A Touching Message

Books, ah, books. Such curious, interesting things, aren’t they?

And if that was my post in its entirety then that would make for one boring entry in the Beans cannon. Let’s try again.

Books, ah, books. Weird lumps of shit, aren’t they? They are weird. They contain strange stories that come from people’s minds. Sometimes though stranger things can come forth from fiction. Take for example the messages people write in books; a lot of the time it’s a simple message such as, “Happy Birthday Sharon,” or, “Thanking you for your excellent pie, Dennis.” On occasion some people can take it a step too far.

I was browsing the vast and excellent selection of books in a local charity shop close to work when I picked a copy of ‘Wind in the Willows’ by chance. Inside was a message which must have made sense to someone at some point. My own viewpoint, some thirty years later however, left me wondering just who I was and what was going on. It was too good to miss, so here it is:

Barmy.

Stationary Harassment

I was the victim of a crime, a crime that mostly goes unnoticed.

As I returned the trolley to the bay in Asda car park I was greeted by the following sight:

Was this dog doing anything wrong? Not really, he was protecting the car until his owner came back.

Was I doing anything wrong? No, because I was returning the trolley to where it belonged.

So why did the dog look at me as though I HAD done something wrong? Where was the justification for the judgement in his eyes?

I did test this by clocking him on the way past the first time and walking slower on the way back. His eyes burrowed deep into mine, never flinching, never blinking. It was the longest five seconds of my life I’d ever experienced in a car park.

There was the chance that I looked like someone else or perhaps he was hoping I’d open the door and set him free.

Or maybe, just maybe, he was hoping I’d come a little closer so he could bark the fuck out.

I’ll never know what I did to that dog and, quite frankly, I don’t think I want to know.

Loudermilk

Loudermilk. Loudermilk. Is it a request? “This milk is a little quiet for my liking; could I have some Loudermilk please?”

Is it a company? A Finnish crime drama?

It’s none of these things. Loudermilk is a surname. I recently caught the beginning of an episode of what seems like an endless stream of Power Rangers series’. The newest is called something like Mega Team Force Pencil Schnapps Eyebrows. One of the actors is the brilliantly named John Mark Loudermilk.

Then, just to seal the deal in a wigwam, if you type it into Google something else completely different comes up.

‘Loudermilk’ is an American TV comedy series about a recovering alcohol and substance abuse councillor with a bad attitude.

This morning I was not even aware of the word and now I know two very differing kinds of Loudermilk. Could there be more? As I once told Eamonn Holmes, “there’s only one way to find out!”

Unfortunately the library is closed today so we will all have to wait.

This just continues the theory that everything that should be invented has already been invented. Had I been in charge, however, I would have preferred the name ‘Shoutymilk’, and Brian Blessed would have had top billing.

The Joy of Corners

Do you like corners? Do you need more corners in your life? Do you find it hard making very simple decisions?

What you need is Cornercopia!

Hi, I’m Conrad Bundleg and I own Cornercopia, the North-West’s largest supplier of corners in the UK.

We’ve been selling corners for the last twenty years so if you require corners you need to come to us.

We’ve got paper corners, cardboard corners, metal corners, futon corners. We’ve got black corners, yellow corners, blue corners, multi-coloured corners. We’ve got corners for your house, corners for your work, even corners… for your corners!

Someone else may have invented the corner but here at Cornercopia we’ve mastered it.

Cornercopia, on the Bluecoat roundabout just south of Blackpool. You can’t miss us!

Fashion Guru

After the roaring success of my washing machine repair business, I have been on the lookout for another venture to dip my respective success toes in. I have been inundated with suggestions from fans as to what I can apply my brilliant effortless skills to but nothing seemed quite right. That is until I took a long hard look in the mirror.

“What do you see, Ian?” my subconscious murmured. “What do all your various pairs of eyes see / view / peer etc?”

What I saw that day, I cannot utter again. That image is for m-me and m-me alone. What all you need to know is that I made the grand decision that I would become a fashion guru. I know clothes, and I know people, so it was inevitable that the two would eventually meet. There are a lot of people out there who don’t know how to dress. Why can’t they do it? How hard is it to put clothes on in the morning? Luckily for me though, without these chumble buckets I wouldn’t be in a job.

Using all my knowledge of people and clothes, I will be establish the empire of the 21st century. There will be those who will doubt my prowess and I am more than ready to take on their comments and their egos. There will be those who will make fun of my previous professional career turns, and I can tell you now I am nor will I ever be ashamed of where I came from. Those washing machines were mended with all the love, care and attention I will now be pushing into, erm, denim jackets.

I will be opening up my fashion shop cum studio cum money-spinning franchise in the fashionable area of Benwell, Newcastle upon Tyne. When I reach my first cool hundred mil, which no doubt will be before the end of the year, I will set my sights on the next great style capital of the world; Middlesbrough!

If you need me, make an appointment with my PA.

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.

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!

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.

Pouring
Beans

Author: Ian “Toasty” McIver