Tag: York

7 Reasons To Carry A Laundry Basket At All Times

Hello 7 Reasons readers, it’s Marc here, and I have news! Now you might find it hard to contain your excitement when you read this, but I’ve bought a new laundry basket! Now, I have to admit that this is something I wouldn’t usually share with 7 Reasons readers, but the purchase of the laundry basket (pictured below this paragraph) set in motion a chain of events that led me to realise that life would be immeasurably improved for people that carried a laundry basket around with them at all times. Here’s why.

Yes, it's a laundry basket!

1. Wear It As A Hat. “I’m not sure I’ve thought this purchase through,” I found myself saying as I was leaving my local laundry basket emporium, “I’m going to be lumbered with this thing for the evening now”. “Well, if it rains, you can always wear it as a hat,” said the woman at the checkout, helpfully. She’s right, I thought as I strolled out of the store. Throughout human history, the fundaments of our very existence have been food, reproduction (of which more later) and shelter. Now you can’t eat your laundry basket, and you can’t mate with it (and certainly not in the car park), but if you’ve a laundry basket with you, much in the manner of a snail with its shell, you are assured of shelter in all circumstances. You can wear it as a hat in moderate weather, and in extremis you can climb inside and fasten the lid. With your laundry basket you will be inured from the effects of wind, rain, sun, snow, hail; in fact, most of the elements except for lead.

2. Financial Gain. Arriving at the supermarket (forward planning is really not my thing), I picked up a shopping basket and, with a basket in each hand now, I set off to gather my goods. As I walked round the store, I soon found that I was being followed by a security guard who became quite agitated when I entered the spirits aisle. Then I realised something. A laundry basket would be a great thing to fill with goods, but is too conspicuous by half to be used for the purpose of theft. Then, I had an idea: For six months, I could take my laundry basket wherever I went. Everyone would notice this so in very little time, the entire city would come to know me as Laundry Basket Man: the harmless eccentric that carries with him, as his constant companion, his empty laundry basket. And then, once this reputation had been earned, I could begin to shoplift with it. After six months carrying an empty laundry basket around, who would suspect me? Or you?

3. It Makes People Feel Good. Having devised a fiscal plan for my future, I arrived at the checkout. As I queued, the couple in front of me kept looking back, then whispering between themselves and giggling. They paid for their goods and left, and then it was my turn. As I put the laundry basket down, the girl at the checkout glared at it as if I’d just placed a leprechaun in front of her, or a turquoise baboon. Realising that this was something that she had not been expecting to face and that I had taken her somewhere out of her comfort zone, I knew that I needed to say something, preferably something witty, to diffuse the situation. I thought hard while the girl continued to stare at the basket. After several seconds, the silence was weighing heavy and the situation was becoming uncomfortable, I needed to say something – anything – as soon as possible. What to say? What to say? Ah, got it! “I’ve brought my laundry basket out with me,” I stated, matter-of-factly. The girl stopped glaring at the laundry basket and, with an expression of pure contempt, turned to glare at me. As I paid for my goods and sloped out of the supermarket, I realised something. I realised that many insecure people feel better about their own life when they have someone to look down on (this is why bullying happens) and, that if you were to carry a laundry basket about, you’d be performing a valuable public service. You’d be making people feel good about themselves.

4. It’s Distracting. It was half past six. As I strode along the pavement past roads full of gridlocked traffic, I could sense that everyone, in every car, bus and van, was staring at the laundry basket. I realised that this could be a useful thing. Have you ever had a spot? Have you ever had a bad hair day? Perhaps you have a spot so well established that it’s having a bad hair day of its own? Well, worry no more. When you carry a laundry basket around, no one will notice. You’ll never need to do your hair again or iron your trousers – you’ll even be able to wear purple – as all eyes will be on the basket.

5. It’s A Talking Point. I arrived at the pub*. Taking a seat at the bar, I placed my laundry basket down beside me. Now you might think that a laundry basket at a bar would be a similar thing to the elephant in the room, but you’d be wrong. The elephant was larger, greyer and no one was talking about him. He seemed a bit piqued. The laundry basket, however, was on everyone’s lips. If you want to hear references to Ali Baba, snake charming, washing machines, midget-smuggling, The Wicker Man etcetera, etcetera, et bloody cetera, carry a laundry basket with you. There’s never an uncomfortable silence when you have a laundry basket. Or any silence.

6. Reproduction. Something else occurred to me while I was in the pub: I’m married, but I know that for single people, meeting prospective partners is difficult. As the father of a small child though, I know how to break the ice and meet people and, should anyone have a penchant for crazed women over the age of forty-seven, I would advise that they carry a small baby around with them. They will meet absolutely everyone’s batty aunt (whether they want to or not), and sometimes a whole mob of them. But perhaps your tastes are different? You might want to meet younger people of the opposite sex? People of the same sex? Perhaps you’re a Justin Bieber fan who wants to meet people of indeterminate sex? When you carry a laundry basket, you’ll get to meet – and talk to – absolutely bloody everyone, so your chances of finding a partner are significantly increased. Your chances of murdering the ninety-fourth person that asks if they can see your snake are quite high too, but for the patient and tolerant, a laundry basket is a shortcut to sexual success.

7. Keep Track. Finally, after as many conversations about Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves as any man could bear, I headed home to surprise my wife with the laundry basket**. Having negotiated the front door I strode into the house, stepped into the living room, placed my surprise on the floor and, with a quiver of excitement in my voice announced, “Look darling! I’ve bought…a laundry basket.” “I know,” she replied. “How?” I enquired, disbelievingly. “I’ve had texts”. She showed me her phone. She certainly had received texts. Texts that said: “I’ve just seen your husband walking down the street with a laundry basket”. Texts that said: “Ooh, I like your new laundry basket.” Texts that said: “Just seen Marc in the pub with a laundry basket”. It turns out that all of York was abuzz with talk of the laundry basket. So, if you’re a bit forgetful or prone to getting lost, carrying a laundry basket will ensure that your other half will receive a detailed up to the minute report of your every movement from her network of spies friends. You’ll also: have a permanent shelter; be better off financially; bring joy to others; never have to worry about your appearance; never be lost for conversation, and – if single – you’ll be more sexually successful. The next time you go out, don’t forget your laundry basket.

*A laundry basket is not the strangest thing that one of the 7 Reasons team has taken to a pub.

**Yes, our life really is this dull.

June 30, 2011
Russian Roulette Sunday: It’s Cake!
Hello 7 Reasons readers! It’s Marc here and today, dear readers, we would like you to make a cake. This cake.

It’s Oxfam’s Easy Lime and Ginger Cheesecake, the recipe for which comes from my local Oxfam Bookshop’s brilliant blog . The recipe calls for the use of Fairtrade Stem Ginger Cookies and, when you go to your nearest Oxfam shop to buy them, you’ll be giving money to a worthwhile cause. That’s right readers, by making and eating an ethically sourced cheesecake (unless you buy mascarpone sourced from warmongering cheesemongers) you’ll be helping a good cause in an ethical way. In fact, if we can all make and eat enough cheesecake, we can probably save the world, and I’ll be trying very hard. Here’s the achingly simple recipe as published by Oxfam Books, Petergate York:

Easy Lime and Ginger Cheesecake
- Serves 4
- Prep time: 15 min
- Chilling time: 30 min
- Basically, in 45 minutes you’re in business.
Ingredients
- 200g pack of Fairtrade stem ginger cookies, crushed
- 50g butter, melted
- 500g mascarpone cheese (they usually come in 250g tubs, so get two of these)
- 40g icing sugar, sifted
- Finely grated zest and juice of two limes
Method

1. Mix together the crushed biscuits and melted butter (I also like to add a bit of sugar to my cheesecake bases to make them a bit jazzier) and press into the bottom of an 18cm (7inch) spring-sided or loose-bottomed cake tin.

2. Place the mascarpone cheese, icing sugar, lime zest and juice in a bowl and beat together. Spread this mixture over the biscuit base.

3. Put it in the fridge and chill for 30 min! That’s really it.

That’s the entire recipe. It’s basically spreading cheese on biscuits and it’s so simple that absolutelyanyone should be able to make it. And now we’re going to demonstrate that even people with no food preparation skills, knowledge or aptitude can follow this recipe. I’m going to hand you over to my writing partner: A man whose culinary education began and ended with learning how to boil water for tea: A man who – before he moved to Kent – was known as The Fulham Poisoner: A man whose litany of culinary disasters includes failing at defrosting a chicken and the hospitalisation of a flatmate*. He’s going to make a cheesecake himself and feed it to his fiancé Claire – a renowned and accomplished maker of cakes – who will judge it on appearance, texture and taste (should she survive). Here’s Jon.

“It was only when I was standing in the queue that I realised I had been well and truly duped. The idea of making a cheesecake and then eating it had originally sounded like a good idea, which is why I had agreed. Marc had, after all, said all it required was a spare half hour. In my book, that’s a fair exchange for cake. But as I stood there I realised it had already been twenty-five since I had left home and I hadn’t even purchased the ingredients. There was no way I could make a cheesecake in five minutes. Not there. And then I got to the till. Which is when I realised this idea was also going to cost me money. Just short of £5 in fact. That’s a lot to spend just to have something to write about. I couldn’t help but think if I had managed the past year and a half writing without having to pay for the privilege, why did this have to change? I trudged home.

Having spread the ingredients in front of me and read the recipe, I realised this was the exact same cheesecake that Claire makes. And she makes it very well. Brilliant. So I’ve had to walk all the way the shops, spend the best part of a fiver on ingredients and now I am challenging my future wife by making one of her specialities. Perturbed, I carried on. Twenty minutes later I was left staring at the following creation:

Making it was something of a doddle. What was not a doddle was the washing up. I don’t know how often you zest a lime, but cleaning the zesting part of the grater is quite possibly a harder job than watching England play cricket. Still, an hour later I was done. I also had lime poisoning from licking the bowl.

The next part of this project – and that is very much what it had become – was to get Claire to profer her opinion. These are the results of the Claire survey.

On Appearance: “That looks nice.”

On Texture: “It’s nice.”

On Taste: “That was very nice”.

So there we have it. I make nice cheesecakes. I am sure your Sunday just got a whole lot better with that news.”

*Which he denies.**

**Falsely.

***As Oxfam Books, Petergate York would (and actually did) tell you themselves, remember the whole point of this recipe is that it is a Fairtrade recipe. So help the global community during this Fairtrade Fortnight (and after) by buying Fairtrade goods as much as you can.
March 6, 2011
Russian Roulette Sunday: Celebrity Exclusive
At 7 Reasons we’ve never brought you exclusive celebrity news before, but now we have some. A letter has been erroneously delivered to one of us (the York based one) with exciting details about the private life of an icon of both the large and the small screen.

We don’t know why Bairstow Eves sent this letter to us, as it’s addressed to homeowners in Clifton, York, where neither of the 7 Reasons team live, but we’re jolly glad they did. Here it is:

Dear Home Owner,

BUYERS WAITING

CLIFTON

We urgently require more properties to sell in Clifton for the following clients who are registered with our office.
- Mr T is a first time buyer looking for a property with a minimum of two bedrooms. He will consider any style of house.
- Mr & Mrs H have their property on the market and are looking to purchase a two bedroom house in Clifton.
- Mrs H is looking for a semi or detached property with a minimum of four bedrooms.
I would stress that this is a genuine and urgent enquiry; we only take this time and effort for serious potential purchasers. Please contact our Sales Team on 01904 622 355 to arrange your free, no obligation Market Appraisal.

Assuring you of our best attention at all times.

Yours Faithfully,

*********************

Office Manager – Bairstow Eves York.

That’s right, 7 Reasons readers! This man. Mr T is looking to buy a house in York!

I pity the fool that sells me a home in the wrong area!

Now we don’t know why the star of the A-Team and Rocky III is looking to buy a property here. It seems unlikely that it’s going to be a second home for holidaying as the letter also reveals that (surprisingly) Mr T is a first time buyer. And it tells us that he will consider any style of house; though presumably he’ll want one with a garage full of odds and ends that he can spontaneously fashion into an armoured car or use to construct an impromptu gun turret.

The letter goes on to tell us that Mr and Mrs H (we don’t know who these people are, they’re not important celebrities like Mr T) are looking to purchase a two bedroom house in Clifton. But wait! Mrs H is also looking to buy a semi or detached property with a minimum of four bedrooms. We don’t know why. Perhaps she’s a brazen strumpet who’s looking for somewhere to house her army of lovers? We just don’t know. We do feel that Mr H should be worried, but mostly we’re excited about Mr T.*

Thank you, Bairstow Eves, for bringing this important celebrity news to our attention. 7 Reasons (.org) will return tomorrow with reasons (unless there is any more Mr T news).

*I have an A-Team duvet cover that needs signing.
November 14, 2010
7 Reasons You Know it’s Autumn (in Yorkshire)

As I walked down the street yesterday, something suddenly hit me: It’s Autumn; here in Yorkshire. Here’s how I can tell.

1. Leaves. The leaves turn brown and fall from the trees. This, you may be thinking, is not unique to Yorkshire, and you would be correct. But here, the leaves fall horizontally and, while I was walking down the street yesterday, a large wet leaf flew from a tree at incredible speed and slapped me in the face. Aha, I thought, it must be autumn again. And ouch. And several minutes later, I developed the traditional Yorkshire ruddy complexion, which will probably last me until March.

2. Water. You may also think that water isn’t unique to Yorkshire and once more, you would be correct. But the fact is that wherever you live – unless you live in the sea – we probably have more of it than you. Whenever there’s a drought in the UK we still have water, and it’s often transported to drier counties (usually Kent) via tanker. And you can tell it’s autumn here because (incredibly) the daily rainfall increases from monsoon to biblical and our rivers get restless and start to explore the surrounding areas. There’s one hanging around at the end of my street right now.

3. Mud. You probably have mud in your gardens that you put your geraniums in, but that doesn’t really prepare you to see Yorkshire autumn mud. I have no idea where it comes from, but our mud is epic. All through the autumn, it’s bloody everywhere, just oozing from things: From our riversides to our footpaths, it eventually covers our towns and cities in a sludgy goo. In fact, Yorkshire is brown until the winter comes, and then it becomes brown and cold.

4. Darkness. On some Autumn days in Yorkshire, it just doesn’t get light. At all. And, when you’re trying to do something in the kitchen at lunchtime (usually making lunch) and you have to switch the lights on, you know it’s autumn. Or you’ve forgotten to open the blinds, but no one would blame you for that, as your view for this quarter of the year is mud, water, flying leaves and darkness. If darkness is even a view.

5. Meanness. Yorkshire folk have quite a reputation for meanness. Some of this is undeserved: The rumour that branches of the Yorkshire Bank don’t have a safe but do, in fact, keep all of their money under a giant mattress is not true and was started by some horrible foreigner (or me, as I sometimes call myself). But in the autumn, people in Yorkshire become chronically mean. Only yesterday, as I walked through the wind and the rain, coat wrapped tightly around me, I saw a man being dragged along by a large umbrella step into a six-inch-deep puddle, soaking his leg. And I laughed. And that was when the leaf hit me. And he laughed back. We’re mean in the autumn.

6. Millinery. Now, it’s also a fanciful stereotype that Yorkshire men wear flat caps all the time. This is not true. Even Yorkshire men don’t wear flat caps in the summer. How do you think many of them get their red, peeling scalps? The flat cap is seldom donned until the autumn. And then it’s worn pushed firmly onto the head to keep it from blowing away. When you see flat caps you know it’s autumn in Yorkshire. Or winter. Or spring.

7. People. Yorkshire is a beautiful place that rightly attracts a lot of tourists. And in the summer, they’re everywhere. Walking slowly and pointing. In the autumn, however, they disappear. I don’t know where they go: Perhaps they drown, perhaps they blow away, perhaps we just don’t see them in the darkness, but they do disappear. Hopefully to somewhere nice as it’s bloody grim here right now.

November 9, 2010
7 Reasons That Riding A Segway Was Disappointing

On Wednesday, a group of us went to the National Railway Museum in York to take advantage of their new attraction, a Segway ride. Having spent the week eagerly anticipating this outing I was rather excited. But it turns out that riding a Segway was disappointing. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Waiting. There were four Segways, and there were more than four people in front of us. That meant that we had to wait. And while we waited, we could see Segways, but we weren’t on them. And, not only were we not on them. No one was on them. But still we had to wait. Because waiting is compulsory. And we got hungry. So we talked about food and got hungrier and hungrier and hungrier. Ideally we wanted our Segways to be made of cheese when we got to them.

2. The Course. The wait allowed us to observe the Segway course close-up and for some time. We realised that there was a slightly raised kerb in the middle of a bend; an observation that filled us with dread. Still, one of us had heard that it’s physically impossible to fall off a Segway and we were reassured by this. And also the course was surrounded by a massive inflatable barrier, so if you went off course you’d drive into something soft. And bounce off it and land on the concrete floor. And then get run over by a Segway.

3. The Outfit. Apparently jeans, a brown merino knit sweater, a grey blazer and a pink, purple, brown and white striped scarf is not the correct outfit for riding a Segway (or riding anything else when visible to people). To ride a Segway, you are required to dress as Robocop. The kit includes a black helmet and several pieces of black body armour: wrist guards, knee and shin guards, and elbow and forearm guards. All we lacked was a bullet-proof chest-guard and a flame-resistant codpiece. They, presumably, are available on request.

4. The Briefing. The briefing went on for a very long time. I have no idea what was being said, as it was a briefing. While Harry (the briefer) pointed at Segways and gesticulated wildly, I was wondering if the pope wears white underpants or whether he occasionally puts on red ones when he’s feeling frisky. Then the impossible happened: A man fell off a Segway. I realised that this was probably unrelated to my papal contemplation (unless god was smiteing inaccurately that day), but it did get my attention and made me resolve to listen. And then the briefing ended.

5. Danger. The first Segway arrived and it was time to go. It was not made of cheese. A friend prepared to mount it while his girlfriend and I watched, expectantly; hoping to see him careen crazily out of control and hurtle into an inflatable barrier or even fall off in a less spectacular manner; we didn’t mind. The important thing was that he should fall off. He didn’t. He did lurch back-and-forth alarmingly for several seconds before performing an inadvertent pirouette which got our hopes up, but then he set off quite steadily and sedately. This was very disappointing.

6. Then It Was My Turn. I stepped on to the Segway and, while everyone watched, expectantly, hoping to see me careen crazily out of control and hurtle into an inflatable barrier, I leant forward and I was away. Soon, I reached a corner and leaned back to slow down, and I slowed down. Then, I steered into the corner and the Segway went into the corner. It was undramatic. It turns out that Segways are the simplest vehicle in the world to operate. I seemed to have the slowest one ever made because, despite going quickly through the corners, I was slower on the straight than everyone else. I was even lapped twice by a small boy, who seemed to revel in whooshing past me as close as he could. It was slower than running or cycling and not much more fun. And I could have wiped the floor with the small boy at running or cycling. And I could beat him at Trivial Pursuit. And arm-wrestling.

7. The Video. Later, after the event was over, we settled down to watch the video, which was filmed by my non-Segway-riding wife using my phone. I had pressed record and handed the phone to her the correct way up before wandering off to don my Robocop costume. Within thirty seconds she was filming in portrait, rather than landscape and the phone was upside-down. She doesn’t seem to have wondered why the part of the phone facing her bore the word “ǝƃuɐɹo” at all. Fortunately I noticed this and, the highlight of the video is a tall upside-down man with a gaudy scarf and partial body armour explaining the finer points of holding a phone the right way up. The rest of the video consists of two minutes of footage of slow moving Segways, nine minutes of slow moving Segways obscured by the inflatable barrier she decided to go and stand behind, one and a half minutes of giant index finger and forty-five seconds of gazing longingly at an ice cream van (which is the second best bit). Overall, a disappointment.

October 29, 2010
7 Reasons That Squirrels Shouldn’t Eat KitKats

Yesterday, A picture of a squirrel eating a KitKat was printed in the York Press. It struck us that squirrels eating KitKats was a bad thing. Here are seven reasons why.

1. Health. As humorists, we don’t know much about the internal workings of squirrels (or about the economy of Papua New Guinea for that matter, though that is less relevant here), but we’re fairly certain that chocolate is bad for squirrels. In fact, it could be deadly for them.

2. Corpses. And parks littered with the corpses of dead KitKat-eating squirrels aren’t fun places. In fact, they’re probably hazardous to park-goers; just try chasing a frisbee when there are many dead squirrels underfoot. Or get a dog, they chase frisbees for you. And probably eat squirrel corpses. But they poo everywhere – and chase writers – and no one wants that. Also, the park of dead squirrels would probably…

3. Upset The Girl. And no one wants to upset the girl.

4. Squirrel Obesity. Although grey squirrels are American, and we should expect them to be on the portly side, they will only be made fatter by the consumption of chocolate confections. And the spectre of obese squirrels lumbering around the nations’ parks is not a desirable one. In fact…

5. It Could Be Injurious To Flora. And this would upset the girl. And no one wants to upset the girl (she’s not called Flora, by the way).

6. The Unknown. We just don’t know what effect eating KitKats could have on squirrels. Partly because this is a new phenomena and there is insufficient data available to construct a meaningful hypothesis, and partly because we would rather do almost anything than conduct a scientific study. Or maths. Or whatever the hell it is. Anyway, our cursory investigations have led us to conclude that eating KitKats could cause the grey squirrel to mutate into a giant submarine-eating creature that would constitute a hazard to shipping.*

7. And This Would Upset The Girl. And no one wants to upset the girl.

*Our study mostly consisted of thinking hmm, what could we photoshop into the hands of the squirrel?

**7 Reasons (.org) would like to make it clear that we do not believe that Nestle are a large, evil corporation that are attempting to achieve world domination by causing squirrels to mutate into giant submarine-eating creatures that dwell at the North Pole.***

***Do not read that with a sarcastic tone, it totally undermines the important disclaimer.

****Picture “borrowed” from York Press. But if you check the original article, you can see that we’ve put it back exactly where we found it.

September 10, 2010
7 Reasons Not To Write On The Train

As a part of 7 Reasons Travel Week, we have decided to try something new. Rather than writing this piece in a conventional location; a quiet atmosphere of consideration and reflection – or in the pub – it’s going to be written on the train during a journey from York to Kings Cross. We like to think of it as a bold experiment into guerrilla style blogging, because that sounds more interesting than a man typing on a train. Anyway, the guard has blown his whistle (or I’m having another acid house flashback) and we’re off. Here are seven reasons not to write on the train.

Space…The Lack Of

1. It’s Tight. No, not my prose style, my deadline – or even my trousers – I’m referring to the amount of room that I have at the moment. I’m 6’2”. The tiny seat that I am crammed into has sufficient legroom for an eight year old child (a small one). My back is planted firmly into the back of my seat and my knees are jammed right up against the hard back of the seat in front of me, just under the “table”. I’ve only been seated for ten minutes and I’m already in pain. Balanced on the teeny-weeny-tiny “table” in front of me is my very small netbook, a bottle of water, a pen, a notebook with a picture of a skateboarder on it (how cool am I?) and a pair of sunglasses. The sunglasses aren’t meant to be on the “table”, they just keep being shaken from their resting place on top of my head. They – for some reason – always land on the f key. Anyway, ocular accoutrements aside, it is all essential writing gear on the “table” (well, I say on the “table”, I keep having to retrieve a lot of it from the floor). This is because of…

2. The Shaking. The shaking of the train is making typing difficult, to say the least. It causes me to accidentally touch the trackpad quite a lot, which makes the text I am typing suddenly begin to appear in the middle of a line I don’t want it to be on. So if what you’re reading seems somewhat confused and incoherent, it’s because of the shaking and not, as is usually the case, because I’m confused and incoherent. Jfmklsdjlggfkgnfk;gnf.g (My apologies, that was my bottle of water leaping from the table and landing on the keyboard. That happens quite frequently).

My webcam captures the moment the flying bottle makes another guest appearance

3. The Mysterious Burning Smell. Oh yes, we have one of those. It smells like an electrical fire. I first noticed it shortly before the train ground to a halt in the middle of the countryside near Leeds. Am I about to die in an inferno? Where is the nearest door? Why don’t the hammers next to the windows resemble hammers? Is that a field full of cows that we’ll have to escape into? Why didn’t I finish that packet of Hob-Nobs before we left the house? I’m beginning to realise that my imminent death isn’t conducive to concentration.

4. The “WiFi”. The East Coast Mainline WiFi network is slower than the train itself. In fact, it’s slower than me alighting from the train, going to the pub for a bit, growing a beard, taking a course in both basic and advanced basket-weaving, and then walking to Google’s office in California to get a printout of the web page that I now wish to view. I keep checking back every five minutes or so, to see if my web page has loaded but no, it hasn’t. And I may need to read that page on how to avoid being eaten by a cow as a matter of some urgency.

5. The Woman Next To Me. The woman sitting next to me, despite being approximately a foot shorter than I am, keeps complaining about the lack of legroom. She also keeps staring at my screen, which is very off-putting. She continually encroaches into my armrest territory, and when the train jars or shakes, her pointy elbow digs into my left arm and my ribs. It serves me right for marrying a woman with sharp elbows, I suppose. The woman next to me is now pulling a face.

6. Announcements. I’m being annoyed by the PA system and it’s causing me to become distracted and lurch into epistolary instead of writing properly.

Dear PA System,

I have heard the announcements now, and I understand them, thank you. I couldn’t be more aware of the location of the buffet car, the name of the train manager, or the myriad ticket restrictions that apply to my journey. I have now decided, as a consequence of the many announcements I have heard, that I will be taking my personal belongings with me when I leave the train. Obviously, without your help, I would have abandoned all of my stuff and wandered off the train naked to begin a new life unencumbered by material possessions and socks. Thank you very much for sparing me from this alternate and possibly quite chilly future. Yours sincerely,

Passenger 12 (facing). Coach C.

7. The Time. We’ve been on the train for two hours and we’re arriving at King’s Cross already. That’s not enough time to write anything. Where’s my delay? Bastards!

August 20, 2010
7 Reasons That Size is Important

Whether you’re a cricketer, a despot, a politician or a git; size matters. Here are 7 reasons why.

1. Geoffrey Boycott. If Geoff Boycott had used a bat this size, no bowler would ever have taken his wicket. Carrying the large bat would also have caused him to move more slowly, meaning that there would have been fewer instances of him running team-mates out. The obdurate Boycott would have been so effective with the larger bat that, having started this match in 1979, he would probably still be batting now. With a score of about thirty runs.

2. David Cameron. I have shrunk David Cameron and his relative size in this picture is a more accurate representation of the UKs importance in the world order. It serves him right for belittling war heroes on his recent trip to the USA: He caused me to agree with the Daily Mail! This is his punishment.

3. My Cat. If my cat were this size then he would terrorize the city of York, wreaking untold havoc, death and destruction on the population by falling asleep on them about once every ten minutes. He is quite useless. And fortunately quite small.

4. Piers Morgan. If Piers Morgan’s head were…oh…Piers Morgan’s head is this size. Pretend you haven’t seen it. I know I will.

5. Umbrellas. If umbrellas were this small then they would be ineffective, and people would soon realise that having wet hair isn’t the end of the world. Golf umbrellas would no longer block entire streets and incidences of tall people being poked in the eye by the damned things would plummet, causing me to shout less at short people, making the world a more peaceful and harmonious place.

6. Hitler’s Hand. If Hitler’s hand had been this size, the strain brought about by all of the saluting would have caused him to bring about a rapid demilitarisation of Nazi Germany, which would have given him the time to set more peaceful goals and to consider important questions, such as: Why do the British think that one of my testicles is in the Albert Hall? What does my moustache really say about me? Why does Himmler’s hat have a triangle embedded in it?

7. Indiana Jones’s Hat. If Indiana Jones had worn a hat this size then Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull would never have been made, as he would barely have made it past the opening scenes of Raiders of the Lost Ark and, even if he had, would never have escaped the large boulder thing in the middle of the film. If I had worn a hat this size to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, my viewing experience would have been immeasurably improved, as would that of the couple behind me.

*I got all the way to the end without saying penis. Yay!

July 23, 2010