7 Reasons

Tag: Victoria

  • 7 Reasons That Seven Is Called Seven (probably)

    7 Reasons That Seven Is Called Seven (probably)

    Okay, people.  You can’t have failed to have noticed that David and Victoria Beckham have had a daughter and that they’ve named her Harper Seven Beckham (unless you get your news from the News of the World, in which case time stopped yesterday).  Now, we all understand why the Beckhams have named their daughter Harper; it’s because they’re aficionados that have been inspired by the American literary canon (and who amongst us wouldn’t rate Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird as a seminal work), but most people have been a bit nonplussed by their selection of the second-name Seven.  As of yet, there’s been no official word on what the fuck they were thinking how they selected their newborn’s middle moniker so, in the best traditions of 7 Reasons (.org), we’re going to flail around and speculate wildly.  Here are seven reasons that Seven is called Seven (probably).

    1.  They’re Big Fans!  Well, we had no idea and frankly we’re a little overwhelmed and very flattered.  You see, we have a number of American readers, though we know very little about them, we just know that we are read regularly in America.  So, it’s possible that David and Victoria love our website and have named their daughter after us.  After all, it’s easily possible that homesick Brits abroad would love to keep up with what’s going on at home and why wouldn’t the Beckhams want to know when one of the team gets stuck in a revolving door or the other one buys a new laundry bin?  There’s no reason that they wouldn’t want to know that.  None at all.  Of course they’ve named their daughter after us.

    2.  Conception.  The Beckhams are noted for naming their children for the place where they were conceived: Brooklyn was conceived in Brooklyn; Romeo was conceived in the back of an Alfa Romeo; Cruz was conceived on a cruise (spelling apparently isn’t their strong suit) and it’s easily possible that their latest child was conceived in hotel room number 7 somewhere, or (in a variation on the theme) at seven o’clock, or while watching Channel 7 (Australia).  Or perhaps she was conceived near the River Severn.  Whatever it is, it could be about the conception.

    3.  Dwarves.  I know a bit about newborn babies – being the curator of one myself – and one of the most striking things about them is that they are tiny.  Really, really little.  Perhaps, as the Beckhams held their wee bundle in their arms, they looked at her and thought isn’t she small?   Let’s call her Small.  No, we can’t call her small, that would be silly.  People will make fun.  We’re going to have to take a more sophisticated approach than that.  Let’s be clever.  Let’s take the concept of small and be a little more oblique.  What else is small?  Dwarves!  Let’s call her Sleepy!  Or Dopey!  No, we can’t call her that; it spoils a potential nickname.  Let’s be a tad circumlocutory when we reference the dwarves.  Got it!   We’ll call her Seven.

    4.  Keeping Track.  In the manner of farmers painting numbers on the sides of their cows (which is essentially a rural version of tagging perpetrated by ruddy-faced tweed-wearers in fields), it’s quite important to keep track of your herd.  With the addition of Harper Seven Beckham, there will now be six members of the Beckham household.  But thumbs are complex things, and when you’re counting to seven, it’s easy to make a mistake, right?  After all, thumbs are only half the size of your fingers.  Who wouldn’t find that confusing?  Oh yes.  Them.

    5.  Seinfeld.  Okay, so maybe the Beckhams aren’t fans of our site:  That would explain why the limited edition diamond encrusted version of our Blowers t-shirt remains unsold.  But perhaps they are fans of Seinfeld.  After all, George Costanza’s ideal name for a boy (or a girl) was Seven.  Obviously, Jerry objected, but as he was the least funny thing in his own sitcom so it’s possible that the Beckhams ignored him.  We have too.  George is right.

    6.  Numerology.  In 2011, the number seven is tremendously significant.  We’ve done actual research and have discovered that, for numerologists, the number seven represents all manner of important stuff that we sort of skim-read.  To our untrained eyes, it might appear somewhat similar to every other number and year, but to experts (and who’s to say that the latest celebrity craze isn’t Scientology or Kabbalah and that Posh and Becks aren’t, in fact, Grand High Poobahs of Numerology or Akelas or something ), it’s probably quite meaningful and important.  And interesting.  And had we looked at it closely, it might have seemed profound.

    7.  It’s Not The Worst Name They Could Think Of.  I learned today of a worse baby name than Seven: also worse than Superman; and worse than Adolf.  I discovered that a baby at my son’s baby group is called…Ian.  That’s right, a baby called Ian.  The boy Ian.  Ian the baby.  A name that’s only appropriate for a man in his 50s (or Ian Bell) has been given to tiny child.  What sort of monster would name their child Ian?  Never mind speculating about the name Seven, that’s a question we all need an answer to.

    *The 7 Reasons team would like to congratulate the Beckhams on the occasion of the birth of their daughter, Harper Seven Beckham.  Though we may have derived some humour from their choice of name (we are humourists, after all), we have nothing but admiration for their conduct as parents which, in an age where parenting skills often seem to be lacking amongst such a large section of the population, are an exemplary example to us all.  Congratulations!  But Seven?  Really?

  • 7 Reasons I Feel Sorry For Dundee

    7 Reasons I Feel Sorry For Dundee

    I wouldn’t blame you if the subject for today’s post has passed you by. The only reason it didn’t pass me by is because I spend a great deal of my life browsing the world wide web for inspiration. Unfortunately I stumbled across this. Dundee is getting it’s very own V&A Museum. Yesterday, the winning design was chosen. Given the design of the Scottish Parliament Building, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that it was ugly. Curious as to what this abomination had been chosen over, I took a look at the shortlist. And then I realised I felt very sorry for Dundee indeed. Well, the whole of Scotland actually. Here is that shortlist:

    7 Reasons I Feel Sorry For Dundee

    1.  The Stephen Holl Design. One of the first things you should notice about this is that you access the museum via one of those bridges you usually find spanning motorways should you wish to get from one service station to another. While this is a nice touch, I can’t be so complimentary about the rest of the design. It’s very tall, very thin and appears to be doing a bad impression of ‘the robot’. In other words, it’s a bit like Peter Crouch.

    7 Reasons I Feel Sorry For Dundee

    2.  The Sutherland Hussey Design. What we have here is a box. With a few bits cut out. I used to have a Micro Machines military base that looked very similar. Only that was cool. To give the Architects some credit though, they have realised the error of their ways. That’s why they added a picture of a small boy trying to jump over the wall. I’d probably join him if I was confronted by this.

    7 Reasons I Feel Sorry For Dundee

    3.  The REX Design. The last time I saw something like this, I was watching Superman. Only Superman wasn’t in Dundee, he was on Krypton. The effect, I suspect, would have been very similar though. What I particularly love about this design though, is that it clearly doesn’t have a roof. That’s why it’s filled with water. Genius.

    7 Reasons I Feel Sorry For Dundee

    4.  The Snohetta with Gareth Hoskins Architects Design. I can’t comment on other angles, but from the one we are given above, all I can see is a submarine with a large whale not doing a very good job of hiding behind it. The submarine is also a bit too bling for me. I suspect it will blind more visitors than satisfy them. On the plus side, nice use of the skateboard ramp on the walkway.

    7 Reasons I Feel Sorry For Dundee

    5.  The Delugan Meissl Design. If you are not thinking, ‘Sydney Opera House meets Pyramids meets Lord’s Cricket Ground Media Centre meets Alien Aircraft’ then there is something a bit wrong with one of us. And I am pretty sure it’s not me. Ignoring the design for a second, there is also something unreal about the architects impression. Bright blue sky. It just doesn’t happen in Dundee. As the other images on this page will confirm.

    7 Reasons I Feel Sorry For Dundee

    6.  The Kengo Kuma Design. Before we go any further, let me tell you right now that this design won. That’s right, the Dundee V&A Museum is going to look like an image that hasn’t quite quite loaded properly. That, though, is just about the only criticism I have. Everything else (i.e.: the water, the sky and lack of people with dogs) I love. Good job.

    7 Reasons I Feel Sorry For Dundee

    7.  The 7 Reasons Design. This didn’t make the shortlist, but I still see it as an improvement on all of the above. We’ve gone for ‘minimillistic with a casual twist’. The casual twist is the upside down brick. I can’t see any problems with this design, except maybe the fact that the building sits on the water and we haven’t provided a walkway for visitors. This might just encourage people to visit the proper V&A Museum in London though. So it’s win-win.

  • 7 Reasons My Dream Was A Bit Odd

    7 Reasons My Dream Was A Bit Odd

    In a last minute change to 7 Reasons proceedings, the post originally planned for today has been postponed in favour of something that happened overnight. A bit like Martin Luther King, I had a dream. Unlike him however, I was the only one to witness it. Which is why I must share mine with you. Now. It was weird.

    7 Reasons My Dream Was A Bit Odd

    1.  Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! I’m in a house. But it’s also a hotel. And an airport. It’s next to a London train station. It’s supposed to be London Victoria, but it’s not. So I’m in this house – which is also a hotel and an airport – and everything is going well. I am just wandering. Wandering around. Looking at plates and planes and….oh, a playground. I remember now, there was a playground. And then there’s a fire. Like Billy Joel, I didn’t start the fire, but if I don’t get a bloody shift on I’m going to burn to a crisp. (We’ll come to the crisps later). So I start running. And I find myself in a…

    2.  Room. It’s a bedroom. And it has a window. Two of them in fact. And outside of the window is a roof terrace. And a ladder into the garden. A garden which I can only assume is on the opposite side of the house to the airfield. I open the window and in a move that a contortionist or Anne Widdecombe would be proud of, manage to get myself through the smallest gap in the world. And with it, to safety. We then shift forward to…

    3.  The Next Day. I can only assume it’s the next day because otherwise I’d be re-entering a house that is on fire. And that would be stupid. And as I had the intelligence to get out the of house fire in the first place, I don’t believe I am stupid in this dream. So, it’s the next day and I am back in the room that I escaped from. There is smoke damage and Dr Howard Denton. You probably won’t recognise this name because he was one of my lecturers when I was at University. What the bloody hell he is doing here, I have no idea. But I don’t seem to care. In fact I am very happy to see him. Because he starts helping me look for my…

    4.  iPhone Charger. I must have lost it the previous night. Along with my wallet and car keys. Rather brilliantly I find my iPhone charger lying on top of a dressing table. Obviously that’s one of the most important things to do when trying to escape a house fire. Put your iPhone charger on a dressing table so you can come back to get it the next day. You’d do well to remember that. I am so delighted that I’ve found my iPhone charger that I give Dr Howard Denton my crisps. (Told you we’d come back to them). They’re Phileas Fogg range. Irish cheddar with onion chutney flavour. I know I’ve eaten some already because there’s a wooden clothes peg fastening the packet closed. You can say what you like about me, but I know how to keep crisps fresh. This is when…

    …I wake up. My girlfriend’s shouting about babies. At least I think she is at the time. In hindsight I am not entirely sure she was. Either way, I show my caring side by asking her if she’s okay. She is, so I fall back to sleep. And I start dreaming again. And I’m back in another house. A house belonging to…

    5.  Judy Murray. And the only reason I know the house belongs to Judy Murray is because she has just walked through the front door and said, ‘What are you doing in my house?’ For reasons (probably less than seven) unbeknown to me, we go into the garden where I try and explain. Rather splendidly Judy has sofas and chairs in her garden. And I decide to put two chairs together to form a boat. I then explain to Judy that I was merely in her house to work because it was too noisy back at mine. She seems to understand and, for the first time in my life, I begin to like Judy Murray. Which is when everything becomes a blur until I find myself outside Judy Murray’s house. And in through the window of next door, I can see England bowler…

    6.  Steven Finn. He’s doing the washing up and not looking as tall as I had seen him on TV. To make sure it doesn’t look like I am stalking him, I get down in Judy Murray’s driveway and start doing press-ups. I’m obviously an optimistic dreamer because I do bloody hundreds of them. All while looking at Steven Finn. Until Judy Murray’s front door opens and out walks…

    7.  Judy Murray. She starts asking me if – while I’ve been living in her house – I have moved the car. Apparently the hedges look a bit bashed up. Now, I don’t remember dreaming about it, but I know that I did drive Judy Murray’s car into the flowerbed. Which is why I lie and deny I have been anywhere near her Volvo. Once again, she seems to understand. Which is when one of my old school friends rocks up and starts telling me how much he loved my film. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I say, ‘Thanks’ anyway. He then mentions he reads 7 Reasons. Which is when I wake up. Hopefully I’ll find out tonight whether he likes it or not.

  • 7 Reasons It Must Be Tough Being A Shark

    7 Reasons It Must Be Tough Being A Shark

    I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been a shark. I guess it’s just something I’ve never found the time to do. Thankfully, for 7 Reasons purposes, it doesn’t stop me imagining what it must be like. So that is what I’ve done for the last forty-five minutes. I have imagined what it would be like being a shark. And after much deliberation – and the gruesome devouring of two pirates – I have decided it must be tough. Here’s why.

    7 Reasons It Must Be Tough Being A Shark

    1.  Reputation. They have a bad name do sharks. And by that I don’t mean names like Jason or Cliff, which are abominations of names, I just mean their reputations proceed them. And it’s not a good one. Jaws writer Peter Benchley and that film guy, Steven Spielberg, have a lot to answer for. They have made sharks appear to us as killers. Which actually only applies to about four of the 440 species of shark. I imagine it must feel as I would if someone suggested there was a bit of the French about me.

    2.  Sleep. I am 27 years-old. I expect no applause for this, but if you did clap your hands, many thanks. In my 27 years, I believe I have sleep-walked only once. And even then it wasn’t a very exciting sleep-walk, I just went looking for the bathroom in the lounge.* I could not imagine doing that every night though. Which is what a shark has to do. Apart from it swims instead of walking. And it rarely ends up in my lounge. No, I couldn’t swim all night. Whilst asleep. A shark has to though. Otherwise it’ll sink. And drown. And die.

    3.  Hammerhead Shark. Whether this species evolved after a normal-looking sleeping shark swam straight into the underside of a ship, is anyone’s guess, but it’s an ugly looking thing. As a teenager I was spotty, spectacled and slimy haired, but even then I looked better than a Hammerhead. Just. Poor git.

    4.  Recession. Yes, the economic downturn has had a negative effect on sharks. There just aren’t as many people going to the beach these days. Less people = less food.

    5.  Skills. Recent research (according to wikipedia) indicates that sharks actually posses powerful problem solving skills and excellent social abilities. Well what the bloody hell is the use in that if you’re a shark? You can’t get your fins around a sudoku puzzle book or log into facebook can you? It’s a bit like me having the ability to beat up a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Pointless.

    6.  Lemons. The 7 Reasons team know a lot about lemons. At least 50% of the team has been sharing their house with them for the past few weeks and the other 50% has been forming something of an irrational fear of them as a result. It’s probably a Yin-Yang thing.** What neither of us expected was that Lemon also lends it’s name to a shark. We were quite surprised. Which is probably a very different reaction to the shark’s. “What sort of shark am I father? A Great White? A Tiger? A Hammerhead? A Mako? A Bull?”.”No son, you’re a lemon.”

    7 Reasons It Must Be Tough Being A Shark

    7.  Australians. I am not sure if you would have expected anything else, but as Australians are incapable of doing anything properly (losing to England, beating Scotland, admiring Her Majesty The Queen, marmite), they also do fish and chips wrong. Especially in Victoria. In Victoria, they don’t offer you cod or plaice or haddock, oh no, their delicacy is shark and chips. Seriously. Imagine being a shark and knowing that one day you’re going to end up next to a portion of fried potatoes. You’d be gutted.

    *As I expect you are wondering what happened, I will tell you. I didn’t find it.

    **You may decide who is Yin. Yang will follow.