Tag: seven

7 Reasons This Magazine Has Ruined Everything

Somethings in life, you just don’t expect. One such thing was my rejection from the 2011 London Marathon. It’s me, Jon, by the way. Just in case you are my co-writer Marc, and are wondering when the hell you entered the ballot. It’s the fourth time I have entered the ballot and failed. That’s quite unlucky. And for someone who despises failure in all its forms, a horrendous turn of events. I was so sure I was going to get an accepted magazine this year. It was my turn. It was my year. But I didn’t. I got a poxy, ‘Commiserations, your ballot application to run the 2011 Virgin London Marathon has been unsuccessful but there’s still a chance to run…’ magazine. Poxiness. Complete poxiness. And it’s ruined everything.

1. Targets. I work best when I have targets. Something to aim for. A deadline. A tea-break. Dinner. Mainly though, it’s a deadline. When I have a deadline, I know what I have to do. Everything is in front of me. Everything is clear. I can plan, I can re-plan and most of all I get whatever needs to be done, done. The same goes for my running. If I have an event to prepare for, I prepare for it. I have the motivation of a medal – and one of those foil sheets that make me look like a spaceman – awaiting me on the horizon. Without that though, the only thing on the horizon is an old woman waiting for a bus, and between you and me, I can’t be bothered to run all the way over to her. So I don’t. I stay in. And eat a biscuit. And yawn. And scratch. And eat another biscuit. And life sucks. (Apart from the biscuits). So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined motivation.

2. Money. This ‘Commiserations’ magazine is going to cost me a bloody fortune. Which, considering it was free, seems both ironic and calculating. If I had got one of the better ‘Congratulations’ magazines, I would have gone on a health regime. No biscuits; no crisps; no beer; no fun. Quick calculations show that would have saved me at least £15 a week. Multiply that by the twenty-four weeks until the London Marathon actually occurs and we are looking at a minimum of £360. £360! I could have bought 28,800 tea-bags with that! Instead I bought biscuits, crisps and beer. Unbelievable. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined my tea-based caffeine addiction.

3. Trainer Manufacturers. Nike; Adidas; Reebok; Asics; all other running footwear brands. One of them has lost a sale. Actually, probably two sales. If I had been successful in the tombola, I would certainly have invested in a new pair to carry me the 26.2 miles and a spare pair in case the others got dirty. As I’m not even going to be running 26.2 metres, I am not investing. Which means one the sports good manufacturers is not going to achieve as good a turnover as they may have done and as a result someone will no doubt get sacked. Hopefully a Frenchman. That at least will bring me some comfort. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined child labour.*

4. April 17th 2011. This is the date of the London Marathon. A marathon I will not be watching. A marathon I will be avoiding. A marathon that will make me frustrated and tetchy for the whole day. In my frustrated and tetchy state, I will probably be looking for trouble. I will probably want to kick something. And that’s bad news for any living thing. Or, if I choose something more sturdy, my foot. Either way, I’d avoid me. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined next door’s cat.

5. Alternatives. Last year, when I failed to attain ‘congratulatory’ status, I went looking for alternatives. Something else to fill the void that had been left in my life. I found it in the shape of a moustache. Or, more accurately, the shape of Movember. For a whole month, people’s eyes were abused by the sight of a ginger handlebar** adorning my face. And I didn’t enjoy it much either. Due to the London Marathon’s foresight, I may well have to do it again. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined humanity.

6. The Amazon. Not only have the organisers of the 2011 London Marathon upset me, they have also upset a tree. Well, actually, they’ve gone further than just upset it. They’ve beaten it to a pulp. And it’s not just me they’ve let down. It’s 100,000 others too. And that’s a lot of tree. Now, somewhere, in the middle of the Amazon Rainforest, is a clearing they call, ‘Commiseration Place’. And, somewhere, up in the atmosphere, is much more carbon dioxide than there ever should have been. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined the planet.

7. Peaks. My sexual peak was ten years ago – though, for many reasons, that seemed to pass me by. My cricket peak was eight years ago – though, for many reasons, that seemed to last little more than a couple of hours. My writing peak was last week – though, for many reasons, it didn’t equate to much when written down. My running peak is now. Right now. In the year that I am 27. But thanks to the London Marathon, I will not be able to utilise it. Instead I will have to wait until a year/two years/five years/ten years after my running peak to take part. And that’s a long time to rent a deep-sea divers’ suit for. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined peaking.

*Thinking about it, this might be a good thing.

** Sounds more impressive than it was.

October 6, 2010
7 Reasons To Pretend You’ve Been Hypnotised

Now, I’m no expert on hypnosis. I have never been hypnotised. Or at least I don’t think I have. Like I say, I’m no expert so how would I know? But anyway, as I was saying, I have never knowingly been hypnotised. But I have always liked the idea of pretending to have been. Just to, you know, amuse myself. Oh, and because it’s a very useful skill to possess.

1. Chores. It’s a quite brilliant way of getting out of doing them. Touch the vacuum cleaner and pretend to be riding a horse; start the washing up and pretend to be a dolphin who loves soap suds; begin dusting the shelves and pretend you’re a rock climber. You’ll probably wreck the house in the process, but at least you won’t be asked to clean ever again.

2. Paying. At the sound of the word ‘money’, you’re an alien. Obviously. This would work brilliantly in Tesco; on the bus; if your partner mentioned she was going shopping. Expand your eyes, make fish lips and move your head in circular motions. The results will be staggering. The cashier will pay out of their own pocket just to get rid of you, the bus driver will run away and leave you to drive to a destination of your choice and your wife will charge out of the house in a huff. Leaving you to watch Sky Sports all day. Aces!

3. Answers. I’m a man. As a result, I don’t like being asked questions. Not because I don’t like the questioner or indeed the question, but, more often than not, because I don’t like my answer. It’s generally something unimaginative. Or incriminating. Or both. Until now, I hadn’t found a solution. So do check back next week for, 7 Reasons I Shouldn’t Have Answered Every Question By Pretending I Was A Dog.

4. MI5/MI6. I suspect this reason will only apply to a select few of our readers, but I’m sure everyone else will forgive us while we do our duty for Britain. So members of our secret services, just imagine, heaven forbid, that some henchman of an evil empire (including France) has captured you. They’re going to want answers. And you are probably not going to want to give them. If you do the world might explode. Or, even worse, you might get a slap. So what to do? Well, pretending you like a bit of S&M everytime the word ‘torture’ is mentioned should do the trick. Though what trick it is remains to be seen.

5. Charity Workers. I am sure they mean well, or at least one of them does, but they’re just very, very annoying. When I lived in Fulham, walking to the tube station was like negotiating the guantlet on Gladiators. It’s not so much that I didn’t want to adopt a leopard or a granny, it’s more that…okay, I just didn’t want to adopt a leopard or a granny. As a result I used to shout out, ‘Sorry!’ and charge on past. But what if you’re not like me? What if you are an unsuspecting individual and have a habit of walking slowly? You’ll be pounced on. I’m sorry, but you will. Time to pretend to by hypnotised. You could either go one of two ways here. As soon as you see the clipboard you could pretend to be a granny who loves riding leopards – this would scare and confuse in equal measure – or you could pretend that you repeat every question you’re asked. They’ll soon get bored and move out of Fulham altogether.*

6. Drink. An inevitable part of indulging in alcoholic beverages, is that one day you will drink a bit too much. Unless you’re my mum. But you’re not, so listen up. I would never condone it, but being drunk is good fun. Unless you realise you are drunk. As soon as you realise you are drunk you realise you are going to be ill the next day. And as soon as you realise you are going to be ill the next day, you stop enjoying yourself. This is when you need to pretend that you are not drunk, but, in fact, in a wonderful state of hypnosis. You’ll probably believe yourself because you’re drunk. The great news is – apart from maybe finding lampposts strangely attractive – there are no side-effects from hypnosis. This means not being ill the next day. Obviously you will be ill the next day. Even more ill than if you’d stopped enjoying yourself when you realised you were drunk. But at least you won’t have stopped enjoying yourself. And that has to count for something doesn’t it?

7. Party Trick. Parties can be awkward. Especially the kind where one git decides that you should all demonstrate a party trick. 99% of the population don’t have party tricks. Unfortunately, the 1% that do, all seem to be at the party. This is when you need to blag it. And you blag it by hypnotising yourself. Or pretending to. Swing your finger back in front of your eyes and chant something along the lines of, “You are falling into a deep sleep. When I click my fingers you will stand on your head everytime you hear the word ‘superfluous’.” Then you click your fingers. If you are lucky you will be at a party where no one can pronounce ‘superfluous’ and even if they can, you know how to stand on your head. If you don’t, well you’ll probably concuss yourself anyway. And that means sitting in the corner being looked after.

*When you’ve done this please let me know. I left a sock behind when I moved.

October 4, 2010
7 Reasons It’s Not My Fault I Thought He Was A Woman

Today is World Tourism Day and as I couldn’t think of one single reason as to why we should celebrate it, I decided to write about men who I once thought were women instead. So here are 7 men, who to me, were once women. Enjoy.

Josephine Rebecca Rachel Tolkien

1. J.R.R.Tolkien. I have absolutely no idea why I thought Tolkien was a woman. Maybe it was the slightly effeminate font on my copy of The Fellowship Of The Ring or maybe it was something in the tone of voice on the first page. (I don’t think I actually got to page two). Either way, for a good few months I thought John Ronald Reuel Tolkien was in fact Josephine Rebecca Rachel Tolkien. Sorry about that John.

2. Leslie Neilsen. Oh come on. Anyone could make this mistake. Admittedly it may have taken them slightly less than five viewings of Naked Gun to realise that the person who they initially thought was Leslie Nielsen was actually Priscilla Presley, but hey, we all make mistakes.

3. John Denver. How the hell did I think John Denver was a woman? Probably because I thought he was called Joan Denver.

4. Neil Sedaka. I didn’t know the name at the time, I had just heard the song. Laughter In The Rain probably. And, well, he just sounds like a girl doesn’t he?

5. Lily Savage. Yes, seriously. For a good ten minutes, I actually thought Paul O’Grady’s alter-ego – the one who looked like a man and spoke like a man, but wore a dress, heels and wig – was a woman. I was naive. I didn’t know cross-dressers – or as I prefer to call them, perverts – existed. I clearly lived a sheltered childhood. In a house where Lily Savage was on the TV.

6. Ashley Smith. If this name is not familiar to you, then good. One day, in circa 1996, my friend Tom came into school and told a select group of us that he had kissed someone called Ashley the night before. Being the lads we were we ‘high-fived’ and congratulated him on his conquest. As a spotty 13 year-old at the time, I was outwardly happy for him. Inside though, I was full of jealousy. I had never kissed a girl – not properly anyway. I wanted a go. (Frustratingly, I would have to wait another four years for that particular delight to occur. And even then, I am not entirely sure she knew much about it). But anyway, I digress. We were very happy for Tom and he seemed very happy for himself. Then Tom went ten-pin bowling. And he invited a few of his friends along too. Including me. And Ashley. And that was when I realised Tom was gay.

7. The Stylistics. Okay, so this is more a group, than a singular person, but the theme still remains. I still thought they were women. And you can’t blame me. I’ve tried many an implement in many a painful place to try and get my voice that high. Cricket bats, clothes pegs, garden rakes, soldering irons (not on purpose), next door’s cat. You name it, I’ve tried it. But to no avail. I just can’t sound like The Stylistics.

September 27, 2010
7 Reasons foursquare And I Are Over

If you have been a reader of 7 Reasons for a while now, you may remember that at the beginning of August, I (that’s me, Jon) decided to sign up to the new social media kid on the block that is foursquare. It didn’t start too well and as you may recall I predicted foursquare and I were going to have a tricky relationship. Now, I’m sure you’ve been wondering how on earth we are getting on. Well, seven weeks on, we catch up with myself and foursquare to find out.

1. Neglect. To be fair, there has been little contact or indeed effort from either party. I haven’t logged into my foursquare account once since I joined and foursquare hasn’t once bothered emailing me to ask why I have not logged into my account since I joined. Evidently we both have better things to do with our time. I certainly do. Playing with my hair etc.

2. Affair. We both had one. In fact, for the past seven weeks I have been having regular threesomes with twitter and facebook. They seem to like it and I feel strangely clean about the whole thing, so it’s win win. You may have a different point of view, but before you judge me and accuse me of being dirty, may I remind you that foursquare has three million users plugged into her. Potentially all at the same time.

3. Financial Resentment. It’s not that fact that I mind foursquare being worth $80 million – which on latest calculations is just quite a way over $79 million more than I am – it’s the fact that they flaunt it. ‘Woohoo!’ they shout. ‘Come and invest in me!’ There is just no need for it. I don’t go running up and down the street shouting, ‘Woohoo! Come and pay off my student loan!’ do I? No, I don’t. I’d get some very funny looks from some very funny looking cats.

4. Bullying. This one is on me. I put the foursquare app into my iPhone social media folder – yes, I have one of those because I am a hipster – and then I teased it. By this I don’t mean I played hide and seek with it – although I suppose I did in a way everytime I put my phone in my pocket – but I kept hovering my finger over it and then chose twitter or facebook instead. Did I feel bad? Not really. The foursquare icon never said, ‘Touch me baby’. Aesthetically speaking.*

5. Nagging. Not by me. But by foursquare. It forever wanted to know where I was. ‘What are you doing? Where are you doing it? Why are you doing it? How are you doing it? Oooh, I wouldn’t have done it like that’. Just shut up and go away. This is my life and I will do whatever I like, where I like it, for seven of my own reasons, in a manner I feel happy with. Unless my girlfriend or my mum tell me otherwise.

6. Sexual Incompatibility. I won’t go into this too much, but I was rubbish. To be honest, my heart wasn’t in it. And, if it was, I’d have been doing it very, very wrong indeed. I know that much.

7. Realisation. Mark Zuckerburg. You know the guy, he created that facebook thing. Last week his company opened up the world of ‘places’ for all facebook users. So now we can tell all of our ‘friends’ just where we are. As a result I now know when friend A is at work, when friend B is on the platform at a certain train station and when friend C is on the toilet. Quite frankly, this is all too much information. And it is exactly the kind of thing foursquare specializes in. As disappointing as this will sound, the truth is, I really don’t care where you are or what you’re doing – unless you owe me a lot of money. And to be honest, I only have time not to care once. Consequently I have decided not to care via the medium of facebook and thus shall be shutting my foursquare account down with immediate effect.

*My finest oxymoron yet.

September 23, 2010
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
7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up

1. Carrie Grant Never Smokes A Pipe. Nor has she ever held one for artistic purposes.

2. Cary Grant Never Leant On A Piano. Nor did he have breasts.

3. Carrie Grant Has Never Been Shot At By A Plane. Nor would she enjoy the prospect.

4. Cary Grant Never Got Dressed In A Powercut. Nor was he invited to the premiere of Twilight.

5. Carrie Grant Never Got Her Hands On Grace Kelly’s Chicken Legs. Nor did Grace Kelly make her an origami swan.

6. Cary Grant Never Had A Strange Man’s Hand Down His Trousers. Nor has he ever been David Grant’s puppet.

7. Carrie Grant Never Put Her Arm Around Audrey Hepburn. Nor did Audrey Hepburn feel Carrie Grant’s nipple.

August 13, 2010
7 Reasons This Poster Frustrates Me So

1. It’s Quicker By Rail. I’m sure it was, 75 years ago. Sadly, given the fact that my last foray on a train took a good deal longer than it took Neil Armstrong to get to the moon, I would suggest times have changed. And not for the better. It’s frustrating that this poster would now have to say, ‘It’s Quicker By Rail (Unless You Meet A Cow)’.

2. It Oozes Frenchness. This isn’t my usual anti-France and all things French rant, in fact, it’s made me think of Grace Kelly. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, unless you happen to be writing this in front of your girlfriend. Now, I’ll be the first to acknowledge that Grace Kelly isn’t French – or at least a close second behind her – but in the film To Catch A Thief, she did spend an awful lot of time poncing around with Cary Grant on the French Riviera. And frustratingly, this picture reminds me of that poncing. And if there are two things I can’t stand, it’s poncing and the French. Together.

3. The Woman. While the man looks like he’s a man, the woman looks like a statue. It’s disappointing for those of us who take female equality so seriously. You would never find 7 Reasons being so vindictive. That’s why, at all times, 50% of us are strictly male lesbians.

4. Visit Scarborough. It looks quite nice in the poster. If I had been alive back in 1927, I may have got on the train. Unfortunately, having found a photo of its current state and transposed it over the poster, I can see that it hasn’t really changed much. Which is why I now have little option but to pay the £108.40 and take the 5 hour 40 minute journey (plus cows).

5. Chivalry. I am naïve. I believe it when the older generation say, ‘it wasn’t like this in my day’. They are usually talking about manners. Or sex. But that was the wrong club at the wrong time, so really it’s just manners. People used to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, though not necessarily at the same time, and men with walking sticks would most definitely offer them to women with bad backs. Sadly, though this poster indicates that in fact man couldn’t care less. Which means the older generation have lied to me. Either that or this woman is in fact a statue.

6. It’s Joe. This man is Joe Scarborough. He’s the host of Morning Joe on MSNBC. In a past life he was also a politician. The only reason I know this is because I found numerous pictures of him while searching for a photo for Reason 4. Rather frustratingly, forever more, I will hold this useless piece of information about Joe Scarborough in my mind. No doubt at the expense of some fascinating fact about sausages.

7. The Man. He reminds me of Piers Morgan. And I’m not sure why. Which means it’s doubly frustrating. And as doubly frustrating things tend to do, they will no doubt occupy my mind for the rest of the day. Which in turn, of course, means I will be dreaming about Piers bloody Morgan tonight. Thank you BBC News Magazine. Not what I call a public service.

August 10, 2010
7 Reasons Whitstable Is A Bit Strange

I don’t know. Maybe I caught the place on a bad day, but my goodness, there are some strange people there. I mean really, really strange.

1. The Conversations. “Have you heard from your friends in Iceland?” “Oh, well not since the last time.”

2. The Stall Owners. “Would you like a picnic?” As chat-up lines go, this is quite forward. No introductions. Just straight in there, “Would you like a picnic?” I replied no, at which point the stall owner said, “Peppermint! Why did I say picnic?” She then stared at me. For far too long.

3. The Fish & Chip Shop Queue. Apparently, Whitstable adheres to the philosophy that states, ‘if you see a queue, get in it’. That would explain why I spent ten minutes standing behind two people who had absolutely no intention of buying fish. Or chips. Or even one of those small wooden forks. Idiots.

4. The Weird Family. A mother who screams when attacked by fake wasps and chucks drink down her top. A son who runs slower than he walks. Another son who gets in a strop and starts throwing stones towards his family. A father who sits down and bends the wooden bench. A youngest son who keeps going on about seeing a King Charles Spaniel. And when I say he keeps going on about it, I mean on and on and on and on. And on. Just shut up already! It’s a dog. Not a bloody Tyrannosaurus Rex.

5. The Dogs. There are millions of them. And not a single one gave me a whiff out of courtesy. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I wanted a dog to give me a whiff, it’s just that they usually do. As a rule, dogs do not like me. And because of this rule they usually attack me. What is wrong with Whitstable’s dogs?

6. The Mens. I don’t want to spoil anyone’s breakfast here, but Whitstable, it would appear, has the worst designed urinal in the world. And yes, urinal. Singular. Just one. Hidden round the corner from the entrance. That of course means any unsuspecting visitor would automatically assume there were a whole raft of urinals inside. And so in they wander. Only to be confronted by an old fella being held by an old fella.

7. The Holiday-Makers. You know when Daniel Craig walked out of the water in Casino Royale and 65% of the female population went a bit weak at the knees? Well, every single holiday-maker in Whitstable seems to think they are Daniel Craig. And as a result I felt weak in the stomach.

August 9, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons Dolphins Are The Physical Embodiment Of Evil

The 7 Reasons sofa tour of the USA takes another break this week as we head back to Blighty. Desperately in need of tea (Jon) and coffee (Marc) we have parked up in Manchester. By pure coincidence this also happens to be the home of perennial 7 Reasons guest writer, Liz Gregory. Luckily we arrive whilst Liz is tackling dolphins. Not literally of course, just literarily. I’m sure you do it already, but here is a reminder that you can read Liz’s work more regularly over at Things To Do In Manchester.

Cute, friendly creatures, right? WRONG. Dolphins are plotting the destruction of the human race, and it’s only a matter of time before an episode of Dr Who documents this possibility. Here’s why:

1. Too Intelligent By Half. Dolphin-supporters are keen to hold up cleverness as a reason to admire these marine menaces rather than fear them. But honestly, if you were that clever, would you be satisfied with jumping through hoops for treats? No, thought not.

2. Horrid Sinister Curly Mouth. I can always tell when my husband has misbehaved or is telling fibs because his mouth goes curly at the edges. Dolphins’ mouths do this ALL THE TIME, because they are plotting ALL THE TIME.

3. Sinister Clicking Noises. I accept that all creatures communicate in their own way, but why that communication system has to involve a series of unpleasant clicks and whirring is beyond me. Either talk properly, or be quiet.

4. That Episode Of The Simpsons. “Night of the Dolphin” aired in 2000 to great rejoicing from the anti-dolphin community, because it showed the truth: interfering Lisa frees a load of dolphins from an aquatic park and they repay her faith by taking over the world. That’s because they want WORLD DOMINATION, and you can’t say you weren’t warned about this ten years ago.

5. Too Keen To Befriend The Human Race. Aah, how lovely – dolphins are always quick to swim alongside humans in the sea, no doubt in a bid to bond and strike up cross-species friendships. No – they want to rob you, and have yet to work out that humans don’t carry money, phones or keys in swimwear. Not so clever now, eh?

6. Too Many Friends In The Sea, Big Ones. The dolphins are undoubtedly the brains beyond the aquatic world domination plan, but obviously they need a bit of muscle behind them. And have you seen how big those whales are? They’ll be the ones blocking the doors when the dolphins storm the Houses of Parliament.

7. Retractable Legs, Probably. You may scoff, and point out that we will always be safe from the snub-nosed ones because they are rubbish on land, what with having no legs and all. I have one thing to say to this: you didn’t think Daleks could go up stairs either, did you?

So remember: stay away from the water, lock all your doors, and NEVER wave a hoop at a dolphin – they have VERY long memories. Click, click, whir.

August 7, 2010
7 Reasons They Treat Me With Suspicion In The Pharmacy

My girlfriend asked me to pick a prescription up for her. Oh dear.

1. The Set-Up. ‘Hello,’ I say, ‘I’ve come to pick a prescription up for my girlfriend’. ‘Okay,’ the pharmacist replies. This is good. I had worried the pharmacist might treat me with suspicion. But men picking up prescriptions for their girlfriends is obviously something he sees a lot. ‘What’s the name?’ he asks me. ‘Claire Elizabeth Quinn,’ I say. Or at least that is what I meant to say. Instead I can’t quite get the words out and end up saying, ‘Clar Lizabet Queen’. ‘Pardon,’ he replies, now viewing me with slight suspicion.

2. The Name. I know my girlfriend’s name. I know it off by heart. I have said it hundreds of times. I should just say it again. I can do that. Only I don’t. I actually look at the piece of paper I have in my hand and read from it. I am reading my girlfriend’s name out! I am acting as if I don’t know her! I look up and the pharmacist is looking at me. He is actually looking right at me. As if I’m a bit insane. Either that or as if I am someone trying to pick up drugs that aren’t mine.

3. The Search. After what seems like a five minute pause, the Pharmacist starts looking for the prescription. And he keeps looking. And he keeps looking. But he can’t find it! He turns back to me. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking, ‘Is this guy genuine?’ But what is worse, he knows, that I know, that he is thinking, ‘Is this guy genuine?’. I shuffle uncomfortably.

4. The Pharmacist’s Assistant. The pharmacist calls for back-up. It appears in the form of a woman from behind me. I hadn’t even seen her when I walked in. Was she hiding? Was she a body language expert? Could she identify a prescription stealer just by looking at someone’s shoulders? Oh, this is stupid. Why am I feeling conscious? I really am Clar Lizabet Queen’s boyfriend. ‘Just a minute,’ she says to me. Oh my goodness! She’s going to call the police!

5. The Address. But she doesn’t call the police. Instead she shouts out from a room to the back of the pharmacy, ‘What’s the address?’ Oh no! What’s the address? I can’t remember the address! I can’t remember my address! I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. ‘Stay calm’, I tell myself, ‘just focus’. I take a deep breath, open my mouth and give her my address. It’s definitely the right address. I’m sure it’s the right address. I think.

6. The Wait. But then all there is silence. No confirmation that I had indeed named my address correctly. Just silence. And then the pharmacist goes to the back of the shop and suddenly I am alone. And the silence is all around me. What are they doing? I look around. I see women’s things. The pharmacy is full of women’s things! Thankfully the pharmacist’s assistant reappears. ‘It won’t be a minute,’ she says. ‘Thanks,’ I reply. But I’m not really thankful because she has gone to her place of hiding in the front of the shop again and I can feel her staring into my back.

7. The Handover. Eventually the pharmacist himself appears and hands me the prescription. But I can tell he’s still not sure. He’s still not sure about me. He’s loathed to hand it over to me. It seems ever-so-slightly like it’s stuck to his hand. I feel bad snatching it from him. I give him my thanks and leave the pharmacy. My walk home turns into a jog. I hide in the garden.

August 4, 2010