Mid Thirties

A week or so ago, I turned 32.

This is an important moment. I’ve left behind the first couple and I am now officially in my thirties. I am in my thirties. When I was a teenager that phrase would have been more or less on a par with old age pensioner or incontinent geriatric.

Consequently, in my twenties, I made a serious mistake. I held on to my “early twenties” for far too long. 20, 21, 22 – nobody would argue that they are your early twenties. But I carried on thinking of myself as being in my early twenties at 23 and 24 too. That was fine at the time. I clung to my youth.

Then my 25th birthday arrived and with it came a terrible realisation. 25 had to be my mid twenties, there was no denying it. But if 20-24 had all been early twenties, then I had squeezed my mid twenties down to a year, and at 26 I was unwillingly hurled forwards into my late twenties. My late twenties. They were almost over with four years to go. Nightmare.

So with this decade of my life I am determined to get it right. Having turned 32, I am now officially declaring myself to have entered my mid thirties. By taking a hit now, and entering my mid thirties early, I can continue them much longer, and I don’t have to think of myself as reaching my late thirties until I’m 38, at which point I should be able to come to terms with the idea.

So here we are: 32, the beginning of my mid thirties, and an early sign that I might be learning from past mistakes. Sometimes.

What did you just say about beavers?

Reuben approached me last weekend because he had recently had a dream that had perplexed him and needed to know what it meant.

This is mostly his dream with details but with a smudge of embellishment on my part:

“Reuben is walking around school with his new fictional best friend, Daniel. They had decided to walk back home through the woods once the school day was over. The woods, though dark, were still light enough to be unthreatening. They had gone halfway through when they heard a strange noise and a bright blue flash, and stood at the base of a tree was a beaver.

They tried to get near but each time the beaver disappeared and reappeared in a different part of the woods. Sometimes the beaver would appear in different attire, and in particular as a Mexican. Reuben and Daniel split up and in doing so, one of them managed to grab the beaver. As the other approached, the bright blue light flashed and they had magically been transported to ancient Egypt.

It was at this point they realised it was a magical, time-travelling beaver.

The animal was tired; time-travelling is a very tiring experience. The only way to re-charge the beaver was to feed him a particular type of wood. Once this was done, Reuben and Daniel had to try to convince the beaver that they needed to go home, which was difficult because the beaver was worshipped as a God in this period of history.

After a fair amount of tussling, the beaver accidentally transports them to the post apocalyptic world of 2704. Then, through a series of mishaps, they also take in the sights of the Jurassic era, the Romans, pirates, Aztecs, Victorian era Britain, World War II and the 1980’s.

Eventually though they get home and decide to keep the beaver as a pet. It turns out he is called Harold. His full name is Harold “Carrot” Bevoid. In his time he drives a Beaver Delorean. His time is not specifically mentioned so they do not know what year he has time-travelled from.”

…

Something to do with puberty perhaps?

Gaffer Tape Adventures

Are you bored of walking home from work the same way? Sick of seeing the same sights as you trudge to your girlfriend’s house? Have you had enough of using your eyes and witnessing a monotonous, predictable series of events every day of your life but can’t afford a holiday to sweeten the deal?

Then we have the product for you.

Gaffer Tape Adventures is the newest of the new. All it takes is a simple idea; covering your eyes, and possibly your ugly mug, with gaffer tape. Now the whole world is a brand new place.

No longer do you face boredom as you leave the office. No longer do you tire of the familiarity of the way to your significant other. You see nothing; every day is a new challenge as you shuffle slowly down the street, attempting to avoid hitting people and falling over objects. Each road is a potential death trap. Each moment could be your last.

Our impressive kit can start you out on the road to adventure. We will provide you with everything you need to get started with your own Gaffer Tape Adventure. Our easy ONE – TWO – THREE step program will get your up and away within minutes.

You will be awash with fear and excitement. Not only can you bite the bullet big time but you can also look forward to these other thrilling activities:

* Muggings
* Stabbings
* Groping
* Wedgies
* Nuggies
* Unexpected Conga Lines

We can guarantee you the time of your life as soon as you put your life in the hands of Gaffer Tape Adventures.

£49.99 from your nearest aviary.

Four Word Reviews: The Lone Ranger

1995 was an important year. It saw the release of Windows 95, which was the first occasion the Rolling Stones had ever endorsed a 32-bit operating system in a marketing stunt that wasn’t contrived at all. Goldeneye was released, which was the first movie in the James Bond franchise where the game was better than the actual film. And, of course, it was the year Suggs ran out of money and returned to the music business with the release of his debut solo album, The Lone Ranger.
Suggs: The Lone Ranger

The problem with peas

Here’s a tragic story. Have a handkerchief handy to soak up your tears.

On Friday I got out my notepad and settled in to pay my fullest attention to Suggs’ 1995 masterpiece, The Lone Ranger. It will be the latest in my increasingly popular series of album reviews for the Beans.

Having made notes on each track, I packed up and set off towards North London to wait for Elena to finish work and so we could set off for the north. I’d be able to make tea and relax. I’d be able to write my album review. Everything would be great.

Unfortunately London had other plans for me. I can only assume that London actively wanted to prevent the world finding out my thoughts on the synth-reggae and two-tone cover versions offered by the former Madness frontman’s mid-nineties cash-in comeback, because it did everything it could to stop me writing that important and informative blog post. My fourteen mile journey took me three hours in the end, leaving me no time for tea, no time for careful musical contemplation and no time to share my thoughts with the world. I also had no time for lunch.

There are several tragic results from this appalling debacle.

You will have to wait until later this month to read my review, which should have been posted in April.
My next two album reviews will have to be delayed by an extra month, which means no Sade until June and no Shaggy until July.
I only made three posts in April which means I broke my long run of consistent four-posts-a-monthing which had run since December 2014 and scored a nasty horrible dried pea on the bean counter which makes me VERY VERY ANGRY INDEED GAAAAAAAHHHHH.

In short: bad traffic makes for very bad apples.

Next time I’ll take the tube.

The Timps Chea Party

It was a small gathering, but it was enough to garner interest from the highest rungs of society’s ladder. That was always the case for the Timps Chea (pronounced “Chi”) Party.

Bolderville sniffed at the contents of his cup and scoffed; a little noise emanating from the back of his throat, “Is this what counts as an acceptable blend these days?” Emmental peered up from the book she was sifting through, mid-sip of her own drink, and shot a daring, lacklustre look in his direction. This was not the first time Bolderville had interrupted her book, her story, her line of thought. His opinions could be heard from the other side of the room, even through the most heated of debates. Once something upset his tastebuds, or his stomach, he was first to announce it and always at the top of his voice.

“If you don’t want it you are more than welcome to try to find something more to your tastes in the back of Nanny’s cupboard. I think she still has some Oakenfold Harbinger from her trips to the Ivory Coast. It goes remarkably well with civilised company,” she quipped, hoping to dismount his verbal attack before he even had a chance to regroup his efforts. Bolderville didn’t even bother to acknowledge her remark; he was too preoccupied with the flavour rolling around his mouth. Usually he had ripped the drink to pieces by now.

Could it be that he had changed his mind and the chea was growing on him?

“I’ve tasted better down the crack of even the most slimiest, more repugnant shops in the sweatiest districts of Backgammon. In fact, the last time I threw up I’m almost entirely sure it had the texture of this!” That was more like him. Those were the words of a blunderbuss, a person botherer, an unpleasant, parsnip-twitching, egotistical hammock of a man.

Emmental sighed. Her own chea, a blend she had cultivated herself after long afternoons in the portland stiles, was as light and bewitching as the eyes of the black kitten Nanny had given her just the other day for her twilight birthday. Between the two of them they had enchanted just about every member of the Tripod Dynasty, even burned out Haggard McPondPoodle. The chea reflected her personality. It gave good lips and a savage grace. There was no point wasting any on Bolderville though; he would not understand the subtle nuances, and fake a gagging noise to attract attention from the clot of Susan beasts in the courtyard.

No, today was her book and her chea. Let him with his he and his ho waddle in the puddle of his own discontent. Let him dampen the air with foul language and disharmony. Crash away, my good man, Emmental thought, for you have no business here.

Only one problem but remained; nobody knew what a Timp was.

Things! Ep. 4 – Petrol Pockets

Around the world, every single day, remarkable people are creating remarkable new things, making their ideas and innovations a reality. And since the start of 2016, Pouring Beans Productions has been sending its reporters out to meet some of those people and catch a glimpse of the exciting inventions that are in development.

In this episode of Things!, Dougie McLaughten meets a man from Banbury who hopes to revolutionise the way we buy petrol and other inflammable spirits.

Chris’ New Favourite Song – ‘Broiler’

In ancient Latin a ‘broiler’ is a broken boiler. So many people have been brought to their knees because of a lack of hot water.

In accordance with Beans law, so it was requested that a song be written to accompany Christopher’s anguish at no longer being a Big Man (TM) and having to resume his role originally handed to him in a sock over a year ago.

I was the person handed that task and I am the one who has furiously sculpted the song that lays before you. There is no joy to be had in this post. If you are looking for sunshine and pickles then I would suggest you look elsewhere. Only doom and gloom permeate this blackened tune.

If only the National Whinge Line was still up and running. Keep your next of kin on speed dial.

Broiler

It was a Tuesday night,
I wasn’t feeling alright.
I knew I’d felt better,
As I clung to my sweater.
Inclement weather in May,
Added to my disarray.
Kettles wearing a frown,
My boilers broken down.

I think it’s the flue,
Problems, I’ve got a few.
The warranty’s out of date,
Got there two days too late.
Now that the meters teasing,
Everything’s slowly freezing.
Oh, there is just no pleasing,
Shunt’ be this cold this season.

(Instrumental break)

Glow worm, Valliant, Worcester Bosch

So, I am left this way,
In this cool month of May.
Engineer can’t come by
‘Til 3pm next Fri.
Over a week like this?
Fiddlesticks, ladles and whisks!
Combi’s left me so blue,
Tell me, what can I do?

Diddle diddle dee dum de dum de babaaaa badum

I hope this is sufficient for everyone’s purposes. Whilst this tale may not be true, it easily could have been.