Newsboost – National State of Emergency

David Cameron was pulled out of a meeting with Slovak prime minister Rovert Fico earlier this week to address the worrying concerns of a growing number of residents in the North of England. Mr Cameron has yet to comment on the crisis but it has been confirmed that he has cancelled all subsequent engagements for the remainder of this week to focus on the problem. His worried face and damp forehead were enough to confirm just how serious the matter was; the Gasgoignes in Garforth was practically empty on a Friday night.

Our two correspondents who were there on 19th June quickly passed on the information which filtered through to No. 10 in the early hours of Monday morning.

It was approximately 11pm, a time which should have seen drunken youths and self-tanned middle-aged locals swarming around the place like locusts over a corpse. Previous evenings have seen up to ten minutes passing without service at the bar. This particular evening was so quiet the lights were already on and bar staff were cleaning up for the day after. The four aged women in the corner left shortly after. The remaining patrons were a small party near the dining section, including children, and our intrepid reporters. The situation was so dire only one round was bought before exiting.

The last time was also particularly worrying as the entire establishment was closed before they even arrived.

Mr Cameron is expected to address the media before the weekend with a disaster management plan which will more than likely set up a three stage recovery system, possibly beginning with cheap shots up to 10pm and a free adult bouncy castle until closing.

Speculation is rife as to the reason for the lack of business. One can only hope that the disaster management plan reacts quickly enough to prevent any further catastrophe.

Father’s Day

I’m not really one for days of celebration; there are far too many to keep up with. For every distinct, sincere and sensible one there are seventeen other silly ones that some berk in a beard in a boardroom decided was a great idea such as Spinning Teatowels Day or Tap Someone on the Shoulder and Wink at a Vegetable Day. These continue to regularly appear on my Twitter feed as though I should give two hoots. I wouldn’t even give one, barely half.

So when it comes to Father’s Day I suppose I should offer up both hoots, and I do. I load up both barrels of the hoot rifle and let rip with all the riposte and energy I’m known for. It was to my complete amusement and amazement then when the following item was placed in my hands by Reuben approximately two days before it was even Father’s Day. He was that excited he couldn’t wait until the correct day:

What does one say when presented with a set of marshmallows containing one’s son’s face in various different guises? We took the piss out of my brother for wanting a cake with his own face on, which he eventually managed to obtain thanks to Asda, and this is essentially the same technology. So why is it different? John did always love himself and this was something more honest, more wholesome and less narcissistic. The boy had come up with the idea all on his own. Where he had heard that someone could scan an image of his face onto confectionary I don’t particularly want to know, but what a present!

I’m almost hesitant to actually eat them. Luckily you’re also given a scan of the individual photos so that once you do pop them in your face hole you can remember them forever and always. You will forgive me then if I do disappear in a timely manner to attend to an unconfirmed previous engagement…

Quiet Beans

There hasn’t been much going on during June here at the Beans. Where is everyone? We’ve sent our roving reporter to find out.

Object of the Year

Can you believe it’s that time of year again? The live final of Object of the Year is upon us again, and the finalists are going to the public vote.

The two finalists have worked hard and I don’t think anyone would deny that they both deserve their place in the final.

On the left: the flask. Shiny, smooth, tall and well-insulated, it’s not just highly entertaining, it also seems to embody something indefinable about England.

On the right: the boots. Their tactile suede surface and shiny zips make them the showy one of the pair. They’re always seen together and their tapdancing duets are truly remarkable.

So – it’s that time – cast your vote now!

Call 0898 000 000 000 1 to vote for the flask.

Call 0898 000 000 000 2 to vote for the boots.

Calls may be recorded and monitored for training purposes. Each call will cost one third of your weekly gross income. Ask for permission from your local council before calling. All British Citizens must vote.

New Addition

It was on a warm summer’s afternoon some time ago that I chanced upon the marvel that is Flat Kitty in a charity shop down main street. I knew instantly that I wanted this cat and nothing was going to stop me from getting her. Since then, well, we’ve all heard the stories before: the rising star, the claim to fame, the eastern European sitcom (previously available on the triple disc NiSH box set, currently deleted) and the multitude of fans in every corner of the globe.

There has always been one problem though; she was the last of her kind. No matter where I looked another of her ilk could not be found. For years she has wanted but only for the soft, warm touch of a friend or a partner to watch the sun set over the River Tyne, and it seemed that this was about a likely as a NiSH reunion (as the three members are still going through legal wranglings).

Fear not no more for last weekend Madge was scouring the decks of the Tynemouth market only to find this shining beacon of hope:

Tiger Kitty, for this be his name, may be from a different time and a different place but his unquestionable thirst for wuv could not be satisfied until he met Flat Kitty.

Early reports suggest a big, celebrity wedding could be on the cards as early as Spring 2016.

A small but gratifying observation

It has been said, somewhat unkindly, that the EP recently released by The Rapples does not represent the pinnacle of rap music and that, in fact, The Rapples may have tossed it off without much attention paid to either lyrical content (cf. Quick Go), ability to rap (cf. Crash and Burn) or, indeed, bothering to rap at all (cf. Toot Toot Beep Beep).

But these criticisms surely all come to nothing when you realise that one of the songs considered vital to the establishment of rap as a musical form is Rapture by Blondie. The nonsensical, barely rhythmic chatter in that song, masquerading as rap, about an alien that eats cars, is apparently not just legitimate rap but is a classic of the genre.

The Rapples can surely rest easy knowing that, at the absolute minimum, everything on “Space for an Ace” is vastly superior to that.

Album art

The music press has been very excited lately about rumours that The Papples have been working on a side project with their occasional collaborator Kevil – fans will, of course, know him as co-creator of “Dirty Chips”, the top selling track on their last album.

It looks like those rumours were true as news emerges of the formation of a supergroup called The Rapples. They are describing themselves as an urban music collective, set to “revolutionise rap in the same way the Papples have revolutionised pop music”. Their debut EP is due out soon. It’s not yet clear whether legendary producer Nizzle will also be involved.

Details of the track listing and any possible live dates are still firmly under wraps, but Pouring Beans has been granted an exclusive look at the album art, and we can also reveal the title of the EP is to be “Space for an Ace”.

Obviously we’ll bring you more news as this thrilling story develops.

The Trip Home

Last weekend was mostly spent discovering how difficult it is to be a rapper. Not only in spirit but also in words, and that whilst I may be adept at sweating lyrics I’m not particularly great at spitting them. In any case eventful as the Saturday and Sunday were they could not prepare me for what was about to happen on the train ride home.

Kevin was selfish enough to leave the train at York to go home and see his wife, or whatever. What was I supposed to do for the next hour and a half until I reached Newcastle? Luckily we had clocked an acquaintance of mine in the other carriage, Tony, and thus once Kevin had departed I moved down the train to sit with Tony and his friend Tony. Their other friend, Tony, had unfortunately had a few too many drinks before getting on so when he tried to leave and piss on the platform it took Tony, Tony and Tony to restrain him and drag him back to his seat.

Tony meanwhile regaled me of their antics over the weekend, which mainly consisted of football, sausage rolls and soiled pants. Tony couldn’t help himself and bellowed down to his counterpart, Tony, who had sat in the wrong seats, and ridiculed him openly much to the bemusement of the other passengers. Tony had passed out, which was for the best. It also meant that Tony and Tony could join myself and Tony for a few drinks of our own.

It didn’t take long before Tony was waxing lyrical about all manner of subjects. It reminded me how lucky I was to know these people who were so generous and kind and lived a rich and wonderful life. One only had to gaze upon the cheery faces of the rest of the carriage to know that I had made the right decision to move into the group and join in with the camaraderie.

Newcastle station came all too soon and it wasn’t long before Tony and Tony climbed into the back of Tony’s car and all four of them left into the darkest night. Tony helped Tony into a taxi leaving Tony to wait for his wife to pick him up.

I only wish every journey could be as memorable as this.