User avatar Five

It’s here! Many years late and all the more welcome for it, we now present The Official Book of London 2014, “#Chris30”. It is of course from the fateful time Kev and Ian came to see me in London for my birthday, and Kev wasn’t very well, but we still played dinosaur golf anyway.

It’s a rollercoaster of long-forgotten birthday emotion, featuring:

  • The invention of Smidge Manly
  • The David Craig Face Clock
  • Book #selfies
  • Tit tetris (titris)
  • Chris’s chunky ass
  • Sadsack’s sick sack

You can read it right now on the Books page or, if you don’t want to go via the Books page, you can read it by clicking exactly here.

User avatar A Punishment of Sorts

I watched the sky with a tear in my eye, the kitty hawk in full flight. A gorgeous view, my legs askew, she soared across the night. I followed her close, my words verbose, a beacon of fur and claws. She deftly swooped and almost scooped the mouse king in her jaws. He pushed away, in fits of dismay, desperate to escape. There was no luck, as all it took was a tiny tear in his cape. The king he fell and I heard the bell, it was all over now. Applause, commotion, fierce devotion; a curtsy and a bow.

User avatar An Apology of Sorts

Dear Everyone,

(And when I say “everyone” I mainly mean Chris.)

I have let you all down. Look at me and feel disappointed right down to your very core. For the last eleven months I have managed to crack out a steady rate of four posts per month in line with the rules decided by the Beans Board. I am not permitted to go past four posts for fear of what may come forth from my subconscious; we all remember that December where I posted something new every day and almost lost my mind in the process. That can never happen again.

At the end of October I was three posts in with only one left to go. I was on the verge of slipping one in on the last day to earn that mighty, mighty bean and keep the count going. In fact it started a few days prior, I watched the calendar move from 29th to 30th October and then the last day was on the horizon. Each evening I was poised to finish what I had started and for some reason I couldn’t. It wasn’t as though I was stuck for ideas; I have several brewing for this month, not great ones but enough to reach the quota. In the words of that Papples album title that never was, “Ticking the Boxes”. So why not?

It was two reasons. The first is simple: I was tired, I was still getting rid of my sinusitis and I couldn’t find the energy to do anything let alone type words and stare at a screen. My face stung like a blunt wasp’s nail file (it’s fine now). The second is also simple: I was struck by the quality of Chris’ posts that I didn’t believe I could come up with anything that was as good. After laughing for several days upon seeing my book covers not stacked in a pile, ready to be thrown on the bonfire, but displayed for the world to see my brain took a leap and gave up. It decided that three was enough for this month and the streak was over.

The time for giving up is over though. I am back on the horse and ready to take flight yet again. I am honking all the geese at the same crossroads. It’s going to be nothing BUT quality from hereon in. November and December are going to be BELTERS.

Before that though I am going to have to be punished for my transgressions. It is only fair for letting everyone (?) down. I am going to ask Kevin to administer this for my failure to do my job properly.

All the fun of the fair

Ian McIver

User avatar Pirate alert

He’s going to shiver your timbers
He’s likely to buckle your swash
His pieces of eight count big numbers
His galleon’s full of his dosh

A roistering-doistering fighter
His enemies all have been sank
He’ll make your pockets feel lighter
Just before you walk the plank

It’s not like he wants to be Bluebeard
It’s a lifestyle that he just got trapped in
His parrot got fed up, his crew’s weird
He’s Ian the daft Pirate Captain

User avatar The Hall’s Wall Mince Movement

Look at you!

You need to be part of something. You need to be part of the Hall’s Wall Mince Movement.

If you join the Hall’s Wall Mince Movement (or HWMM as it is known amongst its members) then you will be given great rewards, sometimes of meat.

I cannot promise you excitement, I cannot promise you fame and glory. I cannot even promise you a refund on the extortionate subscription fees but I can promise you a couple of bowls of spaghetti bolognese every now and then.

Follow my shiny glitter twinkles and I will lead the way!

User avatar Newsboost – It Was Actually Raining Men

Shock and confusion in the North West of England earlier on today when the most unusual of weather conditions hit a small town on the coast. Locals of Workington were treated to a freak downpour of men for half an hour around midday.

It initially brought to mind the 1982 hit by Australian music duo The Weather Girls, now fully realised and in 3D, except rather than the fun and bouncy pop song it actually resembled something from the mind of the late Iain Banks or possibly Clive Barker.

The first wave of men arrived around 12:11pm; they hit the ground pretty hard and died instantly. The high street was full of meaty chunks of what used to be men and young children with their parents watched as a long stream of blood drained past the local shops and down into the sewers. This was one instance where it was in your best interests not to get absolutely soaking wet. A few managed to cling to the sides of buildings and one was lucky enough to land on a church roof, waving frantically at nobody and scratching his crotch.

The second wave came a few short minutes afterwards. They were a bit more prepared and used the first wave as a cushion. There were still several injuries, sprains and lacerations but most of the men managed to hobble away mostly intact, muttering about hammers and how they miss the old car tax discs.

There was a pause of about five minutes before the third wave hit somewhere around 12:22. This sudden influx of middle-aged men was enough to send the townsfolk screaming back into their homes. Both receding and balding, overweight, unwashed and showing far too much flesh, they tried to buy a bag of apples using a fifty pound note only to be told by the fruit and veg stall owner that he didn’t have that much change on him. They all simultaneously tutted and wandered off, arguing over whose personalised licence plate was the best.

The last wave took everyone by surprise. It was believed that the third wave was the final one so when the pensioners arrived at 12:45pm people didn’t quite know what to think. If you’ve ever stared down a sky of wrinkly, sagging flesh, all spectacles and cod liver oil, the faint stench of dank filtering up your nostrils, then you’re a braver man than me. Half of them didn’t make it because the first wave had been cleared away by the Council so there was nothing left to soften the fall. The other half forgot what they were doing halfway through, turned around and flew back up into the sky.

“I have never seen anything like it before,” said Mavis Goggins, landlord of local tavern ‘The Shinty Knees’. “I have lived here for thirty five years and this is the first time we’ve ever had tourists.”

Scientists are yet to explain the bizarre meteorological phenomena. When asked for a comment about it they simply replied, “weasels.”

Science cannot make sense of everything, at least not yet.

User avatar Behold! Ian’s books

We all know that Ian has turned out an awful lot of books in his lifetime, most of them lengthy and devoid of all interest; we also know that every copy that could be found has been systematically incinerated by the cleansing flames of justice.

Even though it is entirely right and proper that his books have all been consumed by fire, I have decided that we should preserve some record of them. We should do this by making sure there is an archive of their covers.

What I mean by that is this: I’ve been back through the whole of the Beans and found all ten books that Ian claims to have written, and I’ve made covers for them all.

Behold! Ian’s books.

Continue reading Behold! Ian’s books

User avatar Creamtober

As we casually slide into the middle of October, I expect it’s fair to say that everyone is too busy off enjoying ‘Creamtober’ to read this post. I will, however, carry on as it will give them something to read once all the cream-based fun has ceased in the dark and dingy recesses of November.

Whadda ya mean you’ve never heard of ‘Creamtober’? Keep your voice down, you don’t want to alert others to the fact that you are not right on the fashions. Let me run you through the basics.

‘Creamtober’ was started back in 1981 by Baron Von Creamschteiner. He decided that there were not enough occasions where the joy of cream was celebrated so he invented an entire month of it. Everything in and around ‘Creamtober’ was about his unhealthy obsession with the silkiest of dairy products. It had to be clotted, sour, whipped, poured or squirty. There were so many options that people went absolutely crazy for it. The entire milk industry went very quiet for the next few weeks as cream sold out in practically every shop in the surrounding area. At first the word was out around his home land of Bavaria before spreading into the outer reaches of Europe, Australia and eventually the USA. Now each year three billion people spread the word and life the live of the Creamtobians.

How does one join in? That’s easy; grab some cream and you’re halfway there. Grab three hundred more tubs of cream and fill your fridge to the brim. Each and every time you open the fridge pour as much cream down your trash hole as you can. Do it until you feel violently sick and then leave it for an hour before repeating the same process. You need to cram as much cream into your body as you can each day for thirty one days. You will know the others who are taking part because you will see them in the street, clothes struggling to fit around their obese bodies, unusual lines underneath their eyes and little lines of white liquid dribbling from the corners of their mouths.

At the end of Creamtober you add up how much you have managed to consume over the month and send the results to the grand high emperor of Creamtober (see the address on his website, he lives in Blackburn, Lancashire) who will publish his results. If you have managed to top the charts with your cream-based exploits then you win a year’s supply of cream.

It also means that you can then move onto the next festive month: ‘Novemb-cheese’! Whadda ya mean you’ve never heard of ‘Novemb-cheese’? Okay, sit down and let me give you the rundown on the basics…