Those of you who watch the news may well have seen that a bull ran amok in the Brazilian town of Sao Jose do Rio Preto last Friday. Eventually it got stuck in a clothes shop and was recaptured by a man with a bit of rope. While on this occasion the bull caused damage and forced a shop worker to hide in a toilet, a bull loose in the city isn’t always a bad thing. In fact it could be very effective. Here’s why:
1. Slow People. It staggers me the amount of people who walk around at a snails pace. Are these people so out of touch that they don’t know there is a massive Facebook campaign encouraging slow moving people to be punched in the back of the head? Obviously, no one has done this as it would be seen as GBH. Letting a bull loose in the city though is a highly legitimate method of making these people get a shift on.
2. Cheap Demolition. There are always areas of cities that could do with a lick of paint. And there are areas of cities – or, in the case of Bradford, whole cities – that should just be knocked down so something vaguely attractive can be built instead. Bringing in a demolition team is expensive. Bringing in a bull is cheap. And, given the fact that it won’t stop for tea every five minutes, a damn sight quicker.
3. China. Tired of idioms that may or may not be factually accurate? I know I am. I am particularly tired of the idiom, ‘he’s like a bull in a china shop’. I have never seen a bull in a china shop. Are we absolutely sure he is going to cause carnage as opposed, to say, purchasing a tea set? Does a bull even like china shops? Letting a bull loose in the city will confirm or destroy this idiom forever.
4. Muppets. From idioms to idiots. This might be news to you as much as it was to me yesterday when I was doing my 7 Reasons research. Each year in the Spanish city of Pamplona, as part of the San Fermin festival, bulls are let free to run through the city. And if you don’t think that’s odd, wait until I tell you that men try and out run them. Men try and out run them. Exactly, ridiculous. Take a look at this:
So, I propose that by letting a handful of bulls loose in the city the idiots among us will be routed out. These people are more dangerous than the bulls.
5. Curfew. Last week I went to a pub where I saw a man with an ankle tag. Apart from immediately knowing I was in the wrong pub, I questioned whether he should be at home in bed. It was gone 7pm after all. The response he gave me wasn’t one I can share with you, but let’s just say he didn’t leave right then and there. It would have been different if I had been a bull. Or I had a bull with me. Or, even better, I wasn’t there at all but the bull was. A bull would police curfews without any issues whatsoever. In this case the Police would turn up, question as to why this man used a bull to remove his ankle tag and send him back to prison. The place where he should have been all along. His reckless snapping of my skateboard was bang out of order.
6. Chuggers. I want them gone. The lot of them.
7. Advertising. I am a little bit surprised they haven’t thought of this already, but this is probably the greatest idea Red Bull have never had. The Red Bull Lottery. This is how it works. Forty-nine bulls are spray-painted in the Red Bull colours and then each given a number. They are dropped off on one side of the city and encouraged to rampage to a big net on the other. The first six Red Bulls that reach the net form the Red Bull Lottery numbers. The winner of the lottery will be given the other forty-three bulls. Once he/she has found them. Genius.
With the whole 7 Reasons team suffering from Ashes fever, it should come as no surprise that we can find inspiration in one of our favourite sporting events. We have to really. Nothing else is happening in our lives at the moment*. Today’s inspiration comes courtesy of Australian batsman, Michael Clarke, who earlier today smacked the cover off the ball, was caught by England’s Bradman* *and then hovered around the pitch for a while before not walking. Later, via twitter, he graciously apologised for not walking. Which got us thinking. Or one of us anyone. Why else should we apologise for not walking? Here are the results:
1. The Olympic Racewalk. Whether you decide to run in this event or get a bus, you are going to get disqualified. And that means letting your country down. And possibly wasting £2 if you choose the bus option. It’s disappointing behaviour and can only be rectified with a humbling apology. Unless you don’t get caught. In which case, nice one!
2. Stopping. If there is one thing worse than people who walk slowly, it is people who walk slowly and then stop right in front of you without any pre-warning. Idiots. We then have to take evasive action which involves stepping into the road in front of a cement mixer or going into Poundland. For that sense of paralysis we feel when we see horror unfold in front of us, we want an apology. And three rolls of masking tape. Espcially as they’re only a pound. Bargain.
3. Library. A place for quiet contemplation. You can’t be a quiet contemplater if you’re running around the library or driving your small motorbike. And it’s also pretty annoying for everyone else who has come in to get out of the rain. When the librarian says, ‘Ssssh!!!’, you shout, ‘SORRY!’.
4. Cyclists. This is a pavement. It was designed for walking/parking on. It was not designed for cycling on. There are cycle lanes for that. Or gyms. Get off your bike and apologise. Then get on your bike and ignore some traffic lights.
5. The Ozone Layer. If you are within walking distance of your destination, you should be walking. Getting in the car melts icebergs. And polar bears can’t swim for that long. So if you do insist on not walking, I recommend apologising before you set off and saying a small prayer on arrival. It won’t save the polar bear, but it will make you feel better.
6. Supermarket. Trolley rage is caused by one of two things. A wonky wheel or some muppet jogging around Tesco in a mankini searching for the cucumbers. A supermarket is not a place for mankinis and it is certainly not a place for jogging in them. No one wants to see that while deciding what to have for dinner. Apologise. Immediately. And then cover yourself up with a parsnip.
7. Captives. Historically, if a pirate had captured you – and I don’t mean you personally, you’d probably remember that – it was very bad form to refuse to walk the plank. Not only did pirates have to find another way to get rid of you, but the sharks that had been following for three hours went hungry. The least one should have done is apologise. And then used the plank to make a small desk.
*This only applies to Marc.***
**We’re disappointed if you had to read this. To give you a clue though, we’re referring to Alastair Cook.
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. ThePants. 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.
1. It’s the M4. What sort of road is that to start on? Surely logic would dictate that you build up to it? B roads to A roads to motorways. And then you wouldn’t start on the M4 would you? It would go M1, M2, M3 then M4. Fail to prepare, prepare to get arrested.
2. Breakdown Cover. The AA and the RAC don’t provide cover for golf buggies. Which means if you get stuck between junctions you have got to push the thing bloody miles. That is not good news for your back.
3. Speed. Or should that be the lack of? A golf buggy, while apparently quite nippy zooming over the fairways, is in fact quite slow when placed next to the more roadworthy vehicle. Slow cars cause road rage. Slow golf buggies cause bent putters.
4. England Calling. So assuming you get on the M4 in Wales – which I understand is very feasible – you could well end up heading into England. There is nothing wrong with this of course – it is the greatest country in the world after all – but then you’d need to get back. And that means you have to pay the toll to get back over the bridge. What is so dangerous about that? Well quite a lot when the barrier crashes down before you have managed to get your foot on the accelerator. Golf balls everywhere.
5. Weather. If there is one design feature the standard golf buggy lacks, it is windscreen wipers. Oh, and a windscreen. If it starts raining or snowing you are not only going to freeze, but you will also struggle to see. And no, goggles do not help. If you end up stuck in a field you should think yourself very lucky.
6. Beverage holders. There aren’t any. Another epic design failure. The chances are if you are driving a golf buggy up the motorway you have somewhere to go. As we have already established you are not going to be going where you want to go very quickly and you are also going to freeze to death. The sensible option in these circumstances is to buy a hot drink and hold it between your thighs. That’s a health and safety issue right there.
7. Lights. Unless you have stolen a top of the range model, there aren’t any lights on the front of your buggy. Which means you are going to have to use the torch facility on your phone. This of course means you will be driving one handed with a mug of boiling soup between your thighs and a Police car roaring up the road behind you. In such circumstances people have been known to panic. Panicking makes you do rash things. You might chuck your phone under a lorry or something.
