Category: Absolutely superb

Avatar It’s got CBA written all over it

There are times when we all have good intentions, when we’ve set out to do the best or the right thing only to fall at the first hurdle. “Yes, I intended to sit down and set up that subscription to support the homeless cats in Greece but there’s a repeat of ‘Changing Rooms’ on that I cannot miss.” Things like that.

Laziness is apparent in human beings more than all the positive traits we got going. It’s all too easy to wave off your obligations with a swift, “I can’t be bothered” because it’s Friday night or it’s Sunday morning or it’s three weeks to Kwanzaa and I still haven’t figured out what I’m wearing. We’ve all got excuses in spades.

Recently I was browsing the World of Books website to see what games they had in stock. It seems as though madness has taken over because their prices are even more laughable than the stuff on Ebay. I’m not sure who’s been doing their pricing but they need to calm the chuff down. What did make me do a double take though is contained in the image below:

Now, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I know what bloody game this is. It looks to be Chinese or Japanese, beyond that I’m lost. Clearly the person doing the listing had the same problems because rather than translating the title or looking it up on Google, they chose to set it as the wonderfully-named ‘????????? 2’.

Beautiful. Don’t change a thing.

This is a phoned-in job if ever I saw one. I only hope they get the first ‘?????????’ game donated in too so they can be sold together as a set.

Avatar Beans: questions and mysteries – ‘Kevbeard’

It’s a new year and it’s time for a fresh ‘chude too. There has been a lot of fan mail recently asking questions about us, inquisitive and rather personal questions, so rather than respond to each and every person I have decided to answer the letters on here because it also gives me a scrumptious post towards my bean count. THAT and you know there were letters with duplicate questions so I’m not going to be a hack and start photocopying letters like some cheap so and so and then sign the bottom as if they’re all original, genuine articles. There are standards to be upheld, you know.

People (and by “people” I mean the two people who somehow managed to obtain my personal address) keep asking me, “what’s the deal with Kevin and his facial hair?”

“Where is it?”

“Does it live in a shoe by the back door?”

Calm down, I said, then pummelled a glass of Bichon Frisé and two slices of toast. Let me set the record straight before all you conspiracy nuts chase me down.

It’s all very simple and wholesome when you know the truth. Yes, it does exist. Kevin has the most wonderful, most bountiful, more buxom beard out of all three of us. He has been growing it since the late 90’s and to this day refuses to pass on his cultivation techniques. Many a time have I plied him with brandy and sought the secrets of his grooming (steady now) abilities and no matter how many bottles I tip down his throat he will not relinquish the goods. Though I may be a little sour of note, I do appreciate the moxie shown by this young man to keep steadfast his confidentialities.

Kevin chooses not to wear his beard in public because it would attract unwanted attention. In the early days when beards were still scorned by the general population he would occasionally bring it out on a lovely summer’s morn. If it were quiet the sun would glow and it would pulse like a rabbit in a hutch filled with alfalfa. His little face would fill with delight to feel the rays, the cool breeze blowing through his bristles, he looked like a young Grizzly Adams. The modern world has taken a shine (no pun intended) to a man’s face candy so there is no chance for any such displays anymore. When the heat got too much, Kev put his beard on a barge to Malta and there it lives in a stunning villa on the West coast. He visits thrice a year, sometimes more if his schedule will allow it.

To catch a glimpse of Kev and his beard would be a rare treat indeed. I get several lucrative offers from the paparazzo every year to disclose the location of the villa so they can but for one moment capture the beauty of the beard and each time I turn them down. Holster your wallets, I say, I cannot be bought. There are more important things than money. We could all learn a lot from Kevbeard (not a pirate however could also be a pirate name).

Avatar A list of thanks

It’s been another year, a year with a lot to be thankful for. As I look around my empty living room whilst writing this post, I imagine all the people that have helped me in the year 2023 as well as those that I have offered my help to. Some of them are smiling, some of them are waving, some of them are wondering why I’ve materialised in their kitchen and they’re trying to waft me away like I’m a bad smell or a pernickety bird who accidentally got in through the window. What a lovely image.

Before we reach the end of December I wanted to offer up a list of thanks to those that have done the most for me. In no particular order, here’s that list (because if I didn’t give you it then none of this would make sense):

  1. Kev – it goes without saying that Kev has contributed so much to the website by not actually adding very much. Confused? Very. There comes a time in the month when you feel as though two posts is your absolute limit and no matter what you do no other ideas will come to the surface. Maybe you can scrape another one but that’s all you’ve got left. Sadness. Melancholia. You strive to reach that four posts per month and sometimes you can’t. Then you look at how many rancid peas Kev has and all of a sudden you’re writing a paragraph about bookends that look like puffins and searching for pictures of sea salt. It’s the most uplifting thing. Thanks, Kev.
  2. Calendar – every day calendar is there for me. Every day calendar delivers the goods. When I wake up in the morning calendar provides me with a little look into the past and it’s almost always excellent (apart from the ones I can’t remember and without context make very little sense).
  3. The man in the charity shop – he’s always cheerful and chatty and knows the kinds of film and music I like. I think he predicts if I’m going to want a particular blu-ray and puts it out in the shop because he’ll ask me if I picked up so and so either when he’s serving me or the next time he sees me. He also handed me a massive anime boxset because I was wearing a Cowboy Bebop t-shirt. Class.
  4. Preston Vanderslice – a name so ridiculous it cannot possibly exist, right? Wrong! It does exist and belongs to this guy who’s in a few Hallmark Christmas films. As soon as I saw it I couldn’t stop laughing. It’s almost a Matt Berry ‘Toast of London’ name. His acting is fine, I’m sure he’s a lovely guy but with a name so posh it should have a street in Covent Gardens it’s going to be a winner every time. Vanderslice raises a huge smile.
  5. Crème Brûlée – up until this year I don’t think I’d ever eaten one. When Vikki and I were away in Norway the boat was serving these in a particular restaurant every day. It was a crema Catalana, orange and lemon-scented Catalan-style Crème Brûlée. It may have contributed towards some of the weight gain from that holiday yet it was totally worth it. I cannot put this into my mouth quick enough.

Thank you one and all. Now go away because I say so.

Avatar End of the year

Good Morning ladies and gentlemen

It has been several months since the last official meeting of the British Mash Council. Since then we have acquired a plethora of new members. The profile of mash has grown considerably over the last six months and it only remains to say that this is all due to our hard work, commitment and fervour to the source material. Before, however, we crack open the champagne there is one final matter that we need to go through before the end of the year and that’s our new annual mash push over the next two months.

Granted we probably should have addressed these matters earlier given that November is but six days away however matters outside of our control (such as Gary’s vasectomy and Maureen’s slip on the cobblestones by the church) saw to that. There was simply no time to fit it in before now.

I therefore suggest a stealth drop of even more mash-based merriment through the usual advertising venues and an assault on social media. We already have a name, there’s no need to start handing out the pads of paper, Doris, so put them back in the lockbox. It was sitting right there in front of us the entire time and it has been plucked. ‘Christmash’ (not ‘Christ-mash’ which is what Tony thought it was when he first saw the sign, there’s a subtle art to it, Tony, I do hope you’ve cottoned on to that now) will be everywhere in the next few weeks. The signs have been printed and are currently sitting between the decorations and the unsold toys from last year’s ‘Mashtopia’ festival. I still am shocked that our selection of mash celebrities inclusing Paddy Mashdown, Richard Mashcroft, Mashley Cole, Mike Mashley and Jayne Middlemash did sell better given their likeness and overall quality. It just goes to show that you can know your audience and still not know your audience..

Do you know what I want to see? I want to see it all. I want to live in a world where instead of a white Christmas we have a slightly yellow, buttery hot ‘Christmash’ with kids playing and building Mashmen in the garden while mum and dad finish off the dinner. I want to live in a world where every tree is decorated in a blizzard of instant mash granules, topped off with a mash angel reaching out to the mashes of the world. I want to hear ‘Come All Ye Mashful’, ‘Oh Little Town of Mashlehem’ and ‘Mash to the World’ playing across the tops of houses, coming from behind the doors of churches and bellowing out of every carol singer in the Western hemisphere.

If we hit the ground running then we have nothing to worry about. I trust all of you to continue spreading the good name of mash and by this time in December it will the the best year for the British Mash Council since 2009!

Avatar Dual life

I couldn’t stop laughing. It wasn’t even that funny but for some reason there I was, stifling my laughter in the corner of a Norwegian supermarket in the sweet aisle.

I was deliberately on the lookout for products that had unusual or silly names because I’m that kind of person. I take a look at the beautiful scenery, soak in the culture, sample the local delicacies and then push everyone out the way in the hope of finding a t*tbar or a c*ck pellet for a cheap laugh. You can judge me all you want.

We had already gazed longingly at the huge waterfall at the top of the hill and taken a multitude of photographs so it was time to see what other delights were available in this tiny village. The bank had been turned into a tourist shop, one of about half a dozen within the vicinity, and you could tell this because the store clerk kept disappearing behind the door of a massive safe for further stock. It was the only time it rained whilst we were away so the local swimming area was mostly abandoned apart from a couple of thrill-seeking nutters who had bothered to bring their swimwear.

The food shops and convenience stores were a bit of an eye-opener. With one product it explained just how wide the gap is between the UK’s pound and Norway’s Krone. A box of Pound shop, Christmas-only, I’ve-never-seen-anyone- eating-these-before-in-my-life ‘Toffifee’ was 73.90 Krone or £5.53. Imagine being so desperate for ‘Toffifee’ and having to spend over a fiver for the privilege; let’s hope it never happens to you. Further into the aisle I went and there I found a box of sweets with a friendly bear on the front.

The Bjornar Sota (sweet bear) is a loving, caring kind of bear and you can tell this in the way he gently caresses the sweets in his furry bear hands. Is he planning on eating them? Probably not, he’s too lovely for that. He’ll be tucking them up in bed and popping on a night light before quietly placing mugs of hot cocoa on the bedside tables for them.

The Bjornar sura though (sour bear) is a tired, grouchy old Grinch-esque character who doesn’t want to share his sweets with you or anyone you know, so don’t even think about it, sunshine. He’s clinging onto that confectionary for dear life (the expression on the bear’s face is priceless) and no matter how nice you are to him, he will not let go. He’s sour about you, me and everyone else in the world.

Are the sweet bear and the sour bear the same bear? Does he lose his rag and transform into his nemesis, his Mr Hyde? Are the two bears part of the balancing act the universe carries out so gracefully to ensure life can exist? You’re asking the wrong person so don’t even bother. All I know is that, more than ever, we all should be a bit more bjornar sota than bjornar sura.