Spill the beans
Some of these investigations take a long time. Some don't draw a straightforward conclusion. This is neither. This is simple. Don't spill beans.
I have tried spilling lots of different beans in case there was a subtle difference in the results or I could point you at a bean or beans that it might be worth spilling.
I tried broad beans, runner beans, kidney beans, black beans, green beans, pinto beans, mung beans, soy beans, butter beans, fava beans, haricot beans, French beans, cannelini beans and particularly baked beans.
In every instance it made a mess to a greater or lesser degree, it was wasteful and I had to clear up the aforementioned mess.
Conclusion: If you're thinking of spilling beans, don't. No good will come of it.
Saturday, 19 September 2015
Tuesday, 30 June 2015
Me versus Applecarts
Upset the applecart
Have you seen those adverts for cider when you're watching the television? A lot of them show the growing and picking of apples. It made me think. If I could get in on that then maybe I could fulfil my ambition of upsetting an applecart.
My ever-helpful farming friend Lawrie gave me the name of one of his chums who had a cider sideline so I headed to Herefordshire for apple-picking season.
I'm not convinced that my apple-picking colleagues had English as a first language, because training was fairly basic. It mostly consisted of someone pointing at apples and miming picking them up (you don't even pick them off a tree! A machine shakes them off!) and pointing to the 'applecart' and dropping them in.
The big disappointment was the applecart itself. I was expecting a big wooden job with long handles and artisan-crafted wheels. What I got was a sack on a metal frame. And they call it progress!
We filled the 'cart' in no time at all so it was time to upset it. I called it all sorts of names but there was no reaction. Not wholly unexpected due to the inanimate nature of the cart. It was time to get physical.
I gave the 'cart' a mighty shove and sent the apples everywhere. "Hey, take that applecart", I shouted. My colleagues, although they couldn't understand the words, seemed less than impressed with my actions.
The farmer explained later that as my picking colleagues were paid by the cart-load that was probably why they chased me round and round the farm and dragged me back to the orchard to put the apples back in.
Conclusion: Don't upset applecarts - it's just not worth it.
Have you seen those adverts for cider when you're watching the television? A lot of them show the growing and picking of apples. It made me think. If I could get in on that then maybe I could fulfil my ambition of upsetting an applecart.
My ever-helpful farming friend Lawrie gave me the name of one of his chums who had a cider sideline so I headed to Herefordshire for apple-picking season.
I'm not convinced that my apple-picking colleagues had English as a first language, because training was fairly basic. It mostly consisted of someone pointing at apples and miming picking them up (you don't even pick them off a tree! A machine shakes them off!) and pointing to the 'applecart' and dropping them in.
The big disappointment was the applecart itself. I was expecting a big wooden job with long handles and artisan-crafted wheels. What I got was a sack on a metal frame. And they call it progress!
We filled the 'cart' in no time at all so it was time to upset it. I called it all sorts of names but there was no reaction. Not wholly unexpected due to the inanimate nature of the cart. It was time to get physical.
I gave the 'cart' a mighty shove and sent the apples everywhere. "Hey, take that applecart", I shouted. My colleagues, although they couldn't understand the words, seemed less than impressed with my actions.
The farmer explained later that as my picking colleagues were paid by the cart-load that was probably why they chased me round and round the farm and dragged me back to the orchard to put the apples back in.
Conclusion: Don't upset applecarts - it's just not worth it.
Wednesday, 13 May 2015
Me versus the Garden Path
To be led up the garden path
I don’t know if you take an interest in the sport of cricket but this week former England batsmen Kevin Pietersen claimed that he was ‘led up the garden path’ about a possible return to the team. I thought that in the interests of research I should indulge in some garden path leading so I can let you know what it’s all about.
Our garden is very small and I can easily traverse it on my own so when I asked Mrs ManVCliche to lead me up the garden path she told me that I was perfectly capable of doing that myself. When I suggested that I would go in a blindfold or at least take my glasses off so I couldn’t see where I was going and she wouldn’t want me to fall into the hazel tree or birdbath she agreed.
We stepped out of the conservatory and made our way up the garden path. Four seconds later we’d arrived, as expected, at the garden gate. I must confess to being underwhelmed.
The garden seems pretty flat but I thought we ought to make the journey in reverse as well in case I’d actually been led down the garden path by mistake. Four seconds later, and with no dramas to report, we were back at the house. Still underwhelmed.
Conclusion: I don’t get it. If someone leads you up the garden path it’s fairly easy to find your way back to where you came from. Unless it’s a massive garden perhaps. Or at night. And you don’t have a torch. Then it might be tricky. I can only conclude that Kevin Pietersen was led into a massive garden somewhere, probably by someone in the England team, and it was really dark and it took him ages to find where he needed to get to and he’s a bit cheesed off about it.
Next time: I upset an applecart
I don’t know if you take an interest in the sport of cricket but this week former England batsmen Kevin Pietersen claimed that he was ‘led up the garden path’ about a possible return to the team. I thought that in the interests of research I should indulge in some garden path leading so I can let you know what it’s all about.
Our garden is very small and I can easily traverse it on my own so when I asked Mrs ManVCliche to lead me up the garden path she told me that I was perfectly capable of doing that myself. When I suggested that I would go in a blindfold or at least take my glasses off so I couldn’t see where I was going and she wouldn’t want me to fall into the hazel tree or birdbath she agreed.
We stepped out of the conservatory and made our way up the garden path. Four seconds later we’d arrived, as expected, at the garden gate. I must confess to being underwhelmed.
The garden seems pretty flat but I thought we ought to make the journey in reverse as well in case I’d actually been led down the garden path by mistake. Four seconds later, and with no dramas to report, we were back at the house. Still underwhelmed.
Conclusion: I don’t get it. If someone leads you up the garden path it’s fairly easy to find your way back to where you came from. Unless it’s a massive garden perhaps. Or at night. And you don’t have a torch. Then it might be tricky. I can only conclude that Kevin Pietersen was led into a massive garden somewhere, probably by someone in the England team, and it was really dark and it took him ages to find where he needed to get to and he’s a bit cheesed off about it.
Next time: I upset an applecart
Sunday, 8 March 2015
Me versus the monkey on my back
Get that monkey off your back
This was never going to be easy as I'd had trouble with getting monkeys before. If you can't be bothered to click that link then advertising for a monkey wasn't going to work, buying a monkey off the internet was probably illegal and the logistics of going to Africa or the sub-continent seemed too much like hard work.
The answer was in that previous post and closer to home. The monkey drive-thru at Longleat Safari Park. The monkeys there love climbing on cars so what if I could get them to climb on me.
As an incentive for the monkeys to climb on me I invented a 'food vest'. I borrowed a fire warden's gilet from work and over a couple of nights used double-sided sticky tape to attach various types of nuts and berries.
So not to arouse suspicion at Longleat the food vest was stowed away until I was in the monkey drive-thru. When I was far enough in I stopped the car, got out and put on the vest. I scattered some more food and soon monkeys were showing an interest. I ignored the horns from the cars behind and knelt down offering the tasty snacks taped to my back.
It worked! A monkey jumped on to my back! I went to stand up so I could get him off my back but overbalanced and fell to the ground. The other monkeys saw this as an invitation to eat so rushed me while I was on the floor. As well as the food vest they were clawing at me while I flailed at them, sinking under a tide of monkeys.
I heard a monkey yelp simultaneously with a loud 'crack' noise. The monkeys started to scatter. I then felt a sting in my arm. I looked down and saw a tranquiliser dart. I felt sleepy...
Conclusion One: Probably best not to get a monkey on your back in the first place.
Conclusion Two: That's strong stuff in those tranquiliser darts.
Conclusion Three: I am banned from zoos and wildlife parks for five years.
This was never going to be easy as I'd had trouble with getting monkeys before. If you can't be bothered to click that link then advertising for a monkey wasn't going to work, buying a monkey off the internet was probably illegal and the logistics of going to Africa or the sub-continent seemed too much like hard work.
The answer was in that previous post and closer to home. The monkey drive-thru at Longleat Safari Park. The monkeys there love climbing on cars so what if I could get them to climb on me.
As an incentive for the monkeys to climb on me I invented a 'food vest'. I borrowed a fire warden's gilet from work and over a couple of nights used double-sided sticky tape to attach various types of nuts and berries.
So not to arouse suspicion at Longleat the food vest was stowed away until I was in the monkey drive-thru. When I was far enough in I stopped the car, got out and put on the vest. I scattered some more food and soon monkeys were showing an interest. I ignored the horns from the cars behind and knelt down offering the tasty snacks taped to my back.
It worked! A monkey jumped on to my back! I went to stand up so I could get him off my back but overbalanced and fell to the ground. The other monkeys saw this as an invitation to eat so rushed me while I was on the floor. As well as the food vest they were clawing at me while I flailed at them, sinking under a tide of monkeys.
I heard a monkey yelp simultaneously with a loud 'crack' noise. The monkeys started to scatter. I then felt a sting in my arm. I looked down and saw a tranquiliser dart. I felt sleepy...
Conclusion One: Probably best not to get a monkey on your back in the first place.
Conclusion Two: That's strong stuff in those tranquiliser darts.
Conclusion Three: I am banned from zoos and wildlife parks for five years.
Saturday, 25 October 2014
Me versus Needles and Haystacks
Like trying to find a needle in a haystack
I've always wanted to have a go at this one to try to disprove it. I knew my farmer friend Laurie (he helped me with the horses ones if you remember) would have haystacks at this time of year so got in touch.
I asked if he wouldn't mind putting a needle in one of his haystacks so I could come and look for it. Well, it turns out he did mind and he quite forcefully pointed out that if I didn't find the needle then one of his animals would when they were eating the hay and he wasn't having any of that. Like the needle, he had a point.
Being a helpful sort though Laurie offered to sell me a haystack. I agreed the price and arranged a delivery time. Haystacks are quite big aren't they? And modern gardens are quite small. Once the haystack had been fork-lifted over our fence there wasn't much garden left to look at.
Mrs MvC was unimpressed to say the least but I still managed to persuade her to hide a needle in the haystack. I spent most of the day looking for it but couldn't locate it. I gave up when the number of neighbours glowering at me complaining about the amount of hay drifting into their gardens became uncomfortably high.
Does anyone want to buy some hay? I'll throw in a needle for free.
Conclusion One: Looking for a needle in a haystack is nigh on impossible. Don't waste your time.
Conclusion Two: If you want a needle a sewing box is a better place to keep them.
I've always wanted to have a go at this one to try to disprove it. I knew my farmer friend Laurie (he helped me with the horses ones if you remember) would have haystacks at this time of year so got in touch.
I asked if he wouldn't mind putting a needle in one of his haystacks so I could come and look for it. Well, it turns out he did mind and he quite forcefully pointed out that if I didn't find the needle then one of his animals would when they were eating the hay and he wasn't having any of that. Like the needle, he had a point.
Being a helpful sort though Laurie offered to sell me a haystack. I agreed the price and arranged a delivery time. Haystacks are quite big aren't they? And modern gardens are quite small. Once the haystack had been fork-lifted over our fence there wasn't much garden left to look at.
Mrs MvC was unimpressed to say the least but I still managed to persuade her to hide a needle in the haystack. I spent most of the day looking for it but couldn't locate it. I gave up when the number of neighbours glowering at me complaining about the amount of hay drifting into their gardens became uncomfortably high.
Does anyone want to buy some hay? I'll throw in a needle for free.
Conclusion One: Looking for a needle in a haystack is nigh on impossible. Don't waste your time.
Conclusion Two: If you want a needle a sewing box is a better place to keep them.
Sunday, 13 July 2014
Me versus Bacon
Bringing home the bacon
Saving your bacon
Before I get started I need to warn my vegetarian readers that I'm going to be mentioning bacon a lot in this post.
I like bacon and am familiar with the eating of it. Bacon joints, bacon burgers, lardons of bacon. All the bacon. I'm going to focus today though on the breakfast favourite, the rasher.
I live close to a convenience store so it was easy for me to walk over and buy a packet of eight (smoked) rashers. I strolled home with the bacon without incident. I wasn't accosted for the bacon, I didn't lose it or drop it down a storm drain or anything. I don't see what the fuss about bringing home the bacon is. Easy.
So, on to saving bacon. When I think of saving I think of my local branch of the world's biggest building society. I made my way there and joined the queue.
I reached the teller's window and exchanged pleasantries with the attentive employee. "I'd like to make a deposit please" I said, "Of course, sir" she replied. I slipped my bank book under the window (I'm a bit old-fashioned in the money department) shortly followed by the bacon.
There was a bit of a silence which was broken by the question "Do you want to pay some bacon into your account?" I said I did and although I realised that interest rates weren't very good at the moment, in three or four years I would probably have enough for an extra mouthful.
There was another silence and then the manager came and took me to her office and explained to me politely that it was the policy of the major financial institutions to only accept money on deposit, not pork products. She also explained that if I pulled a stunt like that again I would be doing my banking elsewhere. Suitably chastened, I left with my tail* between my legs.
I cheered up though in the knowledge that once again I was bringing home the bacon and once again managed that feat without incident.
I turned my attention to the saving of the bacon when I got back and felt I was only left with the bacon equivalent of hiding money under the mattress - the rashers were going in the fridge.
Over the next couple of days Mrs. MvC asked if I wanted bacon for breakfast and each time I replied that I was saving it. She soon got bored of this conversation and stopped asking after that.
So it was three weeks later when I went to retrieve the bacon for the making of a delicious sandwich that I found it was past its 'use by' date. I had to throw the bacon away. What a waste. What is the point of saving it? I should have eaten the bacon straight away.
Conclusion One: I strongly advise you to bring home the bacon. In no circumstances leave it outside or lose it.
Conclusion Two: Eat the bacon, don't save it. I can't stress that enough.
*This is a metaphorical tail. I don't possess an actual tail.
Saving your bacon
Before I get started I need to warn my vegetarian readers that I'm going to be mentioning bacon a lot in this post.
I like bacon and am familiar with the eating of it. Bacon joints, bacon burgers, lardons of bacon. All the bacon. I'm going to focus today though on the breakfast favourite, the rasher.
I live close to a convenience store so it was easy for me to walk over and buy a packet of eight (smoked) rashers. I strolled home with the bacon without incident. I wasn't accosted for the bacon, I didn't lose it or drop it down a storm drain or anything. I don't see what the fuss about bringing home the bacon is. Easy.
So, on to saving bacon. When I think of saving I think of my local branch of the world's biggest building society. I made my way there and joined the queue.
I reached the teller's window and exchanged pleasantries with the attentive employee. "I'd like to make a deposit please" I said, "Of course, sir" she replied. I slipped my bank book under the window (I'm a bit old-fashioned in the money department) shortly followed by the bacon.
There was a bit of a silence which was broken by the question "Do you want to pay some bacon into your account?" I said I did and although I realised that interest rates weren't very good at the moment, in three or four years I would probably have enough for an extra mouthful.
There was another silence and then the manager came and took me to her office and explained to me politely that it was the policy of the major financial institutions to only accept money on deposit, not pork products. She also explained that if I pulled a stunt like that again I would be doing my banking elsewhere. Suitably chastened, I left with my tail* between my legs.
I cheered up though in the knowledge that once again I was bringing home the bacon and once again managed that feat without incident.
I turned my attention to the saving of the bacon when I got back and felt I was only left with the bacon equivalent of hiding money under the mattress - the rashers were going in the fridge.
Over the next couple of days Mrs. MvC asked if I wanted bacon for breakfast and each time I replied that I was saving it. She soon got bored of this conversation and stopped asking after that.
So it was three weeks later when I went to retrieve the bacon for the making of a delicious sandwich that I found it was past its 'use by' date. I had to throw the bacon away. What a waste. What is the point of saving it? I should have eaten the bacon straight away.
Conclusion One: I strongly advise you to bring home the bacon. In no circumstances leave it outside or lose it.
Conclusion Two: Eat the bacon, don't save it. I can't stress that enough.
*This is a metaphorical tail. I don't possess an actual tail.
Sunday, 22 June 2014
Me versus Grasping and Nettles
Grasp the nettle
Ah! A sunny weekend. It’s what outside was made for! But the downside is it means tidying the garden up and weeding.
As well as the ivy, which is always trying to make its way into the house, dandelions and nettles (among other things that I don’t know) that have sprung up need to go. The plus side is that I can test out this grasping the nettle business.
It seemed a simple process compared to some I've taken on. Find a nettle and grasp it. I picked out the tallest nettle, grabbed it down by the base and pulled. Then yelped.
Holy Moley did that ever sting! Why would anyone want to grasp a nettle, it’s just painful. It turns out that nettles are covered in stinging hairs which can "inject a chemical substance through the skin of an animal causing irritation or pain."
Why would you want to grasp anything that can do that. Dock leaves can only do so much to relieve the pain. I’m never grasping a nettle again.
Conclusion: If you really must grasp a nettle, wear gloves.
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