Fear the return

Fear. That burning at the pit of your stomach. That tingle on the back of your neck. The shivers that overwhelm your entire body and reduces you to a pitiful mess of a human being.

Everyone fears something and I am no exception. If you’ve ever seen the film ‘Biodome’ then you will know what I mean. Monstrosities like that should not exist in this world so if you ever see it anywhere, be in VHS, DVD or, heaven forbid, Blu-Ray, destroy it before it can infect another person.

Recently a friend of mine found a new fear in an unaccepted place. It looked cheery enough but underneath that happy façade was the high pitched voice and relentless energy of a toddler sucking Coca Cola through a red liquorice straw covered in sherbet.

Don’t look at it. Don’t touch it. Don’t go near it. Don’t even think about the fact that it is somewhere in this world. Just be thankful it’s not where you are. Close your curtains and lock your doors. Turn out the lights and hide in the darkness.

You never know when he might be coming.

Bamse Mums

Hey kid, are you hungry? Do you need something to snack on before dinner?

What you need is a bag of Bamse Mums.

We take the finest things that sugar can produce and fashion them into someone that would make even a Smurf squint with glee.

Hidden beneath a veil of chocolate is something that up until writing this post I wasn’t quite sure what it was. It tasted like milk but it’s actually a marshmallow. Yeah, one of them covered in chocolate but also tasting a bit like a Kinder Egg. In the shape of a bear. Sort of shaped like a bear. In your mouth.

Trust me, with a packet full of these in your pocket, well, they’d melt obviously because it’s summer. They would melt into the sexiest confectionary you have ever seen or maybe not because they’re made in France but my sister sent some over from Sweden. Also nobody is impressed with melted chocolate unless they’ve got a hoover bag covered in holes for a brain.

English people probably don’t know what they are. They’re Bamse Mums.

Import some today and wonder why you bothered to do so in the first place.

Everybody wants to rule the world… or do they?

In 1985 Tears for Fears released a song called ‘Everybody wants to rule the world’. It was a fearless, techno-infused death metal hybrid about the merits of being in charge of everything. That’s a big lie; it was a endlessly catchy pop song about the perils of being in charge. It does beg the question as to what would be the point in having the biggest chair of all chairs?

Lots of comic book supervillains are always desperate to take it over: Magneto, Dr. Doom, Lex Luthor and Darkseid to name a few. Looking at the state of the planet now, I’d say that it would be more of a chore than anything else to run the world. Earth isn’t fun anymore. It’s a dried up husk of a planet filled with dangerous morons outnumbering the sane, level-headed people by about fifty to one. We’re running low on resources, running out of space and now apparently plastic has been found in people’s blood. I don’t remember eating plastic, it must have been in a frenzy the last time someone put a box of Malteasers in front of me and I swallowed them whole, box, cellophane and all.

This all sounds very serious so before I completely step into my ‘Serious Ian’ shoes, let’s take a step back.

Imagine the paperwork involved; you would never leave your desk and certainly don’t even think about taking a full hour lunchbreak. You’d be running around 195 countries each with their own way of doing things. Sure, you’re the one with the big boots and flashy sash but you can guarantee someone is going to have a problem with your agenda or, even worse, your face.

“China wants a bouncy castle for its ten thousandth birthday!” shouts your secretary. Just before you pick up the phone to check what St John’s Community Hall can offer there’s an email in your inbox because Brazil called Peru a naughty name and now its sulking off the gulf of Mexico and it has to hand over the figures regarding its GDP before the end of the day. France has been in jail for nine days and no matter how many times you shock it with electricity it won’t tell you where your car keys are.

There’s a splat at the window. Poland is throwing eggs again. You’ve already cut off its pocket money and it still won’t respect your decision to hold the next Olympics in Australia.

Just when you think Thailand, Singapore and Qatar have their harmonies fashioned for your board meeting on Friday, Thailand sleeps in and misses the final dress rehearsal. Now you’ve got to go crawling on your hands and knees to Saudi Arabia in the hope that your fourth choice will forget the fact that you let them go in favour of the country with the slightly better baritone.

Even if you had superpowers and you could crush people with the weight of your toxic masculinity, where’s the thrill of being king or queen of the world? It’s not even something that would impress people anymore. The general public is impressed when a monkey rides a tortoise and someone films it. That’s an eight million hit on YouTube. Bragging rights for ownership of the planet Earth? Nothing. I bet all the other planets are always giggling about us because we still haven’t mastered space travel and Kanye West has now released eleven albums and still shows no sign of stopping.

No, I’m afraid if I was handed the keys to the globe I would turn and walk away. It’s just not for me. I’m out.

A terrible waist

This week I’m going to a wedding in Jernsey, an island just off the coast of France near where I live. It’s been a while since I went to a fancy do, so I did the usual thing, which is to get my suit out of the wardrobe about a week beforehand and try it on.

I got a new shirt and tie, so I put those on and they look nice. The suit has a waistcoat – I like waistcoats – so I put that on, and it’s smashing. The jacket is also looking very swish. The trousers, on the other hand, are a cause of concern. They have three fastenings at the top and it’s a good job they do, because they are so tight that a single button would not have handled the strain.

I breathe in and I heave and I pull and eventually get them fastened, and then I attempt to sit down, an activity I rapidly have to abort due to the discomfort involved and the extreme risk it poses to my perfectly innocent trousers.

I contemplate attending a wedding at which I have to politely decline all opportunities to sit down and where I have to avoid eating anything all day long. I decide this is not a world I want to live in.

On Saturday I take the trousers to work with me, and in my lunchbreak head out to a tailoring and clothing alterations place nearby where the man has a look, explains that there’s enough extra in the waistline to let them out by about four centimetres, and gets this job done in the time it takes me to find a working cashpoint and come back with the money. I try them on and find this modest change is ideal – the trousers are now well fitted but with plenty of room to breathe, to sit, and to insert a three-course dinner. Problem solved.

I return to work and relate these events to one of my colleagues. Oh yes, she says, I think everyone’s going through a bit of that these days. She and her husband went to a wedding just last week, one that had been postponed since Spring 2020, and the pre-pandemic suit her husband had bought in February of that year no longer fit properly. He had to have the trousers adjusted in exactly the same way to fit his post-lockdown waistline.

It’s the lockdowns, she said. We all did less exercise and ate more food. It gets to us all. I laughed with her and agreed. It gets to us all.

In my head was a different thought. It’s not lockdown. I only bought this suit six months ago and it fitted then. It’s not lockdown, it’s just too many biscuits.

But I’m not saying that to anyone. They can never know.

Strong words

Reviews are very useful when deciding if the thing that you think that you want is actually the thing that you want. Human beings are idiots, we want everything. See that patch of grass? You want that. I want it too. Let’s have a fight about it to decide who gets to have it. Whilst we’re fighting, someone comes along and takes it. They measure up the merits of the patch and review it on grasspatches.com. I read the review over your shoulder, holding a bag of frozen peas on my black eye and decide perhaps that wasn’t the right grass patch for me.

Everything gets reviewed these days from people and services to goods and refreshments. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a one star review of me somewhere with the words “could have done better but I did like his soft hair” painted around a picture of myself looking confused.

Some days I’m very interested in reading reviews and researching before deciding to purchase and other days I’m straight in there, balls deep, putting my card details straight away like a mega boss. I’m buying games and films, I’m not purchasing helicopters and hovercrafts like Kev. Those you have to take your time with because you don’t want to end up with a hovercraft that doesn’t hover or a helicopter that smells of wee.

This review made me laugh so much I had to take a screenshot and keep it for posterity. It’s for a Nintendo Wii U game called ‘Game and Wario’, a collection of strange and funny minigames that nobody really bought (because it was on a bobbins console) so now it’s commands a tall price. I’m not sure what the person thought they were doing but it was approved by the website and not only have three people confirmed it as ‘helpful’ but it’s also top of the list of ‘most relevant’ in the ten reviews the game has.

Further proof that the human race has completely lost the plot.

Mistakes in marketing

Let’s say you own a company. Let’s say you’re involved in JCBs and tipper trucks, shifting muck around. Let’s say you get yourself a nice white van for moving kit about and you get your company’s name written on the back, and maybe a nice photo of some JCBs and tipper trucks in action so everyone can tell what line of work you’re in.

For now we will overlook the fact that you name your company something daft like ”Kellands” when, if sense prevailed, you would clearly have called it something like ”John’s Diggers”.

You have space on the van for a slogan. Something positive and dynamic that tells everyone what your company is about and how great you are.

What slogan will you choose? Think carefully.

Cafetiere

I was given some free coffee so I bought a cafetiere to brew it up and enjoy the fresh taste of morning brown. The coffee was strong and rich so my taste buds, what little I had left, were in a joyful mood. Reuben tried some and instantly dismissed it. Now whenever he sees the cafetiere in the cupboard he refers to it as “middle class bullshit.”

There is a time for instant coffee and there’s a time to whip out the cafetiere. There’s also a time when you need to take a 600 million pound bag of tea and brew up some dirty black tea for you to enjoy, possibly whilst rocking back and forth in the corner of the room, but thankfully I haven’t quite reached that point yet.

Whilst musing on the wonders of life I came up with this playful little ditty. You can sing it or you can recite it like a spoken word poem:

Cafetiere, cafetiere,
Long of taste and long of flair.
Cafetiere, your juice is fair,
Pour some for your closest frere.
Pour some for Jim, Danny or Claire.

Hint of peach or hint of pear,
Think there’s nothing going on in there?
Au contraire, my cafetiere,
The savoir faire of cafetiere,
The savoir vivre of cafetiere.

Yeah you’re right, I made it up on the spot and that’s what makes life so great. Next time you’re brewing some coffee perhaps you’ll come up with your own song.

Pointless Purchase of the Month – The Artist

Take a look around you right now and tell me what you can see. Can you see a shelf of shoes? Can you see a cat pawing at your conservatory door? Can you see two sailors quarrelling about figs? I expect that one or more of those things are within the reaches of your eyes (mental note: eye reach is a good thing) and I, for one, am very jealous that I cannot see them.

Jarrow does not have a lot of shops that one can peruse on a lunchtime. I have particular tastes so unless I’m in the mood for frozen food (Iceland) or ladies toiletries, or anyone’s toiletries really (Boots or Superdrug) I’m up a certain creek without a certain paddle. Thanks Jeebus then for Cash Convertors, peddling second-hand goods of a bizarre assortment and variety; it’s like having a carboot sale every day five minutes from work. Bliss.

I was most surprised then when, about to leave the shop, my noticing eyes noticed a peculiar sight. The stack of sad unloved DVDs and Blu-Rays sit on a shelf next to the cash register, close to the box of twelve inch vinyl records which I can guarantee have not been flicked through in years. There, in plain view for everyone to see, were copies of the film ‘The Artist’ on Blu-Ray. Not one, not two, not three but thirteen copies.

At that point I had never seen the film but remembered the Oscar buzz when it was originally released; a silent film about a silent film star struggling to cope with the transition to “talkies” after the advancements in technology and cinema but made in 2011. I left the shop however I returned a few days later. You may question my sanity and you would be right to do so. Why would one person need thirteen copies of the same movie? For 25p each I ask you, how could one person live with themselves knowing that they passed up on an opportunity to own thirteen copies of the same film? Exactly. I can’t justify it, deal with it.

As the member of staff scanned each Blu-Ray I was on the verge of asking how the store had come into possession of such a large quantity of the same film only he looked about as happy as a wet weekend in Bridlington so I came to the conclusion that it was better to not know. The reason would be lost in the sands of time. It was a blessing and I should not question it as such.

I watched the film and enjoyed it, it’s a lot darker than I expected it to be. There’s also a dog in it that’s way more impressive than most of the human cast because he’s clever and well-trained much like Eddie (or Moose if you will) from ‘Frasier’. Do I need thirteen copies of a great film? Of course not, yet I wouldn’t be able to write these words and possibly enrage Kevin by doing so without them. The best part is that eight of them are still sealed.

Happy trails!