Friends. Now is a time of crisis and uncertainty, of complications and sullenness the likes of which have not been seen for half a century or possibly longer.
The Bovona Virus has a name. It also has a face. The face that it has does not have as many eyes as I do but they look upon all as a mess to clear up. Not one of those easy messes where you sort of sweep everything into your hands and throw it in the bin. I am talking one of those adolescent messes, a mix of beans and PVA glue, scattered all over your carpet, trodden into the fabric repeatedly and then somehow heated up into a solid, disgusting mass. Human beings are that mass. Bovona wants you and your family hiding in a bin or worse.
The good news is that there are people out there, much smarter people, who are desperately trying to find a cure to this madness. There is one somewhere and they will find it. Like a some cache of Cadbury’s Creme Eggs hidden under a nut bush, these men and woman, these scientists of the modern era, will sniff out these eggs and distribute them amongst the population. When we finally get our eggs there will be great rejoicing and celebration. I personally will be setting aside at least three weeks to sit in a tree and marvel at the outside world. I may have to grow feathers and adopt the mannerisms of an owl, possibly have myself adopted into an owl or owl-like family, in order to survive and I will do. We will all survive. Myself and my owls will ensure it.
So the question remains: what should we do with the rest of 2020? Should we give it a little more time, like the great one-eyed songstress Gabrielle, and hope that the Summer, Autumn and Winter months redeem it? Should we remain patient in the face of adversity? Or, as I would recommend, should we bin the rest of the year, go into suspended animation and all wake up in 2021 to start afresh? Given that all manner of festivals, gigs and other events have been postponed indefinitely until further notice we could have a slew of everything at the same time. We could gorge on tasty morsels of this and that. Perhaps the whole world should take a week off and indulge like chubby beavers trapped in an Oak Furniture Land, in a relentless barrage of hedonistic behaviour and uncompromising lust. How fruity.
I have spoken. We shall prevail.
We need three and, thank Bobby Costanzo, we are three.
Some time ago now, it became clear that Monty Don was a famous ex-rapper who we all wanted to see back in the game.
I was proud to play my part in collecting signatures for a petition to get him back behind the mic, and I’m prouder than proud – keen, even – to share the petition I collected here.
It’s got its own page in the Things section, or you can just click on the big Monty Dons here.
So, I believe that we are all in receipt of the petition, and when I say “the petition” you know fine well which petition I mean. Yes, it’s the one to get my main man Monty Don back up onstage with a microphone in his hand to rip the world in two with some phat beats.
The only way we are going to get this up and running is with the backing of the people. I know that all of his fans have been crying out for this for years and it was only recently that some brainiac had the right idea to start a petition, and get the ball rolling. We need to roll that ball quick and hard, like the effort needed to stretch a weasel. We have to put that weasel right in there, no pre-stretching or pre-preparation at all, and get it stretched like there’s no tomorrow. If that weasel is going, it’s going and there’s no going back. If that ball rolls back then we need to smash it into next week, whether using the weasel or not.
So, like the weasel, and maybe the ball, we need to get the word out to everyone. I want to see Twitters, people, I want to see a rip curl of emotion driving this down the throats of every single name in your list of followers. I want to see Facebook posts, Instagram instas, Linked-In sausage link notifications and postcards sent to a PO Box address that doesn’t exist.
I have never felt so strongly about anything in my entire life. I feel as though I was put on this earth to make this happen, and the only way it can happen is with the support of people like you. Without you there would be no you, so keep you-ing and I will keep me-ing, and with any luck by the end of the summer we will have achieved our goal.
All of my eyes, and I do mean all of them, are on you to sort this mother out. Bless you and all your tiny hand socks of joy (what?).
“Brothers and sisters…
… take your seats for now is the time.
We three cats of the kitty committee hereby wish to speak to you about the joys of what you are missing by not being a part of our collective.
The first life was born in the seas. Through evolution, through great patience and time, they sprouted legs and set forth onto land. They changed gills to lungs. They swapped fins for paws. They grew fur to protect themselves from the harsh weather and the cruel landscapes.
What our ancestors did for us, without knowing it, was create a world full of life. Now we must embrace what we have been given.
Friends, whatever persuasion you may be, we wish you all to join the kitty committee. We promote frequent naps, frequent feeding and all the petting you may require.
If this sounds like the life for you then sign up now.
Christmas is nearly here. The season of eating a bit too much and feeling very full all day and still somehow continuing to eat Celebrations all afternoon. The season of Many Desserts.
This is the Christmas Dessert War. Pick a side and choose your favourite. Only one can survive*.
The candidates are:
- Christmas pudding (with brandy sauce or custard, don’t mess me about with a drizzle of cream, nobody wants cream)
- Christmas cake (with icing AND marzipan, and ideally a slice of Wensleydale on the side)
- Yule Log (don’t choose this)
- Other (please specify)
I choose Christmas pudding with brandy sauce. And if you don’t want any I’ll have yours.
(* all the desserts will survive and continue to be available for eating)
This week, my boss sent me to Bournemouth to attend two days of a big meeting where lots of people who all like yellow things came to spend time in each others’ company and talk about what they would do if people who like yellow things were in charge of everything.
I had never been to Bournemouth before, so I thought it would be useful if I presented my findings here for the enrichment of all Beans readers.
Read More: Report from Bournemouth »
It’s been an exciting campaign, most of which has happened away from The Beans since the election was first announced back in April which is why we haven’t heard anything about it here since it was first called. But the day is finally here, and the results are in. Let’s go now live to the civic centre in South Beans for the results as the candidates take to the podium.
“I, Professor Louche, being the Returning Officer for South Beans constituency, hereby announce the results for the election of the Member of Parliament for South Beans.
King, Saint Jim Wilkins: eight thousand, four hundred and twenty nine.
McJEEFY, EEFORD RONALD ALOYSIUS WILKINS, commonly known as EEFY McJEEFY: four thousand, nine hundred and three.
Cockall, Nonnington Nen Nay Wilkins, commonly known as Nonny Cockall: four.
Lady, Sexatronic Wilkinia: six thousand, two hundred and eighty three.
Kitty, Flat: twelve thousand and thirty two.
Flat Kitty is therefore elected as the member of parliament for Beans South. Thank you.”
Well, there we have it! An astonishing result for Flat Kitty, bringing her agenda for high-speed pancake delivery to the front of mainstream politics. There will be a lot to discuss in the days to come but for now we will all begin by pledging allegiance to our new MP and overlord. Or possibly overkitty.
Generally speaking the nation’s major news outlets are a few steps behind the Beans, so you may not yet have heard that a surprising general election has been called. What does this mean for you? Nobody knows. But it’s OK, because I’m here to answer all the big questions you’ll be worrying about.
What is an election?
It is a compound of argon, nitrogen and traces of a number of other elements that is a gas at room temperature and has no known freezing point. In large quantities it has a yellowish colour and smells of wet dog.
Am I eligible to vote?
Yes. I have checked the electoral register. You’re fine.
Nominations are still open and the full list of candidates has not yet been compiled. However, if you – like me – live here in Beans Towers then the following people have already announced their candidacy in the constituency of South Beans:
- Saint King (promising low taxation, improved employment rights and free jewels for everyone)
- EEFY McJEEFY (in favour of the EU because it, like him, is spelled with capital letters)
- Mr Cockall (favours a small state, deregulation, and “the nothingness of the howling void at the core of man’s psyche”)
- Sexatronic (believes in protecting health and social care services; would make it free to have your name changed by deed poll)
If you have any further questions then feel free to post them here so that the Beans Massive can enlighten us all.