A List of Seven of the Best Things

Good afternoon to you, Chums, chaps, fellows, mates, comrades etc etc

Seeing as the world is being ugly and I wish to burn it in the sun (I wonder if any of you will get the reference?), I have decided to cheer myself up by creating a list. Lists are wonderful and underestimated things, my friends- shopping lists, A-Lists, Z-Lists, Hit Lists; every kind is important.

The purpose of today's list is to educate you about things. Namely, the best things. Or the best in my opinion.

So without further ado, I proudly present:
'Elbows on the Table's Official List of the Best Things.'  In no particular order:

1) British Comedy. I am very proud of Britain for procuring some of the best sitcoms and funny people the world has ever seen. Our sense of humour (for the most part) is a very good one indeed.

We've brought you
the Pythons,
 Blackadder (see right for the brilliant Lord Flashheart),
A Bit of Fry and Laurie,
Cabin Pressure and
 the IT Crowd... to name but a few.



2) Going Postal. Of course, I could only be talking about the brilliant book written by one Terry Pratchett. Following with the theme of the best things, I should obviously mention the best Discworld book (I've read). If you haven't read it, go and do so now, on pain of... being poked with a stick. The TV version was brilliant as well.

3) The Arctic Monkeys. A truly brilliant band with possibly some of the best lyrics I've ever heard. They also get the prize for best 'Grease Lightning Quiff on a Frontman.'

This track is 'When the Sun Goes Down' from the album 'Whatever People Say I am, That's What I'm Not'. In the video the girl is played by Lauren Socha (from the fabulous E4 show MISFITS) and this song was used for George's first werewolf transformation on the BBC's Being Human.

4) Russell Tovey.

This one's pretty self explanatory:
a) He's a great actor
b) He has great ears






5) Doctor Who. I think it's near impossible to be from the UK without loving (or at least having seen and pretending not to have enjoyed when you really did) Doctor Who. It's great because it's personal to everyone. Everyone has a favourite companion (mine being Rory or Donna), everyone has a favourite monster/alien (mine being Rossiter and Addams) and everyone has their Doctor (I think mine's Matt Smith, although I do love a bit of Tennant)

6) John Green. A brilliant author (and Nerdfighter and bloke) who has released a truly smashing book 'The Fault in Our Stars.' His books are exceptionally witty and heartfelt and clever, and in the words of Lord Flashheart, they are 'an idea that's hotter than my pants'.

More by John Green:
Paper Towns
An Abundance of Catherines
Looking for Alaska
Will Grayson, Will Grayson

7) Tea (Mainly PG Tips). Without a good cup of tea, I would be completely rubbish at everything. I would never get anything done, never relax and never east digestive biscuits. I drink Tea, therefore I am.










I hope you have enjoyed this list of the best things. I may do a list of the worst things next...

Shouting at 'almost' Ed Sheeran and Cancer

Since we last conversed I have been rather busy.

Today I had my audition for National Youth Theatre. I have been exceptionally nervous about it and am quite glad that it's all over. I got to mess around and be silly and it was very good fun. I also got to push onto he hands of some red-haired guy who looked rather a lot like Ed Sheeran whilst yelling my lungs out about hamsters.

So yeah, good day.

One thing I wanted to talk about involving my audition was the trip there. On the way into the tunnel there's this big billboard. It reads as follows:

'SPITTING BLOOD WHEN BRUSHING YOUR TEETH? IT COULD BE GUM DISEASE!' 


Well, yeah, it could be gum disease... But it's probably just the fact that you're brushing your teeth to hard, isn't it? I mean, the kind of person who thinks they have gum disease because a billboard told them so, is probably the kind of person who brushes their teeth into oblivion to 'get rid of all the hideous and evil germs.'

Nowadays everything will give you some kind of terminal disease, just ask the Daily Mail! Here is a genuine list of things that the Daily Mail says give you cancer:
Age
Being Black
Being a Man
Being a Woman
Crayons
Hugging
The Internet
Sun Cream
Water

I'm almost expecting to see a billboard that says:

'DID YOU JUST BREATHE? IT'S FATAL.' 


In other news, as promised, here are some wonderful photographs of the edible Discworld that my friend made me for my birthday! Thank you so much!

The Edible Discworld and Cutler

SPOILER ALERT!

Last Sunday one of the great BBC cult dramas came back to our screens: Being Human. 

I've been a fan of the show (in relative terms- I never saw series 2) so I was excited to an extent of pooping a small pony. The reason I have been such an avid BH follower (in relative terms) can be summed up in one word: George. George was always just the best character I've ever had the pleasure of viewing. His ears, his outlook on life, his sense of humour- everything about him is just brilliant. 

So then they just had kill him off, didn't they? I mean, of course I understand Russell Tovey's desire to move on- but it didn't stop me from crying pitifully into a pillow. I know, I'm a bit of a moron. 

However, all is not lost! For the BBC have given me a new brilliant character! Cutler- as played by Andrew Gower (an actor who I think is quite brilliant). And there is a science behind liking him as a character, you see, I figured that liking the nice people is rather futile when all they do is die on you- and in the words of Blackadder, "Bad guys have all the fun." Just look out how wonderfully twisted he is! >

So, in short, I am very muchly looking forward to seeing Cutler on telly again. 

In other news for my birthday a good friend of mine crafted me the Discworld out of gingerbread, chocolate and marzipan. And yes, it is as awesome as it sounds. I'll be getting some photos up of that fairly soon I hope. 

I've also got my National Youth Theatre audition on Tuesday which I am stinking nervous about, so wish me luck. 

Sorry this entry hasn't been very interesting. Note to self: don't just talk about your own life. 

Into the Jungle of Hollister

Today, my friend and I ventured into a city. The specific details of the city in question are none of your beeswax. It is the friend I wish for you to focus on.

Said friend is part of a complex party of friends, some of which are aware of each other's existence and have met, some which are friends, and some of which are completely in the dark. This is not a school friend, but a relatively good friend whom I have had the joy of knowing for several years.

I do sometimes worry, though, that this person is heading slowly but surely towards the sceney hipster route. It started off with the large glasses, the big hair, the oversized ninja hoodie, the mention of coontails in her hair. What do you do when you think your friend is a completely different person to who you first met (completely different, albeit likeable and lovely in a sceney/hipster way)?

You allow them to drag you into Hollister as a test of your closeness.

Pardon- hell.

I was lucky in that outside Hollister there wasn't a shirtless model (probably because it was raining) but if there had been, I would have stabbed him in the stomach with my umbrella, nicked his ridiculously large wages and donate them to charity. Until today I had never ventured into Hollister- fear made me hold back- but I took a step into the unknown. And it was like an alien planet.

Those of you fortunate enough to have never been into Hollister may have heard of the darkness. Hollister is supposed to give of a beachy kind of vibe, but the last time I went to a beach, I don't remember it being like going for a run at midnight wearing sunglasses. I have two theories about the lighting in Hollister: A) They don't want you to see the price tags on the clothes, so you won't know you're buying a £98 hoodie until you get to the till *ahem* beach shack. B) They want to laugh at you when you fall into one of the numerous amounts of potted plants they have in there. I mean, who needs that many potted plants? What is the point!? It's like a bloody jungle!

Another thing about Hollister is that all of the models look confused. They have these honking big pictures of shirtless guys with the exact same looks on their faces. You can practically read their minds: why aren't I wearing a t-shirt underneath this gilet? How impractical is this clothing?!


I've also braved the Hollister website. It is more sickening than the actual store. You don't shop 'men' and 'women'- you shop 'dudes' and 'bettys.' What in the name of all that's good and proper is a 'betty'? My entire sex has been renounced to 'betty.' And a funny thing is that the website is almost as dark as the shop. Plus, they don't actually tell you the name of what you're buying. It seems like the simplest, most helpful thing you could do, and they don't do it. For example, you go into the 'Tops' section for 'bettys' and you are met with all the products, but what should be labelled as 'white knitted cardigan' is in fact labelled as 'Belmont shore.' All of the clothes are named after beaches and places the English will never have heard of in their lives!

And with that, it's this betty out.

Laughing Numbers

I am sat here doing something I am very muchly so good at: procrastination.

You see, currently staring me right in the face is my maths homework. Part of the 'intermediate' Mathematical Challenge of 2007.

The focus here being the word 'intermediate.'

Intermediate. 


Now I've never been a mathematical whiz, but I confess to be at a total loss for what to do. Questions 1, 2 3 and 4- done. Question 5- partly done because I was caught in the sticky ethical dilemma of whether or not calculators are permitted on this thing. I presume I'll give up eventually and go for yes, calculators are allowed- because I'm not big on my 1234 times tables.

Feeling slightly confident, I press on to number 5.

The sum of 9 consecutive positive whole numbers is 2007. What is the difference between the largest and the smallest of these numbers?
A: 8 B: 9 C: 10 D: 18 E: 223


I've got a one in five chance of getting this right. It's make or break time. Which number will be lucky? I finished my cup of tea and I've got numbers staring me in the face. I can see them just laughing at me. And the mathematical academics too- laughing (I always picture them with graduation caps on, although I'm fully aware those aren't reserved purely for mathematicians).

And then it hits me. And suddenly, I'm giggling nervously and blushing as the imaginary board of pretentious maths geniuses watch me have a revelation. It's not maths it's common sense. The 2007 was a ploy, put there to confuse me. But the answer's 8! I feel smart! I feel powerful! I feel guilty for using my calculator on questions 5 and 7! Nothing can stop me now!




8. The mean of three numbers x, y and z is x. What is the mean of y and z? 
A: 1/2 x B: x C: 2x D: 3x E: 4x


Oh, come on!

Giant Horror Rabbit at Thorpe Park

Last night I had a dream that I had to choose whether I was going to go on Strictly Come Dancing, or Dancing on Ice.

This was unusual for a number of reasons:
a) I can't dance.
b) Usually my dreams involve me accidentally killing someone's pet and then going on holiday.
c) I don't watch Dancing on Ice.
d) When I had the riveting morning conversation with my father his voice took on a grave quality as he said, 'I hope you chose Strictly.'

I thought that instead of recounting the dream to you (because that would be so interesting) I thought I'd do a bit of research into dreams. Because they're weird and can give you the willies (a term I've never used before and hopefully never will again).

The scientific study of dreams is called oneirology and it has been scientifically proven that all mammals dream. We know that dreams have been a sort of fascination for humans over the years- philosophy, science, ice breakers- but I think it's strange to think that all mammals dream. If you were a sloth, what would you dream about? Or a cat? Cats get up to 16 hours of sleep a day (the lucky buggers)- and seeing as people spend an average of about two hours dreaming a night (and dreams almost always occur) you'd think that the feline subconscious had run out of stuff to talk about.

And as it turns out, males and females actually dream about pretty much the same things (which is boring, but hey ho). A survey showed that 73% of men and 74% of women have dreamed of falling.

Our ideas about dreaming have changed over time. Whilst now you may only sit there pretending to listen as your husband (with his monstrously bad morning breath) details how he went on a roller coaster with Frank from Donnie Darko and ate a banana and ham sandwich, if you were living in the Greek or Roman periods you'd think it was either a direct message from the Gods, or from the dead (spooky). 


A Hungarian psychoanalyst by the name of Sándor Ferenczi (died 1933) proposed that the dream, when told may communicate something that is not being said outright. For example, as you husband recounts his giant horror rabbit unusual sandwich escapades at Thorpe Park, you may say, 'I had a dream last night too. And you were there. And it was 6am- very early: morning. And you were eating horse poo. Strange, huh?' 


A small minority of people say they only dream in black and white. These are probably the hipsters of the dream world. Because coloured dreams are way too mainstream. 

Aristotle Knew Nothing Of Working in Cafes

Today I made my first step into the world of work.

Except it wasn't so much a step as a trip down the stairs.

You see, internet, there's a small cafe that is found in a very small village near where I live. You know the sort- just picture doddery old women gossiping over tea and scones. I went in, fully confident, head held high with determination. Within several seconds I had the attention of a blonde woman who worked there.

'I am looking for a Saturday job, and was wondering how old you had to be to get one,' I announced with the air of someone who knew their shit. Which is a clever ploy when I had no idea what I was doing and thought taking my floppy hat off constituted for looking responsible.

Blonde woman looked me up and down. 'We already have a Saturday girl at the moment, and you have to be 16. Sorry, love. How old are you?' Her tone was slightly undermining considering I was a full head and shoulders over her (her big hair was fooling nobody).

Slightly less confident than I was before, I replied, 'Oh. I'm 14.' Which I'm not, but I will be by next Sunday. As it happens my research into the legal working age (you can work at 14 actually) has proved fruitless because my employment all hung in the balance of the people actually a) having a vacancy and b) letting a 14 year old- albeit a very committed and intelligent one- work for them.

She then told me that I could leave my details with the manager. To which I was thought, and wait a whole two years before you get back to me? I think not, madame, I shall be taking my custom elsewhere. But I just smiled and said 'Thank You' because that's good manners.

That was shortly after 10.30. It is now 12.02 and I do not have a job, nor the means of getting one. I believe that (well, quotationspage.com leads me to believe) Aristotle once said, 'All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind.' But Aristotle lived from 384 BC till 322 BC, and evidently nobody had told him that working in cafes staffed by vertically inadequate blonde women earning money was a lot better than spending your weekends sat on you arse doing nothing.