Tag: Saturday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

August 14, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Americans Call Football Soccer

After a brief stopover in England last week, the sofa is back on its tour of the USA. This Saturday we have wound up in…er…we’re not sure (we forgot to bring a compass and our map seems to have been printed upside-down). Literally thousands of people raced from their homes to see what the fuss was about, but it was Breana Orland who won the place on the 7 Reasons chaise longue. And it’s a good job she did because she’s going to explain to us one of life’s mysteries. Just why do Americans call football, soccer.

Breana Orland is a writer for Student Grants. She also gives advice on the pursuit of higher education and career options for young adults.

Leave it to the bloody yanks to bastardize the world’s sport by giving it a different name and, refusing so thoroughly to recognize its real name, that we assign it to a completely dissimilar sport. As per our usual custom, Americans have to do everything on their own terms. First we separated from England. Then we said no to the metric system (forget the liter, I need a gallon of milk!) and driving on the wrong side of the road (if we drive on the right side, then yours must be wrong). And finally, we took the most beloved sport in the world, football, and applied the name to a sport that should by all rights be called handball. And we named football, soccer. But if you ever wondered what caused Americans to raise the ire of football fans everywhere by giving it a new name, here are a few things you may want to consider.

1. We Already Have A Sport With That Name. Football may be THE international sport (played with feet), but here in America, football is a game that is played on Sunday by enormous men in spandex and padding that line up facing each other like they’re reenacting a pre-revolutionary battlefield. It is a sport played mainly with hands on the ball, but for some reason, we call it football.

2. Because Of The Soc? No, not the funny socks they wear. Apparently, soccer was a slang term derived from “soc” in the original name “associated football”, and since we gave the name football to the gridiron sport, the international sport of the same name got the short end of the soc.

3. We’re contrary! Deal with it! There’s a reason everyone thinks Americans are, um, jerks. We kind of are. You wanna go?!

4. New language Is Our Bag, Baby. Sure we inherited our national tongue from the British, but you don’t hear us running around shouting “Bollocks!” or “Pip, pip, cheerio!” In keeping our image as the kid who ran away from Mommy and Daddy, we have adopted our own accents and colloquialisms and set to making up words. If you don’t believe me, just consider the fact that “truthiness”, a fake word made popular by The Colbert Report’s Stephen Colbert, was actually added to the dictionary.

5. Soccer Is America’s Sport. That’s right; we jacked the world’s sport and gave it our own name. Then we stole England’s soccer legend (but Becks, wouldn’t you really rather live in Los Angeles?). Then we embarrassed them at the World Cup (okay, they embarrassed themselves). And still, it is the least recognized sport in our country. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

6. We did it our way. At least, according to Frank Sinatra. And the Chairman of the Board is never wrong. Americans always have to do things their own way, even if it means that we’re going against the entire world and firmly established facts or traditions.

7. We’re idiots. At least, according to the rest of the world. Apparently we just don’t get it and we never will. Maybe if you called it soccer…

July 31, 2010
7 Reasons That Bank Holiday Weekends Are Weird

1. Bank Holiday Monday. It’s weird. It’s a second Sunday. Shops and public transport operate on Sunday time on bank holiday Mondays, but Sunday is a pudding of a day: So why not make the Sunday of the bank holiday weekend a second Saturday instead? Then we’d have two Saturdays and only one Sunday (Monday), which is a much better Saturday: Sunday ratio. Plus, people spend more on Saturdays, so it would help the economy. See, I’ve thought this through.

2. The Wray Scarecrow Festival. Possibly one of the best bank holiday events anywhere in the world. It’s a festival of scarecrows! It’s almost as good as cheese-rolling! Look! Scarecrows! Bloody thousands of them (well, several).

3. Weather. Western Sub-Saharan Africa and Indo-Australia are afflicted with particularly intense monsoon seasons. In Britain, we have one too. Every bloody bank holiday weekend. This is why one of our more notable national traits is moaning about the weather. Well, that and tea consumption. On balance, I prefer moaning.

4. People. People do strange things during bank holidays. This bank holiday weekend, I found myself at home alone and decided to watch the classic ITV documentary series, The World At War. All twenty-six episodes. I watched the entire Second World War in three days. Madness. No one sets themselves that sort of stupid task on a normal weekend. They do practical things like building an Anderson Shelter in the garden or shopping for powdered egg and nylons.*

5. The Following Week. The bank holiday throws the whole working week off kilter. Tuesday becomes Monday, Wednesday becomes Tuesday, Thursday becomes Wednesday yet Friday is still Friday, because we’ve all adjusted by the time we get to it. But a day’s gone missing somewhere. Hasn’t it?

6. Banks. Why do banks even get their own holiday? Is it so they can look down their noses at building societies? Is it to give them less time in which to cock up the global economy? Perhaps we should have more bank holidays.

7. Cheese Rolling. The best thing in the history of the world: Better than powered flight; better than cricket; better than sausages. It’s cheese-rolling. If you haven’t seen cheese-rolling before, here’s some footage.**

*I may have watched too much war.

** That was a person with a horse’s head, by the way. You weren’t imagining it. Thought you’d like to know.

May 4, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Freckles Are Genius

It’s Saturday. And you know what that means. Marc and I are allowed up from the sofa to stretch our legs. In our place this week is Claire Quinn. (You can follow her extraordinary life on twitter here). And, in something of an historic moment, she actually is sitting on the 7 Reasons sofa. Well the London half of it anyway. The other half is in York. It could be said that she has freckles. But she doesn’t care. And this is why.

This Isn't Me. Or Claire.

1. Practical Games For The Children. Anything from connect the dots – or join the freckles as it would be in this case – to learning to count can be done with freckles. Assuming they are using your freckles, well, you can have some fun too. Frowning is really going to muck-up their sums.

2. Suncream Saver. The more freckles you have, the less suncream you need to use; you only need to apply the lotion in-between said freckles. All the money that you save could be spent on something else. Like gin! :O)

3. Spot Cover Up. No one really likes spots – I guess there is a sadistic pleasure in squeezing them – but no one wants them on show. Which is why people cover them up, but with freckles you don’t have to! Ooo so you save money again – make-up purchases are fewer than the average non freckly personage.

4. It’s All In The Name. Freckles aren’t just called freckles. They also go by the name of fern tickles. This makes them special. Birth marks don’t have another name. Moles don’t have another name. Spots could be called ‘blemishes’ I suppose, but that’s in no way the same.

5. Look Browner. So it might just be from a distance – up close you just look like you’re covered in freckles – but from a distance you do look completely tanned. There is bound to be someone out there who likes the ol’ ‘tanned at a distance, freckle-ly up close’ appearance and if there isn’t please don’t tell me.. because I’m counting on that!

6. The Lovers. If you have a lover you can get them to kiss all your freckles. If you have a lot of freckles like me it will mean you will get a lot of attention. If you don’t, ask the cat*.

7. A Feature. Most people have something about them they would rather change. Maybe it’s a big nose or big ears or just one big ear or maybe a small ear or maybe nothing ear related at all. Maybe it’s a birthmark right in the middle of their forehead. Or maybe they have ginger hair. If these people were asked what they would swap them for, they would say freckles. No one would swap freckles for one big ear and one small ear would they?

*Or kitty.

May 1, 2010