Tag: TEA

7 Reasons Being Left-Handed Is Not All It’s Cracked Up To Be

The two of you who read Friday’s post will know that Saturday was Left-Handers’ Day. To join in with the fun I decided that I would be an honorary left-hander for the day. How hard could it be? The problem was, by the time I had remembered I was supposed to be being left-handed for the day, I had already been right-handed for six hours. It didn’t really seem right to do a half-hearted job so I vowed to be a left-hander on Sunday instead. Only, I forgot. Again. So I wrote myself a note. On Monday I would be a left-hander. And I was. This is my story.

1. Tea. A disaster. From start to finish. Usually I am programmed to pour with my left hand and stir with my right. Having rewired myself – while the pouring was just as effective – the stirring was abysmal. I just couldn’t get into a rhythm. Tea was sloshing over the side. Across the work-surface. Onto the floor. And then there was the flicking off the tea-bag into the bin using the spoon. I missed the bin. I suspect you’re thinking it couldn’t get any worse? Sadly, it did. By the time I had finished we seldom had half a cup of tea between us. Shocker.

2. Writing Freehand Stylee. I made a few phone calls yesterday. That’s nothing new. I often like to leave answerphone messages for myself so I feel loved. Yesterday though I actually called some people who weren’t, never have and never will be me. I didn’t tell them though, it would have been bad for their morale. I used my left-hand to key in the number and hold the phone to my ear. This wasn’t a problem. During the course of the first call though it became abundantly obvious that I needed to make some notes. It’s at the point that I should have probably given up, used my right-hand and pretended this entire episode never occurred. But, dear reader, that would not be fair on you. If there is one thing we are on 7 Reasons, it is honest. So for your benefit I carried on in my pursuit of left-handed glory. I held the phone between my left-shoulder and left-ear and wrote with my left-hand. The result of all this is that I have a meeting on Thursday morning. Not that you would know unless you were hacking my phone at the time.

3. Application Of Cosmetics. On Sunday I got burnt by the vicious Kent 20 degrees sunshine. So come yesterday I was giving Sitting Bull a run for his money. As a result I needed to up the moisture levels of the affected areas using the various lotions and potions I could find lying around the house. Sadly for you I didn’t go for the tomato salsa. Instead I used Vaseline’s Essential Moisture Daily Body Lotion. It’s a tremendous product and I heartily recommend it. Applying it to my face with my left-hand was a doddle. I only wish I had recorded it for a ‘How To’ video on YouTube. Then came the difficult part. Tradition would have it that I apply moisture to my left arm using my right hand. I am sure you can work out what I had to do. The result was not only highly ineffective it also made me look as if I was doing The Funky Gibbon. Only it wasn’t funky and I didn’t have the Steve Wright intro or the future prospect of shrinking like Bill Oddie. Is it really possible to shrink about twenty inches while working with Kate Humble?

4. Mice. Having made half a cup of tea, written something even MI5 would struggle to decipher and performed an impromptu display of Swan Lake on acid, you would have thought not much more could go wrong. That’s when I tuned the computer on and realised I would have to bring the mouse to the other side of the keyboard. After an hour I was fairly proficient in keeping the cursor on the screen. Remembering which finger to click with though is something I never got used to. I was in and out of the recycle bin more times than a school-child watching Blue Peter. I also ended up watching Vanilla’s 1997 smash-hit No Way No Way. I’m still not entirely sure how.*

5. Lunch. Not difficult as such, just dangerous. Knives and Jonathan Lee don’t mix at the best of times. Throw in the fact that I was cutting left-handed while performing The Funky Gibbon in a sunburnt state to the rhythmic beats of Vanilla’s No Way No Way and it’s the kind of thing only a sick pervert would want to witness. As it happened he only stayed for the first half.

6. Photography. The more observant of you will note that every post on 7 Reasons is accompanied by a photo. Most of the time we just borrow one from Google Images, but on the odd occasion we carefully craft our own. Today’s photo – as I would hope you have guessed – is a first edition Lee. It seemed silly to write about my triumphs as a left-hander and then use someone else’s work to highlight it. Which is why I took the photo above. Never would I have thought using a camera would be an issue for a left-hander. But of course it is. I don’t know, maybe lefties actually use their right index finger and right thumb to press the various buttons and change settings? I guess it would make sense. Unfortunately for me though, 7 Reasons rarely makes sense. As such I used solely my left-hand to take the photo above. Twenty-three attempts it took me to finally take one that was both in focus and actually featured anything other than the floor.

7. Writing Keyboard Stylee. Having found six of my seven reasons in such quick time, I began to write this post yesterday afternoon. That brought with it its own problems. When you look at this post and compare it with Marc’s essays, you would wager that this post took far fewer hours to write. Oh how wrong could you be? Very actually. The whole point of being left-handed for the day was to use my left hand when on all other days of the year I use my right. As such my right hand went to the left-half of the keyboard and my left to the right. Three hours later this is the result.

*Honestly, I’m not. You have to believe me.

August 16, 2011
7 Reasons The London 2012 Olympic Medal Isn’t Very British

A year today the XXX Olympiad will be declared open in London. Today – for reasons I have failed to establish – Britain is celebrating this fact. As part of these celebrations, the medal which will be awarded to winners (as well as first and second losers) has been unveiled. The gold version looks like this:

Now, I know what you are thinking. It’s not very British. Which is why we here at 7 Reasons have designed seven alternatives.

1. Weather. Despite our recent protestations it does seem that the vast majority of Britons love the weather. And certainly, if you ask a foreigner, they’ll say we are absolutely obsessed with it. So why didn’t we celebrate that?

2. Chavs. I can’t say I’m a massive fan, but chavs as fundamental a part of British society as Morecambe & Wise, fish & chips and Andrew Strauss’ jock-strap.

3. Tea. For some bizarre and unfathomable reason one half of the 7 Reasons team doesn’t drink tea. I dare say he also harbours a deep desire to be French. Still, we can’t go around catering for one misinformed individual. The fact is, tea is British (possibly via China) and Britishness is tea. And we should have celebrated it.

4. Royalty. Another very British trait is our love for the Royal Family. At least it is if you ask an American. Goodness knows how they’d react if they ever met a Republican. Of all the Royals though, there is particular fondness and admiration for the Queen. Which is why this medal celebrates Freddie Mercury’s moustache.

5. Queue. Unlike the French who riot (or go on strike) if someone beats them to a till, us Brits love a good queue. We could be in it for hours and not even stifle a yawn. We’ll be dealt with eventually. Just bide your time Britain, bide your time. And wear a queuing medal.

6. Pride. We don’t moan, we don’t complain, we don’t sulk. We just suck in the big ones, take it on the chin and carry on. That is the British way. Which is why we’d have liked to have seen Usain Bolt wearing a medal that depicts Leslie Ash’s stiff upper lip.

7. Beer. When the day is done and the battle has been won, there is nothing that hits the spot quite like a warm beer with a massive head.

July 27, 2011
7 Reasons Not To Have A Staring Contest With The BBC One Ident Hippo

For one reason – which is why it doesn’t qualify for this site – I had to live pause the TV last night so that Claire and I could watch The Apprentice together. I paused the TV when the Hippo ident was showing. The exact point at which I paused is shown below. Knowing that I had at least fifteen minutes before I could press play, I had a choice. Start the ironing or have a staring contest with the hippo. I chose the latter. This is my story (of why it was a stupid idea).

1. Winning. From the moment I even contemplated staring at the hippo I knew I was going to lose. The only way I could have won is if we had had a power cut. (An unlikely scenario unless I was to attack the fuse box with a cucumber). And yet, despite being fully aware of the highly probable outcome, I still entered the battle. It was pointless, it was a waste of time and I was always going to finish second. Or last. Whichever didn’t come first really. For someone who enjoys winning it was a bizarre and futile decision that did me no favours. When the inevitable did happen a little bit of my aura had been destroyed. I’m was no longer the man I once was. So if you are ever tempted, don’t do it. You’ll never be the same again.

2. Distractions. A couple of minutes into the contest my phone rang. Now, even if I don’t answer my phone, I nearly always look at the display to see who I am going to ignore. It’s a habit. While on this occasion I was strong enough to ignore it, my mind was no longer on the job in hand. It was on who might be calling me. Was it Claire saying she’d be longer than she initially thought? Was it my Mum wondering where the rest of her Mother’s Day present was? Was it Marc wanting to sell me a baby? To this very minute I am not sure if my line of vision flinched towards my phone or not. It’s impossible to say. What I do know is, it did me no favours. When you are staring at a Hippo – especially a picture of one on the TV – you have to be in the zone and you have to stay in the zone. Distractions are zone killers.

3. Fish. I gave myself the benefit of the doubt. I told myself that my line of vision had not altered and so, if I was able, I may re-enter the zone. And, after a few minutes, that is what happened. I know this is what happened because my focus began to drift. The hippo was now a blurred hippo. And then the blurred hippo wasn’t a hippo at all. It was a fish. A fish in side-profile. A scary fish in side-profile. I mean this thing was ugly. It had a pair of lips Leslie Ash would have been proud of and a scaly body that reminded me of this. I am not sure this will work for you – in fact I am not sure I want it to work for you – but if you have a spare ten minutes just stare at the hippo above. If you’re unlucky the fish should appear across the lop of the hippo’s head. The lips appear in the hippo’s right eye if that helps.

4. Guilt. Having rid myself of visions of Piers Morgan and Leslie Ash’s illegitimate child, I then experienced severe pangs of guilt. The hippo was drowning. I had done that. I had paused the hippo and made him tread water. Twelve hours on I am pretty sure he wasn’t drowning at all. I am pretty sure this was pre-recorded footage and all I had done was paused its progress. But at the time, when you’ve been staring at a hippo for approximately thirteen minutes, that type of rational thought doesn’t enter your mind. You really do feel like a hippo murderer.

5. Terror. This is when you realise that the hippo is staring back at you. And he looks angry. Probably because you have made him tread-water for fifteen minutes. He also looks a bit like a crocodile with his nostrils protruding from the water. And that’s when you start panicking. Are you actually on BBC One? Are you sure you’re not watching – and recording – Animal Planet? Do you even have the Animal Planet channel? Is there even a channel called Animal Planet? So, yes. Staring at a hippo for too long makes you go mad. Really quite mad.

6. Visions. When Claire eventually arrived beside me on the sofa and gave me an opportunity to end my ordeal, I realised it wouldn’t be over for a little while longer. All the staring at a bright screen in an otherwise dark environment left me looking through those annoying colour blotches that you are only supposed to get when your eyes are closed. As one does in such circumstances I shut my eyes to try and get rid of them. This didn’t work. Instead I was faced with a vision of the hippo. In sort of a yellow and red mosaic. A mosaic that slowly began to disperse. Which is when I decided I was through and settled back to watch The Apprentice. With the occasional appearance from a fish.

7. Tea. I can barely bring myself to write the words. It went cold.

May 12, 2011
7 Reasons That Gin is Never Wrong

It was my friend Jen’s birthday on Sunday. She was drinking gin. Via the medium of Facebook she suggested that I write 7 Reasons Why Gin is Never Wrong. I didn’t like that idea at all, but I found inspiration in it. So here are 7 Reasons That Gin is Never Wrong. Thanks Jen.

1. Gin Is Good For You. Gin contains all five of your five-a-day. Have a (large) gin and tonic, and there’s a portion of lime. Follow it with a martini, and there’s an olive. Have a few more martinis, and there’s some more olives (plus a few twists of lemon if you’re on a health drive). Then make a Pimm’s (the number 1 cup is gin-based) and lemonade and you’ve got a drink with the remainder of the fruit bowl plus a salad in it. That’s all of your five-a-day. You don’t even need to wash the salad because…

2. Gin Is Better For You Than Water. It’s true! Gin is medicinal. In eighteenth century Britain, the water contained all sort of nasties; cholera, typhus (and other bad things that I vaguely remember studying at college and don’t have time to research now. You’ll just have to take my word for it that water is bad.) and it was actually safer to drink the gin. So that’s what people did until the government rather meanly halted unlicensed production. If you consume your salad in your gin, it’ll be healthier than if you washed it. Probably.

3. Gin Is Logical. When people drink gin, it brings out their better natures and they usually do the most logical thing. Let’s look at what people do when they drink gin at home. They sometimes go online and shop (I’m sure we’ve all done it). And when they shop under gin’s good influence, they always buy the right thing. A pirate hat; a sports-car; a giant Anglepoise lamp are the sorts of things that people buy when in gin. When sober, however, people buy monumentally dull things such as ink-cartridges, socks and salad spinners. And who would – deep down, in their heart of hearts – rather have an ink-cartridge than a pirate hat? And no one has ever, in the annals of human history, drunk too much gin and purchased a salad spinner. That’s because gin makes you buy the right thing.

4. You Can Never Win An Argument With Gin. It’s a fearsome opponent. Argue with it and it will just stonewall you. Every time. You can rant, you can shout, you can be as incisive and logical as you like but you will never, ever win. Its silence will overwhelm any argument and make you look rather foolish. It will, however, clear you a nice space at the bar and prevent people from engaging you in conversation. On balance though, you shouldn’t argue with gin.

5. You Can Never Win A Fight With Gin. If arguing with it hasn’t worked, you shouldn’t consider fighting it either. If you start a fight with gin, it’ll just hurt your hand or slip from your grasp, depending on whether it’s bottled or not. And you’ll look silly. I once saw a man in a park get into a spat with a bottle of fortified wine and – despite his commendable footwork and really rather impressive growling – he came second best and ended up out cold in a flower-bed. And that was only fortified wine. Gin is twice as strong as that.

6. Gin Has Anti-Gravity Properties. Gravity is, on the whole, a good thing. It stops us hurtling backwards when we sneeze and prevents our ceilings from becoming cluttered, but it has its drawbacks: If you ever trip or stumble, beastly gravity will attempt to hurl you at the nearest horizontal surface, usually the floor (though occasionally a table and once, in my case, a canal) and it will hurt. Gin counteracts this. With the correct amount of gin within you, should gravity suddenly strike, you will feel no pain. Nor will you be concerned about any indignity arising from a brush with gravity. In a straight fight, gin beats gravity.

7. Gin Propagates The Species. When people drink gin in public, they make often passes at other people. Has anyone ever made a pass at you in a tea-house? No, probably not. Has anyone ever made a pass at you in a bar (where there is gin)? Yes, almost certainly. So, there you go. If it weren’t for gin, we’d have no children. Which, ironically, would obviate one of the main causes of drinking. But gin consumption is a necessary device for the continued existence of humankind: Now go forth and drink gin, you know it makes sense.

April 19, 2011
Russian Roulette Sunday: The Stats Don’t Lie

Ever wanted to know who writes what and when here at 7 Reasons? No, neither did I. But I didn’t want to go to school either and I did that. So here are the stats behind 7 Reasons. And they are all accurate, except where I have made them up.

November 21, 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 You Should Never Go To Wimbledon With Me

The following is based on a true story. Sadly.

It Looks Like Rain

1. Rain. That’s what you’ll see when you wake up. Loads of it. ‘Bloody typical,’ you will say, ‘every day at Wimbledon has been hot and sunny this year. Except today. When the roads are flooding’. You’ll then have to decide what clothes to wear. Which is never an easy thing to do. Skirt or trousers. Shoes or flip-flops. Bra or no bra. Okay, the last one was me. And I went bra-less. Once decided, we’ll then make our way to the station where we find the…

2. Car Park is packed. Not a space to be seen. We’ll leave the station car park and I will make you drive to all the places in the village that require permits to park. You don’t have a permit. I shall then helpfully ask if you’d ‘just like to go home’. You don’t. You have taken a days holiday for this. You suggest we go to another station where car parking exists. I agree. But on the way, we quickly check our car park of choice again. I step up to the plate and spy a space. You have to circumnavigate a bus and do manoeuvres that make a Rubik cube look simple, but you get in there. Sadly, by the time we have disembarked via the sunroof* we have…

3. Missed The Train. We have thirty minutes until the next one, but don’t think you are going to be getting bored because now you are going to use your female charms** and get the nice man at the ticket kiosk to find us the cheapest route to London. He needs to take into account that we have one Network Railcard that comes into use at 10am. It is now 9:15am. The train leaves at 9:36am. It’s a problem that makes him wish he had a Maths GCSE. He succeeds though and the rest of the journey to Wimbledon goes without hiccup. Well, actually, it turns out to be very pleasant indeed. I teach you how to do a suduko and you teach me that I shouldn’t make comments about pictures of women in bikinis. Sadly this is where it goes horribly wrong again. Once inside the All England Club, we will discover that we are too late to get on Court 12 where we would have been able to watch Laura Robson and then Monsour Bahrami and Henri Laconte. Disappointed, I will try and cheer you up by buying you a…

4. Hot Dog. Though it had another fancy name that I can no longer remember. But it was a hot dog. A sausage in a roll. That’s a hot dog. Unless it’s a sausage roll. But this wasn’t. It was a hot dog. And I’ve just bought you one. And I’ve bought myself one. We shall walk away towards the ketchup. Here, I shall ask you where my hot dog is. You say you don’t know. I’ve left it behind haven’t I? Yes, I have. I walk back to the hot dog vendor and as casual as it is possible to say, I say, ‘I seem to have forgotten my hot dog’. I feel a bit stupid. You feel a bit stupid about being at Wimbledon with someone so stupid. The sun has come out though, so we go off to…

5. Court 5. Here I shall select the seats furthest away from the action. Thankfully, you have a bit more common sense than I do, so after we’ve seen the British Junior – Oliver Golding – win, we move to a better location. Here we watch another British Junior – Eleanor Dean – win. Then comes the match we came to this court to see. Greg Rusedski and Todd Martin against Jonas Bjorkman and Tood Woodbridge. Greg Rusedski injures his quad and at 5-0 in the first set, the match is over. I am beginning to think that there is going to be a 7 Reasons piece in this. You are beginning to think you should never have come to Wimbledon with me. Later, you advance towards jazz music and the champagne bar. I follow you with my…

6. Tea and Bourbon Biscuits. I don’t get hints. You realise I don’t get hints – either that or I am not prepared to pay £117 for Champagne when I have – just two hours previously – splashed out £3.30 on a pathetically small ice cream for you. We leave. Ninety-minutes later we are back in the…

7. Car Park. There are only four cars left, but, unsurprisingly, given that I am with you, your car is still boxed in. You climb over the bonnet and in through the sunroof and I direct you through a 27-point turn to get out of the space. You are now in touching distance of home. Nothing else can possibly go wrong.***

*Might be a slight exaggeration, but you definitely do not get out of your door.

**This won’t work if you’re a man.

***Until I start singing ‘I’m Coming Out’ by Diana Ross. All because you told me Spain and Portugal were coming out after half-time.

June 30, 2010
Election Special: 7 Reasons I Managed To Stay Up All Night

Yesterday, there was a general election. You may have noticed. The results came in over night. I was there. Throughout. This is how I did it.

10:00pm. So we have an Exit Poll – which it turns out is very different from an exit pole. It’s going to be Hung Parliament time. I can hardly contain myself. So I don’t and have a biscuit. Ten minutes into the programme and the BBC have a screen fail. Unfortunately, there was no screen fail while Dorothy was walking along the Yellow Brick Road. Or was it Jeremy Vine bouncing down Downing Street? Who cares. The BBC try and talk to Michael Gove. He’s mute. I don’t blame him. Jeremy Paxman is asking silly questions. Oh no, Gove has stopped being mute. And worse luck, so has Harriet Harman. I note her choice of nose this evening. I’m not sure why I note it, but I do. Some twats in Sunderland seem to think they are on Record Breakers. Tossers.

11.00pm. The first hour wasn’t too bad. I feel relatively fresh. Mind you, I am not usually in bed by this time anyway. Not that I need to share my bedroom habits with you. And I hope you don’t want to share yours with me. (But if you do we have an email address: [email protected]). I’ve got the munchies now. My fridge shouts sausages at me. Not literally. That would wake the neighbours. I ignore them anyway. Another biscuit. Labour are winning 1-0-0-0 by the way. Jeremy Vine is playing virtual dominoes. Esther Rantzen is on my screen. It brings back memories of Hearts Of Gold. In the meantime, Fiona Bruce seems to be finding everything absolutely hilarious. I don’t know why. This is boring.

Midnight. And we are into a new day. The day we get a new government. Or not. Ken Clarke just made me giggle. Some sly comment about Paxman cutting away from him to show Gordon Brown arrive at his count. David Cameron has gone to the pub. It’s 00:33. Late license? Blimey I need a drink. Stricnine ideally. Only three seats in so far. Why is it so slow? Eyelids beginning to feel a little heavy now. David Dimbleby is angry. Very angry. It’s a scandal apparently. I think he’s talking about people getting turned away from polling stations, but I am distracted by thoughts of him in the boardroom. Not in a dirty way. In a Sir Alan Sugar getting annoyed with the candidates way. I wonder what Sir Alan Sugar is doing tonight. Subbuteo is my guess. I used to love that game. Time for another biscuit.

1:00am. The Tories still haven’t won a seat, but boy they’re swinging hard. Mind you the Baltimore Orioles swing hard every year and look where that has got them in the AL East. I’m talking about baseball now. How did that happen? Oh yes, I was thinking about swinging. Cameron just stroked his wife’s bottom. Nice touch. I feel drunk. Which is odd considering I haven’t had a drink since Saturday night. I think I need to start now though. Twenty-three seats declared. David Blunkett has admitted defeat. I think he has fired off a bit too early to be honest. But as the camera won’t pan downwards, I’ll never be able to confirm this.

2:00am. And we’ve made it to 2am. The Tories have won some seats, Labour have won some more seats and the Lib Dems appear to be going backwards. Which is odd. Nick Robinson agrees with me. It is odd. But enough of this election nonsense, I am back on the tea. Not that I ever really left it. It’s just been a while since my last cup. Like forty minutes. Now I’m having a look at Twitter. There is a lot of hate out there isn’t there? My political views – and they are mainstream – make me anything ranging from a ‘deluded prick’ to a ****. I chuckle to myself heartily. The Sex Education Show is on Channel 4. I’m not watching it, I just pressed guide to see what else was on. Now someone’s talking Welsh. What’s the point?

3:00am. My freeview box wants to do a daily service update. Cameron wants to talk. Seeing as I watched Brown do his speech after he held on to his seat, I’ll give Cameron his moment. He doesn’t seem to know what he’s talking about though. Fair enough, he hasn’t been to sleep for months. We’ve got a race to the first hundred on now. It’s neck and neck. Not anymore it’s not… oh, yes it is! No, it’s not! Yes, it is! I’m doing Murray Walker impressions. And The Tories win, win, win! Well that was fun. That’s kept me going for the last thirty-minutes. Now I’m screwed. I’m not going to survive another hour before we get to 200. Fiona Bruce is still high I see.

4:00am. And now I enter my 7th hour. Nick Clegg holds on to his seat. But he doesn’t look too happy. Maybe someone ate his Mars bar. That is just about the worst feeling ever. I have a headache now. Sleep deprivation beginning to bite. And now it’s raining. I wonder if the Tories need less seats under the Duckworth-Lewis system? I ask Marc. He doesn’t know. His cat thinks he knows though. Marc has been talking to his cat. I wish I had a cat. Would be so much more interesting than talking to myself. It’s definitely going to be a hung parliament then. In that case I’m going to bed. I leave the situation standing at 224-167-36-26. It’s been fun. No, actually, it hasn’t.

May 7, 2010
7 Reasons The Birthday Tea Could Have Gone Better

1. The Present. Make sure you give it to your girlfriend before she goes to work. Otherwise you will spend all day worrying about whether she will like it or not. In this state of anxiety you may forget the more important things. Like taking your wallet to Sainsburys with you.

2. Balloons. These should not be blown up near cacti. Not only will it give you heart palpitations, you will also feel a massive prick.

3. Banners. It really helps if you notice before you get to the till that you have picked up a ‘Congratulations Birthday Boy!’ banner instead of, for example, a ‘Happy Birthday Girlfriend’ one.

4. Birthday Cake. No matter how sturdy the box looks, the cake really, really should not be placed at the bottom of your shopping bag. At an angle. Unless you want to lose the walnut topping that is.

5. Cocktail Sticks. There really is no point in buying them if you forget to buy something to put on them. And no, mini Gingerbread Men are not an adequate substitute for mini sausages.

6. Sandwiches. Generally, cucumber and cream-cheese sandwiches taste like they should when they have cucumber in them. Otherwise they just taste like cream-cheese sandwiches. It seems pretty obvious, but you’ll be amazed at the number of people who forget.

7. The Gingerbread Men. Don’t open them and have a couple at lunchtime just because you are hungry. It makes it look like you have decided to buy party food because you want to eat it and not because you think it will make your girlfriend smile.

*None of these are from personal experience. Or at least not all of them.

April 27, 2010
7 Reasons To Be Self-Employed

1. It’s 00:00 to 23:59, not 9:00 to 17:00. You can choose when you work. If you want to work at 3am on a Sunday morning then that is fine. You answer to no one but yourself. Unless you live with your partner and your computer is in your bedroom. They probably don’t want to hear you bashing one out in the middle of the night. An email I mean.

2. Social Media. To a normal boss in a normal company, the likes of twittering and facebooking are seen as distractions. To the self-employed though, they are vital tools of the trade. All self-employed people have a streak of the entrepreneur about them. They are always on the look out for ideas. Which is why conversation about ‘imaginary friends’ on twitter is classed as research.

3. Sport. A whole lot of sport happens during the day. Cricket, tennis, golf, baseball, The Olympics (all forms), various World Cups and World Championships. That is a heck of a lot of sport you are missing while working for some major conglomerate. Or the Co-Op. Not only do the self-employed watch all this sport, they all use it to their advantage. Watching Stuart Broad knock over Ricky Ponting’s poles doesn’t half motivate you. Okay, it motivates you to keep watching, but when the day’s play is over, then you are pumped to do some work. Or you will be after dinner. And the highlights. Actually, you’ll be ready at the end of the Test. But you will be ready. Just a shame the deadline has passed really.

4. Chores. They can be done at anytime you like. Cleaning the bathroom can be Monday at 10am. Food shopping can be Tuesday at 2pm. Having your haircut can be Wednesday at 11am. And if you are really lucky you’ll get the OAP rate.

5. The IT Department. Everyone in IT is a muppet. It’s official. They think you should know what SMPT means and how to locate the back-gate entrance for Microsoft Outlook. No one knows that stuff. I don’t even think there is a back-gate entrance for Microsoft Outlook. I think he was trying to make himself sound clever. The thing about working for yourself is that if something goes wrong you don’t have to phone someone up to ask them how to fix it. You can press reset and blow all the dust away from the back of the PC. And more times than not it works. Within minutes you are flying through the front door of Microsoft Outlook. In your face Sam in IT.

6. Tea-bags. You don’t have to share them and no one is going to steal them. They are yours. You can also have the brand and flavour you want. None of this value stuff, you can have proper tea from a proper tea plantation. Imported directly to you if you like. I get mine from Sainsburys.

7. Your Fee. It can be what you want it to be. If you want to charge £300 an hour, you can. You won’t get much work unless you are Pete Doherty’s solicitor, but that’s irrelevant. You can go around saying, ‘I charge £300 an hour’. Though when you end up working in the local pub you should probably stop. It makes you sound like a prat.

April 19, 2010