Tag: Wine

Guest Post: 7 Reasons There Is No Such Thing As A Free Lunch

It has, I think you’ll agree, been too long. Too long since Dr Simon Percy Jennifer Best sat on the 7 Reasons sofa and shared with us thoughts from the deepest sanctums of his mind. Today that changes. Because he’s back. He needs no further introduction so we’ll leave you in his capable hands. We’re off to the pub for lunch. He’s paying.

‘Free Lunch’ by The Ethicurean

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch” is one of those glib phrases that people trot out and everyone accepts without investigation in to its accuracy. Now you don’t need to, because here I give seven reasons as to why there really is no such thing as a free lunch.

1. Potential Suitors. Often on a date, especially in these enlightened times, people will spilt the bill. But there might be a rare occasion when you’re taken out for a meal and the other person offers to pay. “Great,” you think. “A free lunch!” Wrong. The chances are that they will want something in return, a walk along the beach, a goodnight kiss, your hand in marriage. Would you swap any of these for a spaghetti carbonara? No. Nor would I.

2. Aged Relatives. Imagine the scene. You’re an impoverished student and your Great Aunt Doris* rings you up and invites you round for Sunday lunch. “Great,” you say to yourself. “A change from tinned tuna and beans on toast, and a free lunch!” Wrong. You arrive and while the smell of roast beef is wafting through the house, Great Aunt Doris will ask you for help with something relatively straight forward, changing a light bulb for example…. By the time you’re able to escape several hours later you’ve cut the grass, creosoted the fence, put out the bins, cleaned out the guttering and regrouted the bathroom. You’ve saved her several hundred pounds and given vast quantities of labour in return for a bit of overcooked beef and soggy Yorkshire puddings.

3. Business Lunches. We’ve all been there. Arranging a meeting and your colleague/client says, “why don’t we meet over lunch, we can get it on expenses”. “Excellent,” you think. “A day that I don’t have to pay for an over-priced sandwich and get a free lunch!” Wrong. Okay, you can get to see people and impress your colleagues, but it requires you to talk to people and costs valuable time. There is a surefire rule that applies to meetings: not only do they cost valuable time, but you invariably leave them with more work to do than at the start. Is the free lunch worth it when you have to stay in work late and buy an expensive Chinese takeaway for dinner so you don’t collapse with starvation before you get home?

The same applies to conferences where, although the lunch is free, the cost is to your soul. It dies around the same time as the first speaker puts up his fourteenth powerpoint slide.

4. Friends With Children. There is a stage in many people’s lives where you are single, but have friends who are married with kids. You probably get to see these friends less often. Then, when summer starts they ring you, “come round for a barbecue, we’ve still got lots of wine left over from Timmy’s christening so there’s no need for you to bring anything”. You’re free, you want to see them and excited at the prospect of free food AND drink. Well, calm your excitement. This invitation is just a thinly veiled ruse by the parents to neck as much chardonnay as they can while their hyperactive children, thrilled by the novelty of a new adult, begs you to play with them. As for the free lunch? Not a bit of it. Okay, you get plenty of grilled chicken and salad and a couple of glasses of wine. Cost to you: a dry cleaning bill for your grass stained trousers, a new hat after your panama is used as a Frisbee and a large chiropractors bill having been rugby tackled by “little” Jamie, who is nine years old but already the size and weight of Brian Moore.

5. Parents Of Your Future Spouse. Picture the scene. You’ve been with your girlfriend/boyfriend/partner for a respectable length of time. Then one day they say to you, “my parents have invited us for lunch on Sunday” Cue you breaking out into a cold sweat about what to take them. Your partner reassures you that their mother doesn’t need flowers, and their father doesn’t need a bottle of Scotch. “Phew,” you think. “A free lunch!” Wrong. You’re on to a loser here. If it goes badly and you’re (even inadvertently) rude about them/their house/their food/their dog or, perhaps worse, you’re too friendly and don’t give your partner enough attention, then you pay by having to buy them presents in recompense. If it goes really well it will progress your relationship to the stage where it costs you a hefty amount for an engagement ring or your life if you find yourself married to them.

6. Single Friends. I, like lots of people, have single friends who are, lets face it, what can charitably be described as “hard work”** When your friend that fits that description sends you an innocuous text message saying, “let’s meet for lunch, my treat,” you may think that means a free lunch and a pleasant afternoon. That text message notification should actually be an alarm bell, as what it actually means is an afternoon where you spend hours counselling them about their life, their job, their latest (failed) relationship, clothes and the price of garden furniture. This involves you consuming the annual output of a medium sized French vineyard to cope. They join you in polishing off several bottles, then when the bill comes they say, “I’ll pay for the food, can you get the wine?”. Free lunch? Not a bit of it. There’s a very real prospect that you will need to remortagage your house to pay your credit card bill that month.

7. Yourself. Clearly the only safe person to have lunch with is yourself, you would be paying so obviously it wouldn’t be a free lunch, but it’s likely it will be cheaper than the other options.

*If you don’t have a Great Aunt Doris then you can imagine my Great Aunt Doris.

** I don’t rule out the possibility that I am, for some of my friends ‘hard work’.

October 15, 2011
7 Reasons That This Is The Worst Present Ever

Okay, 7 Reasons readers. It’s September, so there’s only one thing we can possibly write about today. That’s right, Christmas. Because – strange as it may seem – there are people out there that are actually planning their Christmas and buying presents right now. I, of course, will be leaving my shopping until the last possible moment, as usual, but I feel I should issue a cautionary tale to those of you that may be contemplating buying presents. For, if it prevents anyone else having an experience quite like this one, I feel I will have done the world a great service. This may make me appear to be an ungrateful man and a bad brother but that’s okay, because I’m an ungrateful man and a bad brother. So, present-buyers: Don’t buy this! Here are seven reasons that it’s the worst present ever. I have obscured the name of the sender to protect her identity.

This is not the actual gift. This is a far more tastefully coloured version of it.

1. It Created Expectation. It was Christmas morning. My wife and I had finished the croissants and were sipping our second glasses of bucks fizz while, in the background, Frank Sinatra gently exhorted us to have ourselves a merry little Christmas. It was time to open the presents. My wife pulled the many gifts out from under the tree and divided them into four piles: presents for her; presents for me; presents for us and presents for the cat (the largest pile). We took it in turns to unwrap them (and to help the cat) and fairly soon the floor was a gaudy collage of discarded paper. Then it was my turn again. It was a small, rectangular present. It was tastefully wrapped and surprisingly weighty. A glance at the tag revealed that it was a gift from my s*ster. “Who’s it from?” my wife asked. “It’s from my only s*ster.” I replied. Expectantly, I tore the paper away, to reveal a narrow blue gift box about six inches long. Wow! This looks great, I thought as I unwrapped the box. Then I opened it.

2. My Eyes! My life prior to opening the box had been a poor preparation for that moment. My life had been one of carefully and tastefully matched colours and textures. Of aesthetical sobriety and decorousness. I was fundamentally ill-equipped for the spectre that cruelly and aggressively assaulted my retinas. What greeted me was the sight of a glass object consisting of a conical frosted glass stem tapering up toward a rounded top that was made up of most of the colours in the world – minus all of the nice ones and the ones that go together – encased in glass that was partially frosted and liberally spattered with gold leaf. It was the single most hideous thing that I have ever seen. And I’ve seen the Lidl in Scunthorpe.

3. It Caused Bafflement. What is it? What is this glassy-horror? Why has my s*ster sent me this? Why is it covered in gold leaf? Is the glass frosted to obscure the thing, like a toilet window? Why does it have a stem? Why does it have a bulb? Why does it have a rim? What the buggery-bollocks is this thing?! “What is it, darling?” My wife enquired.

4. It Caused Speculation. Putting all aesthetic squeamishness aside, I coolly regarded the gaudy object in as objective a manner as I could. It had a tapering stem. It had a bulb at the end. It was simultaneously shiny and frosted. It was a myriad of lurid colours and was festooned with gold leaf. “It’s…it’s…(got it!)…Liberace’s butt-plug!”

5. It Caused…The Pause. “Don’t be silly,” my wife said, snatching Liberace’s butt-plug from me to regard it more closely. “It’s…(there then followed a long pause. A pregnant pause so long it seemed that an elephant could have been brought from conception to gestation during it. In fact, it was merely a pause of several minutes)…a wine-stopper!” “A what?” I enquired. “It’s a wine-stopper. It stops wine.”

6. It Caused Incredulity. It does what?! Of all the things one could conceivably want to stop why in the hell would anyone pick wine?! I like wine. Why not send a gift that stops something more objectionable, like fascism or tennis? Wine is fun! Sending something that stops it is like giving the gift of abstinence. For Christmas!

7. It Caused Me To Lie On The Telephone. “Thanks for the…um…thing.”

“We got it in South Africa.”

“It’s…come a long way.”

“It took us ages to choose that one.”

“Really?”

“Yes. There were so many different coloured ones. Have you used it yet?”

“No, but I will.”

And that was a lie. Until now! Because now – five years later – I’ve finally found a use for it, even if it is as a cautionary tale. A gentle reminder for 7 Reasons readers to choose their Christmas presents carefully. And, even if you don’t, you could at least get it in a colour that matches the recipient’s loft because that’s where it is. Or rather, where it was, because earlier today when I went up there to relive the horror and to photograph it in all its sickening hideousness for you, the reader, I discovered that it had disappeared. My investigations have revealed that it may have been placed in a charity bag by my w*fe during some sort of cull-of-the-horrid. With some irony, it may well have been a bag from the RNIB. I can only offer our apologies to them.

*For fans of gifts like this, this is the place to find them.

September 28, 2011
7 Reasons I Have A Le Tour De France Heart Shaped Problem

I have a problem. Le Tour de France is French. I know. Shocking isn’t it? But that’s not really my biggest problem. The biggest problem is that I like Le Tour de France. A lot. I always have. Ever since Gary Imlach was born. This all means that I like something French. Bad times. Here’s why:

1. Time. This isn’t just a case of me liking France for eighty-minutes (I have been known to support them over Wales, Scotland & Ireland in the past – purely for England’s gain you understand). This is a case of liking France for three whole weeks. Three! Weeks! That’s nearly a month! It’s 5.7% of the year! That must be against the law.

2. The Countryside. I hate the way TV directors cut to aerial shots of the French countryside. The sprawling fields. The streams. The chateaux. Even the vineyards – and I’m not a wine fan – look appealing. And the sun’s always shining. The sun always shines in France. And in that minute I forget myself. And I fall in love. I fall in love with France.

3. Village. On ITV’s coverage they send Ned Boulting off up the road to a small remote village that last saw pair of shorts in 1972. In a matter of hours 180 cyclists are going to zoom through the place, so Ned enquires with the locals as to how the preparations are going. Are they excited? Do they know what a bike is? Usually they seem somewhat bewildered. Which is understandable. Given Boulting’s passing resemblance to Matt Allwright, through the haze of Gauloises one could be forgiven for thinking they are about to star in a poor man’s Rogue Traders. It never happens though. Boulting just talks about bikes. And the old man continues smoking. And I fall in love with this place. And I want to go there. Right that instant. I want to go to France.

4. Art. If I went outside with my chalks and started wrote ‘Allez Claire!’ on the hill, I would get some funny looks. I’d probably also get a visit from the Police. During Le Tour however, anyone can write anything on the roads apparently. Particularly in the mountains. I can only assume this is because the Gendarmes can’t be bothered to go all the way up Alpe D’heuz to slap a €100 fine on someone who will have long gone. The art itself is brilliant. It’s like wordle. On a road. genius. I want to be a French graffiti artist.

5. Supporters. I have seen Le Tour de France live twice. Once in 1994 when they went through Sussex – and I lived twenty minutes away – and once in 2007 when they rode around Buckingham Palace and I lived a ten minute walk away. In terms of effort, it didn’t take much on my part. The French though, they head up mountains in their caravans and then wait for days until the peloton (plus the stragglers) pass them. It’s a whole lot of effort for a few minutes of live action. And I love them for it. Because they’re stupid. I love the French public.

6. Laurent. You might be startled to hear this, but my favourite rider is the late Laurent Fignon. A Frenchman. And it has absolutely nothing to do with his ability as a rider. It’s because he wore glasses. It’s because, due to his glasses, he was nicknamed ‘The Professor’. It’s because he looked a bit like Christopher Walken. Without his glasses.* So what? Well, in the days before I wore contact lenses, I wore glasses. And let me tell you, riding your bike, in the rain, with glasses on, is terrifying. It’s also thrilling. Which is why, whenever I went out cycling in the rain, I would pretend I was Laurent Fignon.** And every year, when Le Tour is on, I am reminded of this. I am reminded of the time I loved pretending I was a Frenchman.

Laurent Fignon (Not former 7 Reasons guest writer, Dr Simon Percy Jennifer Best)

7. The Run In. The final stage of Le Tour sees those who have managed to stay on their bikes for the duration cycle towards the finish on the Champs-Elysees. The best thing about this is that it is tradition for all the riders to drink Champagne on route. Then, when they’ve knocked backed the bottles, they put their heads down prepared for one last race around downtown Paris. An eight-lap course which features a significant section of cobblestones. This is French ingenuity at its best. Not only have you pushed your body to its absolute limit with little more than bum blisters and crack rash to show for it, now you’ve been intoxicated with alcohol ahead of one of the most dangerous surfaces on which one could possibly ride. Well done France. You’re funny.

*At this time A View To A Kill was my favourite Bond film. The first half of it anyway.

**Wondering who I pretended to be when I played cricket in the garden? Listen to the all-new 7 Reasons podcast this forthcoming Russian Roulette Sunday. ***

***This may or may not happen.

July 5, 2011
7 Reasons You Should Never Buy a Half Bottle of Champagne (on Valentine’s Day)

It’s Valentine’s Day here at 7 Reasons and, as you might reasonably expect, everywhere else too (we don’t have a special one just for ourselves, you know). Anyway, we’ve decided to do something different today. Usually we’d bring you seven reasons for something: Reasons full of speculation and conjecture; hypothesis; whimsy and made-up statistics. Today, however, is different: We’re not going to do any of those things. Because in another lifetime, one of the 7 Reasons team spent several years running wine shops (yes, you didn’t think either of us had any sort of practical use, but you were wrong). As a result of this, today’s 7 Reasons post comes from experience. Make the most of it, it won’t happen often. This piece is mostly aimed at men who, while in the minority of wine-buyers for the majority of the year are – by far – the majority of champagne-buyers in the run-up to (and at the last minute) on Valentine’s Day. Anyway, from experience, here are seven reasons that you should never buy a half bottle of champagne for Valentine’s Day.

1. You’re Missing The Point. Allow me to explain the point of buying champagne. It is a luxury item; an extravagance; a frippery; an opulent treat to be blissfully enjoyed in intemperate immoderation. You cannot have half an extravagance. You can’t have partial gratification. It is not possible to temper excess. If you buy half a bottle of champagne to share with your beloved on the universal day of romance and indulgence you will – should it turn out that you’ve parked it in front of someone’s driveway – be able to move your car; you’ll be able to put up shelving safely; you’ll be able to do the crossword with a clear head. Trust me, those things are not the point of Valentine’s Day.

2. Consider The Message You’re Sending. What kind of message are you giving to your loved one with a half bottle? That your gesture is half-hearted and half-arsed, that’s what message you’re sending. This is a token gesture. The spark’s gone out of our relationship. I don’t really want to spend a romantic evening with you. Here’s a bit of lip-service (which will, ironically, ensure that no lip-service will occur). I have no feeling for you whatsoever. I have no romance in my soul. I’m an insensitive bell-end and you’re wasting your time with me. You’re not saying just one of those things with half a bottle of champagne, you’re saying all of them. It’s sending a worse Valentine’s message than turning up with flowers that you’ve pilfered from a graveyard. In fact, it’s worse than turning up with a wreath that you’ve pilfered from a graveyard.

3. The Customer Is Always Right. This is not true. As we know, there are many people who can’t walk in a straight line, drive a car without endangering others or operate a telephone without calling the wrong person. This wrongness also manifests itself when purchasing things. Stupid people, when placed in a retail environment, do not suddenly experience some sort of revelatory experience in which the fog of stupidity is lifted from their feeble brains, leaving them with a hitherto unfamiliar sensation of lucidity and exactitude: They remain stupid. So, should you ask, in a wine shop, in the run up to Valentine’s Day, for half a bottle of champagne, you will be treated with utter contempt. Should you choose – once the aghast member of staff has explained reasons one and two to you, possibly in a voice an octave or two higher than their normal register – to persist with your foolish purchase of a half bottle of champagne, you will be forever thought of as the idiot. They will remember you; they will point at you whenever you come into the store; they will whisper about you to their colleagues before they both erupt into laughter. This reaction is not a temporary thing, it will last for eternity, and possibly beyond. Helpfully, they will also put your tiny bottle of champagne into the largest gift bag they can find and that won’t help you at all because…

4. Symbolism. There’s a lot of symbolism around champagne. Let us consider the use of champagne in film and television for a moment. The most obvious example is the popping of a cork and the subsequent cascade of abruptly released champagne as a metaphor for the male orgasm. In this metaphor, the bottle of champagne represents the male appendage. So – even though it might not be a conscious reaction – if you turn up with half a bottle of champagne on Valentine’s Day, your lady will be doubly disappointed. Not only will you have arrived with barely enough champagne to get the cat in the mood, you’ll have arrived with a small todger too.

5. Variety. Although all champagne is grown in a small geographical location, and is composed of any, or all, of a mere three grape varieties, there is a panoply of scents and flavours across vintages and producers. The variety is absolutely fascinating. So buying champagne is your chance to turn up with something interesting, to wow your beloved. And it doesn’t have to be expensive. This is your moment to turn up with a bottle of Taittinger Brut Reserve NV and tell your other half that, like her, it has a beautiful nose, is perfectly balanced, refreshingly complex and has a glorious aftertaste. Or you can turn up with any other nice bottle of fizz that takes your fancy; there are loads of them. If you buy a half bottle though, your choice will usually be limited to the house champagne or the ubiquitous Moet & Chandon. So, you’re either saying “Darling, I brought you half a bottle of Moet because I don’t care, I have a tiny cock, and you’re just the same as all the other girls” or “Darling, I brought you half a bottle of the house champagne because I don’t care, I have a tiny cock and you have lower standards than all the other girls”. That won’t go well.

6. Cost. Buying half a bottle of champagne is cheaper than buying a full bottle of champagne and, in the current economic climate, it might seem like a reasonable economy. It is not. Not only is the cost of a half bottle far greater than half the cost of a bottle, there are other costs that accompany the purchase of one. These costs are the usual ones associated with apology for acts of crass stupidity and thoughtlessness; flowers, chocolates and the like. And while we’re on the subject of peace offerings for women, lingerie is never a suitable apology gift. Never.

7. Volume. There is one thing to be said about the half bottle of champagne. It’s an ideal size for one person. This is useful as, if you take your significant other half a bottle of champagne, there is a high chance you’ll end up drinking it alone. Perhaps for many years to come.

The 7 Reasons team would like to wish all their readers lots of love and happiness this Valentine’s Day.

February 14, 2011
7 Reasons To Play The Brian Moore Drinking Game This Six Nations

Last week you may remember that Marc and I failed to deliver our regular Friday joint post. In an extraordinary turn of events we have repeated the trick this week as well. But that’s fine, because it gives me a chance to have a look at one of the greatest sporting events in the calender. Tonight sees the start of the 2011 Six Nations in Cardiff, with England taking on the Daffodil Nation. I could give you 7 Reasons to watch the Six Nations but I am pretty sure we covered that last year** and to be honest, not much has changed. You shouldn’t need to rethink it. Instead I am going to take a look at the commentators. And in particular the joy former England hooker Brian Moore will be bringing to the proceedings. With his passionate views, the words of Moore make this Six Nations the perfect opportunity to have a tipple. So here it is, the 7 Reasons Brian Moore Drinking Game.

1. Criticism. No matter which country a player is from, if he’s a silly boy, Moore will let everyone know about it. Similarly, if he feels a referee has made a bad decision, we will hear it. So, if Moore labels a player a ‘half-wit’ or brands the decision of the referee as ‘stupid’ you have to drink one finger.

2. Scrum. Given that Moore spent most of his career in the middle of one, I think he has the right to harp on about the issues of scrummaging for 80 minutes. And every time he bemoans a collapse, a reset or a wonky feed, you must drink two fingers.

3. Football. That’s right, every time Moore mentions those nancy boys in that round ball game and their rolling around on the floor antics, it’s time to drink three fingers.

4. Passion. Let’s put it like this, Moore is not entirely unbiased. You get the feeling that he’d quite like England to win. And he’s not exactly scared of sharing his passion for the cause. So every time he shows his blatant England bias, drink four fingers.

5. Anti-French Sentiments. Being a proper Englishman, Moore quite rightly lacks appreciation for all things French. So when he comes out which such gems as, “Looks like he’s injured…I don’t care though, he’s French,” it’s time to drink five fingers. And cheer.

6. Admission. On the very odd occasion that Moore views a replay and admits his initial judgement on proceedings was in fact wrong, you must down the rest of your drink.

7. Cut-off. Sometimes Moore can get so worked up about something that his emotions begin to pour out of the speakers. In the past it has led the producer to pulling the plug on Moore’s microphone. Below is the perfect example of what we are looking for. If this happens it is time to refill your glass and down it in one.

Most of all though, enjoy the tournament! (If you are English).

*7 Reasons does not condone drinking to extremes, so if you feel yourself getting dizzy before half-time you may stop.

**I lied. We did not give you 7 Reasons To Watch The Six Nations last year, our guest writer Rachel did. You can read it here.

February 4, 2011
Russian Roulette Sunday: A Recipe

Hi, Marc here. It’s Sunday and half of the 7 Reasons team is unwell. Sadly, its the half that’s writing today’s post; so I’m sorry if you’ve been clicking refresh on the homepage for the last few hours waiting expectantly for this to appear. Anyway, here it is.

A glass of mulled wine contains several of your five a day. Probably.

We’ve brought you recipes before of course. I’ve given you a recipe for SPAM on a plank, and Jon’s shown you how to remove something from the freezer. Badly. But it occurred to me that we’ve never given you a recipe for something you might conceivably like to consume. And it’s the time of year for it, so here’s my epic recipe for mulled wine that I’ve been inflicting on house-guests every winter since…well…before we had a house. Or guests. Anyway, here are the ingredients that you will need:

2 Bottles of red wine: It doesn’t matter how many people that you are going to give mulled wine too, the correct quantity is always two bottles. Don’t just use the cheapest wine that you can find as, if you do, your mulled-wine will be mulled-cheap-wine, and no one will like it. You don’t need to spend very much though, an inexpensive Aussie Shiraz-Cabernet will have enough strong fruit notes and body to support the ingredients, or a cheap Tempranillo. Just don’t use anything too light of body like a Pinot Noir or a Beaujolais, as it will be overpowered by the other ingredients.

2 Lemons (quartered).

2 Oranges (quartered).

4 Cloves.

5 Tablespoons of honey.

1 Cinnamon stick.

2 Teaspoons of ground ginger.

Put all of the ingredients into a pan. Put the pan on the hob. Turn the hob on (to a low heat). Stir constantly until the mulled-wine is near boiling point but importantly DO NOT LET THE MULLED-WINE BOIL! When it boils the alcohol escapes, and you need that in order to suffer your house-guests, (or they will need it to suffer you, in my case). While it is warming, taste frequently and add any random thing you can think of to improve the flavour. Last New Year’s Eve, I added a quartered and squeezed satsuma, half a cup of brandy, half a cup of triple sec, a big splash of orange juice and a tsunami of dark rum*. All of these things work very well in it. When everything’s in and it’s near boiling point turn the hob off and ladle your mulled-wine into cups, mugs or glasses (glasses without handles will be too hot to hold so only give those to guests you dislike). You may then drink the mulled-wine. And as you’re the person that made the delicious, warming, tasty beverage that they enjoyed so, everyone will briefly love you and will happily tolerate you for the remainder of the evening.

Right, I’m off to mull my way back to health. 7 Reasons will be back tomorrow with seven reasons…for something.

*Several hours after drinking this mulled-wine when we were cracking open the Champagne, we all realised that we were really quite drunk, and were surprised because we’d only consumed a bit of mulled-wine and three or four beers over the course of the evening. I think I’ve just solved the mystery.

December 19, 2010
7 Reasons Rome Clearly Had It In For Me

As an Englishman, when I travel abroad I like to cause as little trouble as possible. Sadly, when I went to Rome, trouble looked for me.

1. Roads. Now, call me a traditionalist, but I like two things from my roads. One: they should be fit for vehicles to manoeuvre up and down, and two: there should be occasional sets of traffic lights where those who have decided to travel upon foot can cross the road safely. While Rome provides both roads and traffic lights, it seems as if someone forgot to tell the drivers to stop when the little green man appears. As a result my holiday was nearly abruptly ended by six cars, two buses, fourteen mopeds and one skater.

2. Maps. I know it sounds like a cliche, but when one sees a free map, they should pick it up. I did just that. And for most of the first day I was able to understand it – we were still in Rome at least. That was until I started walking back to the hotel. The designers, in their Italian wisdom, had decided to mark the main tourist attractions on the map using small, 3D illustrations. And, to be fair to them, they did resemble the real-life draws. Unfortunately, they rarely appeared on the map facing the right direction. Consequently, I spent much of the walk home looking for the steps leading to the Campidoglio on the wrong road. To cut a long story short, we ended up back where we had started an hour earlier and I never held possession of the map again.

3. Wine. It is a well known fact in 7 Reasons circles that I am something of an amateur tea connoisseur. Sadly this is the only liquid based-substance that I have such a relationship with. Wine, for example, is something of an unknown quantity to me. There are three things I know about it. One, it comes in white; two, it comes in red; and, three, it should not be thrown over your girlfriend. Sadly, while Rome offered both white and red varieties, it also offered the opportunity for me to knock a glass over. Which I promptly accepted.

4. Gladiators. They’re an amorous lot. Even the fake ones hanging around the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, the Pantheon. Actually, let’s just call it Rome. They’re everywhere. And they took far too much of a liking to my girlfriend. If they weren’t trying to kiss her they were calling her Princess or offering to slay me. Yes, I know, it’s enough to make one quite nauseous. I mean, it was the type of behaviour I’d expect from the French or Piers Morgan.

5. String Sellers. Standing at the top of the Spanish Steps I was accustomed by two gentlemen, who – without invitation – decided to wrap string around my wrist. I was rather taken with the colours so allowed them to continue. ‘How nice,’ I thought, ‘no one has ever tied my wrists up in England before.’. As the string wound it’s way around my wrist to form a bracelet, I was told to make three wishes. ‘How nice,’ I thought, ‘this chap is certainly more friendly than that genie in a bottle.’. When he had finished, the other nice man decided to open his wallet to show me all the lovely notes inside. Initially I thought I got to choose which denomination of Euro I’d like, but after asking for €20 he became a bit grumpy. For a minute I thought he was asking me for money. Then I realised he actually was. At which point we became embroiled in a bitter stand off. They both wanted money for a bit of string, I wanted the string but not at a price. Sadly this story comes to a hugely anti-climatic end as, instead of letting me enjoy a bit of a fracas with Mussolini and Pinocchio, my girlfriend decided to gallop over and drag me away. At which point Pinocchio got all precious, whipped out his toe-nail clippers and cut the string. In doing so all my wishes were cast aside. Which just goes to show, in Rome you have to pay at least €5 for a yacht, a unlimited supply of tea-bags and a speaking dolphin.

6. Sarah. If I were a woman, and I can’t in all honesty say I have ever considered it as a career option, I suspect Sarah would be a name I would strongly consider. Or at least it would have been had I not been called it dozens upon dozens of times in Rome. On the first night, I assumed I had just done something effeminate with my hair, but, having altered my style every night thereafter, the Sarah-tag just wouldn’t leave. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Then I discovered they were actually saying, ‘Sera’. It means, ‘Evening’. I felt silly.

7. Hotel. I chose our hotel, so, upon arrival, I was somewhat relieved to find that I had indeed booked us into somewhere quite nice. There were no tea and coffee facilities, but on the plus side we did get slippers. The hotel carried on being pleasant until our final night when we suddenly noticed dozens of blue flashing lights creeping through the shutters in our room. Upon moving to the window, we opened the shutters to see the street lined with Police. And looking to our left we saw the start of a protest rally. Half an hour later the rally was holding a noisy, sit-down protest. In the road. Right outside our hotel. Like I say though, we did have slippers.

October 25, 2010
7 Reasons That Oranges are Rubbish

Oranges. They’re a really, really poor fruit. Here’s a film which explains why.

7 Reasons That Oranges are Rubbish

October 5, 2010
7 Reasons To Plan Your Picnic Carefully

1. Where Are You Going? If you are off to a day of Polo, you probably don’t want to be taking along some of Lidl’s less-than-finest Scotch Eggs. People will look down on you. Even if they are sitting down themselves. And at the other end of the scale, you probably don’t want to be taking along your Selfridges’ Hamper if you’ve managed to get a ticket for Millwall Football Club’s ‘Grand Day Out In Leeds’.

2. Do You Have Any Suncream? No? Good. No one is going to mistake it for the mayonnaise then.

3. How Much Food Do You Have? This isn’t so much about the number of bags you are taking with you, more the size of the blanket. You don’t want so much food that the only way you can sit down is by playing twister around the sausage rolls. Nor do you want so little food that you wish you’d just brought a flannel instead.

4. Do You, Or Anyone You Know, Suffer From Picnic Envy? It’s always a difficult one this, you are happily munching on a pork pie when you suddenly get a whiff of something quite extraordinary. Either than or you spin round and see someone with a better set of cutlery. It’s enough to ruin the atmosphere. And make you play Frisbee a bit closer to those with the Chicken Cordon Bleu than is strictly necessary.

5. Have You Checked The Weather Forecast? Even if it says it is going to be sunny and thirty degrees, you can be certain that it will rain. A practical solution, therefore, is to take all-weather food and drink. Melon for instance. And water. Sandwiches are a definite no-no and despite what people say, even the sturdiest of celery sticks can go limp in a thunderstorm.

6. Are You Fully Equipped? By this I mean, do you have the bottle opener/corkscrew? The one thing park rangers frown upon is picnickers trying to open a bottle of Cava using irregular practices. Like using the numberplate of their jeep.

7. Are You Going Into A Forest? Bears like food. They like people too.

July 12, 2010
7 Reasons Not to Have a Dinner Party

1. The bad-egg. At any dinner party, at least one person will behave badly and annoy all of the other guests. It’s always a man. Often it’s me.

2. Multi-tasking. Women can multi-task – they demonstrate this by talking during films. This means that they approach both hosting and cooking for a dinner party with confidence, which makes it all the more tragic when your tearful hostess returns from the kitchen bearing a foul-smelling tray containing something black (possibly the charred remains of a flan) and a bowl of something green and unidentifiable (no idea). If you want to see a grown-woman cry, you don’t have to go to a dinner party. You can just hide her chocolate – which is a lot easier.

3. Candles. There are always candles on the table at dinner parties but no one knows why. I don’t want to singe my arm hair every time I pour some wine or pass the salt. Why would you want to put a fire on the table?

4. Wine. Guests always bring wine with them, and it’s always the wrong one – a Barolo when the main course is a delicate fish dish, or a New Zealand sauvignon blanc to go with lamb. Why can’t guests just do something useful and bring dessert with them? Or not come?

5. Cheesecake. A plain, unadorned cheesecake is one of the best desserts ever. I don’t want cheesecake made with Baileys, I don’t want cheesecake made with fruit, nor do I want cheesecake made with chocolate. What I would like is cheesecake made with cheese. And cake. Don’t tell me that I’m getting a cheesecake for dessert and then bring me something made with gooseberries and covered in sauce! Why can no one hosting a dinner party resist cocking up a cheesecake? Is it the law?

6. Children. I was brought up in a house that often hosted dinner parties – at least one a month – but I don’t think that my siblings or I even caught sight of one until we were eighteen years old. No one has ever successfully explained why children are banished from dinner parties to me. Is it because of the candles?

7. Restaurants. There are places where a group of people can sit around a table and eat wonderful food – made to a higher standard than they could manage themselves – they’re called restaurants. The diners don’t have to get up to fetch courses, drinks or cutlery and they don’t end up with candle-wax on their carpet. You can choose what you want to eat and drink rather than have your courses compromised by your friends bizarre and varied dietary requirements, children don’t have to be hidden – they can be taken with you or looked after by a babysitter – and you don’t have to wash-up afterwards. I sincerely hope they catch on.

March 15, 2010