This morning I had a shower and it was excellent. I am going to tell you about it.
My shower, right, is a thing in my bathroom where hot water comes out and makes me less dirty. This morning I adjusted the settings and made it hotter than I normally have it.
It was ACE. It was rather a lot like a volcano, but a ceiling-mounted volcano where it’s above you and the stuff is all coming downwards. And instead of a cone of ignacious rock protruding from a zone of geological instability close to the margins of tectonic plates, it was more like a plastic shower head mounted on the wall. And where the hot, burning lava and pyroclastic flow would be on a normal volcano was actually just fairly hot water, not hot enough to burn or otherwise damage human skin on contact.
That was what my shower was like this morning. The towel was green.
February 3rd, 2010
Chris
Right. You lot (and this includes me)….
You have a website here, which lets you rant, rave, share crap, post things and generally put stuff on the interwebs in the vein hope that someone else reads/laughs at/will ever see/care in the slightest about it.
We have all long neglected this power (let’s call it a power) for far too long. The incessant December based ramblings of a certain member of the group seems to have left all of us a little disenfranchised with the whole thing. This cannot be allowed to go on much longer. I am fearful that a drought of posts lasting too long will allow the weight leaning against the Character Hatch (TM) to crumble and let the Saint King back in. And nobody wants that now do they?
Right now, in this, My first post of 2010, I call upon you all (again, myself included) to get your creative bits off their internal brain sofas and get posting…
PouringBeans.com needs you!
<use freshly awoken creative juices to insert picture of mustache adorned man pointing and scowling here>
January 31st, 2010
Kevil
The onslaught from the severe weather that has hit the country within the last 28 days has been immense. There have been schools closed, roads paved with ice, power shortages, electrical problems, endless panic buying, people pushed to their limits. It has been the the freeziest and worst December / January for a long time.
Luckily London has not been affected by any of this. We spoke to fashion guru and local MP Quaff for the reasons behind this.
“London is the centre of everything. Everything revolves around London. I have always lived in London because London has always been here, for me and for many others. If I were to leave London it would only be to travel around the world and return to London, on the same flight, possibly the same plane, so London would have a fresher taste when I gazed upon her sweet, sweet enclosures.”
5 minutes later.
“London is as London does. You think you’ve done something new? You think you’ve found something undiscovered? No. No you haven’t. London has discovered it first. That’s what it’s called Lon-done. It’s done, all done. London did it before you. Don’t try to steal it from London!”
Another 5 minutes later.
“So you see, it comes back to London. Everyone comes back to London. She is the sweetest flower in the pack, the tastiest bone in the kennel, the juciest plumbs in the meadow. Nobody owns London, London owns you. But she doesn’t own Quaff though, at least I don’t think so. Perhaps she does. There is a part of me in London that will never leave…”
(For the full 87 hour interview please contact Mack Mackford at Mackmackford@mackfordtowers.co.uk)
January 14th, 2010
Ian
Bane broke Batman’s back
Bane broke Batman’s back
Bane broke Batman’s back
Bane broke Batman’s back
Bane broke Batman’s back
(and keep saying it ’til 2010 baby!)
December 31st, 2009
Ian
It’s been a while since the last time. When was the last time I sneered? I might do it all the time and not realise. When you don’t have a mirror in your face all the time you forget to do some of the classic facial expressions and tics that make being a human being so worthwhile: the wink, the horsey clicking noise with your tongue, the Jim-Robinson-from-Neighbours-look-of-surprise-which-causes-your-forehead-to-ruffle-like-jagged-crisps. All of them necessary of course.
Sneering has almost dropped off the radar. Our country as a whole sneers at a lot of things that are too numerous to mention here. I can bet that anyone caught reading this will be able to come up with two or three, possibly a handful at a push. It expresses a disbelief or a dislike of something, a clear and straightforward view that couldn’t be taken any other way. Interestingly enough an absence of sneering during World War II and post-way Britain led to a deficiency of Vitamin B in both men and women. Children however remained unaffected due to bad television and the realisation that the PSP and Pokemon wouldn’t be invented for another fifty years.
Too little sneering and you’re one of “those” people, you know the type. The ones who think everything is great and that life is worth living and that you should every day as though it was your last. Who would want to wake up thinking they’re going to be killed in less than twenty-four hours? It’s hardly a way to live. Too much sneering and you’re labelled a miserable tw*t. It’s very difficult to find a balance which is why most people opt for the former. The over 60’s unfortunately have been sneering for so long that they cannot stop and they will continue to blurt out classic phrases such as:
1) “It wasn’t like that in maa dey!”
2) “A war would teech you a fing a two, Sonny Jim!”
3) “F*cking ‘ell! The metric system strikes again!”
(the preceeding phrases were taken mainly from various parts of Yorkshire which is why they mainly appear illegible. Please see your local codjer for regional variations.)
The more disheartened we are, the more things go wrong, the more times we fail will all eventually push us towards further sneering. Having not done it and not missed it for so long I will, for the moment, enjoy and relish a good sneer and I openly encourage everyone else to do so. For only five minutes or less. You wouldn’t want to linger on that four minute and fifty-nine second mark, believe me…
December 30th, 2009
Ian
So it’s almost over yes, I admit that, but what I won’t admit is defeat when we all stand on the jaws of success. The jaws of triumph. The jaws of not defeat. We have only two more days left of 2009 which has been the worst 2009 I have ever come across. If I ever do come across another 2009 I will be sure to boot it up the backside before it has a chance to turn around and gaze into my wonderful face.
So… what should 2010 start with? Unfortunately it would appear as though the mascot has re-surfaced as the way of grabbing attention from the general public. Compare the Market managed it with a meerkat in a dressing gown. Churchill continues to have a nodding dog that sounds like Vic Reeves. Awful, awful advert for Go Compare has an awful, awful opera singer and a terrible pun at the end. So what do we do? We jump on the bandwagon of course!
We will have to sit down and think about this for a while. Luckily I did a lot of that over the Christmas period so the majority of it is almost done. What I was thinking when it comes to a mascot for da Beans it would have to be something that you would instantly link us to. So I’ve narrowed it down to two possibles:
1) A Badger with a limp
2) The Knitted Beaver
I think we would have more chance with the beaver given the rich and wondrous history he has given to us all. We could have a stupid tagline like, “Beev-er? Done that? Then try Pouring Beans Dot Com!” What does the focus group think?
December 29th, 2009
Ian
Having been given a harmonica for Christmas by one A Jermyn (but for this post I shall merely refer to her as Audrey J) I have quickly surfaced with a slightly sad tune for those late nights and early morning when the sun can’t rise swiftly enough. It has poetic meaning that stretches further than any mere pop song can. In all honesty it’s the best thing to every emerge. Ever. Let’s see how the world takes to the verbosity:
Squishy Milk
Squishy milk, squishy milk
1 1 -1 1 1 -1
Meant to last, squished by fate
2 2 -2 2 2 -2
Nothing left, nothing left
1 1 -2 1 1 -2
But squishy milk, squishy milk
2 2 -2 1 1 1 1
I feel as though by adding further words it would destroy the essence of what is there. It is as Quaff would say, “intrinsically bereft of any doubt or shame.” How that man can be so succint is beyond me.
December 28th, 2009
Ian
In one of the biggest, “duh!” moments thus so far seen within the British Isles due to the overwhelming icy winter this year, the recession and the high interest in fish and chips over the summer the UK is shortly running out of salt. Mines are empty. Shakers are shaking nothing.
“We all saw this coming,” advised Chief of Staff at Salt, located in Hampshire, the leading supplier and manufacturer of salt in this country. “We told them that eventually the demand would reach such high limits that our machines wouldn’t be able to cope. Even at full pelt we’re turning over less than half of what we are being asked for.”
In fact in the last few days most of the salt factories have seen a number of thefts and bizarre instances that can only be described as intrusions. One woman was caught on camera trying to season her sea bass by dipping it in one of the rock salt vats to cater for a dinner party for eight, including herself, at her home eighty miles away. Three men each armed with a bottle of tequila and a shot glass climbed the fences to do slammers for eight hours before the security guard heard songs coming from underneath the bins. “It’s just madness,” said Cat Deely.
In light of this Local Councils in certain areas have joined together with the police force to help combat one of the problems from this harsh December. Kingston Upon Hull have enlisted the assistance of all the drunks picked up on the evening rounds to help remove dangerous patches of ice on the roads and pathways. “It’s a particularly controversial scheme I admit but if it means saving people’s lives then I’m all for it,” revealed PC Bobby McFee, “all they have to do it drop their trousers and walk forwards. How hard is that?”
A lot of the drunkards are keen to help. A few can barely stand up. Some can’t even open their eyes to check if they can drop their trousers. It is both a touching and disgusting scene when witnessed. Trevor Winnings, picked up Wednesday night, had this to add: “Ah did it an’… an’ I did it with a sens… a sensss a somethin’ an’ then ah went home and wet the bed.”
Whether or not this will pick up in other, slightly more trendier and more sensible parts of the country is only speculative at this moment in time.
December 27th, 2009
Ian
Audrey: Don’t let the beg bugs bite!
Reuben: That’s alright, I know kung fu.
Ian: Why don’t you give your grandad a hug as a present?
Reuben: That’s not a present!
Reuben: I saw broccoli in the pan but there’s none on my plate…?
Siobhan: That’s not fair! I was winning!
Reuben: Do you enjoy losing mum?
Reuben: Wow! A Wii! Now I have two!
Ian: Erm I think you’ll find the one at mine is Audrey’s.
Reuben: Yeah but it’s a little bit mine.
Reuben: SANTA IN YOUR EYE!
December 26th, 2009
Ian
Noses Supposes
December 25th, 2009
Ian
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