Fromage Homage

It’s around this time of the year that everyone looks to the future. There is a lot of talk about Christmas and the inevitable run up and everything involved. Let us not forget the things though that are constant. These things that are around us on a regular basis that refuse to give up when times are hard. I am, of course, talking about cheese.

When was the last time you gave a hearty shout out to the marvel of cheese?

When did you last go a bit glossy-eyed about a bit of Brie or a slice of Red Leicester?

There are some members of this website that regularly draw themselves as a large clump of cheese that wanders around London in a top hat. That I confess I have never done, yet I feel a strong affinity with cheese. It hides in my sandwich and tickles my fancy. It stares at me longingly from the shelves, urging me to purchase it.

There have been times when in my darkest moments I have not acknowledged it in the way that it deserves and I am looking to rectify that in any way I can. So here it is, my little flag-waving entry in the long history of the Beans to pull up a chair and put my arm around that most helpful and comforting of fellows. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you cheese.

(Addendum: this post was created in conjunction with the fact that homage rhymes with the French word for ‘cheese’).

Sponsor My Face

So we’re approaching the end of October and it’s only fair that my face gets the attention it deserves.

I mean come on people, this beard doesn’t grow itself you know. Look at it; such a magnificent specimen of a clutter of face candy right there. That has inspired numerous people, including yourselves, to throw money at it in the aid of raising money. And what money has been raised? Enough for me to continue to hold my head high, even if it may be weighed down with the loveliness centred about my chin.

Let us all take a couple of minutes to ponder this before moving on with our lives.

The Kevil Competition Appeal

As the days unfold in a flurry of Autumn leaves it appears as though something is amiss. There is something missing from our lives that up until now has remained unbeknownst to the common man. There is a space in the cupboard where something should be. There’s a small burrow in your wardrobe where something should be hanging. You go to pour your boiling hot water and all you do is empty the contents of the kettle onto the kitchen top.

Yes. That’s it. Someone has been a little selfish and hasn’t been sending out freebies recently.

I always wear my Kevil brand merchandising with pride, and the fact that they get sent to my house for free is just a cheeky bonus. Those excitable moments peering through the cardboard at the latest nugget to drop onto your doorstep… I don’t know about you but I want more.

So here it is, the competition you’ve been waiting for.

So far there’s been a crab and a penguin but what animal would you like Kev to use his magic on and turn into a cartoon to be flaunted on mugs, t-shirts and other appealing merch?
What member of the kingdom of not humans could turn your mid-morning beverage into a statement rather than another part of your dreary, meaningless existence?
If you’re going to shake your bits at the roller disco what would you like splashed across your chest to herald your appearance?

Vote now!

The Kevindo Menendez Birthday Memorial Tribute Night Out – 2014 Edition

What happens when your birthday is shit, like dirt dog ass shit? When it feels as though someone has taken the time to use a straw to blow shit all over you and your life and then refuse to clean it up?

Thankfully this isn’t what happened on Kev’s birthday. It was a little weak but the company was swift and then getting wrecked at his parent’s house is always a welcome change from hanging out with the twelve year olds at the Gascoigne’s. It seemed fair though that in order to restore the balance something was required to levitate his birthday out of the doldrums and back into what scientists are now calling “Acebag Territory”.

How does one do this? It’s incredibly difficult to justify a birthday night out a full sixty four days after the day of the birthday itself. Luckily I’m not someone who feels the need to justify most of anything I do. So we did. The guest list was so exclusive only two people were invited. The timing was so tight there wasn’t enough time for pre-drink drinks or post-drink drinks. It was straight into the drinks. Here are a list of things we learned:

For the first two or three bars we witnessed several common phenomena which continued to repeat itself. Whichever place we went to would eventually have most of the patrons gone by the time we left. We also ran into pairs of lesbians as well as several other people who caught the same train into Leeds as we did.
Johnny Bobbins runs the tiny ticket desk at Leeds train station. When you don’t get a chance to buy a ticket on a train you have to visit his window where he uses his ticket machine from 1975 to produce one for you so you can get through the barriers. Kev has absolutely no respect for Johnny Bobbins. I do, but only so far as where his job is concerned. When he dresses up as a sexy witch I draw the line; whatever he wants to do in his free time is nothing to do with me.
The title for the evening was not decided properly until after the evening was over.
No matter where I go, no matter what I’m doing, I still seem to be able to attract both people I know and strangers. In this instance it was a guy from Hull for giving some change to a homeless man, a woman I work with also on a night out in Leeds and then some guy advertising a strip club who insisted he could help us get in with his help. I know I’m pushing 30 but I think I could make it down the steps unaided.
Don’t snaffle a full bag of Doritos after excessive drinking; it’ll make your mouth extra furry in the morning.
The Mixing Tin does no longer exist, and hasn’t for some time. Getting a drink there was excessively hard.

It’s clear that this should therefore be a regular thing. I invite everyone reading this to sign up for next year’s entry in the hope of broadening the horizons of the Kevindo Menendez Birthday Memorial Tribute Night Out.

Broaden indeed.

Best Laid Plans – Update

Every man has a dream.

Unfortunately it seems as though every dream comes with a cost and a price tag. Yes, both.

Not too long ago I stole someone else’s dreams. I wanted to have coast to coast goats in order to satisfy the need for goats. The world was crying out for goats and nobody was delivering them. Who was I to deny the world their dreams whilst satisfying my own at the same time?

So it happened. I wheeled out the goats and in one long, glorious line they stretched from Blackpool in the West to Scarborough in the East. It resembled something akin to Hadrian’s Wall, except with goats. It was like the Great Wall of China, but with goats instead of walls. And so the people came together and decided to name my wonderful wall of goats. It’s just a shame that they didn’t think to put more effort into it; Goat Wall.

The Goat Wall was an immediate success, even if Joey Essex did travel up and tried to cut it with a huge pair of novelty scissors. Fanatics took to patting the heads of each and every goat in the Goat Wall. Postcard enthusiasts took pictures and start selling photos of the Goat Wall several minutes before it had even opened, much was their frenzy. Members of the mailing list were picked at random and given signed photos of the most popular goats. It was exactly the kind of support the Goat Wall needed to get up and running.

That was it though. It seemed as though I had overestimated the need for goats and no matter what I did, even selling tickets from door to door like a common bed-wetter, the bright spark that once fuelled my dreams was dabbled with mascarpone. Even if I wanted coast-to-coast goats nobody else did. So now they stand, once titans in their field, now reduced to squabbling amongst themselves for the last blade of grass. I want to keep them but I’m sending them away to the farthest parts of the globe in the hope that maybe the world will appreciate them more than Great Britain. Maybe Global Goats is the way forward, and thus my dream morphs into something else. Maybe this time next year Global Goats will be one of the eight wonders of the world…

Mild Frustration (a short play)

A young man, not feeling too great, has a nice face, decides to try to attend to his illness by calling his doctors. It’s Monday morning.

Man: Hello, I’d like to make an appointment.
Receptionist: Right what we normally do is not make an appointment but ask the doctor to call you instead.
Man: Oh right.
Receptionist: I’ve got your details so let me see when the next telephone appointment is instead… there’s one free at 9.10am on Wednesday.
Man: Wednesday. In two days time.
Receptionist: Do you need to see anyone as a matter of urgency?
Man: No, I guess it can wait another two days.
Receptionist: Great well the doctor will call you at 9.10am on Wednesday.
Man: Great. Thanks.

Cut to Wednesday morning. The young man leaves his desk and goes to a quiet room to await the doctor’s call. The times is around 9:09am.

Man (thinks): Let’s give him a window of five minutes. I can’t leave my desk for too long, so five minutes is sufficient waiting time before dismissing this as the joke that it seems to be turning into.

The time ticks away. 9:10am. 9:11am. 9:12am. 9:13am. 9:14am.

Man (thinks): I’m sure he’s just about to call.

9:15am.

Man (thinks): Well that was a waste of time. I better haul ass back to work.

The young man returns to his desk. The work phones are busy so he carries on answering the various enquiries and assisting where necessary. at 9:21am, in the middle of a conversation with a client, his phone starts to vibrate.

Man (thinks): Ah great. Great timing. Wonderful. If only I could express my dissatisfaction with this level of service with the client I’m currently talking to. I wonder if their surgery is an inept as this.

Voicemail. When work gets quiet the young man listens to the message.

Doctor: Hi Mr McIver, I’m sorry I’m a little later than arranged, if you still need to speak to me give me a call at the surgery.

Man (thinks): What? He didn’t even leave a direct number? I have to call the general number? Of course I still need to speak to him; I would’ve cancelled the appointment if I was flippin’ better!

Work gets busy again. There is not a time to return the call. Around 10:25 his mobile starts to vibrate again, same number, clearly the doctor trying again but he can’t stop to answer it due to work commitments. Ten minutes later, with a small break to his name, he steals away into a room and calls the general number. No voicemail the second time around.

Receptionist: Hello.
Man: Hi, could I speak to Dr *******? I think I just missed a call from him.
Receptionist: Oh right. Let me see if he’s available… (brief pause) I’m sorry he doesn’t appear to be in his room. The only thing I can do is arrange another telephone appointment for him to try to call you again.
Man: You know what, I’m feeling so much better, so much much better I don’t know why I bothered calling…

Cue a series of head shakes and excessive tutting. The young man decides to visit the walk-in centre at the end of the week, because even though it will mean sitting in a room for two hours or more waiting to be seen this process makes more sense than the series of hoops he has to try to jump through just to speak to a doctor at his own surgery.

The End.

Newsboost – Electrocution Eliminates Everyday Ailments?

A new report published today in the USA states that electrocution could be used to cure numerous afflictions.

The writer, Joan Hupsworth, a doctor from Boston, Massachusetts claims that a bit of electricity coursing through the body can relieve anything from the common cold to sneezing and sometimes even the aches and pains of the elderly. She has been studying the field of electricity in medicine for the last eighteen years and only now has she dared to come forward with her findings.

“I admit that a lot of people will find this very hard to believe,” says Joan, wiping her mouth with a lizard, “but the results speak for themselves. I’ve tried every single control method available and each time the electricity clears up whatever is bothering them. I started off with something simple like a sore throat but by the end of it I was having patients with hemorrhoids and tennis elbow turning up at my door. You would not believe what it can do.”

Here’s a little science lesson for you all. It’s not the volts in the electricity that can kill, it’s actually the amps in the current. Due to legal reasons the specific voltage and amps have not been mentioned and only a vague description of a ‘mild shock’ is listed throughout. We can only guess it is equivalent to the effect of suddenly bumping into that guy from work you always try to avoid talking to because he’s incapable of social interaction, or sitting in the pub and realising you’ve forgotten to turn the oven off after cooking a large roast dinner.

The initial response to the report has been poor. A large percentage of the medical community have dismissed the claims as witchcraft, with one member of popular US healthcare group Medigroup Plc Inc even calling for their residents to rise up and hunt Ms Hupsworth down as an actual witch. Many others are less concerned about throwing into a large body of water in the hopes of seeing her drown like the supposed demon she is. Dilbert Huxley, a doctor from Tampa Bay, Florida is excited by the news however he believes that the report requires a little work. “In a way I can see her point,” he sniffs, “I had a rash on my groin and after accidentally sticking my fingers in a socket covered in Mountain Dew, my fingers not the socket itself, I suffered a large electric shock. When I came out of my coma a fortnight later the rash was gone. There will be benefits, we just need to ensure every idiot and his pinky doesn’t end up shoving his middle finger into the back of their TV just because they’re sweating more than usual.”

Dr Hupsworth has advised that she will be continuing her research and a further report, including several late night seminars with mood lighting, cocktails and sexy dancers, will be published in the middle of next year. She hopes that eventually electrocution can be seen as a positive thing.

B R E A K F A S T

Or as I like to call it, B to the R to the E-A KFAST.

As it is considered to be the most important meal of the day I can understand why some people would think and possibly overthink the process. They may take time picking out what they were planning to eat or there is a particular routine which must be seen through from start to finish before moving on.

There are some though that take it a step too far. One of these people is my sister. This is the sort of marvel that has to be seen to be believed but I will do my best to convey the absurdity of it all. It is a ten step program so let’s begin:

1. Take two different packets of cereal, in this case bitesize Shredded Wheat and obnoxious granola.
2. Line the bottom of your bowl with a layer of bitesize Shredded Wheats, about 7 or 8.
3. Pick them up and individually snap them in two.
4. Worry that you’ve taken too much.
5. Convince yourself that you’ve got the right amount.
6. Pour in the obnoxious granola.
7. Be sure to take out the raisins (we wouldn’t want any taste in there, right?).
8. Smear, not pour, smear half a pot of plain Activia yoghurt over the cereal collection.
9. Fold in the yoghurt so that all or most of the cereal is smothered.
10. Eat and enjoy?

Note that the bitesize Shredded Wheat will be a lot more resistant to the yoghurt that the granola will be and take this into consideration. Please also be aware that should some raisins be left in the mix this is acceptable as they cannot kill.

I hope that this inspires people to be less fussy about their eating habits. I know that it won’t though and the world will carry on spinning with the same amount of spanners who make everyone’s lives that little bit more interesting yet annoying.

I think that it would also make a good poster so any budding artists who want to take a punt please be my guest.

Pouring
Beans

Author: Ian “Toasty” McIver