Tag: Men

7 Reasons That Men Shouldn’t Wrap Birthday Presents

Did I give this the title 7 Reasons That Men Shouldn’t Wrap Birthday Presents? I didn’t really mean that. I meant 7 Reasons That Me Shouldn’t Wrap Birthday Presents. Or I, to be correct about it. Because I’m sure that there are some men out there that are good at wrapping presents. Neat, methodical men that actually welcome the task; men that positively enjoy it, in fact. The thing is though, that I’m definitely not one of them. And I’m sure that somewhere there must be other people (most likely men) who are as ill-suited to wrapping gifts as I am. Possibly. Here are seven reasons I shouldn’t be allowed to wrap stuff.

Finished! At last!

1. Loathing. I fundamentally dislike wrapping gifts. I’m not good at it and I don’t enjoy it; much like dancing a ballet or sketching a bowl of fruit, I’m temperamentally unsuited to it and it’s much better when done by others. This affects my whole approach to the burden of having to wrap presents. I will procrastinate; I will obfuscate; I will participate in the most mundane or bizarre displacement activities to avoid it. I would literally rather do anything (photograph my belly-button fluff; listen to Jedward; fellate a baboon) than wrap a present. This leads to problems.

2. Delay. It means that I will leave performing the odious task until the last possible moment. And then, when that arrives, I’ll leave it for an hour or two more. Then I’ll have a beer or two, which I may follow with some gin or – as preceded one spectacularly disastrous present-wrapping session – absinthe. I will not wrap a single birthday present until I am so tired that I absolutely have to go to bed on the eve of the birthday. Only then is it time to start wrapping.

3. Practice Makes Perfect. It’s then of course, that I am reminded of how epically, stupendously, mind-bogglingly bad I am at wrapping presents. It’s something I get to do so rarely (thankfully) that I believe I may be getting worse at it with every passing year. I only do it rarely, not because I am ungenerous, but because I am forbidden to do so. My wife – having seen many examples of my wrapping – would rather allow Prince Phillip and Pete Doherty to mind our baby for a weekend than let me wrap a gift that anyone will see (feel, or even be within the same postcode as). This division of labour suits me fine as it leaves me in charge of hammering stuff and assembling things, but it leaves me ill-equipped for the four occasions per year on which I am called to wrap presents.

4. Wrapping Is Dull. There are few tasks duller than wrapping presents. Probably. I’ve been trying to think about something duller than wrapping a present for several minutes now and have so far failed to come up with anything that tops the unremitting tediousness that is covering things for other people in paper. So I would be better off if I had a distraction from the wrapping. But I can’t watch television or listen to music while I’m wrapping because of the hour and because rustling wrapping paper is the loudest sound known to humankind outside of Muse and Vanessa Feltz being sucked into a jet engine. When you are wrapping presents, you are wrapping presents. There. Are. No. Distractions.

5. Sellotape. But there is Sellotape. There’s a fundamental flaw with Sellotape; one that renders it almost all but unusable to me. It has two sides; one of which is smooth and presents me with no problem, and then there’s the other side, which is sticky. The sticky side adheres to everything: It sticks to me, it sticks to itself, it sticks to the table, it sticks to the floor, it sticks to anything that has fallen from the table to floor and retains it in the form of a visible mass of crumbs, dust, fluff and (always) a single pubic hair stuck between the Sellotape and the wrapping paper. The only thing that Sellotape does not do – in my hands – is affix neatly and evenly to the edges of wrapping paper. One birthday, I got this reaction: “Thank you for the present, Darling. Why is there a tortilla chip stuck to it?”

6. Paper. Because I am emphatically not in charge of wrapping anything ever, I am often presented with a problem when it comes to paper. I buy wrapping paper all the time. Lots of paper. Because of this, I always expect to find an abundance of wrapping paper when I – with heavy heart – am obliged to wrap a present. But because my wife spends her entire year wrapping presents in my absence, by the time I need wrapping paper, there’s none left. Things I have been forced to resort to using in the past include: tissue paper, newspaper, plain brown paper, white A4 paper and lined A4 paper. I have also given the gift of a small and delicate bracelet presented in a large metallic red bottle bag. Last night I had to resort to using Christmas wrapping paper to wrap my wife’s birthday presents. Fortunately I was able to talk my way out of the situation this morning: “Those? Those are birthday trees, Darling…Merry Birthday!”

7. Apology. There are also many apologies involved in wrapping presents: Apologies for waking the household up by bellowing obscenities at an odd-shaped overnight bag (or Sellotape, we can’t be certain) at 0330 in the morning; apologies for affixing a dead woodlouse to the wrapping of a tub of handcream that bore the words “Be My Valentine”; apologies for the (unaccountably) ginger pubic hair that was stuck to the tube of Pringles; apologies for the “Birthday” trees line that seemed certain to work and apologies for arriving in bed with a ball of Sellotape stuck to my arm which eventually transferred to my wife’s back when she rolled over. It turns out that wrapping birthday presents is a sorry affair, as well as a messy one.

*I would, of course, like to wish my wife a very happy birthday (if not a well wrapped one). Happy Birthday, Darling.

August 1, 2011
7 Reasons It Is Inappropriate For The World To End At 6pm Tomorrow

Disaster. The world ends tomorrow. So, in our penultimate 7 Reasons post – we’ll still publish a guest piece tomorrow morning – we take a look at the reasons why 6pm is a ridiculous time for it all to come to an end.

1. Waste Of A Day. At the moment, as you may have noticed, I am not taking the demise of the World very seriously. That’s because I’m writing this the day before and the idea that I shan’t be writing 7 Reasons on Monday hasn’t really hit home yet. Tomorrow morning, when I rise to the Sounds of the Sixties, no doubt I will start worrying. I dare say I will be petrified. This is it. It’s all over. I had so much to do. There’ll be tears. There’ll be praying. And then there’ll be tea. And a whole lot of waiting. There is no point in doing anything tomorrow. What’s the point in shopping? Or DIY? Or writing my birthday list? There isn’t any. So I’ll just sit there and wait and be bored. What a waste. At least if the world had ended at 6am I wouldn’t have had to endure the slowest day ever.

2. Awkward. The problem with 6pm is that it’s that awkward time between coming home after being out for the day and going out for the evening. Those who don’t know anything about the world ending or those who have decided to stupidly ignore it, will be getting ready. And that means a whole lot of nakedness on display. When we end up in heaven or ‘the other place’ surrounded by naked flesh, where are we supposed to look? I tell you something, there will be many an argument in full flow come 6.15pm. “You were looking at that girl’s bottom!” “No I wasn’t. She just raptured in front of me!” “I didn’t believe that excuse last time and I don’t believe it this time. And will you cover yourself up! You’re embarrassing me.” “Oh, I’m embarrassing you am I? Look at yourself, you are the only one who put weight on whilst rapturing.” Yes, many an argument and many a divorce.

3. Indigestion. Many people will be cooking or thinking about cooking dinner when it gets close to 6pm. But what should we do? Eat and be prepared to get indigestion during the rapturing phase or miss our evening meal and hope something is provided at arrival when we reach our new destination. It’s a tough call. One we wouldn’t have had to make had the world been due to end at, say, 3pm.

4. Heineken Cup Final. This kicks off at 5pm. That means I’m not going to know what happens. Do you know how many hours I have put into watching the Heineken Cup this year? Dozens. Bakers dozens probably. And for what? Just so I know who enjoys their half-time oranges more. It is said that 2% of the population will be ‘raptured’ to heaven at 6pm. No doubt those who end up there will get to see the second half, but for the rest of us – and I rather suspect that includes me – will no doubt be faced with burning hell that is ‘So You Think You Can Dance Live’. That’s a hugely inadequate outcome and should it happen I propose we make an appeal (or overpower The Devil/Piers Morgan and steal the remote control).

5. Children. For a lot of young families, 6pm signifies the time at which the youngest members of the family are put in their cots for the night. Or, if you are eighteen and have parents like I, just put to bed. There is nothing wrong with that, especially if you have spent all day chasing them around. The evening is the time when you get to relax. Only tomorrow you won’t. As soon as baby Byron is sung to sleep, death will come knocking at the door.

6. Work. Some people, believe it or not, actually have to work on Saturday. As such they’ll be working tomorrow. What a day they’ll have. Wake up early, go to work, work hard, come home, world explodes. The forces at large could at least let them sit down with a beer first.

7. Plus This Lot. Given that this is the last proper 7 Reasons post we thought we’d celebrate life by opening this up and asking the 7 Reasons faithful why 6pm would be a bad time for them. Here are some of the replies. (It suggests only a few of our followers are bothered about the world ending. Fair play to them).

Nick Barrow: “Because it’s my day off.”

@rachel_simmo: “Because we’d only be half way through the Heineken Cup final! Surely they can put it back a couple of hours to 8pm?”

@splex: “Dr Who wouldn’t have been on telly yet. Could you postpone the world ending until at least 9pm?”

Sarah Ay: “Because we’d miss the Champions League final.”

@rachel_simmo: “We wouldn’t find out what happens in Doctor Who! With Amy and the baby and the eye-patched nurse!”

@Kateypotatey: “Because I wouldn’t have had time to finish my first glass of fizz/cocktail. 6.30 would be better.”

@RugbyByDilbert: “I wouldn’t of sung happy birthday to my mate! #actofrevenge”

Rob Lee: “Because I might be either batting or bowling at that time, and I’ll never know how I got on.”

@kittyQ: “Because I am getting married next year to a 7 reasoner, that’s after Saturday, that means I won’t get to be the happiest kitty ever”

Jack Pitts: “Bad? At least we won’t have to sit through Britain’s Got Talent anymore.”

@RugbyByDilbert: “If the world was to end on Saturday, I wouldn’t have gone to the Waratahs game in Sydney (makes me sad)”

@NellPlant: “I’d die a work and this would mean I would not be able to iPlayer Doctor Who when I’ve finished work.”

@rachel_simmo: “We wouldn’t ever know if Birmingham City could manage to stay up on the last day of the season on the Sunday…”

Richard O’Hagan: “Because (a) Marc would never get the website to work for a whole 7 days in succession and (b) the world would be deprived of the weekly spectacle of one of you accidentally posts a piece they meant to schedule for later in the week.”

@kittyQ: “Kent play Sussex on Sunday.. I am hoping to go. I’ll get to see the signs I set up for print. If the world ends I won’t get to see Kent THRASH Sussex”

Richard O’Hagan: “Because we would never get to read the second half of the Russian Roulette interview?”

@rachel_simmo: “Plus my brother would only be a 21 year old for 3 and a bit days, not even a week being 21!”

@RevdKathy: “6pm Saturday? The world CANNOT end before Doctor Who has aired!”

*On behalf of Marc and myself, may I thank you all for reading 7 Reasons for the past 20 months. It’s been ace. See some of you soon. (I’ll bring the ball, you bring the bat).

May 20, 2011
7 Reasons to Follow @MongolianNavy on Twitter

In February we discovered that Benicio Del Toro was on Twitter and brought you the news in 7 Reasons to follow @BenicioDToro on Twitter. We weren’t sure whether it was him or not, but we thought the Twitter account was interesting anyway, and we had a big reaction to the post. Firstly, many unhinged people descended on our comments section and began calling each other names (we eventually had to referee this) and secondly, someone stole the piece and reposted it elsewhere without our consent until – after we’d threatened legal action more than once and they’d removed it and re-posted it a few times – their web hosts intervened and shut them down. In all, it was a whole lot of irritation and hassle. So let’s do it again.

Great news, 7 Reasons readers! The Mongolian Navy are on Twitter! Here are seven reasons to follow them.

Swim for your lives! It’s the entire Mongolian Navy! Really.

1. They Won’t Swamp Your Twitter-Feed. I mean, how much news can a navy with one boat, seven sailors (only one of whom can swim) and no sea generate?

2. Comparison. Have you ever felt really down? Have you ever felt pangs of existential angst? Have you ever questioned what you’re doing with your life? Have you ever felt that you’re getting nowhere and that you’re just going round in circles? Well the Mongolian Navy are stuck on the landlocked Lake Hovsgal so they actually are going round in circles. All day, every day. Who doesn’t feel better about themselves now?

3. War Is Hell. I watched the Dreamworks mini-series The Pacific recently and a brilliant, absorbing, and appropriately reverential bit of television it was too. But it was a highly confusing in places because there were many, many characters and they were all dressed identically. The Mongolian Navy has only seven sailors though, so there should be little of that sort of confusion in their Twitter feed. In time, you’ll probably get to know and love the entire Mongolian Navy, which is a lot less time than in would take you to get to know and love a larger navy.

4. Learn About Mongolia. How much do you really know about Mongolia? That’s a question I’ve asked myself on several occasions recently, and in my case, the answer is very little. I imagine that by following the Mongolian Navy on Twitter I’m going to learn a great deal more about Mongolia. After all, they’re landlocked, so it’s not like they’re going to be tweeting about anywhere else.

5. Because You Love An Underdog. Yes you do! You can’t help it. And surely, in naval terms, a navy with only one vessel (a tug) is the biggest underdog of them all. Or the littlest underdog, perhaps. After all, it’s hard to feel any sort of empathy with large modern navies with their state-of-the-art destroyers deploying smart torpedoes and missiles against enemies that don’t stand a hope-in-hell’s chance. But the Mongolian Navy’s epic quest to tow other boats around and keep their lake free from better navies* is something we can all appreciate and get behind.

6. Because They’ll Follow You Back. I’ve looked at their Twitter page and it seems that they’re following the people who are following them back. And who wouldn’t want to be followed by the Mongolian Navy (if you’re going to be followed by a navy, the Mongolian one seems like the best option)? It seems that the Mongolian Navy are as curious about us as we are about them. Let’s tell them what things are like where we live. Near the sea. Or tweet swimming tips, I think they’d like that.

7. Show Your Support. Because no one in Mongolia loves them. As we pointed in out March, Mongolia has a National Men and Soldiers Day, but not a National Men and Sailors Day. This seems deeply unfair. Let’s show them that people out there do care about them. Let’s show our support for by following @MongolianNavy on Twitter.**

*Which is all navies. Even Birmingham has a better navy than Mongolia.

**As this doesn’t seem like too much of a commitment.

April 13, 2011
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Boys Are Better Than Girls

Just over a year ago you may remember Natalie Clifford gave us 7 Reasons Why Women Are Better Than Men. And, for a year, we have let the fairer sex have their moment. Mainly because no one dared argue differently. That is until one man decided to step forward. That man is brave. That man is the writer of The Memory Blog. That man is Richard O’Hagan. Today Richard sits on the edge of the 7 Reasons sofa – in an undisclosed location – ready to readdress the balance. Here, in his words, are seven reasons boys are better than girls.

The idea for this post came to me one Sunday evening. I was stood there doing the ironing and utterly failing to come up with any ideas for my own website when the sight of my wife preparing my dinner* made me think, “Being a boy is so much better than being a girl.”**

And then I thought, “I wonder if those nice chaps at 7 Reasons would be interested in a guest post which might actually increase their site traffic, even if all of the new hits are from angry feminazis?”

So here you have it – 7 Reasons Why Boys Are Better Than Girls, and one which hopefully avoids all the tired old suggestions such as ‘being able to pee standing up’*** and ‘not leaking like a BP oil well once a month’.

1. Self-Awareness. Boys are simply more self aware than girls are. Boys know that once they have got out of bed in the morning, that is pretty much as good as they are going to look for the rest of the day. A quick wash and brush up, maybe a shave (according to personal and religious preferences) and that is it. We don’t spend time applying many different layers of make-up, or agonising over what to wear that day, because we know we’d only be trying to fool ourselves. And this then leads to…

2. Lower Expectations. Everyone knows I am going to show up to any given event looking like I have been dragged through a hedge backwards. I’ve been perfecting the look for years and I know that there is as much point trying to get me to look smart as there is in giving Pompeii a quick dusting. If you don’t spend your life trying to look as if you have just strolled in off the pages of a fashion magazine then no-one expects you to look like that.

3. Less Gullible. Let us not beat around the bush here. Boys are less gullible than girls. No-one has ever convinced us that nylon – a material which unravels as soon as you look at it – is a suitable covering for our legs. No-one has ever convinced us that we need to chuck out a quarter of our clothing every three months because “that’s so last spring/summer/autum/winter”. And no-one has ever convinced us to wear beige simply by renaming it ‘taupe’****.

4. Cats. The phrase is ‘Crazy Cat Lady’. No-one ever said ‘Crazy Cat Man’ (well, not without being so stoned that they think it is still the 1960s) and no man has ever been found dead and alone in a feline infested flat, with the moggies feasting upon his decaying flesh. Being a girl means developing a strange attracting to furry four-legged gits.

5. Shoes. Boys wear sensible shoes. Shoes you can run in (see reason 7). Shoes you can walk in. Shoes which are comfortable. Girls, on the other hand, think that shoes mean some towering edifice which makes perambulation almost impossible and painful toes a part of daily life. Moreover, being a girl means that you feel the need to spend roughly the Gross National Product of Namibia on acquiring more uncomfortable shoes than you could ever need even if you lived for six lifetimes. Boys have one pair of shoes, wear them until they wear out, then buy another pair; Girls have eleventy million pairs of shoes, wear some of them, then chuck them out and start all over again twelve months later (see reason three)*****.

6. Driving. Cars were simply not designed for girls. This is no slight upon the perceived lack of driving ability among females, it is a fact. The basic design of the car began with the male physique in mind and hasn’t altered. Girls have proportionately longer legs and shorter bodies than boys. If cars were designed for them they would have deeper footwells, lower dashboards and no doubt many other female-friendly alterations (a lipstick holder or something). No car has yet been made like this, not even the Mazda MX-5, a car no male with a molecule of testosterone in his body would be seen dead driving.

7. Running. Running makes boys look manly, as if they are hunting down prey or chasing a foe. When girls run they always look like they are attempting to do a very fast Charleston whilst simultaneously going in the opposite direction. Something which I shall now demonstrate by running away from this angry horde of feminazis******.

*She was not cooking because I am some kind of raving sexist monster, she was cooking because the local crematorium cannot keep pace with the after-effects if I cook.

**This was after the umpteenth interruption to reach down something from the middle shelf of our kitchen cupboards, a task I perform willingly but whilst wondering what the use of a kitchen cupboard is if 50% of the users cannot reach beyond the salt and pepper storage level*******

***I once heard the occasionally-funny Sandi Toksvig claim that women didn’t regard this as an essential skill. Try telling that to the female attendees at any large outdoor event.

****Moreover, the invention of ‘taupe’ had a detrimental effect upon the men of the world, as by the million they were denied Bouncy Bedroom Fun by their female partners after exclaiming “Taupe? Looks like beige to me, love”

*****For the avoidance of doubt, my wife is not a typical girl. At least in this respect.

******There is no reason for this set of asterisks. In addition to alienating 51% of the world’s population, I wanted to break the ‘most asterisks in a post’ record

*******There are other things as well as salt and pepper on that level, obviously. Or will be, right up to the point where my wife reads this and throws them at me

March 26, 2011
7 Reasons That Mongolia is Wrong to Celebrate Men and Soldiers

Hello 7 Reasons readers! It’s Friday here in the world, but in Mongolia it isn’t. In Mongolia, today is Men and Soldiers Day: The day when the good folks of Ulaanbaatar (and the parts of Mongolia that we can’t name) celebrate men and soldiers. Are men and soldiers the right people to be celebrating though, we asked ourselves. Doesn’t it seem a little unfair and iniquitous to be only celebrating men and soldiers? We think it is. We think there are far more deserving groups for modern Mongolia to celebrate. Here they are.

1. Men and Sailors. Now, the more observant of you will point out that Mongolia is a landlocked country and as a result have little need for sailors. While I might agree with you, it doesn’t stop Mongolia having a Navy. Indeed, as recently ago as the 13th Century, Mongolia had the third largest Navy in the world. Sadly, these days it comprises of three boats, two guns and seven sailors. Laughable you may think, but when I tell you that only one of the sailors can swim you will understand the gravity of the situation. Mongolia should be celebrating their sailors before they’ve all gone.

2. Men and Roy Chapman Andrews & His Merry Men. A name not familiar to most of you I am sure, but in the early 1920s Roy and co explored Mongolia in a fleet of Dodge cars. He was intending that his trip to Mongolia would help him discover something about the origin of man – why he thought Mongolia was the place he’d find this remains a mystery – he’d have probably had more luck in Lidl. Unsurprisingly he discovered little about man, but did discover a treasure trove of dinosaur bones. Not my words, those of Wikipedia. Then in July 1923, he became the first man to discover dinosaur eggs. All this leads us to believe that Roy Chapman Andrews inspired the creation of Indiana Jones. Given the success of the franchise, I feel it only proper that we should celebrate the real-life Indiana. And when I say ‘we’, I mean Mongolia.

3. Men and Weathermen. In summertime the temperatures can reach as high as 40 Celsius in Mongolia and in the winter drop as low as -45 Celsius. That is some extreme weather one has to stand outside holding a thermometer in. No one ever thinks about this though do they? All they care about is whether they need the camel or the bus the next day.

4. Men and Trans-Siberian Train Drivers. The Trans-Siberian railway line cuts through Mongolia as it joins Russia and China. A trip from St Petersburg to Beijing – taking in Ulaanbaatar – can take anywhere from between fifteen days to a month and a half. The first reason that Mongolia should be celebrating this dedicated group is that they are bringing in tourists which of course boost the economy. Secondly, do you know how hard it is to stand up for a month and a half? No, neither do I. But that is what these train drivers do. Heroes. The lot of them.

5. Men and Yurt Manufacturers. While Mongolian soldiers might once have blazed a bloody trail across Asia under Genghis Khan, the Mongolian Army is no longer the all-conquering behemoth that it once was. Mongolian yurts, however, unlike Mongolian soldiers, can be found all over the world and are something of a national Mongolian symbol. You can even order them online. Can you order a Mongolian soldier online? Well yes, probably, this is the internet we’re talking about, but a yurt would look better in your garden and would be less terrifying to your womenfolk and neighbours.

6. Men and Economists. The major currency of Mongolia is the tögrög, the tugrik or the tugrug, it depends who you ask. And if you ask me, it’s the tugrug. I don’t know how many tögrögs there are to the tugrik or how many tökraks there are to the tugrug (I just made one up myself, being an economist is fun!) but anyone who has invented a currency that has at least three names – one of which sounds like a silent comedic prank – should be celebrated. And then locked up.

7. Men and the Sun-Starved Geeks That Update Wikipedia. If it weren’t for Wikipedia, how much would we know of modern Mongolia? Sure we all know about Genghis Khan and the yurts and…the…yaks and things? But Wikipedia – fortunately – knows everything. I, for one, was flabbergasted to learn that Mongolia does not share a border with Kazakhstan and that on November 21, 2005, George W. Bush became the first-ever sitting U.S. President to visit Mongolia. To the rest of the world, Wikipedia is a shop window for Mongolia, spewing-forth fascinating facts and marvellous Mongolian minutiae for our amazement and astonishment. Mongolia should celebrate the people that update Wikipedia from their bedrooms in their pants. And so should we. Wikipedia, we salute you.

March 18, 2011
7 Reasons That Social Kissing is a Minefield

I’m perplexed by social kissing. I’m referring to non-sexual kissing here, the sort that goes on all the time on all manner of occasions and at every gathering. I’ve been trying to make some sort of sense of it since 8:30 am. On a morning in 1985. As an Englishman, I just find it all a bit fraught and overwhelming. Anyway, here’s what I’ve got so far. Here are seven reasons that social kissing is a minefield.

This is bad. Even I know that.

1. Straight Men. Social kissing, if you’re a heterosexual man, is fraught with myriad rules and conventions that must be strictly adhered to. In truth, it’s a bit complicated. As a straight man, you can kiss any unrelated woman socially, except for the Queen and ones that smell really bad and keep pigeons in their hats. You can also kiss any related woman socially: mothers; sisters; aunts; nieces; cousins; in-laws; grandmas; that woman you’re told is an aunt but no one can remember how the family know her (she probably just latched on to them at a christening in 1974), they’re all fair game. You can’t, however, kiss any unrelated man unless a) you are both professional football players in the act of celebrating a goal or b) you are more drunk than you have ever been in your life and it is your wedding night (I played the role of surprised wedding guest in this scenario, I don’t recommend it) . Related men are simpler. You can kiss both your father and grandfather up to the age of about twelve and you can kiss babies (but not excessively, and once they can walk unaided that has to stop or you’ll get a bad reputation). Oh, and uncles should never really kiss anyone, ever. All clear?

2. Straight Women. The etiquette for straight women is more straightforward. Heterosexual women can kiss any unrelated woman, also excepting the Queen (though they will kiss the smelly woman with a pigeon in her hat because they’re generally kinder than men). They can kiss any related woman (probably including the Queen, should they be related). They can also kiss all men (both related and unrelated). In short, they may kiss pretty much everyone apart from the dead (and even then it’s acceptable for the first few days).

3. Gay Men. It’s more complicated for gay men. The same rules that apply to straight men kissing relatives apply to them but, in the case of unrelated men, things are a little different. The football celebration exemption that applies to heterosexual men doesn’t apply to them, because there are no gay professional football players. At all. None. No! But gay men can kiss each other socially (should they feel comfortable doing so), unless they are in a location where such activity may attract a crowd/mob. They are also not allowed to kiss socially within the pages of the Daily Mail, unless accompanied by some sort of lurid headline about declining standards/moral turpitude/Britain’s going to hell in a handcart because we’re so against modernity that we won’t even put it in a metaphorical car.

4. Gay Women. Exactly the same rules apply to gay women that apply to straight women, with only one important exception. Under no circumstance can a lesbian ever kiss Justin Bieber. That would just be too much confusion for anyone to bear.

5. The French. Now, the French have their own unique approach to social kissing. French men and French women (of any persuasion) can kiss absolutely anyone they like (except for the Queen and my writing partner, Jon), as long as they do it twice. Once on the left cheek and once on the right.* You can see this demonstrated at civil ceremonies throughout France as various mayors and civic dignitaries present medals for courage in the face of extreme paper cuts to postal workers and the highly-prized and hotly-contested croix de blanc, which is annually awarded to the first person to surrender their town to any approaching army (or a passing traffic warden should there be no invading army available at that moment).

6. Transsexuals. Okay, the rules are really blurred here. But, as far as I’m concerned, transsexuals can kiss anyone they like, except for the Queen and me outside York Minster at midnight on New Year’s Eve 2004 just when I’m moving in to kiss my wife and am off-guard. Yes, I concede that it would have been very funny had it happened in a sitcom or to someone else, but sadly it didn’t. Oh, and when you’re saying, “I bet you didn’t think you’d be kissing a transsexual at midnight”, try not to do it in a tar-soaked scouse accent, because that just made it feel dirty. Try it in lilting Irish next time, or a West country burr. Then I’ll probably feel better about the whole experience.

7. Eskimos. Eskimo kissing is weird. I don’t know which Eskimos can kiss other Eskimos. I also don’t know how Eskimo gender affects which Eskimos can kiss other Eskimos (or how they can tell what gender the other Eskimo is under all the layers of clothing and the furry hood). I do know, however, that Eskimos aren’t Eskimos at all, they’re Inuits, Yupiks and Aleuts, but they don’t Inuit, Yupik or Aleut kiss, they Eskimo kiss (oh, and they don’t live in igloos**). I’m sure it’s quite acceptable for them to Eskimo kiss other Eskimos (who also aren’t Eskimos) though, but probably not seals and definitely not polar bears. Just as long as they don’t come and rub their faces against the rest of us without warning really, as it’s bizarre behaviour. And by the rest of us, I mean me. I seem to have enough problems with social kissing as it is.

*If an English person says that you can kiss them on an additional cheek, they are insulting you.

**Except for the ones that do.

February 24, 2011
7 Reasons That Goats Should Stare at Men
I’m sure we’re all familiar with the film, The Men Who Stare at Goats, which is based on the work of a secret psychic military unit. But in that film they’re doing it wrong. Men shouldn’t stare at goats. Goats should stare at men. It’s obvious. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Men Are More Interesting Than Goats. This it not universal, as anyone who’s ever seen the queue in a Homebase on a wet Thursday afternoon or viewed the bits between the sport on Sky Sports will testify, but generally, it is true. After all, men build things; men wage war; men get drunk; and fall over; men morris dance. Goats on the other hand, do not. Goats stand; goats chew; goats stand some more; goats sit down. That’s pretty much it as far as goats go. If you want to know how relatively interesting goats and men are, just look at the internet. The ratio of men to goats depicted online is 999999999999999999:1*. The evidence is overwhelming.

2. It’s Less Dangerous For Them Than Staring At Women. Anecdotal evidence suggests that, in the UK, you are more likely to be physically assaulted in a pub car park by an addled simpleton enquiring, “Are you staring at my bird?” than in any other circumstance.** And this is a scenario that goats are just fundamentally ill-equipped to deal with. Rather than diffusing the situation by calmly and rationally replying, “Yes, but in a curious, rather than a lecherous way. Is her skin naturally that orange? Did she apply her mascara with a spoon? Shouldn’t someone be holding her hair back while she’s vomiting?” a goat would just stand there, being a goat. If they stared at women, our pub car-parks and city centres would be full of hyper-aggressive drunkards punching goats every weekend to the soundtrack of “leave him Gary, he’s not worth it”. No one wants that, except Gary. And he’s an idiot.

3. Conscience. In the modern secular age, where our notion of an all-knowing God and right and wrong are becoming ever more confused and blurred, we all need a little help and guidance every now and again. And what better way to make men consider their actions than by having a goat stare at them. After all, there are many, many things that you might conceivably do when alone that you would not do when a goat was looking at you. These include:
- Picking things.
- Scratching things.
- Rubbing things.
- Pulling things.
- Poking things.
- Looking at things.
- Other stuff with things.
Could you look at pornography if a goat was staring at you? No. Could you pick the pocket of a nun if a goat were staring at you? No. Could you have sex with a goat if a goat were staring at you? No.*** If goats stared at us, we’d live better lives.

4. Time-Saving. If you’re a man you’re probably thinking, I won’t have time to look after a goat. I have important things to do, I have trains to look at and pants to file and whatnot. But you’d be wrong. Your staring-goat would actually save you time as you’d never, ever need to mow the lawn again. Nor, if you already do this, would you need to go and chew the local playing field for half an hour every day, your goat could do that for you too. Being stared at by a goat is like being given the gift of time.

5. Education. Goats will get something from the whole staring at men deal too. They’ll learn from us. After all, goats haven’t evolved or significantly changed their lifestyle since they first appeared on the planet (unless they evolved from geese, in which case, well done goats, do carry on). By staring at men, they might learn to do something other than standing in a field and staring at men. They might evolve to use tools, to walk upright, to tell time or even learn to read books, instead of eating them. Goats will benefit.

6. Responsibility. This is not universally the case, but many men lack a sense of responsibility and really only get one when fatherhood is thrust upon them. But being the keeper of a staring goat would engender that sense of responsibility. After all, there’s nothing like having to feed something, teach it right and wrong (not to butt the television except when East Enders is on, not to gore the cat with its horns etc) to make you realise that you have other things to think about than whether your shoes are a slightly different colour to each other, or whether the light on the floor varies significantly over the 15cm gap between them causing them to appear different…Nope, it’s the light. Right, where was I? Oh yes, and the ladies will love you when they see you tenderly strapping your goat into the back of the car before setting off on journeys. They’ll see you as potential breeding material, so you’ll be more sexually successful. Though you will have to perform with a goat staring at you, good luck with that.

7. Trains. Men – despite the Clint Eastwood/John Wayne/Buster Keaton strong, silent stereotypes – are gregarious social creatures for whom being alone can lead to loneliness, and that lack of socialization can in turn lead to eccentricity, outright weirdness and a penchant for trains. The company of a staring goat would prevent men becoming lonely and developing strange habits, which would eventually lead to the demise of trainspotting as a pastime. It would probably also lead to the end of model aeroplane building and World of Warcraft, so bring on the goats, I say. Oh, and please send my next-door neighbour his first, as the sounds of his model trains are audible in my loft at night. And they interfere with me cataloguing my button collection.****

*This figure is made up. I don’t have time to count the internet just to illustrate that men are represented there in a far larger number than goats.

**It’s interesting to note that no one, ever, in the history of drink-fuelled, envy-inspired, pub car-park assaults has commenced proceedings by uttering the phrase, “Are you staring at my fiancé?”

***It would be the wrong way round, for a start.

****This is untrue. I wrote it for comedic effect, please, please, please do not send us any correspondence about buttons. No buttons. No!
January 26, 2011
7 Reasons The Gents Is Not The Place For Conversation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

January 10, 2011
7 Reasons Picking Up The “For My Horny Boyfriend” Christmas Card Was A Mistake

There are moments in our lives when we question our actions. For me, such a moment took place a few days ago. I was in a branch of a well-known national card selling establishment perusing the shelves for a suitable Christmas card to buy for my girlfriend. Being ‘in the zone’ I was unaware of my surroundings. And – in particular – the location of the boyfriend section. Being of the heterosexual kind, I prefer my woman to be a woman. And, in something of a triumph, my girlfriend is both. As a result I was not on the look out for a card addressed to a boyfriend. So when I inadvertently picked one up the other day, it was a mistake. A terrible mistake.

This is not the actual card. I was hardly going to take a photo of the actual card was I?

1. Realisation. At first I felt a bit silly, but that feeling subsided very quickly once I realised exactly where I was. In a well known national card selling establishment. I froze. Were people around me? Was I being watched? Had this been captured on CCTV? What if it had? What if people had seen me browsing the girlfriend cards only to then move onto the horny boyfriend section? They’d think I was a slut!

2. Hesitation. Having stood, motionless, for what seemed like an eternity but in reality was probably only a few seconds, I had a another problem. Anyone who had done the same would have realised their mistake and immediately put the card back. But I had paused. A pause that could easily be mistaken for contemplation. A fatal pause. Those people who thought I was a slut, now thought I was a serial adulterer!

3. Frustration. So now what do I do? Do I put the card back quietly and pretend* it was not what I was looking for or do I make a bit of a song and dance about it? Do I say, rather loudly, “Oops! I didn’t want that!”? You know, just so every knows exactly where I stand on the whole horny boyfriend thing. It certainly has it’s merits, but what if I overact it? What if I sound really, really camp? What if I am not believable. Those who thought I was a slut and then changed their minds to a serial adulterer will now think I’m in denial!

4. Contemplation. It must have been a minute now and I am still holding the card. What am I doing? And, hang on a second, why am I reading it? Why am I reading the words, ‘A naughty Christmas poem for my horny boyfriend‘? Why? Why am I doing this? And why am I not stopping? This is a poem for my boyfriend, who is always so horny and whose body… Argh! I must stop! Those who thought I was a slut come serial adulterer come man in denial now must think I am a pervert.

5. Determination. I know now that there are other people around me. I have men to the left of me looking at cards for their girlfriends and I have women to the right of me looking at cards for their boyfriends. I hold my ground on the join. I can’t buckle. I can’t throw my bags on the floor and begin sobbing. Mainly because I don’t have any bags, but also because it’s so bloody cold outside that all the moisture in my eyes has frozen. I’m going to get through this though. I pull the card closer to my chest so no one can see what I have picked up. I am just going to stand here until everyone has gone. Though those that originally thought I was a slut, a serial adulterer, a denialist and a pervert, now just think I am an idiot standing in their way.

6. Innovation. These people aren’t leaving! They just keep looking at other cards. It’s midday now. It’ll be dark soon. I’m going to have to be clever. I am going to have to put the card back without anyone noticing. So I pick up another card – one that is addressed ‘to my girlfriend’ before you ask – and I pretend to be interested in it. It’s bloody hideous so that doesn’t take long. Then, rather cleverly, I put it back with the horny boyfriend card underneath. And no one notices. Until the guy next to me picks the girlfriend card up which of course leaves the horny boyfriend card on display. He looks at me and I look at him. He doesn’t think I’m a slut, an adulterer, a denialist, a pervert or an idiot. He thinks my girlfriend is a boy!

7. Affirmation. This is the point at which I realise I am in an awkward situation so I may as well make the best of it. Half the battle of a 7 Reasons writer, is to find the inspiration. Well here I was. With inspiration staring directly at me. No, not the man. He has moved on. I am staring at the card again. I am living a 7 Reasons post. All I had to do was remember exactly how I felt when I picked the card up in the first place. So I pick it up again and repeat the whole process. Now I don’t care who thinks I’m a slut, an adulterer, a denialist, a pervert, an idiot or a ladyboy fetishist, because I know I am a genius. A rosey-red cheeked genius.

*This is what a Horny Boyfriend card can do to you. You start pretending you don’t want the card that you didn’t want in the first place.

December 16, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Men Prefer Women Without Make-up

January seems a long time ago now, but if you can remember that far back, you may recall Emily Clifford writing one of the very first guest posts for us. It was about men and women and why they shouldn’t converse with each other. It proved ridiculously popular. Especially with women. So, back on the 7 Reasons sofa by popular demand, is Emily. And she’s writing about men and women again. If you like what you’re about to read you may be interested to know that Emily is a fashion journalist based in Sydney. She writes for a vast array of magazines and newspapers including Vanity Fair, Vogue, Glamour and Cosmopolitan. She also likes writing for us. Apparently. Right, less of me, more of Emily. Who, incidentally, you can follow on twitter.

Despite what you may have heard, a journalist’s job is never easy. Sadly for us literary types, it’s not just a case of writing an article and picking up the cheque. Unless you can call yourself ‘famous’ of course, which, let’s be honest most of us can’t. For the rest of us, magazines have to be targeted, editors need to be wooed and research has to be compiled before us writers can actually do what we want to do; write. Sometimes you do all the hardwork and present the final draft only for the editor to change their mind. It’s standard fare in this industry and you get used to it. Recently I wrote a piece on the male attitude towards women and their facial shield, make-up. Despite being pleased with it myself, the editor wasn’t and so the article was killed. When an article is killed you retain the copyright and so can sell it to others. Like 7 Reasons! Except they haven’t paid me and instead given me some false hope of one day receiving a badge. Yeah right! The article was ripped apart especially for 7 Reasons so the original catchy title The Foundation Of The Relationship has now been changed to 7 Reasons Men Prefer Women Without Make-up. Hope you enjoy it.

1. The Natural Look. Research for the article showed that a staggering 75% of men preferred women without make-up. I mean none at all. Not even a little eye shadow. I don’t know about you girls, but the thought of leaving the house looking like an old sock I’ve just found down the back of the sofa terrifies the life out of me. The problem is, men really wish it would terrify the mascara out of you. They just don’t like you covering yourself up. This comes down to the fact that men are far less likely to notice imperfections than women. Ever wondered how your man can put a DVD in the player and not even raise an eyebrow at the amount of dust adorning it? Firstly it’s because he’s a man and so doesn’t see it, but more importantly it’s because he is looking at the bigger picture. What’s the film going to be like? That’s the main attraction here. Not whether the player is covered in dust or not. Women on the other hand amplify it. By as much as ten-fold. They’d sit through the film worrying about whether you noticed all the dust and are now still interested in them. Does this guy think you’re untidy? It’s a strange comparison, but it’s how we think. You wear make-up to make your face look more beautiful, believe it or not, he won’t notice.

2. The Tick-Tock Effect . If you want to go out with me menfolk, you need to get something straight. If we are going out for the evening, I need at least an hour to get ready. And I’m not alone. The average length of time for a 30 year-old woman to get ready for an evening on the tiles is 73 minutes. That might not even seem that long to you. Unless you’re a man. In which case it sounds like an eternity. A typical 30 year-old man takes an average of just 25 minutes to get ready. And even then I think that is a high figure. I’ve known men to take 30 seconds. And, no, I’m not with them anymore. Of the 73 minutes a women takes to get ready, 22 are spent on the make-up. That’s 22 minutes he is pacing around the lounge, scratching, complaining and thinking about opening another beer.

3. The Question Time. Asking men questions about your appearance is a completely pointless exercise. And in many cases is actually divisive. Yet we all do it. I am forever asking my fiance if I look good. I don’t know why. I know his answer will be, ‘Yes, you look lovely’ or some equally unimaginative and predictable answer. I actually long for the day when he says, ‘Are you fucking serious? You look like you’ve just come back from the mad-hatters tea party!’ But he won’t, because he’s a man. And men are programmed to say what they think you want to hear. And the most frustrating thing for men is that they know you know that they are just saying it because it’s what they think it’s what you want to hear. That’s why they’d love it if you just forgot all about the make-up for night so he only has to answer the questions about your dress.

4. The Logic Lack. Men, to give them their dues, are quite logical. Us women though, are about as logical as a chocolate tea-pot. Men see chocolate tea-pots as things that would melt when boiled water applied to them, we see chocolate tea-pots as chocolate. When we ladies were younger we wore make-up to make us look older. Now we are wearing it to make us look younger. To us, that is logic. To men, that is illogical, ‘why try and be something you are not?’

5. The Shopping Trip. Wearing make-up means buying make-up. Buying make-up means shopping for make-up. Shopping for make-up means testing make-up. For a man who wouldn’t notice whether you had blusher on or not, this is a form of torture. No wonder 22% of all arguments between couples happen when they are shopping.

6. The Removal Effect. If a woman wears a lot of make-up, a lot of the time, the sight of her without can do strange things to a man. Sweating; screaming; running out of the house. The silly thing is, you probably don’t even look unattractive. Just very different. And change scares men. It’s why they won’t let you change your hair or get a breast enlargement or sleep with Johnny Depp.

7. The Affection Factor. Even the most ardent of feminists wouldn’t deny that they like a bit of affection from their man. I, and I wouldn’t describe myself using the aforementioned term, love a kiss on the forehead, cheek and, of course, lips and when I’m not getting any I complain to my man. He is very keen to remind me that this morning he kissed me goodbye and I complained that he could have smudged my make-up. And he’s right, I did. That’s why men prefer you without make-up, because they know where they stand.

October 9, 2010