In Memory of Bert Papps

You remember Bert Papps, don’t you?

Recently I was sitting on his bench and it reminded me of some of the amazing things he did.

Like the time he ran the four minute mile to check if it was safe for Roger Bannister to have a go. What a star.

Then there was the time his plane was shot down in the Battle of Britain, and instead of giving up he landed tail-first so he could carry on firing his guns up into the sky at the enemy.

Or do you remember when he invented Worcestershire Sauce? It’s hard to believe it now, but before he came along, if you wanted to put something obscure on your cheese on toast, you had to whisk some vinegar into egg whites and pour that over instead.

Let’s all share our Bert Papps memories here.

Loyalty

Where do your allegiances lie? Are you loyal to the Royals? Are you allied to the River Clyde? Are you dutiful to anything beautiful?

Until recently this was a question I just couldn’t answer. I didn’t know whose side I was on. But then someone handed me a little card and my life changed.

Yes! Now I have a Porridge Loyalty Card, I am officially loyal to porridge, and I have the documentation to prove it. Nobody can doubt my porridge credentials.

What are you loyal to? Are you a porridge compatriot? I must know.

Fire Drill

As the Pouring Beans Health and Safety Officer, it has come to my attention that this site has been running for almost a year now and we are yet to have a fire drill.

In the event that this website catches fire, it is important that everyone knows what to do, where to find their nearest fire exit and how to close their browser window quickly and safely.

Imagine the horror if you were trapped in the Beans, the navigation bar ablaze, smoke coming out of the search box, and your only escape was through the Old Beans and down the Character Hatch™. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

Please take some time to familiarise yourself with the fire exit signs so you know how to leave the website in an emergency.

Furthermore, at 11am on Saturday, we will have a fire drill. When you hear the fire alarm sounding, please make your way calmly to your nearest emergency exit and assemble outside on the Google homepage. The fire alarm is easily recognisable as it plays the ear-splitting sound of some baked beans being tipped out of a can.

Thank you.

Proposal: Boring Beans

Good day to you.

I am here to propose a change to this website in light of recent developments.

The Problem

Recently things around here have been too exciting. In just the last three posts there has been talk of goats, owls and handkerchiefs. We cannot go on at this breakneck pace and our readership must surely be suffering from intolerable fatigue. Something has to change.

The Proposal

I now propose that we redirect our efforts and rename this website Boring Beans. In future, all posts must be classified as either “dull”, “tedious” or “soporific”. The colour scheme would be a relaxing mix of greys and beiges. Suitable topics for new posts will include:

A discussion of the merits of different methods of preparation for potatoes
A photo gallery of close-up pictures demonstrating the texture of a number of different bricks
A list of names for different shades of brown

Please give this proposition your fullest consideration and respond with your payment in full by cheque within the next seven days.

Thank you for your time.

Dr. Christopher J. Numbers

Wisdom of the 1970s

Yes, I know, the 1970s are now the often-maligned decade that brought us dodgy celebrities and brown corduroy flares. It is hard to forgive such things. But one thing the 70s did know a thing or two about is sunstroke. How do you keep the sun off your overheating head? The 70s know. The 70s have it all figured out, and it has nothing to do with expensive sun cream or buying an overpriced straw hat from an itinerant beach salesman.

Broken Cake

Today I arrived at work and found this on my desk waiting for me.

I am confused by this. Red fault tags are supposed to be used to label technical equipment that has been broken and logged with the appropriate department. I have not been trained in the correct protocol to use when cake has been labelled in this way.

Anyway, long story short, I ate the cake. It was nice. It didn’t taste particularly broken.

Is anyone here a doctor? If so, can you tell me if I am in any danger? Thanks.

Lost treasures

I’ve been having a clear out this weekend and I found this 20-year-old NOW album:

Nearly 20 years ago I got it for Christmas, along with an Alba mini hi-fi system that had a tape deck, CD player and AM/FM radio. Those were the days. Here’s a selection of the great hits from this double-tape compilation:

Ace of Base – I Saw the Sign
Whigfield – Saturday Night
Corona – Rhythm of the Night
D:Ream – Things Can Only Get Better
East 17 – It’s Alright (The Guvnor Mix)
Aswad – Shine
Reel 2 Real – I Like To Move It
Doop – Doop

Unfortunately when I opened the box, tape 2 was missing, so while you can still listen to Come Baby Come by K7 and Swamp Thing by the Grid, everything that was on the second tape – from Searching by China Black to The Perfect Year by Dina Carroll to Return to Innocence by Enigma – is now gone.

But we all know that tape 1 side 1 was always the best part of the album and the rest was mostly tracks you’d skip.

Trekkin’ Abroad – France (Part 4)

Having discovered a secret tunnel under the sea, I passed quietly across the border into France undetected, arriving in their capital city, “Paris”, in the early afternoon. I took an apartment in the 16th arrondissement and started my new life cycling around parks and examining museums for clues. Nothing. Then one day, in the lift, someone else rode all the way up to the 8th floor with me. An enemy agent? One of their informers? I couldn’t be sure.

I packed my bags and left early the next morning, covering my trail with stories of a poorly relative in Geneva. It was a bittersweet departure; my apartment had the finest coffee machine I’ve experienced in recent years and I couldn’t fit it into my suitcase. I will remember it always.

I took a train somewhere, anywhere, ending up in the far west of the country where I spent the last two weeks hiding in a barn before negotiating my return to Plymouth on a fishing smack, hidden under a pile of nets and fish.

I’m never leaving England again. I am a scarred man. I still smell a bit like fish. So much for France.