Tag: seven reasons

7 Reasons That I’m Sick Of The Lemons

On Monday, I started my bank holiday project: A batch of limoncello. It’s a simple enough liqueur to make, requiring a couple of litres of vodka, some sugar and lemon zest. A lot of lemon zest. The zest of twenty-four lemons. Here are seven reasons that I’m now sick of the lemons.

1. Peeling Them. Ever peeled a lemon? It’s the second dullest activity known to man (or woman). You have to be careful not to get any of the pith with the zest, so it takes a long time. I peeled twenty-four of the things. I have no idea exactly how long I was in the kitchen, but I do know that I had a ginger beard when I emerged from it. I had one when I went in too, but I was definitely in there for a very long time. Peeling lemons.

2. Poor Planning. “Errrr. Ummm. Errrr. Have a lemon, darling.” That’s what I said when my wife – not unreasonably – enquired what I was going to do with twenty-four peeled lemons. This is because, caught up in my enthusiasm for making the limoncello, I had forgotten that a by-product of lemon zest is lemons. Lots of lemons. I decided to put them in the fridge, certain that we would be able to use them.

3. Juice. Our fridge was already quite full. So full, in fact, that I had to remove several jars of jam, a bag of onions that pre-dated the internet, and all – except for two – bottles of beer, to fit the large, overflowing bowl of peeled lemons in. Eventually, two days later, desperate to free up fridge space for more beer, I had a brainwave. Lemon juice. I would juice half of the lemons. This would free up space in the fridge and enable me to put beer in there. Ever juiced twelve lemons? It’s the dullest activity known to man (or woman). After what seemed like a fortnight of squeezing lemons, I put the (surprisingly still quite full) bowl – now containing half the original number of lemons – back into the fridge. Then I had to remove the remaining bottles of beer in order to make room for the two bottles of lemon juice. Brilliant.

4. Drinks. As there was now no cold beer in the house, and many, many lemons, I decided to have a cocktail week. The things that I have drunk at home in cocktail week have included: lemon drop martinis, gin fizzes, whisky sours and tom collinseseseses. Hic. All of these cocktails contain lemon juice, of which there is still a lot. Probably enough to keep Amy Winehouse in lemon-based cocktails for several months. Still, one of the benefits of having had lemon-based cocktails all week is that they’re a perfect match for…

5. Our Food. The meals that we’ve eaten in the past four days have been (in no particular order): pancakes with sugar and lemon juice, linguine in lemon cream sauce with smoked salmon, fish finger sandwiches with tartar sauce and lemon, and home-made bread and lemon summer soup. I have no idea what we’re having for tea this evening, but I sense that it may involve a lemon. And I don’t want to eat any more lemons. I think I may be turning yellow. And then there’s…

6. The Smell. The fridge smells of lemons. The kitchen smells of lemons. I smell of lemons. My wife smells of lemons. The entire ground floor of the house smells of lemons. Our cat now lives in the garden because of the smell of lemons. Our neighbours have been looking at us strangely all week, presumably because of the smell of lemons emanating from our house. If you were to send a letter to:

The house that smells of lemons,

York.

We would probably receive it. Please do not send any circulars. Or lemons.

7. The Lemons Are Seemingly Infinite. Despite having consumed so many lemons that my blood is now 29% citric acid; despite having reduced half of their number to juice; despite having made my wife consume so many lemons that she could possibly use it as grounds for divorce – “Being married to him was horrible, m’lud. He filled the kitchen with bicycles and forced me to eat lemons.” – there are still many, many bloody lemons in the fridge. At the current rate of consumption, they will probably last for about three months…

…which is when the limoncello will be ready. Will this lemon-hell never end?

September 3, 2010
7 Reasons I Can’t Converse With The Cat

No doubt you will have read the title of this piece and automatically assumed it was going to be Marc talking about Horatio Pyewackett Caractacus Fearns. Sadly, it’s not. It’s me. Jon. And I’m talking about next door’s cat. Ginger. Though that might not be his real name. He might not even be a he. But anyway, this story starts on Tuesday morning. I have just finished writing Tuesday’s 7 Reasons post and I am walking into the garden with the day’s laundry. I pass Ginger on the way. Two minutes later I am attacking the washing line. Suddenly there is a ‘meow’ from behind me. It’s Ginger. He wants to talk. I don’t.

1. How To Address A Cat. ‘Hello Cat,’ seems somewhat rude. I don’t start interaction with a person by saying, ‘Hello Person’ or ‘Hello Human’. Unless he actually is called Hugh Mann, in which case I probably would. But given that I don’t know any Hugh Mann’s, I don’t. So basically, what I’m trying to say, is that addressing a cat as ‘Cat’ is rude. And I would also feel a prat.

2. The Neighbours. I don’t know what it’s like where you live, but in Kent, our neighbours live next door. And I note that they are in. Either that or Jeremy Kyle has popped round to open the windows. I can’t help but feel that if I can hear Jeremy, then he can hear me. And the last thing I want is for Jez Kyle to hear me talking with the cat he is supposed to be looking after. No, actually that’s the second last thing I want. The last thing I want is for the neighbours to hear me talking to their cat.

3. Subject Matter. Even if I could bring myself to indulge in a little reparte with the ginger one, I am not at all sure what one should reparte about. Whiskers? The location of Felix? How to trap a dog in a bucket? Some of these things I don’t even know much about. Though I do think giving the bucket holes for legs is the way to go.

4. Other Cats. Two months ago, I unbeknowingly moved into a cat hotspot. Which, I am delighted to say, sounds a lot more disturbing than the RSPCA would initially think. I just mean there are a lot of cats around. And by a lot, I mean at least seventy-three thousand. I imagine that Ginger has been sent out by his other feline mates to track down some unsuspecting humanoid who will gladly entertain them with stories of cat food in Tesco before they go off and have a scratch for the rest of the day. I am not that humanoid.

5. Commitment. Just say I do talk with the cat. Then what? Is he/she going to expect it to be a daily occurrence? Will he/she expect us to go for walks together? Will he/she start leaving me Snickers bars outside and expect me to return the favour with dead mice? When he/she goes a bit grey, will I be expected to re-dye their hair? Am I going to have to read a eulogy at their funeral?

6. Bullying. Whenever I find myself in a situation of awkward silence, I generally find myself making some stupid joke. Sometimes this stupid joke comes at the expense of whoever I am locked in awkward silence with. Sometimes this stupid joke is not seen as a joke. Sometimes this stupid joke is seen as an insult. Sometimes they walk off. Sometimes they slap me. Ginger is, as his/her name suggests, ginger. We are locked in awkward silence. Cats have claws. I can do the maths.

7. Language. This is a hypothetical situation as we have already established a conversation with the cat is not going to happen, but just suppose it was going to. On whose terms would the conversation take place? Would the cat reply to me in English or would I have to speak Catlish? Neither of us really own this garden so it’s not as if either of us could claim home advantage and insist on their own language. Yes, I hang up the garden owner’s laundry, but the cat keeps the garden owner’s soil warm by rolling all over it. We’re equals. And maybe that’s the way it should end? I go in and have a cup of tea. The cat has a scratch. Probably.

September 2, 2010
7 Reasons That Ex-Footballers Should Appear At News Events

One of the most bizarre aspects of the Raoul Moat story earlier this year was the arrival of Gazza during the police stand-off with Moat. Gazza turned up in a taxi with some beer, a fishing rod, some cans of lager and a chicken. This seemed like a one-off occurrence that would never be repeated. But then, last Sunday, the BBC reported that ex-footballers were turning up at the site where Chilean miners are currently trapped. They didn’t name any players, leading us to wonder if it was Gazza again, but that set us thinking. With their perceived self-obsession and sense of other-worldliness, surely there’s no news event that can’t be improved by the appearance of an ex-footballer? Oh, by the way, we know that Robbie Savage isn’t an former-footballer yet, but he does play like one.

1. Jamie Redknapp Appears At The Election Of David Cameron. “Dave, Dave, it’s me, Jamie. I brought you a Nintendo Wii and a lamb bhuna. That bird’s a bit fat isn’t she. Where’s my hand?”

2. Michel Platini Appears At The Liberation Of Paris. “General De Gaulle! General De Gaulle! It is I, Michel, of the Union des Associations Européennes de Football. I ‘ave brought you a bicycle and some cheese . Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure ze English pay for this abomination. Coming over here, liberating our France, who do they sink they are?”

3. Roy Keane Appears At The Trial Of Saddam Hussein. “Saddam, it’s me, Roy. I brought you some potcheen and absolutely no prawn sandwiches whatsoever. I grew a beard just like yours. Grrrr. I’m fierce, me. I never blink, look. Never. Grrrr.

4. Robbie Savage Appears At The Salem Witch Trials. “Hey witches, it’s me, Savvo. I brought you some hair putty and digestive biscuits. Don’t I look nice. I just came to let you know that I get all of my trainers for free. Hey. Hey! Put me down…Why are you tying me to a pole? I’ve got a Lamborghini.

5. Bryan Robson Appears At The JFK Assassination. “John, Jackie. It’s me, Bryan. I brought you some Brown Ale and an apple crumble. Ooh, that looks nasty. I had an injury like that in 1983, 1987, 1988 and 1991.”

6. Alan Hansen Appears At The Siege Of Troy. “Hey Trojans, it’s me, Alan. I brought you nothing. I did, however, find this large wooden horse outside the gates so I wheeled it in for you. I’ve been analysing your defence and it looks rock-solid at the back, both centrally and in the flanks. This siege is men against boys. Well done. Lawro would have been here with me but he’s got a cold and is a bit hoarse. He paid me to say that.

7. Peter Reid Appears During The Wall Street Crash. “Hey Bankers, it’s me, Reidy. I’ve brought you some Wagon Wheels and a motivational speech. Ahem. Though we find ourselves in adversity, things are never as bad as they seem and we can still turn this round before the end of trading…hey! You shouldn’t go out there, we’re on the eighth floor. Come back. Lads…lads…

September 1, 2010
7 Reasons The Port Of Dover Must Not Fall Into French Hands

The Port Of Dover has asked to be privatised. It’s down to Dave and Nick to make the decision, but if they reply in the affirmative it means the prospect of it being owned by the French is very real indeed. Obviously this would be a travesty. I’m still coming to terms with France owning the fake Blackpool tower, I’m not sure I could take anything more. Here are 7 Reasons (naturally) why it must remain English. Or at the very least, part Scottish.

1. Douvres. That’s French. And rather conveniently for the French, it is French for Dover. If the French take over I’ll have to go to Douvres. I don’t want to go to Douvres. I don’t especially want to go to Dover (it’s near France), but, given the choice, I would much rather not go to Dover than not go to Douvres. Douvres sounds like a household appliance. Why would I ever want to go near one of them?

2. Bouillaboise And Chips. I don’t like stew at the best of times, so goodness knows how I’ll feel to a French seafood version on the day the French takeover the Port of Dover. Probably quite nauseous. I like my fish battered and covered in salt and vinegar. I don’t like my fish tasting like fish. And that is what the French do. They probably won’t let me have chips with it either. I’ll probably end up with frites or something else sub-potato-standard.

3. La Porte D’entree En France. If Google Translate can be trusted, this is what The Gateway To England will become. “The Port Of Entry To France”. Or, if the Queen says something – either about factual inaccuracy or unnecessary use of excess ink – we might get away with, Aux Portes de l’Angletterre. Either way, it’s not good enough. It’s still French to me.

4. Payback. As I am sure you are all aware – or if you are not Wikipedia is aware for you – Calais was, correctly, owned by the Kingdom of England up until 1558. I am not quite sure why we wanted it, but we did. Which suits me fine. Sometimes there shouldn’t be reasons for things. Anyway, the fact that we owned Calais and the surrounding catchment area has been bugging the French for many years now. So much so that they are desperate for a piece of us. It was one of the things that kept Napoleon awake at night. Instead of going the Bonaparte route this time, the French are going to try and buy us out. We must not let it happen. Our cash machines must not be infiltrated by Euros.

5. Inconvenience. A) We’ll all have to start parking on the wrong side of the ferry. B) Everything will smell of garlic. C) Britain will be invaded by an influx of berets. D) French people might move to Kent and commute to France everyday. E) The Port Of Dover will change time-zones.

6. Il y Aura Bluebirds Sur Les Falaises Blanches De Douvres. It’s enough to have Dame Vera Lynn turning in her grave, which, as she is still with us, just goes to show how desperate this situation is. I don’t want my bluebirds sur les falaises blanches-ing, smoking Gauloises, drinking cognac and selling onions on from bicycles. I want them over the white cliffs. Doing Bluebird things; in an English manner.

7. The French Invasion. It is going to be much harder for us to invade (as detailed earlier on 7 Reasons) if we have to get past the French in our own country first. Okay, it’s not as if I don’t mind a challenge, it’s just that I will now have to redraw my Risk board and re-deploy some readers troops. It’s just hassle really.

August 31, 2010
7 Reasons That It’s Over Between Us, Colin

Dear John, (well, Colin)

It saddens me to have to say this, but I’ve been considering this for a while now, and something doesn’t feel quite right any more, and it looks like it’s over for us. I can only imagine how hurt and upset you’ll be when you find this letter, so I’d like to soften the blow by saying that it isn’t you, it’s me. This isn’t true, however, it definitely is you, and here are 7 reasons why.

1. You’ve Changed. We used to have such fun times together, Colin. You were an assured, engaging and charismatic man who could readily pique my interest. When you made jokes we laughed heartily, Colin. Oh, how we laughed. But then, I began to notice a change in you. I can’t say exactly when this change occurred, but I do know that it happened at some point between the end of BBC Radio 5Live’s Fighting Talk at noon on Saturday and 10pm on Sunday, when you presented Match Of The Day 2. Because during those thirty-four hours you turned from a warm, funny, confident lover…er…presenter, (I mean presenter) into a man I barely recognised.

2. You Always Say The Wrong Thing. You always knew how to turn on the charm, Colin. Even on the rare occasion when words let you down, you were able to twinkle your eyes or smile an easy smile. But last night Colin, I saw that all that had changed. From the moment the title sequence ended, you looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, and bulgy-eyed anxiety is not something I find attractive in a presenter, Colin. Nor is grimacing. Nor are halting, stuttering sentences and…

3. You Couldn’t Even Look Me In The Eye. I just wanted to see a glimpse of the man I thought I knew, Colin; how I longed for you to gaze into my eyes. If you’d done that, I might have been reassured. I might have seen that you still needed and wanted me and that what we had together was worth saving. But you couldn’t even look me in the eyes, could you Colin? And it wouldn’t have been too much trouble to go to, would it? All you had to do was look into the camera that had its light on. But you didn’t. You were looking at every camera other than mine. And I can’t begin to tell you how much that hurt.

4. Your Immaturity. It used to be that I was bowled over by your boyishness, Colin (I’m surprisingly boyish myself). It made you seem fun, irreverent and eager. But, last night, what I saw wasn’t boyish, or charming. It was childish and immature. Now you can get away with a lot of childish whimsy if you do it with wit, Colin. But the animations I saw weren’t funny, or even clever (they were big, but only because I was close to the television). They were cringe-worthy, crap and embarrassing. They made me wish that I was somewhere else. But that was nothing when compared to…

5. Your Climax. Now, I’m sure no man likes to have his performance compared to that of his current partner’s ex-presenters. But whereas Adrian steadily built my excitement throughout the show and brought me assuredly to a climax with 2 Good 2 Bad, you did nothing, Colin. Nothing. There I was, waiting, yearning, expectantly for more and things just sort of withered away, leaving me feeling empty and unfulfilled. I never thought anything would make Adrian seem attractive, but the lack of a climax with you made me pine for him. I know that isn’t entirely your fault, Colin. I also blame…

6. Your Mates. They say that you can judge a man by the company he keeps, and the company you keep is frankly creepy. I don’t like your orange friend Phil who seems to be labouring under the illusion that he’s being head-hunted for every top job going, and as for Martin, I think he may be the single most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen (and I once dreamed that I was being chased around Basingstoke by a fire-breathing baboon with wings and an angle grinder). It’s no wonder you had trouble reaching a climax with those two looking on.

7. I’m Disappointed In You. It used to be so good, Colin. I used to fondly imagine we’d grow old together and, in the Autumn of our lives, we’d be able to look wistfully back on all of the good times we’d had together: The time that you seemed to be on Radio 5Live for eighteen hours per day; the time that you “sang” on Celebrity Fame Academy; the time that you said something so funny on Fighting Talk that tea came out of my right eyelid (and I wasn’t even drinking tea). But all that’s ruined now, Colin. It’s time to face facts. It’s over between us. I’ve moved out, to another channel, because you’re just not the man I thought you were. I wish you all the best for the future. Lots of love,

The Viewer. x

August 30, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday. Press Play: Feel Happy

Hello! It’s Sunday again, and the 7 Reasons team are away for the day. Half of the team is busy poisoning his friends and family with cookery, and the other half has managed to pick 4.2 kilograms more blackberries than he required and is wondering what the hell to do with the rest. If you have any ideas, please let us know. We have already made two years worth of jam and four litres of blackberry vodka and have now run out of ideas.

The 7 Reasons team have been busy updating the website recently and, as of yesterday, we are now able to host and play our own flv and swf files, which is something we’re very excited about. We sense that not everyone will be as enthused about this development as we are, so we’ve provided you with something short that’s guaranteed to make you happy. Just press play. (It’s even better in full screen). Play it as many times as you want, he won’t get tired.

[flv:http://7reasons.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/psypenjump1.flv 550 380]

August 29, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons That The Umbrella Is A Bad Invention

We were hoping to bring you a guest post by Tom Cruise this week, but sadly talks broke down when we couldn’t give him a more precise date on which he would receive his badge. Thankfully, we have found someone someone else who once considered a career in film. Unfortunately, the Reading Odeon wasn’t recruiting at the time.* And that is definitely to 7 Reasons gain. Back on the 7 Reasons sofa for an unprecedented two Saturdays in a row is serial guest writer, Dr Simon Best. This week he has swapped the luxury of sleepers for umbrellas. Well who wouldn’t? Over to you Dr Simon.

1. Health Hazard. When you are under an umbrella you become blind to things around you. This makes umbrellas a health hazard. Umbrellas are a health hazard for tall people. Imagine you are well over 6 foot tall, and walking down a street in the rain packed with people with umbrellas. You will be very fortunate if you emerge with your eyesight intact. Umbrellas are also a health hazard for short people like me when we stand at bus stops and taller people with their umbrellas drip water onto our heads or if we happen not to be wearing hoods, down our necks.

2. The Weather. Umbrellas may be designed to withstand rain, which is excellent. However they are not designed to withstand more than the gentlest breath of wind. I have seen umbrellas turned inside out by breezes that aren’t strong enough to ruffle a feather. Take an umbrella outside in Britain and it’ll end up looking like this:

This umbrella was probably bought this morning and is now useless. Like all umbrellas.

Provided they haven’t been turned inside out by the wind, umbrellas only protect you from rain from above. However rain often falls horizontally. This is especially the case by the sea. Umbrellas offer no protection whatsoever against horizontal rain. In order to stay dry on your summer holiday by the sea in Britain you need a wraparound umbrella. Or a waterproof coat.

3. Size. Umbrellas come in two sizes: Too big and too small. Either way they are the wrong size. They are either too small for two people to shelter under, thus being anti-social and encouraging selfishness, or, if they large enough to fit more than one person underneath, they are so big that they take up an entire pavement and make it impossible for a normal person wearing a sensible coat (with a hood) to get past.

4. They Get Wet. “Of course they get wet,” I can hear you all saying, “that’s the whole point of them”. Well what happens when you come in from the rain to your house where everything is dry? The umbrella deposits water all over your dry house. Thus bringing in the rain that you tried so hard to keep off you and getting everything wet and posing the problem of where to dry an umbrella. You can just hang a coat up and it’ll dry but umbrellas need to be open to dry (which brings seven years bad luck). You then leave it propped open somewhere and end up falling over it. Ridiculous things.

5. Rihanna. This song is about umbrellas. For some inexplicable reason it got to number 1. And stayed there. For 10 weeks. It is very annoying and not just because Rhianna is inviting her gentleman friend to stand under her umbrella – I hope they weren’t on a pavement and had a good amount of space around them. If the umbrella hadn’t been invented then Rhianna would have been forced to sing about something else, or not at all which would have been infinitely preferable.

Rihanna – Umbrella

6. Georgi Markhov. The umbrella was a very bad invention for Mr Markhov. He was a Bulgarian dissident who was murdered in London in 1978. The poison was in the tip of an umbrella which he was poked with while waiting at a bus stop. If the umbrella hadn’t been invented then there wouldn’t be any risk to Bulgarian dissidents (or innocent passers-by) and the KGB would be forced to resort to the CIA’s methods such as poisoned slippers or exploding cigars which were much less effective and mush more amusing.

7. Mary Poppins. Mary Poppins arrived to look after the Banks children by umbrella. This is ridiculous as no umbrella would be strong enough to take the weight of a middle aged nanny. Leaving that aside most people think Mary Poppins is lovely. I don’t. She is responsible for making up nonsense words, encouraging vermin by feeding pigeons, and frankly questionable childcare methods (lacing medicine with sweeteners and, using witchcraft rather than tidying up and taking them on a dangerous cross-country carousel ride). Without umbrellas Mary Poppins would never have been able to arrive.

August 28, 2010
7 Reasons It’s Difficult Remembering To Take Chicken Out Of The Freezer

You know how it is, you want chicken for dinner. That means you need to remove it from the freezer. It’s never that easy though. Is it?

1. First Trip To The Freezer. Sadly you don’t make it as far as the freezer. Instead, out of the corner of your eye, you notice something alarming. A significant lack of tea-bags in the tea-bag jar. This is poor tea-bag management and must be rectified with immediate effect. You then make a cup of tea and go and do something else. Probably drink it while spoofing an England cricket captain. Well, I do anyway.

2. Second Trip To The Freezer. Rather brilliantly, your girlfriend/wife/significant other has just sent you a message reminding you to get the chicken out of the freezer. ‘That’s rather brilliant,’ you say. Rather unbrilliantly though, she has also asked you to put beetroot in a bag and then transfer it to the fridge. This is a delicate operation as one false move can result in a pair of red stained boxer shorts. Thankfully, you make it through and then go and relax on the sofa for half-an-hour. Just to, you know, recover.

3. Third Trip To The Freezer. This time you really are going to get the chicken out of the freezer. And indeed you get as far as opening the door. Sadly, you are not confronted by chicken and instead are reminded that you should get a couple of rolls out for your lunch later. You then try and put the remaining rolls back in the freezer without something else falling to the floor. By the time you have picked up all the shattered ice cubes and refilled the tray, you have completely forgotten about whatever it was you shouldn’t have forgotten about. Probably chicken.

4. Fourth Trip To The Freezer. Just as you are stepping into the kitchen, the stupid woman on the radio stops repeating, ‘Coming up in a few minutes – Test Match Cricket,’ and is replaced by the sound of, ‘Soul Limbo’. Suddenly you are thinking back to the good old days in (circa) 2002 when Michael Bevan smashed you all around Leicestershire and then you were promptly smacked on the head by a Devon Malcolm beamer. Then you stop thinking that it really should have been you playing for England today and go and listen some people who actually can play cricket.

5. Fifth Trip To The Freezer. Washing-up! It’s 12pm and you still haven’t washed the breakfast things. Your Mum might be 140 miles away, but you can’t help but feel she is disappointed in you. You shake your head and do what needs doing. Then you drop an apple on your foot.

6. Sixth Trip To The Freezer. The first thing you see as you walk into the kitchen are your rolls. They have defrosted. That means it must be lunchtime.

7. Seventh Trip To The Freezer. This time there is no stopping you. You are straight in to that freezer and out you come with chicken. It needs to defrost in approximately two hours. Which is why you employ delaying tactics when you are out shopping that evening and why your girlfriend/wife/significant other now thinks you have an unhealthy interest in the style of men’s underwear.

August 27, 2010
7 Reasons That Lampshades Are Stupid

1. Dimness. Lampshades dim the light in a room. You knew that already, but no one ever asks why we want to dim the light in a room. Why do we go to the trouble of installing a light and then surround it with a device that hampers its efficacy? We don’t put semi-transparent curtains in front of our televisions or our fingers in our ears when listening to the radio (except for Talksport listeners) so why do we cock up our lighting? Stupid.

2. Heads. Short people are left in charge of putting lampshades up in their own homes. There should be a law against this. I can’t count the number of times that I’ve banged my head on lampshades in the homes of short people, which is probably a good thing as having the number to hand would make me appear weird. However many times it is though, it is too many. I don’t need another hazard to worry about when I’m concentrating on not falling over their child or treading on their dog.

3. Walls. You go to the trouble of selecting a colour scheme for your living room and then, once it is complete you go and hang a lampshade up: A device which changes the colour of everything in the room, turning your white walls rosy, your blue walls turquoise, your yellow walls brown, and your orange walls red (I am using four different lampshades and rooms in that example, not one. There is no need to panic.) The only wall colour that’s impervious to light filtered through a lampshade is black, which means that only the bedrooms of teenage boys and serial killers are safe from their effects.

4. Art. While we’re on the subject of colour, the damned things change the colour of art too. Try appreciating the subtle use of colour in a print of Manet’s Olympia when it’s bathed in a ghastly light filtered through a green paisley lampshade. Ever seen a lampshade in an art gallery? No, of course you haven’t. Well, unless you’re reading this next year, that is, after I have won the Turner Prize with my latest work entitled Stupid Stupid Stupid, which is a photo-montage of a hairless cat wearing a pair of Crocs balancing atop a green lampshade. (I was being deliberately fanciful when I concocted that artwork, but it actually sounds better than Tracey Emin’s Bed).

5. The Planet. Lampshades are killing our planet. If we had no lampshades then we could use lower wattage light bulbs which consume less power. This means that we’d need to produce less electricity, which would be better for the environment. Think about it: lampshades are actually causing us to use more of the planet’s resources than we otherwise would. For what? If we didn’t have lampshades we could probably use the energy we saved to put electrical lights on trees for a couple of weeks every year. Or perhaps not. That would be ridiculous.

6. Cleanliness. While it is oft said that cleanliness is next to godliness (which seems fair enough), it is never said – until now – that cleanliness is next to lampshades. This is for good reason, as one of the things I have observed when banging my head on many of the things is that copious amounts of dust fall from them when I do so. This is because people don’t clean them. They don’t dust them and they don’t hoover them, which means that the lampshade in the dining room – above your dinner – is covered in lots and lots of bits of dead skin. Yum. Now imagine how much you’ll enjoy your meal if a tall person should accidentally bump the lampshade when sitting down to dine, causing dust to fall on your food. Eating it would not only be unhygienic, it would probably be cannibalism. So there you have it: Lampshades cause cannibalism. I bet you weren’t expecting to learn that today.

7. Stupidity. Lampshades are not merely stupid, they also cause stupidity. Here I am wearing mine.

********************UPDATE********************

I have finished my masterpiece. The 2011 Turner Prize will be mine!

August 26, 2010
7 Reasons Everyone And Everything Should Have Auto-Tune

You don’t have to be interested in the X-Factor to know about autotunegate or whatever it is called. I am the living proof of that. To be honest, I don’t know what all the fuss is about. Auto-tune is good. It makes things bearable. Just think how good life would be if everything and everyone had auto-tune.

1. Annoying Voices. No more high-pitched Joe Pasquale shrieking. No more Andy Murray monotones. No more confusing regional accents. No more chavs. Just a straightforward English accent that everyone can understand.

2. The Monarchy. They are bit like marmite. You either love them or you hate them. Or you are indifferent to them – as I suspect at least 90% of the world’s population is to marmite. I have long thought that the hate for the Monarchy is borne out of their accents. They are well-spoken. Which immediately alienates anyone who pronounces ‘Good Morning’ as ‘Alright fella’. If a member of the Monarchy had auto-tune they would be able to walk into The Tattooed Arms, order a bevy and become darts team captain before the end of the night. ‘Bonnie’ Prince Charlie then really could become the people’s King.

3. Movie Accents. My top three awful movie accents in ascending order. Kevin Costner in Robin Hood. Mickey Rooney in Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. Horrendous. The lot of them. And no, Dick Van Dyke’s cockney does not fall into the category of, ‘so bad it’s quite charming’. It’s not charming. It’s mute-button inducing. And it will always haunt me. Everytime I look at a chimney.

4. Polystyrene. Arrrrrggggggggghhhhhhh! Which git invented a material that not only feels like…erm…polystyrene, but also sounds like Alan Carr on helium when rubbed?*

5. Nails On A Chalkboard. Arrrrrggggggggghhhhhhh! (Again). Auto-tune would turn this into the Intermezzo from ‘Cavalleria Rusticana. Or the theme tune to Postman Pat. Anything really. Just not nails on a chalkboard. Or polystyrene. Or Joe Pasquale. Or Dick Van Dyke. Or Aqua’s Barbie Girl.

6. The French. It’s not the fact that I don’t like them, it’s the fact that whatever is said in a French accent sounds sexy. At no point should, ‘I take the cat and I put it in the bin,’ sound at all sexy. Yet, said with Frenchness, it does. Have a go. (Insert you speaking in a French accent here). See? What you’ve just done is wrong. The French accent should therefore be auto-tuned to English. ‘I take the cat and I put it in the bin,’ will never sound sexy in a Coventry burr.

7. Nuclear Warning Siren. I hope I never get to hear it for real. At least not in the next year. (There’s the Ashes and two world cups for England to win). But just supposing for a minute that I did hear it. There is a fair chance it might be the last thing I ever hear. I therefore want to go out in as relaxed a mood as possible. Not listening to something that sounds like a dolphin being drilled through the eye. The Nuclear Warning Siren should therefore be auto-tuned. Then we can all fall asleep listening to Geri Halliwell being penetrated by a unicorn.

*I can see what you might be thinking here. You have the wrong end of the stick.**

**I can see what you might be thinking here. You’re a pervert.

August 25, 2010