of these men bad parents? No. But they’ve been tainted by the modern distaste for the word father. Don’t we owe it to people who will be forever associated with the word father to reclaim the name, to show that being addressed as father and being a good parent are not exclusive? Yes. I think we do. Being addressed as Father, rather than as Daddy could be seen as performing a civic duty. A very untaxing one at that, which is by far the best sort.
4. The Name Father Lends Itself To Formality. If you ever ask a child what their dad has been up to, the answer is never good. It’s usually, “Daddy drank too much and fell asleep on the kitchen floor.” Enquire after a father, however, and surely you’ll get something more formal and considered: “Father imbibed injudiciously and was importuned adjacent to the pantry” or “Father’s club won a tournament of association football and, on his return to the familial abode, he was so awash with joy and hubris that he swooned in the scullery”. The more formal account of your character and your recent occurrences will give everyone a much better impression of you.***
5. Father Is Right For Our Era. It’s been a trend in recent years for children to be named more traditionally and formally and Britain is now teeming with Samuels, Lilys, Lottys and Benjamins. With superb irony, there was even a flood of Noahs two years ago. What better fit for the era then, than to be known as Father? Can you imagine any conversation beginning “Hephzibah.” “Yes, Dad”? No of course you can’t. Gary has a dad. Jeremiah requires a father.
6. The Word Father Is Synonymous With Excitement And Adventure. The word father is redolent of suitably-attired men drinking port in their oak-panelled libraries; of men that had rounded the horn six times afore the mast when they were scarcely twenty; of men that invented telephones and telegrams and multitudinous things that don’t begin with tele; of men that built vast industries where once there had been nothing; of men that – with scant regard for the peril they placed themselves in – explored and charted the world that was their plaything; of unreconstructed men that sallied forth to ride atop elephants and take pot-shots at tigers whilst clad in crisp linen; of men that reposed languidly – though impeccably – in the leather armchairs of their clubs and in the saloons of well-appointed hotels; of men that wore a panoply of hats – tall and short, soft and hard, cloth and silk – for every occasion, but never indoors; of men that marched long in shambling, hobnailed ranks to their capital when their families fell hungry; of bewhiskered men that shrank their world, bringing far-flung and wondrous exotica and ephemera to and from all the ends of the earth; of men that unsealed newly-received missives at their breakfast tables with a silver letter opener and a flourish; of good men whose reliability, indomitability, solidity and sheer bloody ability went unremarked upon though thoroughly remarkable; of men for whom adventure, discovery, conquest, knowledge, power, expansion, great works, boundlessness and greatness were commonplace. Those men were fathers. And dad? Dad drives to B&Q on a Saturday morning in his people carrier, puts up shelves in the afternoon, drinks crap lager while watching Britain’s Got Talent in the evening and then falls asleep at night during Match of the Day. And Saturday is the highlight of his week. Being a father is so much more exciting.
7. It’s Rare. There just aren’t many Fathers out there so you’ll stand out. This has other benefits too. Should you find yourself in a beer garden populated by the balding, the pudgy, the badly-attired and the bloodshot of eye, observe what happens when a child calls out “Dad”. Everyone stops what they are doing and looks around, certain that their progeny is in urgent need of their attention, only to discover that it’s the child of someone else who then announces to the assembled company that they have done a big plop. If your child calls out “Father”, you’re likely to be the only person that looks around so it’s not just more individual, it’s more sociable too, as no one else has their conversation about how much of Match of the Day they missed last night when they dozed off disrupted, and no one gets to hear about the big plop. Except you.
So, who’s the daddy? Who cares? Who’s the father? It’s me. Indubitably.
*Oh God. I’m old enough to remember when Eddie Murphy was funny. This is a truly horrific watershed moment.
**Note to self: Sit near more manly objects when writing.
***This may be fanciful. Learning to crawl up the stairs would be more efficacious.
