I wanted to get in on this action because it’s all very well and good doing a joke once but it’s even better (?) to repeat it a second time in the same month. Spoiling Kev’s plans? Yes please.
I’m joining in then, throwing my hat into the ring on that dusty trail. I have consulted my Kev-prediction robot and it has come up with these potential future posts that now won’t happen now because I’ve altered the future. If he does write a post about these things then I will have been right and nobody wants a world where I’m right. There would be chaos. So sorry everyone, you’ll never see posts about the following:
The Boston Tea Party
Wireless abbabbs (or some computer bollocks I’ll never understand)
There. Happy to start enjoying my new hobby. I feel as though this has been a very productive five minutes of my time.
Occasionally, over the years, I’ve found myself in a conversation about what was at number one in the charts when I was born. These conversations come up from time to time, probably more often than they deserve to, usually prompted by a DJ on the radio talking about it.
For a long time my answer has been “Hello” by Lionel Ritchie, number one in the UK charts in early May 1984. That’s quite a fun song to be at the top when I was born and usually gets a laugh. Great. Everyone’s happy.
Yesterday I looked it up to see what else was in the charts that week, and was dismayed to find that I had somehow got it wrong.
“Hello” was a UK number one single, and Lionel Ritchie with his blind student making a creepy clay head had a run of six weeks at the top of the charts in spring 1984. But that run ended in April, and by Sunday 5 May Lionel’s informal greeting based ballad was only just in the top ten. The number one single when I was born was actually “The Reflex” by Duran Duran, which is nowhere near as much fun. As you can imagine, I was distraught.
To cheer myself up, I decided to see if my birthday number one was better than yours.
Let’s hope Kev is a fan of Frankie Goes to Hollywood because they were apparently everywhere in late July 1984. They were at number one with “Two Tribes”, and also at number three with the famously banned orgasm themed classic “Relax”. The rest of the top ten is mostly forgettable; at number two is a novelty single spin-off from The Young Ones, and the rest include Tina Turner, Cyndi Lauper and Shakatak. I feel like I’m on safe ground here.
Well, this is disappointing. Number one in mid-November 1983 was “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel, a massive singalong smash hit. Adding insult to injury is the rest of the top ten, which contains at least another five stone cold hits: “Say Say Say” by Paul McCartney (and Jacko, but we’ll skim over that); “Love Cats” by the Cure; Men Without Hats’ ridiculous “Safety Dance”; “Karma Chameleon”; and even “All Night Long” by the very same Lionel Ritchie who callously abandoned me on my birthday.
In summary, then, I am disappointed that my birthday number one turns out to be a Duran Duran single, and not a very good one at that, and thanks to the fact that he basically cheated by being born in 1983, Ian wins.
It started with a casual remark in a conversation and, as always, it leads to stuff you didn’t know you wanted arriving in the post.
I’m talking of course about sugar cubes. Who knew they were still a thing?
I for one thought that they had been relegated to the winds of time by things like good hygiene practices and little paper packets, but how wrong I was. Imagine my ‘delight’ as two whole boxes of the things arrived at my door, accompanied by the now customary ring of the doorbell by the postman too lazy to actually push things through the previously acceptable flap.
I believe Chris’ package arrived first, in what can only be described as ‘inadequate’ packaging, (a plastic postage bag) looking mostly like a box of sugar, with some cubes left in it. Ian’s exotic brown sugar came next wrapped nicely in bubble wrap and in a box. (I’m assuming it was Ian as it was addressed to Kevin ‘Sweet San Hose’ Hill).
When I explained the arrival of these to Sarah, she declared that Ian was the winner as she used to sneak eat the brown sugar cubes at ‘Auntie’ Betty’s house when she was little.
following on from this, anyone who ‘pops round for a cuppa’ should now expect to find tea served on an overly flowery tray, with a little bowl of mixed sugar cubes ready and waiting.
I recently learned that I have been inadvertently spoiling all Kev’s plans to post things to the Beans because every time he has an idea he logs on to the website and finds that I’ve already done it.
It started not so long ago with the slippers, and then I hit him with a double whammy of tyre trouble that took the wind right out of his tyres.
I’ve decided that the best thing to do is to try and expand on this promising new hobby, so in this blog post I am going to try and anticipate some of the things Kev might want to write blog posts about in the near future and get there before him.
Very large worktops
There. I think those three things pretty much cover all bases.
I know you’ve been waiting for it, so here is the latest news from this month’s Bordon and Whitehill Parish Council Newsletter.
‘The Bordon Pig’, who is called Holly, escaped from Hollybrook Mobile Farm on 3 January 2021. 100s of hours have been spent by a small dedicated team from the community, led by Cllr. Tina Strickland and William Dadley, to ensure her safe return to her family and friends. After 52 days being at large she is now home safe and sound. Thank you to all those who assisted in returning her home.
Unfortunately we still don’t know how a “mobile farm” can possibly exist, but we’ll bring you more news on that when we have it.
Old Hat, What is that? It is coming ‘atcha like a mountain to frack. Old Hat, Conical rat, Something must be burnin’ cos I’m feelin’ so whack. Old Hat, Dental plaque, Worries building up me like a pancake stack. That old hat? Nothing but cack, I know you feel it too ‘cos you got ma back! Old Hat, Comedy prat, I’ve got so much cattle caught me flexin’ my yaks. My old hat, Your old hat, Still none the wiser, best fade to black,
Warning: this post contains gratuitous scenes of exercise. Viewer discretion is advised.
This boy has been running now, jogging now, a bit of a mix of the two since the start of the year. Rogging arounds wrong so let’s stick with junning. I’ve been junning since January. I have dabbled in it in the past however nothing substantial. I suppose with a lot of things collapsing in on itself it’s only fair that one tiny thing in my life prevails in a positive and optimistic fashion.
Cut to Thursday night though when shit got real.
I prefer junning at night because there are less people around to point fun at the tiny shorts I wear. The temperature is at a steady balance, much better than slogging through ice and snow anyway. I start my jun and headed off in the direction of my route. This route has been planned to perfection i.e. it features very little uphill bits and mostly flat or downhill bits.
There is a housing estate close to where I live that I do a couple of laps of to warm up. As I approach the edge of it I’m feeling the juice, I’m feeling the jun through my veins so I decide to speed up a bit. Down the first street, right at the end there is a footpath which curves round a corner down to the next street. Bounding like a chopper I go, I approach the curve and this is where it all goes wrong.
There was no slow motion here, no events slowing in my brain or anything like that. It was a short, sharp pinch in the eyes as far as my recollection of events goes. One moment I was junning away, the next I’m lying on the ground with scrape marks on my legs and blood staining the palms of my hands.
Some little dear had left their scooter in the middle of the path, something which you couldn’t see because it was round a blind corner. Unless I had leapt 2 or 3 feet in the air I was going to hit it every time. Not a full size scooter, no no, something someone just out of toddler-dom would use. I have no concern for myself, my god, I must check that my electronic life partner is still okay! The phone is nestled snugly in my jacket pocket, safe and sound. I stagger to my feet to assess the damage under a dimly-li lamppost.
Now this is exactly the kind of thing that I would do to myself; I am no stranger to injuring myself in unusual circumstances. What really sealed it as an ‘Ian’ moment though was just as I turned the corner and collided with the scooter a teenage boy was walking up the path from the opposite direction. He daren’t touch me, for obvious reasons (following Bovona guidelines to a tee) but asked if I was okay which was nice. As I stood up to brush myself down and turn to start running again he called for my attention. To my confusion and astonishment the boy brought over the tiny scooter. “You forgot this.” Luckily the violently sarcastic part of my brain was sleeping at the time.
Unreasonable reaction: WHAT THE F*CK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, LAD? DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT F*CKING SCOOTER IS MINE? F*CK ME, I COULD BARELY GET ONE OF MY TOENAILS ON THERE LET ALONE A FULL F*CKING FOOT. I’M WEARING SHORTS, I’M OUT JOGGING. WHY THE F*CK DO YOU THINK A F*CKING 37 YEAR OLD MAN IS SCOOTERING AROUND AT 9PM ON A THURSDAY F*CKING NIGHT? DOES THAT SOUND SH*TTING PLAUSIBLE TO YOU?
Panting through the stinging in my hands, I merely said that it wasn’t mine and thanked him for his concern. There I was, stumbling in front of a member of the public only for him to believe that the situation was that much worse because I had embarrassed myself by failing to use a scooter properly. Remarkably my legs were fine, a gash on one knee and nothing more, so I carried on with my jun.
This is getting too long. I did consider that perhaps this was some kind of cosmic karma for something else. A balance had to be made by me making a tit of myself. The day after I was in agony. Some bruising to my right side meant breathing, coughing, you know, any kind of movement caused a little jolt of pain to explode under my ribs. I am on the mend after a few days of rest and hope to be back junning later on this week.