Avatar Best Laid Plans – Update

Every man has a dream.

Unfortunately it seems as though every dream comes with a cost and a price tag. Yes, both.

Not too long ago I stole someone else’s dreams. I wanted to have coast to coast goats in order to satisfy the need for goats. The world was crying out for goats and nobody was delivering them. Who was I to deny the world their dreams whilst satisfying my own at the same time?

So it happened. I wheeled out the goats and in one long, glorious line they stretched from Blackpool in the West to Scarborough in the East. It resembled something akin to Hadrian’s Wall, except with goats. It was like the Great Wall of China, but with goats instead of walls. And so the people came together and decided to name my wonderful wall of goats. It’s just a shame that they didn’t think to put more effort into it; Goat Wall.

The Goat Wall was an immediate success, even if Joey Essex did travel up and tried to cut it with a huge pair of novelty scissors. Fanatics took to patting the heads of each and every goat in the Goat Wall. Postcard enthusiasts took pictures and start selling photos of the Goat Wall several minutes before it had even opened, much was their frenzy. Members of the mailing list were picked at random and given signed photos of the most popular goats. It was exactly the kind of support the Goat Wall needed to get up and running.

That was it though. It seemed as though I had overestimated the need for goats and no matter what I did, even selling tickets from door to door like a common bed-wetter, the bright spark that once fuelled my dreams was dabbled with mascarpone. Even if I wanted coast-to-coast goats nobody else did. So now they stand, once titans in their field, now reduced to squabbling amongst themselves for the last blade of grass. I want to keep them but I’m sending them away to the farthest parts of the globe in the hope that maybe the world will appreciate them more than Great Britain. Maybe Global Goats is the way forward, and thus my dream morphs into something else. Maybe this time next year Global Goats will be one of the eight wonders of the world…

Avatar 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.

Read More: Wisdom of the 1970s »

Avatar Trendsetter

You start off with a short sentence to ease them in.

Then you lean back with a slightly longer one just to prove that you’re capable of doing more than stringing together a couple of flashy, sticky dib-dabs.

So, after what can only be described as the complete runaway success of my expertly put-together phrase, “Sweet Petunia!” it has unfortunately become far too popular. Everywhere I go these days it is being ushered on street corners, shouted on fruit stalls, giggled in dog-grooming parlours and whispered down sewer grates. It takes a brave man to take a step back and even though I still hold her dear to my heart I think it is time to retire, “Sweet Petunia!” and look to pastures new.

I was in recent discussion with Senor Menendez and Master Reuben about my plight and they too were sad to see her go so soon but understood my reasons for doing so. Getting rid of her was the easiest part; finding a suitable and equally genius replacement would be where the toil began. Luckily being around academics such as these, it was finger wiggle time within a matter of minutes.

Can you replace “Sweet Petunia”? Of course you can. You need something catchy, something clever but also something people can identify with. You don’t want to push that sweet, sweet candy away. Ladies and gentlemen, I present the worthy replacement:

“Penny Vincenzi!”

I would have had, “Barry Norman!” but Master Reuben came up with it first and told me I would have to pay him royalties whenever I mentioned it. You have to be quick off the mark in this game.

Avatar Best Laid Plans

Every man has a dream.

The great thing about dreams is that they can be as big or a small as you would like them to be. As long as they are relatively realistic then achieving them is just about putting your mind to it.

A man came to me at the weekend and told me his dream. He said that what he wanted most of all was a small herd of goats to keep at the coast so that they could enjoy the sights, sounds and marvels that the English coast do so well, and that when he feels like a jaunt to Scarborough or Filey he can share the experience with those very goats. I told him that such a dream was easily obtained and that he should immediately set about putting his affairs in order.

When a man has a dream though sometimes it just doesn’t go far enough.

Having set about the events so that the man could have his coast goats I then pondered the idea myself and came to the conclusion that it wasn’t enough. It would be nice to have some goats hanging about in Whitby, waiting for me to take them through the whale bones and then across the bridge for fish and chips, but how about a little bit more? What if I had goats not only at the coast but across the whole country? What if I could stop in for a cup of coffee at Costa and high five a goat on the way out? What if a goat would tell me when the bus was running late, or pass me a small pot of porridge when I’m running late for work? It would cost a lot but what about coast-to-coast goats?

Of course I did not reveal my plans to the man because he might steal them as I had stolen his idea. As well as this, his original idea would be besmirched by my much better plans and I am not prepared to besmirch my fellow man. He will eventually learn of my objectives and he will have to come to terms with them as the rest of you mortals.

Avatar Box Memories

The human memory is an unreliable tool. Things that you think you remember can be twisted and exploited because people are unreliable and easily influenced. If, like me, you know how superbly atrocious your mind is you learn to record everything or at least as much as you can in the written form. This is starting to feel like a lecture…

And it’s not. The boxes in the corner of my room have bore witness to many a stimulating conversation over the years and sadly the pen and pencil work is starting to fade. Before all these “ideas” are lost to time I thought it best to record them for posterity here, of all places, so we can revel in their warm fuzziness. You may also be able to help remind me just what the fuck they mean. In no particular order I present ‘Box Memories’:

1. Women’s werewolf rights
2. No HAT, no HOLMES!
3. Jam flaps
4. Flip reverse my sandwich
5. Chris = Biggy Bam
6. Adjacent apples on the shelf of life
7. It’s not what we do, it’s the way we do it
8. Epic nonny
9. Steam hot prayers (that was Tom’s stag do, I remember that)
10. I say it, but I don’t mean it
11. I had big boots that day for sure
12. NEW PAPPLES ALBUM = 15% and rising
13. Anvil hands
14. I’m gonna hit you with the fist of gratitude. SLAP!
15. It was too lonny gone ago…
16. RED WINE = MAN WINE. ROSE = GIRL WINE
17. My moustache is off the scale!
18. Apples for thought
19. MAN LIKES HIS DRINK
20. I’d like a BIG FAT January
21. Gourmet = small and shafted
22. “Sock Lions”
23. … it will make your face bleed with smiles
24. Get your warranty out of my chude!
25. I dream of having a database of moods
26. I need a rocket
27. HAIRY ON THE GO!
28. Total toilet
29. 30 = dead (how nice)
30. Banh-kuok (rolled bread, french bread, bread)
31. Big nay
32. Plentingtons = plenty of things

There’s also a faded flame that appears to say ‘Uncle Now’ and of course the now infamous Michael Jackson test.

Question: Am I dead?

If your answer is yes, you are Michael Jackson
If your answer is no, you are someone else

Avatar Neil Armstrong gets a Time Machine (using a Time Machine)

Here at da beans we do like to consider everything before we make our minds up. There is absolutely no point in rushing in with an idea or an opinion unless it has been thought through with a considerable degree of certainty.

Still, this kind of logic is nothing when faced with the abstract mind of a child. Who’s child? My child.

This child does not obey the laws of anything other than what I tell him, and quite possibly his teacher. That said there is still a realm of “eh?”, a dark corner of his mind that does not allow anything in that refuses to conform to that happy rainbow of “surely not”. I bore witness to such a thing recently which was documented in my notebook, which was as follows:

“Neil Armstrong… gets a time machine (which he can only use once) to travel into the future to get a better time machine to make him famous. Then the world blows up.

Note: if you get a time machine go back in time and destroy him!”

I have looked at this page in my notebook on many occasions, and indeed I was there when he was talking about this, and still I am baffled as to what it actually means. Any help that anyone can throw my way would be very gratefully received.

Avatar Obsoletus Redundantus Technologus

Obsolete technology.

There, I said it. Obsolete technology is everywhere. The human race is such a wasteful set of single-minded simpletons, desperately trying to find the newest innovation to make life that little bit easier. You wake up one morning and someone has invented a quicker way for you to put your socks on. By the afternoon they’re wafting around a gizmo that brings eggs to you at work when you scan your debit card on a moist towelette. At sometime after 7pm your phone has a larger memory than you do and is more likely to be offered a loan by your local bank than anyone at your office.

I do feel sorry for obsolete technology. It sits around charity shops feeling very sorry for itself. The amount of times I’ve walked past the British Heart Foundation only to see an array of VHS video tapes pressing themselves against the window, like wonky pets at an animal shelter, lusting to be taken home and played. And I really want to. My generation was brought up on 3.5 inch floppy disks and video rental shops. Sure they invented the compact disc in 1983 but nobody cared about it until the nineties. Pressing a VHS into a video player and having that hearty clunk sound before the screen screamed into whatever nonsense you have chosen to borrow for the evening was a great sensation. Now all you get is a silent hand giving you the finger as your I-pod breathlessly plays one of six hundred billion albums you have downloaded onto it.

There’s nothing wrong with modern technology. Indeed I wouldn’t be able to type this post without the Mac on my lap. What needs addressing though is thoughtful ways of discarding things that aren’t really necessary anymore. For instance, floppy discs. Sturdy little fellows that they are; couldn’t they be used as coasters? I mean the coaster industry, if there is one, could surely allow a little space for recycling. In the place of tiny cardboard circles depicting pictures of hamsters rolling tobacco you would have small, sexy squares. House building companies could erect sheds made of Betamax tapes. They could unreel all the unsold cassettes of Steps singles and use the tape as loft insulation. Who says you can’t buy your wife a bunch of Nokia 3310s instead of a bunch of flowers for her birthday? They’re just as pretty.

The present is often overlooked for the future. I say we must look to the past in order to create the future. The present demands it, and so do I.

Avatar The Barrage of Flaps

I have been commissioned to write a new period drama for an as yet untitled new channel on the television. I think it’ll sit somewhere neatly between Nat Geo HD and the God Channel. Having watched and been forced with a ped egg pointed at my throat to sit through what the twenty first century considers to be a period drama I have ultimately decided that even though it may have costumes and big frilly wigs it also needs a bit of… well the letters haven’t been invented to write the word out yet but for want of a better word let’s go with pizazz.

You can’t just hire Hugh Bonneville and except everything to fall into place; I learned that the hard way when it came to the shooting of ‘Soiling and Soliloquies’ in 2012. No, what you need is a wonderful idea at heart, an original idea that’ll whack those Johnnys between the eyes and scoop up the awards as well. So we come to ‘The Barrage of Flaps’. It’s a 17th century period drama but, for some reason, the 1980’s have travelled back in time to poison not just another decade but an entire century. Betwixt the poverty and the heartache and historical accuracy there will be Wham playing on a jukebox in the background, everyone is wearing Casio watches and teenagers hassle strangers with Slush Puppies and Sony Walkmans.

I think it’s when they have a synth fundraiser for some orphans in episode four, and Axel F turns up at the last minute to offer his support, that most people will start crying.