Tag: United Kingdom

7 Reasons That The UK Should Ban Carlsberg

1. Retaliation. Relations between the UK and Denmark have long been difficult.   From the eighth to the eleventh centuries they invaded us; in the nineteenth century we confiscated their navy, and in the twenty-first century they sent Nicklas Bendtner to lumber around our football fields and sulk like a moon-faced twelve year old girl. A giant moon-faced twelve year old girl. Now, however, they’ve gone too far. They’ve banned that quintessentially British spreadable yeast extract, Marmite from their country. The time to act is now and we need to ban something in return. We can’t ban bacon, because half of the 7 Reasons team will cry and we can’t ban Lego for exactly the same reason. The only thing left is Carlsberg.

2. Strength. The standard Carlsberg is an okay and quite drinkable lager (for a mass-manufactured one). Sadly, however, we don’t get that in the UK. We get an insipid watery thing brewed specially for us. It’s horrible and pointless. If you wanted to get drunk, you’d have to consume so much of it that your bladder would swell to the size of a small hatchback before you felt the teeniest bit light-headed. And that’s the moment that your small hatchback would probably be involved in an accident. With a boat.

3. Taste. The flavour of the UK Carlsberg lager is…well…in there somewhere. You can definitely tell that you’re drinking something that was once in the same country as some malt and some hops. Briefly. But going on an epic search to find the flavour in the beverage that you’re drinking is frustrating and pointless. And we already have a drink like it in the UK, it’s called water. It’s cheaper (unless you’re a family with a meter) and you don’t have to go out and buy it, it’s already there in your own home; in the taps. And it might already have been drunk by a celebrity like Elton John or Ryan Giggs, so it carries a greater celebrity cachet.

4. It Comes In A Green Tin. And I don’t like green tins. I just don’t. Never have, never will. I’m perfectly within my rights to dislike green tins and it’s not at all irrational. After all, we live in a country where it’s considered perfectly normal behaviour to dislike otherwise perfectly good people because of what vehicle they choose to commute in/on, what football team they support and the brand of shoe they choose to wear. So my hatred of green tins is far more rational than the cultural norm. Let’s get rid of the little green tins.

5. Because It’s Bad For You. Marmite was banned from Denmark because it contains additives: It’s unnaturally potent. But are the parks and playgrounds and municipal seating areas of Copenhagen littered with – often apparently lifeless – ruddy-faced and dishevelled men clutching half full* jars of Marmite in their limp, grimy hands? No. Those men are over in the UK, clutching cans of Carlsberg Special Brew**.    Because that too is unnaturally potent and unlike Marmite, which is good for you, it seems to be quite detrimental to the health.

6. Because They Keep The Good Stuff To Themselves. For Carlsberg make an amazing beer: a strong, rich, malty lager-beer with brilliant sharp hoppy notes. It’s called Elephant – named after one of the gates to their Copenhagen brewery – and can I get hold of it in the UK? Can I buggery. It would be easier to get hold of an actual elephant, and possibly more fun too. I could keep it in the garden and train it to stand on my next-door-neighbour’s car. If we banned Carlsberg, my frustrating and usually fruitless search for Elephant would come to an end.

7. Because Of The Adverts. Carlsberg’s advertising is brilliant. It’s high-budget, has consistently great production values and is usually very, very memorable.   But if we have to suffer every last epically dull and unoriginal bore mindlessly parroting, “Carlsberg don’t do *****(those asterisks are to suggest blankness, we’re not subject to a superinjunction)…but if they did….”, every time they see something they’re enthused by, because they believe it passes for original wit, that’s too high a price to pay for it. Let’s ban Carlsberg: We’d get revenge, lose crap beer, drink more water, rid ourselves of green tins, have healthier tramps and I’d be able to ride an elephant to the pub, where I wouldn’t be tempted to punch a dullard. You know it makes sense. Sort of.

*Or half empty, you decide.

**As manufactured by Chaka Khan.

May 25, 2011
7 Reasons That Question 17 is Frustrating

This is Question 17 in the Individual Questions section of the UK Census. It’s “intentionally blank” and will drive you slowly mad. Here are seven reasons why.

1.  Why Is It Intentionally Blank? What is the intention? Why? Why? Why? Why, oh why, oh why, oh why? I had to go online to find out why. Apparently it’s a question about the Welsh language. But wait, I’ve seen the Welsh language and it isn’t invisible. And if it was then the answer would be blank too, so there’d be no point in asking the question in the first place. And why would you just state that it’s been left intentionally blank? Why not just remove it? Is there some sort of nefarious purpose to it? Should we don our foil hats before completing the census? Should we be afraid? I’m afraid.

2.  It’s A Temptation.   While I was online I checked Twitter. Which is where I saw this:

Now there are some things that people should never ever see. The insides of other people; anything to do with Harry Potter and daytime television are all high up the list. But higher than that, higher than anything else, the absolute worst thing they can see is any sort of suggestion that they should draw a cock in a box on an official document. Obviously that’s what they’ll want to do right at that moment, with every fibre of their being. But they can’t because they’d have their tax raised or be sent to prison or something. And that just makes it all the more of a temptation. Essentially question 17 is a form of torture in which we are forced to wrestle our primal urge to undermine authority and officialdom by drawing a cock.

3.  It’s Not Actually Blank. It’s got words in it. I can see them, they’re right there at the top of the box telling us that it’s blank. But that’s a lie. It’s the most blatant example of officialdom fibbing to us since Jeffrey Archer had any power. It’s like a spoon that says “I am not a spoon”. It’s not exactly like a talking spoon, I grant you, but it is in the sense that it is lying. Badly.

4.  It’s Not A Question. The text above question 17 states that “This question is intentionally left blank”. But in a similar manner to the age-old philosophical question (if a butterfly beats its wings in a forest in China does a tree fall on a deaf person on the other side of the world?) question seventeen gives us food for thought. If a question isn’t a question is it still a question? When is a question not a question? What do you even call a question that isn’t a question? It’s certainly perplexing. It turns out that when a question isn’t a question it raises more questions than it does answers, but after a long, careful deliberation I can state with some certainty that: it isn’t; when it doesn’t contain a question; I don’t know; my brain hurts. But it’s definitely not a question. This further complicates matters.

5.  Numbers. After the lie about the question being left blank, they helpfully tell you to go to 18. But question 18 isn’t question 18, is it? It’s question 17. Because the blank box with a fib in it is no more a question than I am an owl or a plant-pot. This means that the entire numbering system for the remainder of the census is incorrect. Question 24 (which is actually question 23) says if you are aged 16 or over you should go to 25 (which is numbered 26). But that’s not a question at all; it’s an instruction. So question 25 is actually the 23^rd question.

6.  But Wait. No it isn’t. Because question 11 in the Individual Questions section isn’t a question either. It’s also an instruction. So question 25 is actually the 22^nd question. This means that all the numbers in the Individual Questions section are wrong from question 10 (which isn’t a question) on. I haven’t been this confused since…ever. This is even more confusing than being married to a woman. And less fun.

7.  The Bastards! And the civil servants/bureaucrats/number crunchers/census-bastards haven’t just cocked up their own census. They’ve buggered up the title of this post, which is now incorrect. There are still seven reasons here (which is an improvement on Monday when I spent an hour trying to come up with a seventh reason only to discover that it was, in fact, the eighth and had to remove one) but this isn’t 7 Reasons That Question 17 is Frustrating any more. It’s 7 Reasons That Question 17 Which Is Not A Question At All And Even If It Were It Would Be Number 16 But It’s Not And Furthermore It’s A Liar Is Frustrating. I’ve read books shorter than that title. I won’t even be able to fit it on Twitter. Does our reader even have a screen that wide? Right, census-mongers! I’m drawing a cock in your blank box right now and I’m posting it back to you tomorrow. On fire.

March 9, 2011
7 Reasons to Buy a Popemobile

It’s the last day of the papal visit to the United Kingdom and, somewhat to my surprise, I’ve been inspired by it. I used to believe that the bicycle was the correct vehicle for the urban environment, or that a tank would be practical, but I now realise that I’ve been a fool. The correct vehicle for the urban environment is, in fact, a popemobile. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Performance. A popemobile might outwardly appear a little too sedate for the urban environment. You might wonder how your popemobile will keep pace with modern traffic. But it will. Because the popemobile isn’t the top-heavy, lumbering vehicle that it appears to be. The popemobile that we’ve seen in the UK recently has a top speed of 160mph, and a 0-60 time of six seconds (never let it be said that we don’t do research here). Why they haven’t demonstrated this by spinning the wheels and performing doughnuts to delight the assembled crowds, I don’t know (unless they think that the smoking tyres might signify the election of a new pontiff). But the popemobile is faster than you think. And it’s also bullet-proof, which is handy if you live in Nottingham. Or near a Wetherspoons.

2. Running Costs. Now you might imagine that your popemobile will be expensive to run. And you’re right, it will be. But you can offset that cost by moonlighting as a taxi driver. You’ll make a fortune. Consider it for a moment. Imagine that you’re having a great evening out, but the time has come to return home. You might be a girl with impractical shoes, or married to a girl with impractical shoes and you’ll need to call a taxi. Or you can choose the new premium option, the popemobile taxi. Who wouldn’t pay through the nose to ride home in the popemobile? I’d be dialling MCMXIVIII to order a Vaticab like a shot.

3. View. Finding somewhere to park is one of the trickiest aspects of urban driving. Ever seen a pope struggling to find a parking space? Of course not, just look at the visibility they get in the back. You’ll be able to find a space easily. And laugh at balding people at the same time.

4. Income. The back of the popemobile is, essentially, a large glass jar. Now traditionally, in fairgrounds and confectioners, people fill large glass jars with sweets and charge customers money to guess how many are in there. And you can do that with your popemobile. You can’t just fill it with any sweet, obviously. You’ll need something (ahem) appoperiate. Werther’s Original?. You can charge people to guess how many are in there, and your vehicle will pay for itself really quickly. And you’ll meet lots of men in comfortable knitwear, which is..er…well. There must be a plus side to that somewhere.

5. Visibility. Ever lost your bland silver box of a car in the car park? Of course you have. I once spent almost an hour searching for a Volkswagen Passat I’d parked at B & Q. But with a popemobile that problem will disappear. A popemobile is visible from quite a distance. Even when there isn’t a pope in it.

6. Self-Sufficiency. We’re all looking for ways to stretch our budgets further these days, and everyone’s come over a bit Tom and Barbara from The Good Life recently. In fact, there probably hasn’t been a time since the second world war when people are growing so many of their own fruit and vegetables. In the urban environment that most of us live in though, there isn’t much space to do this. But look at the back of the popemobile. It’s glazed. You can use it as a greenhouse when you’re not cruising in it. And it’s bulletproof. So no one can off your cucumbers with an uzi. It’s an all-round win.

7. Resale Value. It’s unlikely that you’ll tire of your popemobile, but if you should, remember this. Second hand car dealers often try to attribute religious credentials to the former owners of the vehicles they’re trying to sell. “It was owned by a nun”, or “it was used by a vicar to travel around his small country parish” are oft-heard pieces of sales-patter. But imagine that you’re selling a vehicle that’s been owned by the pope? “One papal owner”? You’ll make a fortune.

September 20, 2010