7 Reasons

Tag: Humour

  • Russian Roulette Sunday: Badges

    Russian Roulette Sunday: Badges

    The coveted 7Reasons.org Guest Writer Badge

    A long, long time ago, way back in the mists of 7 Reasons(.org) history, Jon promised that there would be badges for guest posters, and Marc rolled his eyes and said, “SHH!  You’ll bankrupt us before we’ve even started.”   But now, many months – possibly even a whole year later – we have an announcement to make about badges for guest posters.

    We’ve never forgotten the promised badges, and just recently we took another look into the 7 Reasons coffers (once we’d located them in a dusty ante-room) to see if badges were now feasible.  As we expectantly lifted the heavy wooden lid of our treasure chest it creaked with reassuring portent and, with the light of our torches to guide us, we peered into the interior of the dark, gloomy box.

    To say that we were amazed by what we found there would be an understatement.  After we had emptied the contents of the chest into a pile on the floor and methodically totalled it up, we were staggered.

    So now, we can announce that the 7 Reasons Badge Fund stands at…(drum-roll)…(go on, just bang on the desk, no one will think you’re mad)…half a dead spider, a creased Post-it® note, the crumbs from several ginger nut biscuits, twelve business cards, a mug with a broken handle and a lemon.  Plus some blue stuff that neither of us wanted to touch.

    But necessity is the mother of invention and we’re nothing if not creative here so we’ve made badges anyway.  For free.  In Photoshop.  So if you write (or have written) for us, you can now have a 7 Reasons Guest Writer badge simply by sending us a photograph of yourself.  And we’ll send it back with your badge on it.

    Not only will this help us achieve our goal of not running 7 Reasons at a loss one day, it’s also far more environmentally friendly than an actual, physical badge, which benefits the whole world.  So the virtual badge is something worthy, it’s a force for good.  It’s actually saving penguins.

    A guest poster has already taken us up on our virtual badge offer (in fact, it’s what convinced him to write for us in the first place).  Here is Sir Andrew Straussy jubilantly wearing his:

    A jubilant Sir Andrew Straussy receives his 7 Reasons Guest Writer badge

    And here’s an owl wearing his (because one day, we hope to convince an owl to write for us (and the virtual badge is less cruel than an actual one)).

    An owl with a badge.

    We also sent (to the lady herself) a picture of Jennifer Aniston wearing a badge and we received this in return.

    A restraining order with a 7 Reasons Guest writer badge placed on it

    So this probably means that marriage is still out of the question.

    Anyway, the point of all of these badge-related-shenanigans is to mention that we’re currently looking for more guest posts.  So, if you’ve never written for us, or if you have; if you have an idea, or even half an idea (because that’s how we work most of the time), then please get in touch.

    We have always felt genuinely honoured and flattered that brilliant people, who write to such a high standard, have submitted pieces for us to use, and we hope that – one day – we will be able to reward their endeavours with something more tangible than our thanks, our admiration and our love (which, to be honest may put people off).  Perhaps in the form of a badge, perhaps in the form of money, perhaps we will build a shrine, who knows?  Anyway, however we decide to reward guest posters when we are dripping with the riches of Croseous, the fact remains that we aren’t right now, but we do feel genuinely humble – and honoured – that people read us regularly and that people allow us to use their work.

    Anyway, if you fancy earning yourself some thanks, some publicity and a virtual badge then email [email protected].  We don’t promise to use everything that’s sent to us (because, well, we might not like it, and if we didn’t have standards, then we wouldn’t feel proud of our own website ).  We will always consider it, however, and are happy to offer guidance or advice, where solicited.

    Here’s a brief guide to writing a post for us.  Thanks,

    Marc and Jon.

  • 7 Reasons They Were Very Wrong

    7 Reasons They Were Very Wrong

    It’s the 3rd of December and, to save you wondering why that’s significant and making you worry that you’ve forgotten your birthday or Easter or something, we’ll tell you.  On this day, in 1929, U.S. President, Herbert Hoover, delivered the first State of the Union Address since the Wall Street Crash to Congress. But this wasn’t your run of the mill State of the Union Address where nothing much of interest gets said.  Well, it was, but in the middle of all of the traditional consciousness-bothering guff, Herbert Hoover said something so obviously, epically and unarguably wrong that he has inspired us to bring you seven of our favourite examples of wrongness.

    President Herbert Hoover with arms aloft next to a microphone.
    President Hoover. Talking.

    1.  Herbert Hoover.  “While the crash only took place six months ago, I am convinced that we have now passed the worst and with continuity of effort we shall rapidly recover.”  And following those fine, rousing, confident words, America and the rest of the world plunged into The Great Depression, which saw American production fall by 46%, foreign trade fall by 70%, unemployment rocket by 607% and shanty-towns filled with the homeless spring up around every major U.S. city.  They called them Hoovervilles.

    2.  Dr Dionysius Lardner. “Rail travel at high speed is not possible, because passengers, unable to breathe, would die of asphyxia.” The professor of Natural Philosophy and Astronomy at University College London was wrong on two levels here. One; trains don’t actually reach high-speed in this country because there is always a poxy cow on the line, and two; if passengers unable to breathe did get on a train, they would already be dead.

    3.  Glenn McGrath. The great Australian bowler predicted Ashes whitewashes in 2005, 2009 & 2010/11. With England on the receiving end. He was wrong. The fact that he got it right in 2006/7 is more a testament to infinite monkey theorem than to any logical analysis*.  And to the fact that England were rubbish.**

    4.  Sir William Preece. The chief engineer of the British Post Office said in 1876, “The Americans have need of the telephone, but we do not. We have plenty of messenger boys.”  So in Victorian Britain, not all boys were up chimneys or in the workhouse; they were carrying messages which, according to Sir William Preece, is the ideal way to have a chat with your mother who lives a hundred and fifty miles away.  “Hello Mother, how are you?”, you would write, before summoning one of the multitudinous boys to bear your message to her.  And when he returned, breathlessly, a mere fortnight later with the reply, “Fine, thank you,” you would send him straight back again with a note inscribed, “And how’s Father?”.   In the Preecian vision of the future of communication, Americans could have a ten-minute-long conversation with their mothers while the British would have a forty-two-week-long one which would cost the lives of approximately nine urchins.  Perhaps to make his idea more marketable to the communications industry he considered the slogan: The future’s bright, the future’s boys.  Or perhaps not.

    5.  Newsweek, In an issue looking into the future of travel, Newsweek magazine carried this prediction of popular holiday destinations for the late 1960s. “And for the tourist who really wants to get away from it all, safaris in Vietnam.” Erm…yeah.  Now Newsweek weren’t totally wrong here.  Vietnam did receive a massive influx of American tourists with rifles in the late 1960s, it’s just that they weren’t there to safari.  Or to sit by the pool.

    6.  Lord Kelvin. In 1883, the President of the Royal Society, said, “X-Rays will prove to be a hoax”. To this day, I bet he wishes he had said the ‘X-Files’. It’s a shame though really, because if X-Rays were a hoax then that cracked fibula I suffered could also have been a hoax. As would be the inevitable snapped fibula. And all the surgery. In fact, my whole life would have been a hoax. But it’s not. Because X-Rays are real.  And so am I.***

    7.  Major General John Sedgewick. While directing artillery placements, Sedgewick and his corps came under fire from Confederate sharpshooters about a thousand yards away.  As his officers and men ducked and scurried away, General Sedgewick loftily dismissed the notion of taking cover saying, “What? Men dodging this way for single bullets? What will you do when they open fire along the whole line? I am ashamed of you. They couldn’t hit an elephant at this dist…”.  They were his last words.

    *Glen McGrath is an infinite monkey.  You heard it here first.

    **Except Ian Bell.

    ***Jonathan Lee is real.  You heard it here first.

  • Guest Post: 7 Reasons I am Better Than You

    Guest Post: 7 Reasons I am Better Than You

    Hi there, it’s Saturday, so here’s a guest post.  Curling up on the 7 Reasons sofa today is Horatio Pyewackett Caractacus Fearns who – when he wakes up – wants to explain why he’s better than you.  And us, probably.

    My cat in the garden.  He's better than your cat.

    1.  Fur.  Ever tried to wear fur?  No, of course you haven’t you timorous numpty, you timid wretch, you cowardy, cowardy custard.  Because you’re fearful.  You’re afraid of PETA.  You think that if you don a fur coat you’ll be attacked by a mob of militant lefties who object to your sartorial decisions.  But I’m not scared, PETA aren’t going to object to me wearing fur, because I’m better than you; wearing fur is my birthright, and I wear it as if to the manor born, without fear of reproachment.  Because I’m awesome! Because I’m a cat!

    2.  Benevolence.  I’m kind to my minions.  Very kind.  And I’m uber-agile, in fact, I can bend over backwards and lick my own bottom.  But you can’t.  You have to scrape bits from trees and roll them up into a ball in order to clean your own fetid arses.  This is because you’re pathetic and incapable of washing yourself properly.  But I’m not, I’m wondrous and supple and can cleanse my own ring with my tongue.  Which, let’s face it, saves you a job, so I’m benevolent too.

    3.  Competition.  So who’s the most awesome human that there is?  That’s right, Superman.  He can leap twenty times his own height; he can hear things that are going on miles away and he can’t be snuck up on while he’s sleeping.  Well, me too.  Superman, however, can be defeated by kryptonite.  But I can’t, I can do all of those things with no fear of kryptonite or of looking like a dweeb at the fortress of solitude.  Because I’m magnificent, and because I’m still rocking my fur coat while Superman’s attired in a thin, shiny number with his pants outside outside his lycra leggings.  He looks like the world’s worst-dressed cyclist ever, and I just look amazing.  Look at ME!

    4.  Night.  You blundering dunderheads can’t even see in the dark.  Want to know how many times I’ve fallen over a human when the lights are off?  None.  When oversized, underbalanced simpletons like you wander around without burning electricity, however, you’re endlessly falling over me (especially the tall one with the ginger beard).   Because I’m abso-fucking-beauteously wonderful, and because I like to hang around in the hallway.  To mock you.  Because I can.

    5.  Temperature.  You mewling, simpering feckless nonentities can’t even regulate your own body temperatures, but I can; I’m the master of my own temperature.   The nearest you feeble people come to accomplishing that is the human inhabitants of the North-East of England:  Geordies.  But they lack my sonorous voice and natural grace.  Also, despite their bravura, many of them die of hypothermia on their way home in the winter.  But I haven’t.  Ever.  It would be a waste of one of my nine lives (eight better than you) if I were to do so, and I’m not prepared to do it.

    6.  Size Is Important.  Just look at the size of yourself, you lumbering bioped.  Look at the amount of space that your unwieldy, bloated, overstuffed body takes up.  Where human designers prattle on about space efficiency as some sort of ideal, I live it.  I am space efficiency.  Because I take up less space than you.  I can curl up into a tiny-weeny ball.  Can you?  No.  Not at all.  But I can.  I’m fantastic.

    7.  Nature. I’m just naturally better than you.  I am.  When you poo, does anyone scurry around to scoop it up?  No, of course not.  You have to dispose of it yourself.  But when I shit, one of my underlings comes and disposes of it for me.  Every time.  Because I’m a cat, and they’re not.  In fact, everything revolves around me, abso-fucking-lutely-everything.  Dinner is served at the regular hour at which I require it.  Tradesmen come to repair the home in which I dwell and the humans who live here to serve me pay for it themselves.  And, when they’re not feeding me or opening doors for me, they even let me use them as chairs.  Would they do that for you?  No, of course not.  But they do it for me, because I’m better than you.

  • 7 Reasons I Ended Up Appearing Quite Mad Yesterday (Even Though I’m Not)

    7 Reasons I Ended Up Appearing Quite Mad Yesterday (Even Though I’m Not)

    Sometimes, when you’re sitting around, minding your own business, an event occurs.  An event to which you are compelled to react.  And, while your reaction is brilliantly conceived and perfectly rational, a chain of events ensues that eventually makes you appear irredeemably, unutterably, stupendously mad.  Like yesterday.

    A cat, standing on a brick wall
    This is not my neighbour's cat, nor is it my cat, nor is it my wall. This cat on a wall is from the internet.

    While I was writing, a cat appeared on the six foot high wall at the bottom of my garden.  One of next door’s cats.  Now, I don’t want any of next door’s cats in my garden, because it’s where my cat lives.  I want him to be able spend his time in the garden sleeping, licking, and staring at the gate unmolested by other cats.  So I had to let the other cat know that he wasn’t welcome in our garden.  Now I know how to scare a cat; it’s easy.  But going outside and hissing and shouting at this cat wasn’t going to convey the right message.  I needed to let the interloper know he was in another cat’s territory, and that he should stay away.

    1.  Plan A.  I went and fetched my dozing cat from the sofa.  My cat didn’t want to know.  I showed him the intruder through the dining room window.  He saw the other cat and ignored him.  This was disappointing.  This isn’t going to scare anyone I thought, as my cat fell asleep on the windowsill.  This wouldn’t even scare mice.  Nervous mice.

    2.  Plan B. Right, I thought.  If the sight of my cat asleep on the windowsill isn’t enough to strike the fear of god into the intruder, I’ll have to escalate things.  I’ll have to send my cat out to deal with him.  I woke him up, reminded him of the presence of the other cat and carried him into the utility room.  I placed him on the floor, next to his cat-flap; I delivered a rousing speech to him and then opened it so that he could sally forth to dispatch his foe.  He didn’t move.  He sat and purred at me.  I tried to usher him through his flap, but he clearly wasn’t going to go.  My cat, I thought, is a disappointment.

    3.  Plan C.  I know, I’ll open the back door really loudlyIf I can’t scare him away with a cat, then at least opening the door loudly will make the intruder run; and my cat might conceivably think that he’s the one causing him to flee in terror and emerge with feline dignity intact and be that bit braver next time.  As loudly as I could, I unlocked the door and, with as much speed and force as I could muster, I heaved the door open.  I was rewarded with the sight of a terror-stricken cat, fleeing for its life.  Bugger, I thought, as I went to retrieve him from behind the sofa.  This isn’t going well.

    4.  Plan D.  I picked him up, returned to the utility room and carried him through the back door.  “Look”, I said to the other cat, “I have a cat here and I’m not afraid to use him”.  The other cat was not as moved by our presence as I had hoped that he would be.  Impassively, he licked his paw and turned his head away.

    5.  Plan E.  Okay, I clearly wasn’t being terrifying enough.  I raised our cat above my head so that he was higher up than the cat on our wall.  This will do it, I thought, there are only two things that can possibly go through the other cat’s mind.  One: “Blimey!  What the hell is that hideous giant cat/man hybrid creature over there, I’d better run for it”.  Or two: “ Blimey!  Look what that man’s doing to that feckless fat-cat from next door.  I’m probably next.  I’d better run for it.” But if these things went through his mind, he didn’t show it; unless this cat instinctively displays abject terror by blinking slowly, that is.  I was going to have to get nearer.

    6.  Plan F.  With my arms fully outstretched, cat held aloft, above my head; I charged toward the other cat.  It didn’t move.  I was closing quickly and when I got to within eight feet it still hadn’t moved.

    7.  Plan G.  Realising that my charge wasn’t unnerving enough, I decided that I needed a war cry, and I began to roar (at a volume which surprised even me) as I charged through the garden.  But the other cat still hadn’t moved, and I was almost upon it.  I realised it needed a little more time to realise the desperate situation it was in, so I pulled away at the last moment to run a lap of my garden, still roaring and, as my cat and I rounded the top of the garden and turned to face the enemy once more I saw him react, startled, jump down from the wall and run.  My jubilation was short lived.  I also saw…

    …My neighbour emerge from her back door, the sound of which had presumably – unbeknownst to her, as she couldn’t possibly have seen it – scared the other cat away.  I slowed to a halt and stopped roaring.  “Hi”, I said, breezily, realising I still had the cat above my head, and that I probably looked quite foolish.

    “Er…Hi”, she replied.

    I felt self-conscious, and it occurred to me that some sort of explanation of my behaviour was required.  “I was just scaring the cat”.

    “I’m not surprised”, she replied.

  • 7 Reasons That Oranges are Rubbish

    7 Reasons That Oranges are Rubbish


    Oranges.  They’re a really, really poor fruit.  Here’s a film which explains why.

    7 Reasons That Oranges are Rubbish

  • Russian Roulette Sunday: The Words Behind The Words Behind The Reasons 2.

    Russian Roulette Sunday: The Words Behind The Words Behind The Reasons 2.

    Hello, it’s a Jon week. In terms of Russian Roulette Sunday anyway. In terms of general living, every week is a Jon week. If it wasn’t I’d be dead or something. And no one wants that. Especially Marc. All the reasons and all the lemons would drive him insane. So, anyway, back to today. If you were with us in January, you may remember we took a look at some of the words Marc and I have exchanged with each other in the making of 7 Reasons. Have a read here if you were washing your hair that day. Not only was it funny, it was very easy to write. Which is basically our ideal kind of post. So we’ve decided to do it again. Right here. Right now. Enjoy.

    “I think it’s fairly obvious, I’m a spaceman.”

    “I haven’t done the same, that would be lazy and unhelpful.”

    “I am now hungover and not writing furiously about lemons.”

    “I may have something sensible to say later.”

    “I think camp bingo is like gay bingo. But in a field.”

    “Ouch.”

    “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

    “Canasta.”

    “Well done on the lemons.”

    “7 Reasons Guy Fawkes Should Have Been Called Lady Spoons?”

    “I’d like to point out that a man in Russia found your socks and sandals piece yesterday.”

    “If I take the name of York’s most famous son (his birthplace is a four minute walk from here) in vain, an angry mob will probably form outside my door.”

    “I shall have an Alka-Seltzer and some lemon juice.”

    “That’s £22.50 each per month that we’re not making now.  That’s progress.”

    “In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have put it straight in. That’s ovens for you though.”

    “I’m back!  Did you miss me?”

    “Would you be totally insulted if I said I didn’t?”

    “I was writing about dough balls. It does happen occasionally.”

    “The only thing I liked about it was the end. A bit like when my parents used to listen to the Archers at dinner.”

    “How about a cat hoverboard?”

    “Oh, and Esquire magazine bought David Baddiel lunch today.  Have they said anything about buying us lunch?”

    “Excuse me a minute, I have a Jehovah Witness shaped problem.”

    “I’m not sure it’s totally necessary, but it looks pretty. A bit like Kate Moss.”

    “Let me know if you need a lemon.”

    “Nice lemon on the sofa. Very funny.”

    “Marc. Spiffing. Jon.”

    “I have added my thoughts in curly lines that look like sperm.”

    “I’ve never liked the French.”

    “I tried to write a piece about beards once.”

    “I’m like the world’s slowest genius.”

    “We are like the tortoise and the tortoise.”

    “Something went wrong. I think I shut it too tightly.”

    “Photoshopping top trumps cards is more time consuming than I imagined.”

    “I’m off to visit the shed.”

    “I’m off to the greenhouse of neurosis.”

    “I’ve tried shouting at it and that isn’t working.”

    “A boy just fell off his bike. I’m laughing. Shall I go and pick him up?”

    “That’s like liking Hitler more than Atilla The Hun and New Kids On The Block.”

    “Ken, when in doubt, pretend to be a grown-up.  It never fails.”

    “I don’t have an issue with it. It’s probably the sadist in me. Or the beer.”

    “I don’t think you’ve said Zara enough.”

    “I hadn’t forgotten that you’re going to Rome, as in my mind it’s a tiramisu-related-event.”

    “Bollocks.”

    “Is it a cow?”

    “It looked funny and I googled it.”

  • 7 Reasons My Dream Was A Bit Odd

    7 Reasons My Dream Was A Bit Odd

    In a last minute change to 7 Reasons proceedings, the post originally planned for today has been postponed in favour of something that happened overnight. A bit like Martin Luther King, I had a dream. Unlike him however, I was the only one to witness it. Which is why I must share mine with you. Now. It was weird.

    7 Reasons My Dream Was A Bit Odd

    1.  Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! I’m in a house. But it’s also a hotel. And an airport. It’s next to a London train station. It’s supposed to be London Victoria, but it’s not. So I’m in this house – which is also a hotel and an airport – and everything is going well. I am just wandering. Wandering around. Looking at plates and planes and….oh, a playground. I remember now, there was a playground. And then there’s a fire. Like Billy Joel, I didn’t start the fire, but if I don’t get a bloody shift on I’m going to burn to a crisp. (We’ll come to the crisps later). So I start running. And I find myself in a…

    2.  Room. It’s a bedroom. And it has a window. Two of them in fact. And outside of the window is a roof terrace. And a ladder into the garden. A garden which I can only assume is on the opposite side of the house to the airfield. I open the window and in a move that a contortionist or Anne Widdecombe would be proud of, manage to get myself through the smallest gap in the world. And with it, to safety. We then shift forward to…

    3.  The Next Day. I can only assume it’s the next day because otherwise I’d be re-entering a house that is on fire. And that would be stupid. And as I had the intelligence to get out the of house fire in the first place, I don’t believe I am stupid in this dream. So, it’s the next day and I am back in the room that I escaped from. There is smoke damage and Dr Howard Denton. You probably won’t recognise this name because he was one of my lecturers when I was at University. What the bloody hell he is doing here, I have no idea. But I don’t seem to care. In fact I am very happy to see him. Because he starts helping me look for my…

    4.  iPhone Charger. I must have lost it the previous night. Along with my wallet and car keys. Rather brilliantly I find my iPhone charger lying on top of a dressing table. Obviously that’s one of the most important things to do when trying to escape a house fire. Put your iPhone charger on a dressing table so you can come back to get it the next day. You’d do well to remember that. I am so delighted that I’ve found my iPhone charger that I give Dr Howard Denton my crisps. (Told you we’d come back to them). They’re Phileas Fogg range. Irish cheddar with onion chutney flavour. I know I’ve eaten some already because there’s a wooden clothes peg fastening the packet closed. You can say what you like about me, but I know how to keep crisps fresh. This is when…

    …I wake up. My girlfriend’s shouting about babies. At least I think she is at the time. In hindsight I am not entirely sure she was. Either way, I show my caring side by asking her if she’s okay. She is, so I fall back to sleep. And I start dreaming again. And I’m back in another house. A house belonging to…

    5.  Judy Murray. And the only reason I know the house belongs to Judy Murray is because she has just walked through the front door and said, ‘What are you doing in my house?’ For reasons (probably less than seven) unbeknown to me, we go into the garden where I try and explain. Rather splendidly Judy has sofas and chairs in her garden. And I decide to put two chairs together to form a boat. I then explain to Judy that I was merely in her house to work because it was too noisy back at mine. She seems to understand and, for the first time in my life, I begin to like Judy Murray. Which is when everything becomes a blur until I find myself outside Judy Murray’s house. And in through the window of next door, I can see England bowler…

    6.  Steven Finn. He’s doing the washing up and not looking as tall as I had seen him on TV. To make sure it doesn’t look like I am stalking him, I get down in Judy Murray’s driveway and start doing press-ups. I’m obviously an optimistic dreamer because I do bloody hundreds of them. All while looking at Steven Finn. Until Judy Murray’s front door opens and out walks…

    7.  Judy Murray. She starts asking me if – while I’ve been living in her house – I have moved the car. Apparently the hedges look a bit bashed up. Now, I don’t remember dreaming about it, but I know that I did drive Judy Murray’s car into the flowerbed. Which is why I lie and deny I have been anywhere near her Volvo. Once again, she seems to understand. Which is when one of my old school friends rocks up and starts telling me how much he loved my film. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I say, ‘Thanks’ anyway. He then mentions he reads 7 Reasons. Which is when I wake up. Hopefully I’ll find out tonight whether he likes it or not.

  • Guest Post:7 Reasons That Travelling By Sleeper Is Great

    Guest Post:7 Reasons That Travelling By Sleeper Is Great

    In the final instalment of 7 Reasons Transport Week, regular guest poster Simon Best, brings a touch of old school glamour to proceedings by travelling on a sleeper train.

     

     

    1 Novelty. Part of the fun of travelling by sleeper is its novelty. There are only four sleeper services in the whole of the United Kingdom, but it wouldn’t be as much fun if you did it every day. Just imagine if your daily commute involved getting a sleeper to and from work (and no falling asleep on the train from Luton to St Pancras doesn’t count). If this was the case you would, essentially, be living on a train. Now I can think of worse places to live – France, for example or Slough – but that’s irrelevant, the main point is…

    2. History. Boarding a sleeper is a bit like stepping back in time; even the name sounds like something from a 1930s Agatha Christie novel and it put me in mind of WH Auden’s poem ‘The Night Mail’, with its talk of cheques and postal orders (and that even rarer object the letter). I personally haven’t received or written a cheque all year and I think the last postal order was sent in about 1973. There is no longer a night mail train; now your Amazon orders or the clock you bought on Ebay are delivered by plane. The sleeper is still running. Travelling by sleeper is great because it is historic.

    3. VIP Treatment. Normally catching a train is a stressful business. You have to wait on the concourse until the platform is announced – usually two minutes before you’re due to leave – and then it’s changed two minutes after you should have left causing you to either: a) miss the train b) knock an old lady over with your briefcase or c) strain a muscle hurling your suitcase into your carriage. This is not the case with the sleeper. It is always in the station an hour before it is due to leave. You’re greeted by your sleeping car attendant, welcomed by name when you show your ticket (you don’t get that on the 7:42 to Charing Cross do you?), you’re asked what you’d like for breakfast,  when you’d like it, and shown to your cabin. In short, you’re treated like Michael Winner being escorted to the first class cabin on Concorde. Travelling by sleeper is great because you’re given VIP treatment.

    4. Your Cabin. Once on board you make your way to your cabin, stow your luggage (there is no other train in the world on which you ‘stow’ your luggage you just stick it in a luggage rack and hope someone doesn’t put a huge suitcase on the top). You then proceed to play with all the gadgets, play around with the bed, open the little shelf next to the bunk, climb up to the top bunk and sit there, lift the cover to the wash basin, press the taps, open the blind, and close it again. Twice. Turn the three different lights on and off several times and adjust the temperature slider seeing just how hot or cold you can make it and like the controls on a shower then spend ten minutes getting it just right, which is invariably the setting it was on to start with. Travelling by sleeper is great because your cabin has more gadgets than the TARDIS.

    5. The Lounge Car. Once you’ve become bored fiddling with the temperature and switching the light on and off, you’ll doubtless leave your cabin and stroll down the train to the lounge car. Here you can relax on a sofa and order a gin and tonic from the bar (well that’s what I’m having, what would you like to drink?). The lounge car even stays open all night but you can only get booze until one am because, as the stewardess said, “this is a train, nae a nightclub” (who would want a nightclub on wheels anyway). On American sleeper trains lounge cars even have observation decks, with clear roofs so that you can look out at the scenery as you travel along. They also go one stage further and provide actual in-train entertainment, showing films. I was once stuck on a non-moving train in the middle of the desert in Texas. When we’d been staring at the desert for three hours I got quite excited at the announcement that they were showing a film. They showed My Dog Skip. I should have kept staring at the desert. However the actual film is irrelevant. Travelling by sleeper is great because there is a lounge car.

    6. Breakfast. Having chosen your morning beverage, ordered your breakfast and arranged your wake-up call when you board the train, you’re gently roused by the sleeping car attendant at the appointed time, with your breakfast which you can then eat in bed while the train rolls sedately through the countryside. Just be careful not to flash your nightwear at a flock of sheep. I love having breakfast in bed, except for the crumbs that you have to clear up afterwards. Travelling by sleeper is great because you get breakfast in bed with a view, and you don’t have to clear up afterwards.

    7. Efficiency. We all like things that save us time. Think of all the labour saving devices we have in our homes: washing machines, computers, vacuum cleaners, electric carving knives (actually forget that last one). The sleeper allows you to go to bed in London and wake up next to Ben Nevis (or if you’re feeling more adventurous go to bed in Berlin and wake up in Warsaw). This makes it one of the most efficient modes of transport, as it allows you to travel a long distance and sleep at the same time. Something that is not advised if you’re driving a car or riding a bike.

  • Not A Guest Post: 7 Reasons The Guest Post Feature Isn’t Always Skittles And Champagne

    Not A Guest Post: 7 Reasons The Guest Post Feature Isn’t Always Skittles And Champagne

    The 7 Reasons sofa split down the middleHello. It’s a Saturday. You probably knew that already. You may have also known that Saturday is our Guest Post day. One of you step into our shoes and sit on our sofa. Today though, I am wearing my own shoes. Due to various reasons (probably seven), we don’t have a guest writer today. So it’s over to me. In recent weeks, without even talking about it, Marc and I have fallen into a pattern. I do Saturday, Marc does Sunday. Probably because all potential guest writers email me personally. I don’t know why this, but I imagine it has something to do with the ginger moustache. While most of the time potential guest writers seem to grasp the concept, it is not always the case. Here is a look at some of the more challenging aspects I encounter when dealing with guest post submissions.

    1. Enquiry: “Can I write ‘7 Ways/Things/Places…’. My Reply: “I’m afraid 7 Reasons is purely a reasons site and as such all posts must begin ‘7 Reasons’. If you could change your post to feature 7 Reasons we would love to read it.” What I Want To Write: “No you can’t! Did the title of the site not give you a clue? It says 7 Reasons. It’s fairly bloody obvious. If you can’t read how the hell can you expect to write?”

    2. Enquiry: “I have an idea for a 7 Reasons piece, can you write it for me?” My Reply: “I’m afraid all guest posts must be written by the originator of the idea. It helps to give the site a different tone of voice and perspective. I like your topic idea though, so if you can write the post we would love to read it.” What I Want To Say: “It’s called a Guest Post. The clue is in the title. I am not a guest. I also note that your idea is rubbish. Go away.”

    3. Enquiry: “I’m thinking of writing for you. Are there any topics you’d like me to cover?” My Reply: “The Guest Post feature was created so that you can write about whatever you like.” What I Want To Say: “I am not stupid. If I was to give you an idea for a topic, that means I’ve got to spend another three hours thinking of something for Monday. Do it yourself!”

    4.  Enquiry: “If I write for you, will you write for me?” My Reply: “I’m afraid not. While we are happy to link to your site in your guest post, we are in no position to do an exchange of posts. Please do send us your submission though. We’d love to read it.” What I Want To Say: “Go away you silly little man. It’s one thing trying to increase the number of visitors to your site by writing for us, it is quite another getting us to do your job for you.”

    5. Enquiry: “Hello. I like your site. I would like to write for you. How would I do this?” My Reply: “Hi. Thanks for showing an interest in writing for us. We’d love to receive a submission from you. Please read our guidelines on the site for an idea of what we are looking for.” What I Want To Say: “Open Word and start writing, you absolute tit.”

    6. Enquiry: “ومرفق طيه تقديم بلدي ضيفا على وظيفة.” My Reply: “Pardon?” What I Want To Say: “صفعة بلدي الكلبة حتى”

    7. Enquiry: “Can you use my ‘7 Reasons To Indulge In Necrophilia’ post?” My Reply: “While we try and encourage a wide variety of topics, I am afraid we have to draw the line when it comes to promoting illegal activity.” What I Want To Say: “I have forwarded your post to the police. And your local church.”

  • 7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

    1.  Carrie Grant Never Smokes A Pipe. Nor has she ever held one for artistic purposes.

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

    2.  Cary Grant Never Leant On A Piano. Nor did he have breasts.

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

    3.  Carrie Grant Has Never Been Shot At By A Plane. Nor would she enjoy the prospect.

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

    4.  Cary Grant Never Got Dressed In A Powercut. Nor was he invited to the premiere of Twilight.

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

    5.  Carrie Grant Never Got Her Hands On Grace Kelly’s Chicken Legs. Nor did Grace Kelly make her an origami swan.

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

    6.  Cary Grant Never Had A Strange Man’s Hand Down His Trousers. Nor has he ever been David Grant’s puppet.

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

    7.  Carrie Grant Never Put Her Arm Around Audrey Hepburn. Nor did Audrey Hepburn feel Carrie Grant’s nipple.

    7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up