Avatar Report from Manchester

This week I made a short visit to Manchester, a city in the north of England that can be found on any map by simply looking at the wrong side of the Pennines. It was there that a large group of people who like blue things had decided to have a big meeting, though it was a bit different to the other meetings I went to because the people who like blue things seemed pretty sure they were in charge of everyone else, no matter what colour anyone else liked best. They spent a lot of time talking about how only old people like blue things and whether there was a way to convince young people that blue things are best. Outside the conference there were lots of noisy people who had big blue flags with little yellow stars on them, but strangely, none of the people who like blue things seemed to like the people with big blue flags even though the big blue flags were almost entirely blue.

Having had this experience, it is now traditional that I should share what I learned with the Beans.

The first thing I learned is that it rains in Manchester. I arrived under grey skies but it was dry. I walked ten minutes to the hotel. I checked into the hotel. I emerged again from the hotel, on my way to work, to find that it had started doing something that I can only describe as “rain”, though “rain” does not adequately describe the volume of water coming down from the sky. It rained for almost the whole of the rest of my stay.

My shoes were not waterproof. There are holes. They need replacing. They should, I now see, have been replaced some time ago. I spent the day with waterlogged feet. They did not dry for three days. I think I have trench foot.

The second thing I learned is that Manchester doesn’t like people who like blue things. There were a lot of Manchester people shouting at the people who like blue things and someone hung a big banner on a bridge that said HANG THE PEOPLE WHO LIKE BLUE THINGS. Maybe they distrust blue things because the sky is blue when it’s not raining and it’s always raining in Manchester.

The third thing I learned is that Manchester is bad at breakfast. The coffee was bad and the toast was bad and the bacon was bad and the only fruit was melon, cut up four different ways in four different bowls to make it look like there was lots of fruit, and worst of all, there was no jam. No jam at all.

There was also the saddest breakfast table in the world.

I mean look at that. There were two sad little stools under what appears to be a coffee table. Nobody was sitting there. Nobody would ever sit there. It’s a stupid place to have breakfast. Just like Manchester.

Avatar Lumpy Milkshake

Most of my posts for the last couple of weeks have been about food, so I thought I’d try something different and tell you all a wee story about a milkshake:

Once upon a time there was a handsome, kind, gentle person called, erm, let’s say Kieran. He decided that because he’s such a nice person he would buy his friend a drink at lunchtime and took a stroll to Asda to peruse the choices for sale.

As it happens, it is funnier to buy a weird drink than a normal one. It was a crying shame that the awful mango and passionfruit Frijj drink was sold out so, as a second choice, it seemed a good idea to pick the cherry bakewell milkshake. At sixty pence how could he say no?

His work friend was “delighted” to receive such a “generous” and “tasty” gift. He was so “delighted” that he only took two sips and decided it was too nice to drink, and left it on the side of his desk over the weekend.

How surprised the two colleagues were then to return on Monday to find that the milkshake had turned not only into a solid but some kind of funky, disgusting, yellow scouring pad solid.

As a testament to the power of science, I have included two of the same picture up so it looks as though you’re looking at them through a pair of binoculars. Because that’s cool.

One day I’ll write about other things.

Avatar Wooden Juice – a poem

I am afraid of wooden juice,
I don’t know how it works,
I know of liquid juices and
The taste, the thrill, the perks!
My mind cannot comprehend
How solid juice will fit
Down my neck and throat,
Won’t it get stuck in my armpit?

People say to chop it up,
“That’s the best way to do it!”
But others say that doesn’t do,
“You should just opt to neck it!”

As the days wear on I struggle
As to my final decision,
So I flip a coin in the end,
To avoid further mind collision.
It lands on ‘heads’, I’m doing it,
I’ll drink it down in one!
I tilt my head back slowly
Oh, the process has begun!

I woke up in the hospital,
The doctors say I’ll last.
There’s a jug next to my bedside,
This time I’ll drink it fast!

Avatar Pizza

On 16 September, Ian wrote:

“I think the only thing you can do then is upload a video of you eating a pizza as though it is the first time you’ve ever done it.”

I am not a man to deny the people their wish.

Avatar Report from Brighton

This week I have been to Brighton, another seaside town, where large numbers of people who like red things best have gathered for a conference about what it would be like if people who like red things are in charge of everybody. Some of them seem to be under the impression that they already are. Others are arguing about what sort of people who like red things should be in charge of the people who like red things and whether some of the people who like red things like red things more than some of the other people.

As before, I have decided that it’s important I should share my findings of this place with the magnificent readership of the Beans. I learned three things in Brighton.

First, I learned that sand can be really big. Brighton beach is made of sand so big that it’s basically pebbles. Like, each grain is properly pebble sized. I’ve heard it said that they actually are pebbles, but that’s clearly silly because beaches are made of sand.

Second, Brighton is full of very attractive people. Everyone in Brighton is not just beautiful but also very cool, in a sort of unintimidating and effortless way. I feared that I would not fit in with this sort of demographic and feared being rounded up by the police and removed from the town on account of my decidedly ordinary appearance. In the end my boss cut my trip short and redeployed me back to London two days early, which I think was just a cover for the fact that he’d got word from the authorities that I would be exiled if I didn’t leave of my own accord.

The third thing I learned is that you can get a machine that automatically makes pancakes at the push of a button. I know because there was one at breakfast in my hotel.

I was so amazed that I made a video of it, which I have presented here for your enjoyment. The video is soundtracked with an excerpt from the 1996 hit song “Coco Jambo” by Mr President.

You’re welcome.

Avatar Report from Bournemouth

This week, my boss sent me to Bournemouth to attend two days of a big meeting where lots of people who all like yellow things came to spend time in each others’ company and talk about what they would do if people who like yellow things were in charge of everything.

I had never been to Bournemouth before, so I thought it would be useful if I presented my findings here for the enrichment of all Beans readers.

Read More: Report from Bournemouth »

Avatar Beaver Ian

This is Beaver Ian.

It is me re-imagined as a beaver. You can tell that it’s me because it looks like me, albeit with beaver characteristics. I am often caught with a Walter Matthau hang-dog expression on my face and five days out of seven can be seen wearing what resembles a suit, and pretending to be an adult.

This re-imagining was drawn courtesy of Reuben. This is officially the best drawing of me ever and is practically on the same level of dedication and excellence as the drawing my niece did of her dad with penises for hands.

I only wish I looked as good as Beaver Ian.