Avatar State of the Beans Address – 2020: The Write-Off

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.

Avatar 2020 State of the Beans Address

Good day to you all. Thank you. You’re very kind.

My name is Sergeant-Major Professor Lord Sir Elbert Louche, KBE. It is a great privilege to join you here at Fairburn Ings visitor centre for the sixth annual State of the Beans Address. Please could I request that you do not feed the ducks until the formalities have concluded, and also please don’t feed any of the crispy Peking duck to the ducks. The RSPB are trying to avoid another Mad Cow Disease type incident with their mallards.

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Avatar Cooking new beans

So, here’s a thing that just happened.

I logged in to the Beans and there were lots of updates pending, and because I’m a helpful sort of chap, I said yes, let’s run those updates. The updates have installed WordPress 5.0.2.

You may or may not care about that, and certainly when it finished doing its clever whizbottery I was, at best, nonplussed. But it turns out that one of the things that has changed is the editor where you write new posts. It is different. It is more different than anything you’ve ever seen. Right now, while you’re reading this, you don’t believe me, and you’re thinking that it’s just a box where you type stuff and it can’t be that different.

But you’re wrong.

It’s so different.

There isn’t even a box.

If you want to figure out how to make it do stuff, there are some words here that will explain things. I bequeath you this important document to assist you on your journey of discovery.

Good luck, comrades. Good luck as we march onwards, to face our destiny, toward the brave new beans of 2019.

Avatar The Third Kind of Water

The people have spoken and…

“I demand a third water, beyond simply still or fizzy. Something else. Creamy water, maybe, or extra dry water. Something like that.”

… is what they said. Never let it be said that here at Pouringbeans we don’t give the people what they want. We do, we always do, and we give them it in spades. SPADES!

Without any more fuss, let me present to you, straight from the ever-busy laboratories of Kevindo Menendez…

        Antimatter Water

In an interview with New Scientist, Menendnez said:

 Antimatter Water was been produced at great expense to satisfy the urges of one egocentric numpty. However in the process we created something beautiful. Its impossible to drink, and if you mix it with normal water, they both disappear, so NEVER do that. EVER. It could cause some unknown science stuff… probably.

The article goes on to state that “In 1999, NASA gave a figure of $62.5 trillion per gram of antihydrogen” so we can only gasp in awe at the sheer cost of the singular glass of Antimatter Water that Menendez managed to create.

The glass of impossibly expensive anti-water will be presented to a Mr. C. Marshall, along side a selection of budget waters from Aldi, at an upcoming meeting to discuss the ludicrous installation of additional eyes to Mr. Marshall’s face.

Avatar What kind of alpaca are you?

Here at The Beans, we get a lot of questions and enquiries from our adoring fans, but there’s one issue that comes up more than any other: what kind of alpaca you are. It’s obviously impossible for us to investigate each person in full and answer each letter individually to let people know what kind of alpaca they are. Instead, we’ve produced this handy quiz that you can score for yourself and find out approximately what kind of alpaca you are.

Record your score for each question and then scroll down to find your match.

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Avatar Smidge on Science: Time

What is time? I don’t know. I mean, I know what It’s Time is – it’s a horrendous album – but I don’t know what time is. And you don’t either. If you think you do, try explaining it to someone, and you’ll immediately hear the ignorance falling stupidly out of your mouth.

Not to worry. Smidge Manly, renowned world expert on railways and Essex, returns once again to the world of science to answer all your questions.

That’s the last in the present series of Smidge on Science. Will he be back? We simply don’t know. Only time will tell.

Avatar Umbrellagate

I was very angry about it, I can tell you. I swore liberally and at considerable length.

Wait. Let me go back a bit.

So, last night I went to some birthday drinks for Robin, a friend of mine and a fine upstanding citizen. We met in a pub on the south bank in London. Rain was forecast all day, so I took my new umbrella. I love my new umbrella: it’s black and very stylish, and it’s got bright green trim so it looks very cool, and it’s got a push button on the handle that makes it open right out all on its own with a satisfying fwump noise. I kept it leaning against my seat all night.

Just before I left, I went to the toilet, leaving the rest of the party around the table. When I got back, and picked up my jacket, my umbrella was not there.

I asked other people if they’d seen it. I searched behind furniture and under chairs. I looked around at other tables. I asked behind the bar. Nobody could explain it. Nobody had seen it. It had gone. Clearly, some light-fingered Cockney wideboy had seen it leaning there, unobserved, and nabbed it, and was now strolling casually along the south bank with my umbrella in his filthy, criminal hands, probably whistling “Knees Up Mother Brown” as he did so.

At this point I was angry, as described earlier.

Anyway, on the train home, about 40 minutes later, Robin sent me a photo of some people at the party with my umbrella. They’d all been leaving as the pub was closing, and they’d found it leaning by the table – not the table I’d been sitting at, but another just next to it. I’d checked all the tables before I left – in fact I’d checked the whole bloody pub – and it hadn’t been there. Nobody had noticed its mysterious return. So presumably the Cockney wideboy’s misfiring conscience had got the better of him and he’d returned his ill-gotten rain apparatus.

My umbrella is now safely stored in Robin’s flat in Penge, and my anger has subsided.

I will now take questions from the floor. Thank you.