Tag: Reasons

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
7 Reasons That Ricky Ponting is the Second Coming of Christ

As I was walking yesterday, on the road to Sainsbury’s, a strange and life-changing event occurred. I strolled past a man carrying a newspaper and, upon the back of that newspaper there was a picture. An image of Ricky Ponting looking glum. Christ, I thought, doesn’t that miserable bastard ever look happy? And then, suddenly and without warning, there was a blinding flash of light and a sonorous and divine voice did appear from the sky and say, “Ah look, mate, why do you persecute me?”

I fell to the floor: “Who are you,” I stammered meekly.

“I am Punter, whom you are persecuting,” he replied. “Now rise and get thee unto the supermarket, and you will be told what you must do.”

Blimey, that was weird, I thought, and went to the supermarket as I was bidden. And, to cut a very long story short, in the manner of Saul on the road to Damascus, I, Marc* on the road to Sainsbury’s, had had an epiphany. I realised that I had been wrong all along about Ricky Ponting and had done him many disservices over the years. And now I have truly seen the light and it is my divine mission to tell the world of his glory; here are the seven reasons why Punter is the true successor to our lord Jesus Christ.

Ricky, as he appeared to me on the road to Sainsbury's.

1. The Name. If things look right, and sound right, then they generally are. And when I tried to think of a way to link the names of Jesus and Ponting, I have to admit, I struggled. But then I realised that true struggle is the lot of a disciple, and that I’d just have to think harder. And, lo, I thought harder. But other than the names Ponting and Christ being interchangeable as profane expletives in my heathen life prior to my conversion, I could find very little to link them. Then it hit me: A portmanteau word. Ricky Ponting is no longer merely Punter the cricket captain. He now has a divine and biblical-sounding title. He will henceforth be known as…The Pontychrist.

Ah, look. It's the Pontychrist!

2. Miracles. Jesus was famed for his making of miracles. Specifically, for eking out very little, to make a lot. He turned water into wine, and he fed five-thousand people when equipped with a small quantity of bread and fish; a situation in which a lesser bearded-man – such as Captain Birdseye – merely invented the fish finger. And, in the manner of Jesus, Ponting (who, though not bearded of face, is bearded of arm), the new saviour, is attempting to win the Ashes with a mere nineteen runs from the first two tests. And when he pulls it off, it will be hailed as one of the greatest miracles ever seen. Greater, even, than when he takes a stroll across Sydney Harbour without using the bridge after the fifth test, and greater than when he turns Toohey’s into wine. Or Beer into a world-beating bowler.

3. Serendipity. This current Ashes series began in almost an exact word-for-word replay of one of Christ’s most famous quotes because Australia opened the bowling in the first test. And so it was that he, who is without spin, cast the first stone (or ball, as we call them these days). In fact, like his famous forebear, Ponting tries as much as possible to live a blameless life where lesser men (England) are happy to live a life of spin. In the grand tradition of divine saviours, The Pontychrist is more spinned against, than spinning.

4. The Devil. There would be no need for the coming of Ponting if it weren’t for the presence of darkness among man. Who then, is his nemesis, his bête noire, his archfiend, his foe, the Mephistopheles to his Good Shepherd? It can’t be Andrew Strauss; he’s too nice, he is a mere instrument of the devil. For Beelzebub himself is cunning, yet is vain, and so gives himself away through his choice of name. I ask you, what rhymes with horn? That’s right, many, many, many things but, specifically in this case, Vaughan. Behold The Antipontychrist! For though he has now been banished unto the commentary box for the duration of the series – which if the final test ends on day three will have lasted for forty days and forty nights – (which is both biblical and mathematical proof ), he is surely the puppet-master that the righteous Punter does battle against.

The name of the beast is The Antipontychrist and his number is 6-0-0 (and he doesn't look very well)

5. The Blood of the PontyChrist. In Christian religions, those arcane churches that we had before the birth of Pontianity, especially in Roman-Catholicism, (where the head of the church will, when Ponting is acknowledged as the second coming, be known as The Puntiff) the blood of Christ is important. Jesus, we are told, bled for our sins, and so, in the present day, has the Pontychrist. Here he is bleeding, so that our spirits may be lifted heavenward. And who amongst us can say that this image of his selflessness doesn’t fill their heart with joy?

We have redemption through his blood…in accordance with the riches of God's grace.

Yes, this one's just gratuitous.

6. Iconography. And, much like Christ, when so many of his teachings will be open to the whimsical and wilful interpretations of man, many years after he has passed, so the Pontychrist’s visage will be used, in the millennia to come by men warning others to follow his example and to live without sin. He’s omnipresent, they’ll say, he can see everything that you’re doing, they’ll say. And they’re right. In this portent of the future he seems to be staring into your very soul. And, now that you have seen this picture, you will know, that Ricky can see your every thought and deed. He will know if you think ill of the French. He will know when you’re masturbating. He will know when you’ve eaten Twiglets that you shouldn’t have touched. He knows everything: For he is omnipontent.

He can see into your soul, you bad, bad person.

7. Reflection. And later, on reflection at my conversion to Pontianity, I had a moment of doubt, the sort that afflicted people 2000 years ago in Jesus’s time. I wrote this piece yesterday, but when I woke this morning, I found myself questioning things. In short, I had a crisis of faith. I might have taken too much of my flu medication yesterday, I thought. What if I’d dreamt it? I’d look a fool. I’d be mocked and cast asunder by my peers. I decided that, on reflection, I may have got carried away and resolved to discard what I had written and start afresh with a new piece, after I’d had my breakfast. And then I saw a sign:

It's a sign! (a tasty one, too).

So, in summary, I’m buying myself a ute and I’m going to fill it with corrugated iron and tambourines and head off to the hills to build the first (of many) Puntecostal churches. Who’s with me?

*Henceforth to be known as Parc.

December 15, 2010
7 Reasons I Will Watch The X-Factor Next Year

Before 20 million of you groan, this isn’t one of those ‘The X-Factor is rubbish’ posts. I have long adhered to the maxim, ‘if you don’t like it, switch it off’. Which is something I have accomplished in every year previous to this one. This year though, I lived with one of the 20 million. Which meant I saw more of it than I really wanted to. Next year, though, it’s not happening. Unless these drastic changes are made.

1. Louis Walsh. Quite simple, he must stop being a twat. And by that I mean, he must stop being a twat. I like to be challenged intellectually, which is why I call my parents during the show. What I can’t stand is people stating the bloody obvious. And that includes Walsh saying, “Matt, you’re in the final”. Yes, obviously he’s in the bloody final. If Walsh stops repeating everything I can find out by pressing the ‘i’ on my remote control then I could be in for the long-haul.

2. Simon Cowell. This isn’t an anti-Cowell moment, the guy has created something that makes him a lot of money, well done to him. What he must do next year, though, is stop pretending he is actually making difficult decisions. If I want to watch over-acting I can watch the bloody-awful but painfully addictive Miranda. I want him to act like he does in the supermarket when faced with the choice of either an apple or a banana. There’s no pretence here. Cowell knows he wants the banana and so he grabs it. No dramas, he just gets the job done. If he brings this attitude with him next year, we have half a chance. Assuming he also does something with his hair.

3. Cheryl Cole. She must lose her right hand. Or, at the very least, it must be tied behind her back. I am very appreciative of the fact that she can’t help the annoying accent and the stupid comments, but she can stop doing that bloody salute. It makes her look like a camp toy soldier.

4. Dannii Minogue. She’s a bit like white bread. Nothing drastically wrong with her, just a bit plastic-y. I would much prefer something more substantial. Wholemeal bread. Or, as she is called in this case, Kylie. She’s just better in all areas.

5. Media Blackout. I don’t read the tabloids for a reason. I’m not interested in the soap opera of life and I like reading words that contain more than two syllables. I appreciate that’s two reasons, but, to be honest, there are probably five more. But that doesn’t matter. The point is, I don’t read them because I don’t like them. That is easy enough to do and you’ll be pleased to know I am very accomplished at not buying The News Of The World. The problem comes when every radio and TV show talks about it. I don’t think that’s fair. As things stand, I would have to emigrate to Venus to avoid all the nonsense spouted about the show. If there was a media blackout I’d happily go as far as Middlesborough. That sounds like a good compromise to me.

6. One Night Special. No dragging the series out for months on end. The show starts at 7pm on a Saturday night and is finished by 10pm. Contestants can’t sing for longer than thirty seconds each and every ten minutes someone is voted off. No, actually, they are shot.

7. Sports Round. I like sport, but it was seldom mentioned in the X-Factor this year. Next year, instead of the usual vote-off by the judges, there will be a sports quiz between the bottom two contestants. Hosted by Henry Blofeld. And you’ll be able to play along using the red button and throw popcorn at the TV.

December 14, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday: The 7 Reasons Leaks

*

It’s almost as if every other day of the week leads up to this. Sunday! But enough of that, let’s get to business, you have wrapping to do. The second most important thing this week concerns the ongoing Wikileaks shebang. Here at 7 Reasons we are nervous about it. Many emails are exchanged between us. Dozens a week. Some even make sense. They are our life-blood. Amongst our messages of affection and frustration lie bits of creative genius and ideas that spark beauty. Of these we are proud and smug. But there are also moments when one of us embarrasses ourselves. Or one of us says something that could come back to bite us in the undergarment area. These messages have been hidden deep in the 7 Reason vault. Never to be seen by anyone outside of our cult. But what happens if we’ve missed something? What happens if Marc has left the code showing on the padlock? What if Jon has put the wrong box in the vault? The unseen 7 Reasons files could be in the shed! What happens if Wikileaks has sent someone round to the shed? We are going to be exposed! And we don’t like being exposed. Especially the York based half of us. The only way we can counteract any embarrassment Wikileaks could cause ourselves, our family and our friends is a show of the utmost alpha-male. We are going to share the embarrassing bits of 7 Reasons with you ourselves. Now. Ha! Take that Wikileaks!

This isn’t an actual conversation that took place of course. Just some of the things we said in a variety of messages. We don’t want you thinking we are wierd or anything. Because we’re not. Not one of us. Zilch.

Jon: I’m a prick. Not a massive one, but enough of one. The good news is, I have remembered how to use it.

Marc: Do you need a tissue?

Jon: I am surpsied you have to ask.

Marc: Hang on. I just sat on a lemon. I’ll be back in ten minutes.

Jon: I just sat on a cat. I’ll be back when I’ve won my case.

Marc: You can never win. I just gave my wife a Hitler salute. She headbutted me in pelvis. It’s unfair when she uses the ladder.

Jon: I have always thought Steps were vastly underrated. Especially the short one.

Marc: It would be silly to keep talking about it. We know he’s a cock.

Jon: Fair enough, we shall wash our hands of it.

Marc: Will do. I’m going for a bath.

Jon: This is a potentially dangerous situation. I live near someone who uses Lidl.

Marc: I’m not sure that’s the issue.

Jon: We’ll blame the French.

Marc: I’m glad we thought it was a good idea. Shame no one else did.

Jon: We’ll probably reep the rewards in the months to come.

Marc: That’s the SEO working. I have done lots of work on the back-end.

Jon: Does your wife know?

Marc: I woke her up celebrating. She looked angry.

Jon: I think that’s more unlucky than anything. We know we what we are trying to do and, for the most part, we are doing it.

Marc: I completely agree with everything you’ve said. Do we have any ideas for Sunday?

Jon: I’m going for a run.

Marc: I always meet a cow.

Jon: That’s one more we can add to the 7 Reasons posse.

Marc: It’s very annoying when you do that, especially given the countless hours of hard work I have put in. Stop it!

Jon: I’ll do it this weekend then.

Marc: I’ll be in a field drinking beer and shan’t have access to the internet.

Jon: Well done.

Marc: Thanks.

So there you have it. Straight from us. Wikileaks can never make us look stupid and you undoubtedly have newfound respect for us. For this we thank you.

*Marc: This isn’t a leak.**

**Jon: What is it then?***

***Marc: It’s a leek.****

****Jon: You say potato, I say tomato. Same thing.*****

*****Marc: No they’re not.******

******Jon: Not the same as a leak, no.*******

*******Marc: It’s leek!********

********Jon: You say potato, I say…*********

*********Marc: **** **** ******* ****!!!**********

**********Jon: If you put a mirror on the left side of the asterisks, you get a Christmas tree.***********

***********Marc: Wow. That’s pretty.************

************Jon: I love you.*************

*************Jon: Marc?

December 12, 2010
7 Reasons John Lennon Could Be Deemed A Philosopher

Today marks the 30th anniversary of John Lennon’s death. And to celebrate we take an irreverent look at some of his finest work. If you are easily offended by lyric assassination, please walk away now.

The Young Lembit Opik

1. Imagine – “Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try. No hell below us, above us only sky.” Yep, I can imagine there is no heaven. I have replaced the ‘Heaven’ sign above the pearly gates with one for Lidl. I’m not as keen to get there now. As for imagining there is no hell below us, I can go one better. I can see a carpet. But that’s why Lennon was a philosopher and I am not. His version is much better than my, ‘Imagine there’s a Lidl, it’s painful if you try. A carpet down below me, above me a ceiling.’ It lacks both meaning and rhythm.

2. I Am The Walrus – “I am he as you are he as you are me, and we are all together.” Seriously, sometimes Lennon was so in-tune with the world around him, that he is far too intellectual for me. I mean, this goes straight over my head. Something about walruses. And apparently he was as much of a walrus as I am. Which is news to me. But I guess that’s philosophy for you. It should always tell you something you don’t know. It should always get you thinking differently. Otherwise what is the point in it? You may as well go down the pub and play darts.

3. Norwegian Wood (The Bird Has Flown) – “She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere, so I looked around and I noticed there wasn’t a chair.” I’m not quite sure if this is a metaphor for ‘don’t go out with stupid women’ or this particular lady had just been burgled. And that, I suppose, is philosophy again. It takes a certain amount of intelligence and time to work out exactly what is meant. And I have neither.

4. All You Need Is Love – “There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done.” Wow. This guy just blows my mind. How true is this?! You can’t make a cup of tea if you can’t make a cup of tea can you?! But if you can make a cup of tea then you can make a cup of tea! Extraordinary. Extra-bloody-ordinary!

5. Eight Days A Week – “Eight days a week I love you, eight days a week is not enough to show I care.” It’s very true. There are some people out there you love 110%. There are some people you would give 11 out of 10. For these people, they surely live in an eight day week world. For the rest of us, we’ll remain in our normal seven day week world, loving people 100% and giving their risotto 10 out of 10. We also won’t sound patronising. But that’s because we’re not philosophers.

6. Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds – “Newspaper taxis appear on the shore, waiting to take you away. Climb in the back with your head in the clouds, and you’re gone.” I don’t think anyone can disagree with this. If you are seeing newspaper taxis on the shore, then you are almost certainly gone. You may also want to work out what you’re actually doing in the sea. If you are on a dustbin lid, you probably want to think about getting rescued. Unless you are on a dustbin lid on a cruise liner. In which case, I don’t want to know you. You’re weird.

7. Strawberry Fields Forever – “Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.” Quite right. Just shut your eyes. Actually, open them again, finish reading this, and then shut them. When you shut your eyes you can see different coloured shapes floating around. And just how how often are these misunderstood? I often think I can see a T-Rex humping a sheep. I can’t. They’re just shapes. According to the psychiatrist.

December 8, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Why Eating Out Is Better Than Cooking At Home

Welcome to another Saturday. We can’t take credit for the weekend, but we can take credit for the sensational Guest Post slot. Over the last year we have had a diverse mix of guest post, but the one thing we haven’t had is someone telling us why we should go out to eat. Today that changes as we are joined on the 7 Reasons sofa by Sophie Jenkins. I say we are ‘joined’, that’s not exactly true. The 7 Reasons sofa has been abandoned somewhere between York and Kent due to snow. So Sophie is actually alone. But that’s good because she can put her feet up. Which is not something you can do if you eat out. But that’s the only disadvantage there is, as Sophie now explains. And if you like what you read you may well want to check out Bookatable. Maybe on the Bookatable website, the Bookatable facebook page or the Bookatable twitter page. They’ve got it covered.

Dirty Dinner by Cinnamon Cooper

1. Laziness. The first obvious reason is ease. Just go out to eat! No cooking, no washing up all those pans (pans are the worst, cutlery is easy), no cleaning the mess you made in the kitchen. Just book a table, turn up at the restaurant, order, eat, pay and leave. Preferably in that order. In the words of Aleksandr the meerkat – Simples!

2. Shopping. No food shopping, trudging around busy and noisy (and often freezing cold) supermarkets trying to decide what on earth to buy. Even if you have a recipe in mind, the supermarket will no doubt have run out of the ingredients you need, or they will be too bizarre to ever feature on the shelves anyway. If you do find the necessary ingredients after hours of hunting, you then have the fun of lugging heavy bags home too! None of this at a restaurant, because of…..

3. Service. These are perhaps all following the ‘lazy’ thread, but at a restaurant you are not only allowed to be lazy, you are meant to be lazy. People are there to wait on you hand and foot! Plus it’s not like at home, where your parents/partner/younger sibling/flatmate have a moan about being subjected to your orders – in a restaurant people are paid to serve you and not complain about it! Dream come true?

4. Taste. What are you going to cook at home? Spaghetti bolognaise again?! Boring. Maybe you will try to branch out and cook something new. Erm, this doesn’t taste right…Just eat out! You can eat food you would never in a million years be able to cook, try food you have never seen or heard of before! Even if you do order the usual spag bol, it’s going to taste better than what you would have thrown together at home. Do you have a Michelin star? No. Does the chef at the restaurant? Well, that depends on the restaurant I suppose.

5. Safety. Oops, is the microwave meant to be flaming? You can eat pork medium-rare, right? What happened to the hamster…? No risk of fire, flooding, and much less risk of food poisoning. It is much safer to ditch the oven and eat out every night instead. Let a professional take care of the difficult and dangerous bits, while you sit in comfort and stress-free safety.

6. Convenience. A friend/grandparent/in-law wants to see you for lunch. The house looks like a bomb has hit it from the party you had the night before. You woke up late, hungover, and definitely don’t have time to tidy the mess AND cook an impressive meal! Meet at a restaurant instead! There is no need for anyone to set foot in the nightmare that is your house, or any chance of that impressive meal becoming an inedible disaster. Eating out makes life so much easier (and if you foot the bill it still looks like you made a huge effort).

7. Surprise. When you pop into a restaurant, you never know who you will meet – Johnny Depp might be sat at the table next to you (fingers and toes crossed)! He is, however, less likely to turn up at your house for your spicy chilli, no matter how infamous it may be (have to cross your toes as well as fingers for that one).

You can make online table bookings for free through sites like Bookatable.com, from chains like Prezzo to high-end restaurants such as The Ivy. It couldn’t be easier if it tried!

December 4, 2010
7 Reasons It’s A Disaster England Lost The Bid To Host The 2018 World Cup

1. Qualifying. England have got to do it. And that’s worrying. Ever so often they cock it up. And the qualifying campaign for the 2018 World Cup could be the ever so often.

2. Scotland. Russia have won the bid. That is one hell of a long way to go to just to put in a spirited performance – albeit in defeat – against Brazil and then lose 4-0 to Japan. They could have lost at St. James’ Park and then slipped back over the border unnoticed.

3. England. Russia is a long way to go to lose on penalties to Portugal. We could quite easily have done that at home. Or in Portugal. And the players could have done it without wearing gloves.

4. Children. Given that 66% of children think ‘The War Of The Roses’ has something to do with those sweets that aren’t Quality Street, England hosting the 2018 World Cup would have been the perfect opportunity for the BBC to do those profiles of the host country. Like they did in South Africa. They would have taught the youth of the year after the next seven all about England’s rich heritage. Instead they are going to learn about Russian dolls. And I don’t mean Anna Kournikova.

5. Economy. Let me be the first to tell you that Russia is three hours ahead of the UK. That means games during our afternoons. You can bet your last fiver that England will be playing Cameroon on a Wednesday afternoon at about 2pm BST. And it’s a game they are going to have to win having previously lost 2-1 to Romania and drawn 0-0 with a country no one has even heard of. Despite the fact that we will be rubbish, people will still be skipping work to watch the game. It’ll be enough to plunge us into a recession. Probably the same one we are in now.

6. Press. If England do make it through to the World Cup, for one whole day Sky News will be covering the ‘England Leave For Russia’ story. We’ll have to endure watching the England players walk up some steps and onto a plane. Probably followed by Gazza with a fishing rod and a bucket of chicken. Then six hours later we’ll have to watch them walked off the plane in Moscow. Followed by a drunk Gazza with a fishing rod and no chicken.

7. It’s Coming Home! If England had won the bid, we could have listened to this song while it made sense. Now, we’ll have to listen to it trying to work out how Russia is the home of football. And Baddiel and Skinner will be 54 and 61 respectively. They’ll have probably gone all Chas’n’Dave on us.

December 2, 2010
7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Watch The American

The new Anton Corbijn film – The American – starring George Clooney is out in the UK right now. I saw it on Saturday, here are seven reasons that you shouldn’t. (and don’t worry, there are no spoilers)

1. The Unconcious. The pace of the first half of The American is slow. It’s so slow, in fact, that if anyone had said “so slow”, it would have come out as, “sssssssssssssssssssssssssssooooooooooooooooooooooooo sssssssssssssssssssssssllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww”. Someone may even have said it, but I’m not sure, as I was dozing. Not a deep and satisfying slumber, but the fitful sort where you find yourself alternating between brief bouts of consciousness and unconsciousness, with occasional forays into semi-consciousness and thoughts of what the hell is happening to me, is this what old age is like (ness). So, I’ll sum up what I saw in the first half of the film (without spoilers). I saw George Clooney living the soporifically mundane daily life of a hit-man. In a series of slowly cut shots with no dialogue I watched him: Counting his bullets, drilling a series of small holes in some tips, oiling his mechanism (not a euphemism), polishing his barrel (nope, nor this), adjusting his sights, rearranging his small change on a table, lining up his fish fingers in size order, adding up all of the telephone numbers on his mobile and dividing them by four, testing the accuracy of his oven timer against his wristwatch (an Omega Speedmaster Professional with a black dial and black leather strap: model number 3870.50.31, I had time to note), comparing the shapes of his fingernails with his toenails, dusting his light bulbs, and staring into an empty fridge while over his head a strip-light buzzed (I may be wrong on some of these, but if they weren’t there, it felt like they were).

2. The Conscious. That’s not fair, you’re probably thinking, if you’d been awake, it probably wouldn’t have seemed that dull. But I wasn’t the only person that was sleeping during the first half. Because when I was in the toilet after the film, a man standing behind me said, “You were asleep during the first half” and, as I prepared to answer him, the man at the urinal next to me replied, “I know, it was really slow”. It turned out that they were friends and that I wasn’t being addressed at all. So there you have it. Based on the available evidence, there are two distinct types of human-behaviour that occur during the first half of The American. There are the Sleepers, who sleep, and then there are the Sleeper-Watchers who, while they have remained conscious, aren’t watching the film either; they’re watching people sleep so they can tell them about how they slept later, in great detail; “You kept leaning forward, and then you fell back, and then you leant forward, and then you fell back, and then you leant forward, and then you fell back, and then you said “chopsticks”, and then you fell back…” was my personal Sleeper-Watcher’s epic account of my movements. So, during the first half of the film, 50% of the audience are sleeping and the other 50% are watching them sleep and compiling a dossier on their movements, their utterances and their dribbling. Which means that 100% of the audience are not watching the first part of the film. That’s how dull it is.

3. Lust. And then the second half of the film begins. It begins with Violante Placido in bed with no clothes on and, in the words of my personal Sleeper-Watcher, “…you sat bolt upright and stared at the screen while breathing rapidly, remaining in that position for the rest of the scene, before you settled back in your seat and stayed awake for the rest of the film”. So not only do you get a full report on how weird you are in your sleep, you get a full report on how lecherous you are when you’re wide-awake too.

4. Clooney. And then there’s Clooney. Now I understand that George Clooney’s playing an emotionless, calculating and reserved man. But we see his bottom in The American, and I can state categorically, that his arse has a greater number of expressions than his face in this film. Here is his full range of facial expressions in The American (sorry if you were hoping for an arse montage, though we do have one of those on the About Us page):

7 Emotions : 1 Face

5. References. During the film, in a scene where Clooney is counting the grains of salt contained in a salt cellar before he thinks about Switzerland for five minutes in a bar with formica tables, something distracting happens in the background. There’s a film on the television. It’s Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West. God, I love that film, I thought. It’s in my top ten films of all time. Why aren’t I watching that? Why in God’s name would you taunt the viewer by placing an iconic piece of cinematic brilliance within your own, not brilliant, movie. So, he’s made me fall asleep, he’s made me appear lecherous, he’s made me watch a man iron his vast collection of handkerchiefs with a lukewarm spoon, and now Anton Corbijn is actually taunting me. He’s showing me a bit of a film that I love that’s better than the one he’s made and that I’m watching, I thought. While screaming inwardly.

6. The Pants. And then there are the pants. Violante Placido, for reasons I won’t bore you with, decides to disrobe (except for her pants) and go swimming in a river. But why would anyone take all of their clothes off except for their pants? Then they’d be wet once they got out of the water. And they’d have to go home wearing wet pants. And who wants to wear wet pants for an afternoon? And I know that you’re thinking that it was for the sake of modesty, but it wasn’t. Because they became completely transparent the moment they got wet, a fact that my Sleeper-Watcher noted later, before he informed me that I, “…sat bolt-upright and made some sort of involuntary tongue noise. And didn’t blink for eight whole minutes” in reaction to this scene. Three days later, after a great deal of thought, I still can’t fathom the pants.

7. The Ending. Again, I won’t tell you what happens, but there’s a moment of awareness when someone alters the thing. And when that person – whose gender I won’t digress – alters the thing that I won’t name, I had a moment of clarity. I knew, in that instant, that the character that was going to do the deed would be thwarted by the one that altered the thing and that the other character that I also won’t name would eventually have to do the deed – not with the broken thing that had been altered, but – with another thing but that we hadn’t been introduced to, and that the deed would end badly. Not only for the character who had been forced to do the deed with the new thing, but also for the character to whom the deed was being done, that countered the deed with his own thing, having previously sparking this chain of events by altering the initial thing in the first place. And it was just bloody obvious that was going to happen a long time before the end.

So, to summarise: During the first half of the film you will fall asleep or resort to watching someone else sleep to keep you entertained; you will then be branded a pervert, be partially baffled by facial expressions, taunted by the director, and then wholly baffled by pants before eventually spotting the blatantly obvious ending many minutes before the film ends. I don’t think ungoing is an actual thing, but I want to do it. Right now.

December 1, 2010
7 Reasons This Is Not The Perfect Gift For Everyone

With Christmas less than four weeks away now, I last night decided to browse the web for present inspiration. Having examined the merits of both vacuum cleaners and laundry baskets alike, I came across this mug. A mug that Jamie Oliver has got someone to design for him. The spiel accompanying the Foxy Lady mug says, ‘This Is The Perfect Gift For Everyone’. Incorrect. The only thing it is perfect for is a 7 Reasons post. For these people, it most certainly is not perfect.

1. My Mum. I am sure my Mum had her moments in her younger days – and according to ‘friends’ at school during her middle years too – but they are moments I do not wish to know about. My Mum is my Mum. Good at cooking, ironing, forwarding mail and reminding me when it’s my Grandmother’s birthday. In other words, she’s great. Generally when she has performed these tasks well, I say, ‘Thanks Mum’. And that’s where it ends. Never have I found myself uttering the words, ‘Thanks Mum. By the way, you are seriously foxy today.’ I suspect such a statement would be followed by many years of uncomfortable silence. As a result, I shall not be buying my Mum this mug.

2. My Dad. For as long as I can remember, my Dad has been a man. It is never something I have felt the need to question him on – probably because he has a beard. If indeed he had a spell as a Foxy Lady sometime in the mid-1970s – which I suppose is a possibility given that he was in the Navy – well that is entirely his own affair and something that deserves to remain a secret. The last thing we need as a family is for me to embarrass him on Christmas Day by giving him this mug.

3. My Brother. Again, definitely a man. Given his disheveled archaeologist looks, he is highly unlikely to be masquerading as a Lady. And even if he were, it’s nigh on impossible that he’d described as a foxy one.

4. My Grandmother. I don’t need to explain myself. All I will say is that this post gets more wrong the further down the page you read.

5. Yoko Ono. As a bizarre looking woman/prominent anti-hunt protester, a Foxy Lady mug is more patronising than perfect.

6. Megan/Samantha/Edward/Ruel Fox. There are very different reasons why a Foxy Lady mug is not the perfect gift for these four people. But thankfully not enough reasons to convince me to write a whole other post. If I was to give a Foxy Lady mug to either Megan or Samantha Fox I’d have a lot of explaining to do. So I shan’t. Not that I was planning to anyway. And if I was to buy Edward or Ruel Fox a Foxy Lady mug I’d have even more explaining to do. Mainly to myself.

7. Me. Occasionally I do buy myself presents. Last week, for instance, I bought myself a haircut. And very pleased with it I am too. I look much more like the Jonny Wilkinson my girlfriend wants me to look like by the hour. And that has to be a good thing. For both of us. A Foxy Lady mug would just spoil all my hard work. So instead, I am going to spend £10 on a rolling pin so I can keep injuring myself.

November 30, 2010
Special Guest Post: 7 Reasons I’m Backing Us To Win The Ashes

Hello! It’s Wednesday, and regular 7 Reasons (.org) readers might be surprised to find a guest post here. But today is special. Because today is the day that The Ashes begins, and I can’t begin to tell you how excited the 7 Reasons team are by this. Well, I could begin, but I’d never be able to stop myself and we’d all miss the cricket while I babbled on and on. So, joining us on the 7 Reasons sofa today is Sir Straussy who has taken time out from his busy cricketing and tweeting schedule to explain why he’s backing us to win The Ashes. And by us, I sincerely hope he isn’t referring to the 7 Reasons team; that would be a disaster.

Disclaimer: The views expressed by the England Captain are entirely his own and do not represent those of 7 Reasons (.org)*

1. It’s In The Toss. This is nothing new, but Ricky Ponting and I are tossers. We have to be. It’s in the contract. To be a captain you must be a tosser. And I am very proud to be both. So is Ricky. The difference between us is that, while I’m a good tosser, he’s a useless tosser. The stats don’t lie. Using the motto ‘tails never fails’ I have won 59% of tosses as England captain, Ricky has won a mere 49% in his role as an Australian tosser. And with the toss being so crucial these days, that 10% will give us the edge. But, I hear you ask, what happens if tails fails? Is that it? Shall we give up? Forget about this Test? No, certainly not. Again, let’s examine the stats, in the 41% of matches in which tails never fails has gone tits down, I have led England to victories 64% of the time. And as for Punter? Well, under his tossership, Australia have won just 30% of the Tests in which he has lost the toss. So, just remember, if my tossing goes wonky, don’t worry, I still produce results.

2. Younger, Fitter, Stronger. Assuming we go into the first Test with the team I want and Australia go into the first Test with the team I want, the average age of the England team is going to be twenty years lower than that of our counterparts. And even if Australia don’t go with Dame Edna Everage and Bill Lawry, our boys will still be younger on average. If the probable teams that have been bandied about in the papers for the last few days are to be believed, we’ll step onto the field with the average age of 28 years and six months. Australia will wheel themselves onto the field averaging 31 years. That age difference means we’re much fitter. Just take a look at our bodies. No one can tell me Dougy Bollinger is fitter than pin-up sensation Stuart Broad. Or Simon Katich is fitter than Brighton favourite Jimmy Anderson. Or podge-face Punter is fitter than the hairy-armed version of myself.

3. The Hair Apparent. According to the internet, the American writer, actor and comedian Larry David once said, ‘Anyone can be confident with a full head of hair, but a confident bald man – there’s your diamond in the rough’. He was talking about Matt Prior. The one player in world cricket whose surname inexplicably can’t be used with an O or Y to form a nickname.

4. Names. And talking of nicknames, should you wish to use ours on the Scrabble board we will score you an average of 9.5 points per player. That’s a staggering 0.9 points more than the Aussies. When you also throw into the equation that this includes the nickname-less Prior, it almost defies belief. How is this going to help us win the Ashes though? Well, it’s not directly, it was more an observation I made playing online scrabble with Lady Straussy. But it did get me thinking. Us English and South African-English just whack a Y on the end of a surname and be done with it. We then get on with the cricket. The Aussies though, well judging by some of the nicknames for their players, I imagine they spend a great deal of time in the middle trying to think of something wondrous. That must be why Haddin is called BJ, Bollinger is called Eagle, North is called Snorks and the 27 year-old new boy, Xavier Doherty, is called X. You need to concentrate on the game in this game, not faff around thinking of schoolboy nicknames. In some ways this is why I hope Usman Khawaja plays. Though I suspect he’s called Koala.

5. The KP Factor. With his Movember challenge nearly at an end – a contest Monty has dominated from an early stage – and his blindfold cricket ‘viral’ video for Brylcreem out of the way, KP now has the chance to concentrate on what he loves. And, talking about love, the other day the lads saw that the fat lad Warney had said KP needed loving again. So that’s exactly what we have given him. Lots of it. Aussie, watch out.

6. Midge. That’s the nickname of Mitchell Johnson, presumably because like a midge he has no sense of co-ordination. Anyway, he has vowed to make me crumble. Which is lovely. I’m looking forward to it at tea. But Midge has also vowed to make me suffer under a bouncer barrage. This goes back to the 2006/7 Ashes where I fully admit I got out hooking twice. Midge wants to exploit this perceived weakness. Given that I was caught behind four times in the same series, one could be forgiven to think I am far more susceptible to the one that pitches in the corridor of uncertainty and moves a fraction away off the seam. Mind you, Midge’s corridor of uncertainty is only slightly smaller than Steve Harmison’s, so perhaps that’s what he means anyway.

7. We Are England! To paraphrase Hugh Grant, ‘We may be an England cricket team, but we are a South African one too. A country of Allan Lamb, Basil D’Oliveira, Tony Greig, Robin Smith, Robin Smith’s brother. Nasser Hussain’s index finger. Nasser Hussain’s middle finger come to that. And a friend who bullies us is a Commonwealth country that wants to become a Republic. And since bullies only respond to strength, from now onward, I will be prepared to whip out my guns more often. And the whole of Australia should be prepared for that.’ Actually, it sounds much better like this.

*Unless he makes fun of Ricky Ponting or the French.

November 24, 2010