Tag: November

7 Reasons That 24th December Should Be Known As The Day of the Sausage

Hi there, it’s the day before Christmas and at other humour websites, you could probably expect to find some sort of Christmas Eve themed piece today, cynically concocted to gain the maximum amount of traffic by exploiting the festive mood. But not here. Because at 7 Reasons(.org) we have had a great and noble idea. We’ve come to realise that Christmas Eve is just a little too Christmassy. Similarly, it’s also occurred to us that it’s just not sausagey enough. When was the last time that your thoughts turned to sausages on Christmas Eve? But we think that’s wrong, and we want to change it. So we see this piece as a clarion call, a rallying cry, because we firmly believe that Christmas Eve should be known as The Day of the Sausage, and here are seven reasons why.

Churchill was never without a sausage.

1. Rennie. You might think that The Day of the Sausage falling on Christmas Eve is a tremendous coincidence. It isn’t. In fact it has been meticulously planned. At Christmas, you can’t move for two things. People and indigestion tablets. The world is full of them. It is full of indigestion tablets because the day that follows The Day of the Sausage is Christmas Day. A day when, regardless of your religious views, you eat a lot. It’s like a rule. When better therefore to hold The Day of the Sausage? You can spend all of 24th December eating sausages knowing that you will have both enough days and enough tablets to recover.

2. Vegetarians. Quite how vegetarians survive without meat is probably the one thing I wouldn’t want to be asked when faced with the One Million Pound question by Chris Tarrant. But that’s okay, because I am never going to be asked. I can live content in the knowledge that there are meat substitute products our there for the herbivores among us and no more prominent are they than during the Christmas period. In amongst the people and the indigestion tablets are vegetarian sausages and vegetarian sausages on cocktail sticks and vegetarian sausages wrapped in something that should really be bacon. They have already been catered for! If The Day of the Sausage fell on June 30th, shops would have to fill their shelves with vegetarian sausages twice a year, but with it falling on 24th December they only need to do it once. Which means they can sell proper food in June to go on my barbecue. Never let it be said that we don’t consider the economic elements when we write.

3. Maths. Christmas Eve falls on the 24^th of December, and you can make that number out of sausages. You’re probably looking at the numbers 2 and 4 right now thinking, oh no you can’t. But you’re wrong. Because sausages come in many forms, but the two most common types of sausage are the straight sausage and the circular sausage (which is essentially a longer version of the straight sausage that can go round corners). And you can make the number 24 from them. Here it is. In binary.

Coincidentally, this is just the right amount of sausages for two average sausage consumers to share.

4. Clarification. If you Google the words ‘Sausage Day’ you will be both disappointed and confused. (Unless you’re a pervert). There is no such thing as an International Sausage Day. Nor a National Sausage Day. Nor just a Sausage Day. There are however various Sausage Weeks. Yes, that’s right. Various Sausage Weeks. More than one. That’s not right! In 2010, British Sausage Week ran from 1st-7th November. However, the Egerton Arms in Knutsford, Cheshire, ran their Sausage Week from 3rd-12th November! Which raises another issue. Do they have 10-day weeks in Knutsford? But that is an issue for another day. Back to the sausages. And to the Cumberland Sausage Day. That falls on 5th July. Yes, it’s a Sausage Day, but a Sausage Day for just one kind of sausage. That is sausagist in anyone’s language. Except French. Where is would be saucissonist. The Day of the Sausage would eliminate such exclusivity and allow the whole world to know exactly when to celebrate their sausage. And that has to be a good thing.

5. Harmony. The Day of the Sausage and Christmas Eve won’t conflict with each other. In fact, to borrow a phrase from George W. Bush, they should be able to co-exist peacefully. You can even make the traditional Christmas Eve nativity scene using them, as this heartwarming depiction of the birth of the baby Jesusage shows.

We assume that Americans did this.

6. Shopping. In something of an exclusive to our 7 Reasons readers, we can reveal that The Day of the Sausage has a sub-agenda. Let us ask you a question. What will you be doing on The Day of the Sausage? The correct answer is eating sausages, celebrating sausages and having your photo taken while hovering your sausage over your top lip so it looks like a moustache. What won’t you be doing? Last-minute Christmas shopping. That’s right, everyone will have forgotten about Christmas. The shops will be empty. So while everyone is celebrating bangers, we will be in Halfords deciding whether our respective partners would prefer the de-icer or some reflectors for their bikes. And because we are kind, both of our readers can join us too.

7. Santa. On Christmas Eve Santa comes to visit you, and how do you reward him while he’s emptying his sack into your stockings? You give him a glass of whisky (he likes a 12 year old Highland Park by the way, don’t ask how we know this) and a mince pie. But a mince pie is essentially a dessert. A teeny-tiny dessert. But look at Santa. He’s a big, fat, ruddy faced man engaged in a hard job of work on his busiest day of the year. And you want to give him a pastry confection! That’s hardly adequate sustenance. What Santa needs is something more nutritious and something more filling to keep him going. He needs sausages. And double the quantity of whisky while you’re at it.*

*The 7 Reasons team would like to wish you a very merry Sausage Day, and a happy Christmas.

December 24, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons That Christmas ALWAYS Gets Me in the End

It’s Saturday, and the 7 Reasons team have abandoned the sofa in order to rush, blinking out into the sunlight like pit-ponies escaping from their daily labour. But, fear not, for the sofa is in safe hands. Guest hosting this week is the lovely Liz Gregory – that’s right, her of Things to do in Manchester fame – who despite being from Manchester, isn’t going to prattle on about Coronation Street, she’s going to talk about Christmas. Now settle down, children, and she’ll begin.

Every year it’s the same. I roll my eyes at those poor souls who have done all their present shopping by August; I can tut as cynically as anyone at the Christmas songs repeated on an endless, hideous loop in certain shops from the beginning of November. I am a grown woman with a full time job, and the shameless commercial enterprise that is Christmas has no place in my busy and important lifestyle. But by December, I’m hooked, brimming with festive excitement. Again. Here’s why….

1. The weather. Surely even the most hardened and wizened of souls must admit that nothing looks more enticingly festive than a fresh coating of snow, with the power to wipe out an ugly urban landscape of wheelie bins and cat poo, and replace it with pristine perfection. And I say this despite the fact that I am seemingly the only teacher in the UK not to have received a single snow day in the recent bad weather – I have had to go to work and perform the job for which I am paid EVERY SINGLE DAY.

2. Rosy-cheeked children. No, not the bratty whiny ones running amok in the supermarket trying to grab everything in sight – they are the ones to avoid if you’re trying to be misty-eyed and non-cynical about Christmas. I mean the angelic ones who assemble at Christmas lights switch-ons, warbling traditional festive songs and obligingly going “ooohhh” when the lights are turned on.

3. The Christmas Radio Times. I take enormous comfort in the fact that even though we live in a high-tech, culturally diverse society where we celebrate individuality and cutting-edge modernity, at least fifty percent of the UK will have spent the last week leafing through the Christmas Radio Times, armed with a marker pen, drawing wonky circles around the plethora of bad television they wish to watch this Yuletide. The fact that you will only actually watch three of these programmes is entirely besides the point – the pleasure lies in the selection, not the viewing.

4. Alcohol. One of the overwhelming perks of December is that it becomes socially acceptable to consume alcohol at virtually any time of day without anyone raising their eyebrows and calling you an alky. So that means sherry at elevenses is fine, as is bucks fizz at breakfast and Amaretto Sours at lunch. I do not, of course, live like this at other times of the year.

5. Decorations. Yes, Nigella is annoying, but I do admire the fact that her house (or her studio-masquerading-as-house, one is never quite sure) appears to be permanently bedecked with fairy lights. I am not brave enough to try to convince my husband that this is acceptable all year round, which means I must make the most of the carte blanche that Christmas brings. Turn the big light off, switch the fairy lights on, and hey presto! Your house instantly looks clean and tidy in the murky pixie gloom.

6. Food. I am by nature a most abstemious person, unlikely to over-indulge in any way, but the range of tasty morsels positively flung one’s way at this time of year makes it impossible to refuse. As with the alcohol, it is de rigueur to adjust one’s notions of what acceptably constitutes a balanced meal – as long as you select items from both the savoury AND the sweet party food ranges, you should be absolutely fine.

7. Two weeks off. I enjoy my job, and by anyone’s standards, working in a college in the run up to Christmas must surely be as good a place to be as any. Giant tins of Quality Street lurk at every turn, and teaching English means that the final week offers plenty of chances to watch Wuthering Heights and eat popcorn. And yet, the prospect of two weeks off, spent lolling on the sofa, opening the odd present and reverting to a lifestyle where your mum brings you a cup of tea in bed in the morning, is surely something to be cherished.

So, if anyone fancies a mince pie or three in the semi-gloom of my Nigella kitchen I’ll see you shortly; only visitors bearing sherry will be admitted, mind.

December 11, 2010
7 Reasons to Love Snovember

It’s Snovember! Here are seven reasons to love it.

1. The Title. As a portmanteau word combining both weather and a month, Snovember works better than almost any other. In snow terms, its closest rivals are Snarch, Snuly and Snebruary, and although other weather events/months exist; Sune, Haily and Thunduary don’t even come close to Snovember for catchy, popular appeal and ease of pronunciation.

2. Effect. The snow buries things, which is excellent. Today it’s burying ongoing news stories such as the Irish financial crisis, higher rail ticket prices and other depressing news that we now have no chance whatsoever of hearing from the other side of the world, leaving us only with a vague sense that Ian Bell was very good and that there’s snow outside. Look! Snow! See the snow! Touch the snow! Smell the snow! Think only of the snow! It’s THE SNOW!!!

3. Thanksgiving. That’s right, it’s Thanksgiving day in the U.S. but now you won’t have to read about that here, because we’re far too excited by the snow to write about it. We don’t even know what they’re giving thanks for: Turkeys? Football? Macy’s? We don’t know, and we don’t care. Because it’s Snovember; we can see actual snow and because of that we won’t be hearing about turkeys on the evening news or anything else related to pilgrims or thankfulness that we don’t understand.

4. Safety. Councils in the UK tend to stockpile their grit in time for December and could potentially get caught out by the early snowfall but fortunately, as the wintry weather has come in Snovember, we have plenty of ashes* left over from bonfire night to spread on it. If the snow occurred in other months, we’d have had to cover it in tinsel, chocolate eggs or pumpkins; and falling over a pumpkin on your way to work is not the best start to the day.**

5. Indolence. The early snowfall gives everyone the excuse to do what they’ve really wanted to do since October and give up all outdoor exercise until the Spring. No rational person wants to go out running, cycling or canoeing during the cold half of the year and the snow is our opportunity to stop doing those things and concentrate on what we really want to spend the winter doing; which is eating our own bodyweight in Twiglets and drinking ourselves into a mulled-wine and sloe-gin induced stupor. We may all become hideously fat as a result, but the extra weight will just make us more stable in the snow and better protected when we fall over. Which will help offset the effect of the glühwein. And the winter Pimm’s.

6. Shopping. It’s Snovember! And rather than the snow reminding people that it’s Christmas soon and they need to go and do their shopping, it will prevent them from going out and buying Yule-related things. This means that we won’t have to devote as much time to arranging Christmas as usual and, even though we’ll now have less time to organise it, it will turn out exactly the same as every other year. And somehow, somewhere, it might just enter our thick skulls that we don’t need to devote a quarter of the year to organising bloody Christmas and it will happen anyway, regardless.

7. Preparedness. The trial run in Snovember will prepare us for winter proper. We’ll be able to get the annual bout of complaining that; our cars won’t work in un-driveable conditions, that the local council haven’t magicked the snow away, and that the entirely predictable snow in Sweden doesn’t cause chaos, out of the way and then get on with our lives as usual. Or we’ll just use it as an excuse to get in some extra complaining. Either way, we’re all benefiting from Snovember. In fact, we’re off to play in the snow right now. We’ve never even heard of cricket. It’s Snovember everybody! Look! Snow!

*We can’t emphasise enough how lower-case that entire word is.

**We’re not entirely certain about that, it might be bloomin’ marvellous, but we rather suspect that it may be a little undignified. Not to mention painful.

November 25, 2010
7 Reasons Bonfire Night Is Traumatic For Adults

After the success of last week”s joint post (it was on Thursday if you missed it) we have decided to produce another. Once again we”ve gone for that topical/helpful format. Here it is:

Jon Didn’t Mean To Burn Down His Girlfriend’s Shed. It Was Just In The Way.

1. Anxiety. Because your neighbours let off fireworks. And your neighbours are idiots. They can’t be trusted to close their own garden gate properly, let alone to discharge pyrotechnics with any degree of responsibility. And, when their rockets are bouncing off your roof and crashing into your shed, you’ll find yourself thinking: “Where’s our bucket?”; “is the house insurance up to date?“; “I hope that the cat’s inside“;”I’m going to put a fish through their letter-box when they go away on holiday“.

2. Guy Fawkes. It seems somewhat ironic to celebrate the failure of the mission to burn the House of Lords to the ground by creating a massive bonfire, but that’s how it is. And who would have it any other way? Well, probably adults. Especially those with children. Because as well as having a traditional bonfire, there is also the traditional Guy Fawkes effigy that is chucked atop the flames. The effigy is usually made by the children using old clothes. Unfortunately, the children also like dressing up in old clothes. So by the time the effigy is due to be burnt, adults are terrified. ”Is that definitely the Guy or is that my son?’‘ And, more importantly, ”Is that my Hugo Boss suit?”

3. The Inner Child. Once you’ve seen about five bonfire nights, you have seen them all. In theory, as adults, we should all find them terribly boring and treat the event as something for the children. The trauma begins though, because bonfire night is epic. Rockets banging and then flashing in the sky. Photographs of your wife’s ex on the bonfire. It’s really rather exciting. Admittedly the excitement is nearly always alcohol induced, but it is there. And this is when all adults look at the children pretending to be Red Indians running around the bonfire and wish they could join in. But you can’t. Because you are an adult. And adults must be adult-like. Oh, the agony

4. Food. On the one night when burning is the order of the day, it seems odd that, having been put in charge of the food, you are absolutely determined not to burn the baked potatoes. And this really is a mission. While preventing the potatoes becoming charcoal, you also have to drink, pay attention to the fireworks, check your son hasn’t crawled under the bonfire and pay an interest in your neighbour”s annoying five year-old daughter who has shoved yet another sparkler up your nose. Sometimes, you wonder why you bother.

5. Men. As a man you”re in charge of the fireworks. They’re your responsibility and it”s unmanly to get the launching of them wrong or show any fear of them. And you know it can go wrong, because you”ve seen Youtube. And you also know that any idiot can set them off, because you’ve seen Youtube. Even though you know it’s not compulsory to insert the rocket into your bottom before lighting it, being in charge of the fireworks is an onerous responsibility. You don’t want to be the one that lights the blue touch-paper and runs away screaming like a girl, do you? Unless you are a girl, in which case it would probably be quite fun; and a nice change from all those anxious men setting them off.

6. Firemen. This year – due to the strikes – there won’t be any available. That means you are going to have to douse the flames flying up from your garden shed yourself. And the only way you can do this is by dressing up in protective clothing. Sadly, the only protective clothing you have are your wife’s gardening gloves, your leaky wellington boots, waterproofs that aren’t actually waterproof and a pith helmet. It might be dark out there, but you’re still going to look like an idiot. Oh, and the sprinkler attachment on the hose is stuck too.

7. Hedgehogs. It”s the nagging doubt that near-paralyses every right-thinking person hosting an event: What if there’s a hedgehog in the bonfire? What if I accidentally burn one to death? What if the children attending the bonfire see me light it only for a phalanx of flaming hedgehogs to scuttle out of it squealing, half a minute later? They’ll probably need several years of therapy and I’ll be forever known as Uncle Marc the Hedgehog Killer. Bonfires are a minefield. But with blazing hedgehogs instead of mines. Seriously, check for hedgehogs.

November 5, 2010