Solero reappraisal

It’s been a long, hot summer. Not only have I baked in the hottest temperatures the UK has ever known, I’ve also been overseas to two (2) foreign lands and experienced toasty warm days there as well. I’ve needed cooling down on a regular basis and, to get straight to the point, I’ve eaten a lot of ice cream.

Now, I don’t discriminate where ice cream is concerned. If there’s something cool and tasty to lick, I’m licking it. No argument there. But there’s a definite hierarchy of ice creams and some are quite obviously better than others.

We all know what’s down at the bottom: plastic pipes full of disappointing Ice Pops. And not very far above them comes Milk Pops. Beware, in other words, anything with Pop in its name. Up at the top of the tree, it has long been agreed among the Beans Massive that the Magnum is the pre-packed ice lolly of choice.

Having had a lot of Magnums and a lot of Soleros this summer, I’d now like to make the case for the Solero to be reappraised as a fruity frozen treat on a par with a Magnum. An equal. A peer.

The case stacks up like this:

Magnums are, clearly, delicious
Sometimes a chocolatey ice cream is too much and you want something fruity and refreshing
Soleros are fruity and refreshing, but also high quality, in a way that a Calippo is not
I like Soleros

I find it hard to believe anyone would not be swayed by these arguments. If, however, you need more to convince you, consider this: the Solero is now, as of this summer, established as the ice lolly of choice here in the Royksopp Penthouse. Both myself and Steve Stevingtons keep Soleros in stock at all times. The Magnum doesn’t get a look-in.

Soleros: the number one fruity ice cream. Discuss.

Seductively readable

I mean, I’m as horrified as you are to discover that something we thought had come directly from Ian’s brain is actually real, so I apologise now for having to make you aware of this, but it has to be done.

She’s out there, not just real but actually writing books. Presumably it’s the same publisher as Ian’s, turning out neatly-bound stacks of highly flammable product without regard for literary quality.

I searched the shelves of the bookshop in vain for anything by Sweet Petunia, but now I think about it, I didn’t check the gardening or self-help sections.

Please can we all be on the lookout so we know what we’re dealing with here. If characters from Ian’s brain are now real and writing books, there’s no telling where this will end.

Airports

It’s 6.33 in the morning and I am in an airport. This seems to be a good time for me to tell you some things about airports that I don’t like.

I don’t like having to take my belt off when I go through security because the shorts I’m wearing for this flight are a bit loose and at risk of falling down while I walk through the scanner.

I don’t like exiting security and passing directly through a massive duty free shop before I can do anything else, assaulted from all sides by strong smells of perfume that my nose can’t deal with at this time of day.

I don’t like having to be here two hours before my flight, only to find that having cleared security they won’t even announce the gate number for another hour and a half.

I don’t like spending that hour and a half in a departure lounge that is basically a windowless shopping mall, all brightly lit stores and flashing screens. I don’t like that my entertainment options are a choice between looking around designer boutiques I’d never normally go in, or sitting in an uncomfortable chair in ranks of seats surrounded by screaming children and looking at the same designer boutiques because I’m literally surrounded by them.

I don’t like that all the food on offer is served by places that are chain restaurants that serve sushi or craft beers or sourdough pizza, and that here they also have to serve breakfast, and none of them know how to do that.

In summary, the basic point is that I don’t like this. But in another few hours I’ll be on holiday and too far away for you to hear me complaining, so it’s OK.

This post was sponsored by Heathrow Airport.

“Designed with the passenger in mind”

God Damn Lips

It’s here! The #mysteryweekend Newcastle 2019 Book is now online! Of course, you might know it by its proper title: The Time that Three Friends Went Away for a Spiffing Adventure. And Everything Was Fine.

You can read it, along with all the other silly books, on the Books page.

Highlights of this particular literary work include:

Words?
Ian blowing vape ships outside my nightclub
Kev’s Wemslip Bib
Filthbraham Bacon
Sugar Pillows
The Legend of Stabby McKenzie
A drawing of a raaeeeeeeuurgh

Steve Stevingtons is hittin’ the big

Last year, my flatmate Steve Stevingtons left his job.

“You’re crazy!”, I told him. “It’ll never work!”

Steve Stevingtons simply smiled to himself, an enigmatic look in his eye. My protests – delivered at full volume and more or less constantly whenever he was in earshot over the ensuing months – never seemed to sway him. “There’s no life out there!” I’d shout. “You’ll starve! You’ll waste away to nothing! You’ll end up on the streets!”

Steve would just shake his head, and go back to tending the little plants in his window box.

I was a fool, of course, but I didn’t know it back then. I should have guessed. Steve Stevingtons had a plan. Since that first day, and continuously soundtracked by my heckles and shouts from the other end of the flat, he’s crafted himself a business empire.

Now the whole world is chowing down on Steve’s Leaves. We’re all getting our fix of roughage and wholesome nutrients from Steve Stevingtons. His commercial dominance is starting to rival that of Big Frank. And believe me, I will never doubt him again.

Four Word Reviews: Voice of the Violin

Plan A for this month’s Four Word Review was Cher Lloyd, obviously. But there is no Cher Lloyd on the CD in that box. So, with some reluctance, I have had to change my plan. I couldn’t face Kavana. Not yet. So where else is there to turn? What might soothe my frayed nerves and calm me after this disconcerting change of plan? I turn back to the pile of dreadful CDs, once again growing at an alarming rate. I pass on Pete Waterman’s Motown collection. Ah yes, here we go. This guy. This guy will do nicely.

Cher Lloyd vs Coldplay

Awful CDs continue to land on my doormat with depressing regularity. Currently queued up for your Four Word Review enjoyment are “Voice of the Violin” by Joshua Bell, a collection of Motown covers produced by Pete Waterman, and the 1997 self-titled album by Kavana.

Lined up for this month’s review was “Sticks + Stones” by Cher Lloyd, a 2011 slice of Simon Cowell pop. But when I put the CD in and pressed play, something was wrong.

Can you see it? Yes, that’s right. The case says “Sticks + Stones” by Cher Lloyd, but the CD itself is actually another album from the same year, Coldplay’s “Mylo Xyloto”.

Obviously at that point I had to call a halt to the whole business. This is too much. Two albums I don’t want to hear in one.

Now I don’t know what to do. I might just have to listen to Kavana instead.

That might be the bleakest sentence I’ve ever written. If the best available course of action is listening to a whole album by Kavana, you know you’ve hit rock bottom.

Stickless

Well, we knew it would happen, but we didn’t think it would be this soon.

The Stick is gone.

We knew, of course, that The Stick had got itself a taste for adventure. We knew also that it had been deposited at the foot of the wrong kind of tree. So perhaps it’s no surprise that it has already started its next adventure. But we are, nonetheless, sad to see it go.

(By “we”, I mean anyone who agrees with me. You may wish to clarify your own position in the comments.)

It is my hope that The Stick has gone on to a new life playing fetch with an enthusiastic collie dog, or perhaps is now propping open a garage door somewhere. We can hope.

Pouring
Beans

Author: Chris5156