Yesterday at work, we were having a quiet afternoon, so I went off to find something useful to do. I ended up at the workbench in one of our upstairs rooms, where I made myself a coffee and spent a few hours fixing up some old PCs that were sitting around awaiting repair.
My plan had been to listen to the radio while I did this. The workbench has a little audio monitoring panel, with green LEDs bouncing up and down like on your dad’s 80s hi-fi, so I turned up the volume and found it playing Radio 1. There were no other controls.
With some difficulty I traced the cables out of the back and found they disappeared, unlabelled, into a hole in the floor. I went to the audio router at the other end of the room and tried switching stations on anything I could find tuned to Radio 1, but none of them were right.
No problem, I thought. It’s the 21st century. I’ll use my phone. So I opened my TuneIn radio app and selected 6music.
The app informed me that this station wasn’t available in my territory due to geographical restrictions. I looked around to confirm my surroundings, and yes, I was indeed sitting in Broadcasting House where 6music is assembled and broadcast, and my phone was connected to the building wi-fi. It was, therefore, legal to listen to that station in my present geographical territory.
Nothing I did would persuade TuneIn radio of that, though, and my coffee was going cold, and the PCs weren’t getting fixed. Sometimes, even when it’s your job to make the radio work, you can’t make the radio work. So I listened to Absolute 80s instead.
Here’s something I didn’t know was possible until it happened.
Apparently, if you have a can of soup, and some part of the soup had gone off or was rotten when it was canned, it can ferment inside the can and expand. Eventually the pressure will cause the can to open.
When the can opens it will be spectacular, in a horrible sort of way, looking and smelling like someone has projectile-vomited across your kitchen cupboards. It will literally explode.
We emptied the cupboard and cleaned it three times to get rid of the smell, and then found the lid of the can several days later. It had blown off the right side of the can, bounced off the wall of the cupboard, and landed between some other items in the far left corner at the back.
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.
You will never believe what just happened to me! The short version is that I am currently being paid to not work. I am at home right now not working. If I try to work I will be shouted at profusely so I am sat not working on a beanbag listening to the radio.
The year 2020 has been a strange one so far and it continues to get weirder the more we slide through it. The outside world is still there, I can see it, through the big windows in the living room, and it looks fantastic. I reckon that for the moment I am going to stay here and admire it from afar. Besides, it looks a little chilly and I’ve got this patch of dry skin on my hands that the low temperature will not do any favours for.
I have decided to try and do one drawing, sketch or doodle a day for something to look forward to and possibly upload on Twitter (the Book of Faces does not deserve my “talents”) for the world to admire. I hope to have a wall of my efforts with which I can look back on and laugh slobbily, possibly sell to some passing rich aristocrat (they’re always using the footpaths round here) and then retire to the country, doing the same thing I’m doing now, but with a little more style, panache and some hot ladies in a hot tub serving hot drinks.
Look at me and be inspired.
Let me start by saying that of all the people in the world, I’ve seen keen. I’ve also seen eager, yearning, longing and a level of impatience that put impatience on the map. The map of keen.
The other day though, well, it’s hard to put into words exactly what happened. There was a press release for the new anti-matter water, the third kind of water, that is due to hit shelves in the next few weeks. The sheer volume of hysterical people hit an all time high. Most of the time the level of keen can be read in the face (eyes, mouth, cheek bones etc.) but as soon as these monkeys saw the article their whole bodies were keen. Have you ever seen a keen elbow? A keen shin? I have and I’m worried that now there is nowhere else for keen to go.
By keeping it primarily in the viso/volto it kept keen under control. This is a whole new set of rules for keen and I don’t think the human race is ready for it.
What on earth should we do?
It’s coming home, apparently. That much is now received wisdom. But what does this mean for you? Please read and memorise this important guide for your own safety.
Beans Laboratories have conducted a range of scientific tests* on Sport and have raised the Sport Threat Level to “Steady On”, its highest level since the 2012 Limpety Pinpicks.
This means that there is an exceptionally high risk of sport infiltrating your life. Already cases have emerged of Beans delegates participating in sporting activities that are gravely out of character.
- Mr. Kevindo Menendez has been observed viewing a World Football Cup Soccer Match on his widescreen television. During this period of time he also verbally expressed interest in the score and outcome of the match.
- Mr. Christopher 5156 has made social media posts claiming to have physically attended a “Tea Twenty County Cricket Tournament Game”, in which he alleged that he found the experience enjoyable.
These horrifying stories may not be isolated incidents – it is possible that further Sport contamination has taken place which has not yet been reported to the proper authorities. You are strongly advised to be on your guard against all types of sporting activity; to avoid listening to any music recorded by the Lightning Seeds between 1994 and 2000 (note that this renders their debut album “Sense” technically safe to listen to, though the track “Life of Riley” may remain hazardous due to its continued use for football compilation sequences on TV); to avoid all balls and ball-shaped objects, including oranges, onions, apples, bapples, but not Papples; and to remain indoors as much as possible.
* Scientific tests included dipping Sport in potassium chloride, whizzing it around in one of those spinny centrifuge machines you see scientists using on TV, and setting fire to it.
On the eve of the US presidential election, some might say that attempting to put yourself forward as a candidate now would be a foolish exercise.
Such tomfoolery, however, has never been too far outside the realms of the Beans though. One who is strong of heart and stout of mind can achieve great things even with very little time to do so. It is with this in mind then that my fellow flatmate, Flat Kitty, would like to offer herself for this very prestigious of positions.
Why would she be the right person or squashed fabric soft toy for the job? What qualities does she possess that make her better than Clinton or Trump? I’m glad you asked because I have the bullet points directly below to answer those questions:
- She has an honest face;
- She is an ex-celebrity following the success of her Bosnian Herzegovinian smash hit of a television series with millions of fans;
- Though she may not have an actual voice, she has a “voice” that can empower the smallest of people and inspire the brightest of voters;
- There is nothing that she is not willing to do to get your vote;
- She once popped a wheelie at the Royal Variety Performance (sources still waiting to be confirmed at this point).
As you can see, there is enough scrabbled together here to convince even the most sternest of individuals that Flat Kitty is a candidate that you can trust and is, ultimately, whom America is crying out for to lead them to a three dimensional multi-faceted glowing shoebox of tomorrow.
That and she makes a mean salad nicoise.
It has now been many months since we last saw The Book, and understandably all those of us who care deeply about it are becoming concerned for its safety.
Today, Pouring Beans launches a major publicity campaign to alert the British public to the plight of The Book in the hope of seeing it safely returned home. We are now less than ten pages from the end and with a concerted effort the whole damn thing could be finished and out of our lives by Christmas. Isn’t that something we all want to see?
Last seen: at Kev’s house, awaiting another page of the story
Age: Knocking on for eight bloody years old
Reward: An end to being nagged about it
If you have any information about the whereabouts of The Book, or if you can disclose the identity of the person who is currently detaining it, call the Beans Helpline on 0800-HURRY-UP-KEV.