Home is Where the Prosecco is: A Simple Guide to the Cotswolds

July 29, 2016August 1, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Cotswolds, Humor, Humour Cotswolds

This week I found myself in the unusual position of having to take annual leave simply because I worked nine months solid without any time off and now its caught up on me. Having made no big plans and no partner to do anything with (#ForeverAlone), I’ve spent the last few days going about some of the local towns and villages in the area. The plan; soak up the history, cream cakes and tourist sweat the region has to offer.

To back track a little, I was born and bred in the county of Gloucestershire, near the little market town of Chipping Campden.

Although a small minority may dispute my background, I’ve always very firmly stated my origins as being North Cotswold through and through. One of the many problems with Cotswolds is that it’s not an area defined by fixed boarders and fences. One person’s Cotswold is another’s Vale of Evesham. For example, the most recent controversy in my home village is the upcoming development of an airfield in neighbouring Warwickshire. Everybody with an ounce of common sense knows Warwickshire isn’t a Cotswold county, Cala Homes can ruddy well do one on that front.

Anyway, back to the point, because I have been on annual leave I’ve had the unique chance to go around some of the places I don’t normally see. Don’t get me wrong, Swindon, a town located in the heart of the Cotswolds, does have some unique shopping delights…

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…But it’s never quite been embraced as fully ‘Cotswoldian’. To counter balance, this week I have been visiting the towns of Chipping Campden (obviously), Cirencester, Painswick, Stroud and Bourton-on-the-Water. A mixture of the famous and under the radar. So here it is, a (very) simplistic guide to the sights of my home region.

A (Very) Simple Guide to the Cotswolds by Alice E. Bennett

The first, most important thing you need to know about the Cotwolds is that it’s habitants operate like a well oiled machine. Not necessarily a technological machine, we’re still a bit behind in that department.

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No, it’s more a traditional machine. A machine oiled with prosecco, gallons and gallons of prosecco.

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To be honest, before prosecco was a thing our family unit was in deep crisis.

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That said, the average Cotswold resident isn’t too picky, just know that any alcohol of reputable quality is embraced. So long as it’s not Gordon’s and located on the top shelf.

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If you do decide to rub us up the wrong way (e.g. playing your music at 9:15pm, voicing your love of the Labour party at a Church fete, ignoring our carefully placed signs…)

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…we will tend to express our frustration in one of three ways. The first, adopted by the minority youth culture, is to be witty by trying to make it a joke or pun-tastic:

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The second approach adopts some of the attributes of an open letter, however because we do things old school we treat an open letter in the most literal of senses. It’s quite common to have locals tack up posters in the middle of village squares:

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The final method we’ll voice anger is by taking our complaints to the local press. God have mercy on your soul if that happens. To prompt such an action, you really have to do something utterly criminal.

What the Cotswold towns and villages lack for in subtly they most certainly make up for in shopping. As we will tell you, our shops outclass yours 10-1, including our charity shops.

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People actually get excited about the mere thought of browsing through our used crockery and underwear, that’s how superior our stuff is.

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Bask in the used glow.

Our shops also boast some of the best opening times in the country and are run by the fittest and most able of patrons.

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With window fittings so majestic you’d think they were lifted from Oxford Street itself.

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Our shop names may make no sense, but the way we say and present them will ensure you walk away feeling like the stupid one in this relationship. That and an overpriced t-shirt.

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(The same rule can also be applied to house signs. Sign material comes at a price around here.)

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Speaking of clothing, we are the fashion trail blazers of the world. Move over Pairs, get out of here London, if you want to know what is going to be ‘in’ this season you need look no further than Stroud’s High Street. Two words: ‘Butterfly Boob’.

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Two more: ‘Gym Cats’ (alias ‘Crotch Cats’), perfect for Rio 2016.

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Urm…’Sombrero Dad’?

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‘And This’:

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If clothing isn’t your bag (or hat or scarf), then our shops do stock the most delightful alternatives including piles of biscuits which are, frustratingly, not piles of biscuits and witty sayings which aren’t witty. Because as any Cotswold home owner knows, any coffee morning or house visit isn’t complete until you’ve made you guests feel suitably inferior to yourself.

And what kind of animal are you if you leave without buying something for your cat?

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If you find yourself in a sticky situation or engaged in conversation, use these buzz phrases to steer yourself into safe waters:

“Where is the nearest Waitrose?”
“Too many immigrants in this country if you ask me”
“I was just talking to my wife Florentina about that”
“Isn’t the weather ghastly today?”
“In my opinion if it’s not Tory, it’s not for-me”
“It’s mainstream shops like Pry-mark that are driving the price of good quality chinos into the ground. It’s an utter disgrace”

And there you have it. Follow all of the tips and advice above you’ll be right on your way to being just about tolerated by the Cotswold community. When you come to depart our happy region we only ask you to remember one thing:

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We wouldn’t want you taking our middle class mannerisms with you now, would we?

“I’m Out of My Depth”: One Phrase and the Destruction of Modern Society

July 20, 2016July 20, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humour depth, stress

“Depth” is one of those terms that is, by nature, deep. Here are a few of my choice phrases to illustrate my point:

a) “There’s a lot of depth to that character”

b) “There’s some beautiful creatures in the hidden depths of the sea”

c) “Johnny Depth is the best value for money if you can’t afford Johnny Depp at your kid’s party”

d) “I’m out of my depth”

See my point? It’s just one of those words that, much to the delight of English students, has numerous meanings depending on how one uses it. Nowadays though I’m hearing more and more people use phrase D on a day-to-day basis. If it’s not friends or colleagues it’s being heard through my own lips. I’ll spare you all the details right now, but I’m currently in the middle of organising a large summer ball by myself. I know that when Saturday 6th August rolls round it’ll be a great night, but boy am I looking forward to the Sunday when I can finally sleep. What with the caterers, DJ, photographers, budgeting and all the rest, it genuinely feels like I’m planning my own wedding. Never have centre pieces forms just an integral stress point in my life. Planning this large event on top of a busy job was never going to be easy, but I never planned to feel this swamped by it all.

It’s because I’m feeling so overwhelmed with it all that I’m turning, alongside an increasing large number of people, so hobbies and past times that are typically shallow-depth. Shallow reality TV, staying in with a tea and/or wine or spending evening after evening staring at social media pages. Activities we do to unwind, activities which demand nothing from us and in exchange give us nothing. We (well I say we, it’s probably just I), we tell people the next day we did nothing in the evening. We then beat ourselves up over a wasted evening, ignoring the fact that we did nothing because we were too mentally and physically exhausted to do much else. We compensate by working hard (self-inflicted and/or imposed), only to then get home and repeat the same process to balance out the frustration. It all serves to create an endless cycle of self-loathing.

So, why is this the case now? I mean, back in the medieval ages peasants still had their day-to-day problems, but I’m pretty sure the transcripts don’t record Joseph Nobody as saying, “today I had to harvest the crops and then pray to God and have my wife feed me. It’s been the same for 20 years but I’m really out of my depth here.”

Is it society that’s putting us in situations where we’re made to feel out of our depth, or are we choosing to venture to the deep end of the pool? Maybe it could even be a combination of both? The downfall of a greedy species, striving for nothing more than praise and shinny coins? If that’s the case, I’d rather be a dog.

What about the long term issues? Too much stress has many health implications, too numerous and predictable for me to mention here, but it also is changing our social interactions. We stay in at home, watching mind numbing TV, doing not a lot. For instance, right now I’m watching yet another episode of Dinner Date and yet I still can’t make a dinner more adventurous than a tuna baguette. If I’m not at least picking up some culinary skills with a show called DINNER Date then I don’t know why I’m even bothering with this. (In my defence, I’ve been stressing about this summer ball all day – AND THERE YOU HAVE IT, I’VE JUST DEFINED THE POINT I’M MAKING!!) Anyway, instead of balancing the stress of life, opting for shallow hobbies/interests only make us into shallow human beings. We switch off by switching off. Social media, Tinder, Vines, they all give us an instant hit of short-term pleasure but nothing fulfilling. We’re losing our ability to engage in conversation and interact with other human beings because our lifestyles are taking away our very human elements. When you analyse it it’s pretty deep stuff, right?

And where does the destruction of modern humanity and society all begin? With one phrase:

“I’m out of my depth.”

Written in response to word prompt of the day Depth

“If Brexit happens I’ll change my name to Stavros and move to Greece” Corfu, 2016

July 5, 2016July 6, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humour, Travel Brexit, Holiday

The holiday began in the same manner as nearly all our family breaks do; at 2am with a sister running around with last minute packing and a cat stubbornly refusing to get out of the car.

With much howling and struggle, India finally found her glasses. Squeak the cat on the other hand was more susceptible to food bribes so was less of a challenge.

The Bennett holiday had begun.

This time round the destination was North Corfu. A delightful Greek island with a geophical position which none of us were able to identify. India’s famous get out clause of “I study Human Geography, not Physical” would become a happy addition to our trip whenever we saw something of natural beauty on the island.

We were flying from Birmingham International airport, located in the Midland’s region of England. Birmingham airport is well renowned in Britain for it’s charming characteristics, such as it’s excellent value duty free lines:

It’s attractive underwear selection:

…And it’s unique and inspirational way of dealing with broken down facilities:

Unfortunately we didn’t have much time to fully utilise Birmingham International Airport as our plane started boarding on time (well, as on time as planes are). Thanks to a delightful couple spending all their time in duty free (who can blame them – see pictures above), we ended up sitting on a stand still plane for 45 minutes longer than need be. I had a quick flick through the magazine during this time and found some delightful articles, including this one:

Watch out – next season Thomas Cook will be releasing the new Unisex eau de parfum. They put a cat in a room with too much food and milk and whatever comes out first gets shoved into a bottle and sold for £70. An organic fragrance for him AND for her.

While the flight lacked the high spirited musical apparel experienced on other flights…:

…Once we took off Thomas Cook did a lovely chart to remind us where we were in relation to the world.

Soon we had landed in Corfu, well Corfu International Airport to be precise. Corfu International Airport may be smaller in size compared to other airports. But it is not to be sniffed at. It is ~~probably~~ one of the best airports in Greece due to a number of factors lifted from British airports. It’s growing popularity can be placed on it’s great value duty free:

It’s reasonably priced, excellent quality 4.80€ coffee:

…And it’s handling of broken down facilities (as inspired by Birmingham International Airport):

(They’re still working on the queuing system)

Outside the airport we had to deal with the shocker that was being in a country where the sun actually shines. It was very hot. At 35 degrees it was by far hotter than anything we’d ever experience in the UK. Walking around at midnight in t shirts and thin dresses was quite a big deal for us until we were well into our seven day break.

Driving up to our hotel located in Roda we couldn’t but be a little concerned. During our one hour transfer this was a very common scene:

And this…

Literally piles of rubbish, casually sitting on public highways and in the centre of residential towns. On a bus full of British tourists there were muffled comments and concerns. When I first saw several mounds of rubbish I thought I’d say ‘rubbish’ whenever I saw one to break up the journey (this was at 14:00, when I’d been awake since 1:00 and had only slept for two hours beforehand anyway. I was desperate). This amusing game soon got boring when I realised I was saying ‘rubbish’ in every other sentence like a girl with a mild form of Tourette’s. I suppose it’s easy to forget of all Greece’s finical troubles when you’re fighting your own battles across the stream.

On arrival at Ramira Beach the family breathed a sigh of relief. Never had we been so settled by the thought of entering a gated community.

The hotel itself was great. We’d end up spending a good deal of time there utilising the all inclusive facilities. That said, Papa Bennett never did feel satisfied with the quality of the fire extinguishers.

(I also found a dead moth outside our room. Given we arrived on the 23rd June, the day of the EU vote, I should have taken this for what it was. A terrible, terrible omen.)

Food at the hotel was pretty decent in fairness. Points for the integration of Greek food into a client base that was predominately English, French and Eastern European. For instance I think Jamie Oliver himself would have been proud at the custom of deep frying broccoli:

I also discovered a new foodstuff I love. Fried cheese is the worst but the ultimate bestest thing to ever happen to me, I swear.

Grilled cheese in a beach front restaurant? Don’t mind it I do!

Probably one of the few places where the hotel didn’t quite meet expectations was the entertainment. The reps did a sterling job, don’t get me wrong, but it just wasn’t at the level we’d been spoilt by on other holidays.

(Yes, I was aware I was filming children, no I’m not proud of it.)

Not wanting to disappoint, I stepped in to demonstrate my skill set should the hotel seek out new talent:

There was also this scary image in the theatre:

…And the weird painting.

Of course this was all overlooked by the fact that the hotel had a creperie WHICH STAYED OPEN UNIL 1:45AM!!

That eatery will always have a place in my heart. Always.

The local town to the hotel is Roda Village. Roda was full of attractive shops which were always open:

With attractive displays:

And furnished with the unique ability to literally rent anything:

There was also this:

Anywho, Roda was a lovely town. In fairness my photos do the place very much down, it was a bustling little community full of beach side bars and restaurants which cater to all and tended to be catered by Brits. Always a bit surreal giving a drinks order slowly to make yourself understood to then have a tanned cockney repeat it twice as fast back at you. Besides, the town had inflatable sea creatures and ultimately that’s all you need in a tourist town.

The other top shopping destination on the island is Corfu town. The family went there one day, opting to go by boat to take in the dramatic coastline scenery (remember what I said earlier about India and her Geography knowledge?)

Corfu town was, again, very nice. Of course there was the tourist tat there:

And the What the Fudge is This Doing in A Hot Country? Stuff:

(We all decided that only one country/global region would seriously consider this look, and it ain’t Scarborough.)

No island capital would be complete without some dodgy photoshopped advertisements either.

Bottom right – that is one messed up finger hand if you ask me.

But that said Corfu was also a very nice place to visit generally.

A town full of culture, pretty side streets and rustic buildings. Worth a visit, it was only a shame we couldn’t have spent longer there. I mean after all, it did give India plenty of stunning camera shots for her collection.

While this was going on though, back in the UK all hell was breaking loose thanks to the outcome of our EU Referendum. As we were in a foreign country, our only news outlet was Sky News and the limited information we were getting from peers back in the UK. As Greece is two hours ahead of GMT we were discovering the news way before the people of Britain had even woken up. Safe to say on the first morning of our holiday the atmosphere within the family and indeed the hotel was shock, fear and anger. Nobody could quite believe what had happened. Staff understandably never mentioned this topic, but the hotel guests were not so close lipped. Given the mixture of cultures staying at the hotel, the place was awash with gossip and debate. Every so often I’d hear a couple talk away in German then say “Merkel” or “Hollande” and I knew exactly what they were talking about.

One evening we were eating our crepes and chatting away about something other than the EU, when two Polish men asked us if we were from England. When we said yes one man responded “why did you decide to leave Europe? Crazy decision!” Bizarrely we then had to tell these men that we wanted to stay. We kept repeating that we wanted the UK to remain part of Europe as if these two men eating strawberry shortbread ice cream could reverse the decision. Instead our pleas intrigued two German women to get involved with the conversation. The Polish men explained that their window business was now going to suffer but that they would find the work elsewhere if they had to, the German women kept saying “you all voted out? Why?” Their confusion was no doubt fuelled by Sky News’ wonderfully inaccurate map of the UK, which to those who weren’t native English speakers, would indeed support this belief.

The real result was a lot more complex and diverse and was a patchwork of blue (vote leave) and yellow (vote stay). Granted blue ultimately trumped yellow in the vote, but if I saw the same picture for, say, Germany, I’d understandably assume the country all wanted to leave. The 48% to 52% closeness of the vote didn’t seem to get through to other countries based on what we heard out and about and saw on the news.

The funny thing is before I went off on holiday I had heavily joked that if the country screwed up in the vote to remain in Europe I’d claim asylum in Greece. It was said as a passing comment when nobody believed the impossible could ever happen. How strange that what can be considered a witty joke one day can turn into a cruel jest the next. We honestly did have a good time in Corfu as a family, but we could never really shake off the fear of what we were coming back to. The only humour we could take from the whole experience is Papa Bennett rushing to the pool side with news updates which five minutes later were vastly out of date. That and naming India’s various mosquito bites after members of the Shadow Cabinet who had resigned. We called the worst bite on her knee Jeremy. You take what humour you can from a bad situation.

As the last days approached there was time for last minute glam shots including me doing my yoga on the jetty, looking moody on the rocks and looking glamourous with my family.

Oh and there was also time to squeeze in a outing on a pedalo. Just because.

(And on the last night we played a trivial guessing game which I won and papa Bennett lost. The score card ended up looking like something from Numberwang and I’m totally not smug about the fact I won. Not. At. All.)

So yeah, I’d say it was a good holiday. Would like to go back soon.

Sorry, what’s that? Nigel Farage and Scruff the dog have become Emperors of England, while Borris is now King of the North? And Nicola Sturgeon of the People’s Republic of Scotland is rising up on her dragons of war? Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have overlooked that dragon cloud over Albania.

It’s the ruddy moth all over again. Sod it, TAKE ME BACK TO GREECE!!

Quote of the Week (22/06/16)

June 22, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour Referendum

“Well whatever happens tomorrow, nothing bad can come of the EU referendum.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because if something bad were to happen someone from the future would have come back to warn us already.”

The logic of India Bennett, expect political commentator (22/06/16).

Don’t Lose Your Voice

June 18, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humour Referendum, Voting

In the UK we are fast approaching an important decision, one that could change the way we view ourselves and how others view us as a nation. At such a time it is more crucial than ever that we make the stand and use our democratic right to voice our opinions and air our concerns before it is too late. As a fellow British citizen I am therefore appealing to everyone in the countries of England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Island to stand with me and unite on something that we all too often overlook and belittle. Something that we often cast aside and ignore instead of taking action.

For the love of God, please complete a passenger claim form when you’re delayed on the train. You only have 28 days to get it sent in (as I learnt all too painfully last time) and heck, it’s even a freepost address for First Great Western. By letting it slide you are letting those big train corporations win and let them edge one step closer to thinking poor signalling is acceptable on British train lines. You will not silence me today Mr. GWR, not today.

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(You can tell how angry I am by my poor writing – my writing is, of course, so much nicer normally…)

Joking aside, please don’t forget about the EU Referendum coming up this Thursday (23rd June 2016). If you’re voting on the day you have between 7am and 10pm to cast your vote at a polling station, or if doing it by post be sure to get this bad boy in a red letter box near you.

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Passenger delay compensation forms and voting. Two equally important things which you’ll be relieved to know have been safely posted this afternoon.

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Don’t lose your voice.

Pammy the Plant and the Weekly Commute

June 17, 2016June 22, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour Commute

(Warning: The following content contains images of cut and wilting hedge flowers. This post is not advised if you object to such imagery.)

At the moment I’m in a bit of a flux state. I’m at that age where I’m still trying to find myself, but in a way which doesn’t involve taking hallucinogenic products. I tried inhaling incense once and it messed me right up.

As avid readers will have seen, I recently had a shot of coming up with new products the world needs. All of these were just concepts at this stage of course, I need the backing before I make the prototypes. I have sent letters off to Trump, Sugar and Madonna. Fingers crossed I’ll hear back soon. After this post I thought “well, if I’m such a creative spirit perhaps I should try a bit of writing?” Children’s books seemed like a good starting point (I mean, how hard can it be to write a good quality children’s story?) The world wide web also says you should write something you can relate to. So, based on the two I have come up with a highly readable AND relatable story for children. Enjoy.

Pammy the Plant and the Weekly Commute

by Alice E. Bennett

(Story based on real-life events)

It was Friday afternoon and Pammy was starting to wrap up her work for the day. It had been a long week in her department and she had spent much of it rushed off her vase.

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Pammy’s job involves her answering the phones and working at a computer. There’s a stuff load more to it than that, but you darling angels really would not begin to comprehend what Pammy goes through every day so we’ll leave it at answering phones and emails

Pammy was looking forward to a weekend with Papa Plant and Mummy Plant. Mummy Plant always stuffs her full of water and Papa Plant always asks her how ‘The Facebook’ works. At 4pm Pammy was very perky indeed.

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When the big hand was on six and the little hand on four, it meant it was half past four and Pammy could go home. “Yippee!” exclaimed Pammy.

Off Pammy went with her stylish spotty case. The sun was shining and she was in a good mood. She picked up her tickets from the man at the station and hopped onto the platform.

“In two hours I’ll be home, with all the water and plant food I could wish for. How exciting!” Pammy thought as she sat patiently on the platform.

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The first train arrived right on time. This was a train going to London. London is the capital city of England, so sometimes the trains can be very busy. Pammy had to be very careful she didn’t bump into a grumpy man or make conversation with the merry Welsh rugby fans. Pammy remembered Mummy Plant’s advice, “talking to strangers is not sensible,” Mummy Plant would say, “they’re often weirdos.”

The journey was fairly quick and after 15 minutes Pammy got off the train at a station called Didcot Parkway. It’s an uninspiring station. An uninspiring station indeed.

The next train arrived at twenty minutes past five. It was eight minutes early! Pammy got on the empty train and decided that she’d utilise the time and lack of people there to judge her actions.

At first she wasn’t too happy with the mess the other passengers had left.

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“Silly passengers!” She tutted, “leaving their shizz around when they could have just put it in the bin!” Pammy judged the passengers for their actions but admittedly didn’t pick up the rubbish herself. She was just too busy having fun. She played peek-a-boo:

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She then ate some of her yoghurt:

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And read her book:

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Pammy didn’t get too far into her fun when the train started moving. The train left Didcot at twenty eight minutes past five and would take Pammy to Oxford. Oxford is a very old and popular English city full of culture, pigeons and a dire housing shortage. Can you say dire housing shortage children?

But before she got to the delightful Oxford, Pammy made sure she took in the pretty scenery on her shuttle train.

…And the impressive stations…

“What wonderful scenery.” Pammy said to the Train Manager who came to check her ticket. The Train Manager laughed, “good one!” he yelled as he walked past. Pammy was glad her positive spirit was making others happy.

When the big hand was on nine and the little hand was between five and six the time was 5:45. That was the time Pammy got off the shuttle train at Oxford. It was also when everything went to pot.

Pammy hopped over to the departure board to look for the train which was going to Hereford. Can you spot the Hereford train on the picture below?

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That right, it’s the third one from the bottom.

Pammy looked at the board and groaned.

“Oh no! The train is delayed! What on Earth could have caused this?”

Luckily a robotic announcer was on hand to provide an explanation. Apparently a train had broken down in a place called Slough which meant the train line was blocked. “Nothing good happens in Slough” one business man moaned. “Yeah, it’s a massive poop hole. I wouldn’t want my children near there” said another. There were some very shouty people there too. Poor Pammy, all she wanted to do was get home, but the unhappy passengers only seemed to make the delay worse. At 6:55pm Pammy was meant to be almost home, but instead she was sat at Oxford trying to avoid bud contact with other passengers who kept staring at her leaves.

Poor, poor, Pammy.

Pammy was not a happy plant at all. But then out of nowhere she heard a friendly voice.”Pammy? Is that you?” The voice said.

Pammy looked up and lit up right away. It was Paul the Palm!

Pammy had not seen Paul since they were young saplings, so she was rather pleased to see him. Luckily they had got on well when they were young and had no ‘beef’ against each other. They chatted and chatted until the train arrived and throughout the journey. During this time Pammy wanted to look cool in front of Paul so didn’t take any pictures.

Paul got off at the station before Pammy, giving Pammy ten minutes to waddle her case down several coaches before arriving at Honeybourne Station at five to eight. She had been delayed by 50 minutes and was very tired from all the travelling.

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Papa Plant and Mummy Plant though were happy to see her, they stuffed Pammy full of food and gave her a glass of fizzy apple juice to make her feel better. It worked. Soon enough Pammy was back to her happy self. She’d had quite a commute! While Papa Plant went upstairs to snooze, Mummy Plant gave Pammy a cup of hot herbal plant juice and they sat down to talk about their week.

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Pammy is a lucky plant indeed.

FIN.

Pammy the Plant Does Slow TV

June 17, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour Slow, train, TV

Did I hear someone ask for a ten minute, uninterrupted, stream of Pammy the Plant riding the train?

You’re welcome.

A Picture Paints a Thousand Commutes

June 7, 2016June 8, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour chips, Commute, crisps

As my well known saying goes “a picture paints a thousand commutes” and nothing sums this up more than this photo taken at Oxford train station on Friday 3rd June 2016 at around 18:20.

This installation has multiple meanings depending on how one interprets it.

A representation of the modern commuter, striving for the finish line, yet being held back by means beyond their control. When they are released from their binding they hit the floor, little reward for the delay.
Western struggles.
The ruddy economy (I blame the immigrants/Donald Trump – delete as appropriate).
The perfect man/woman. You have a hankering for salt and vinegar one week, the next you are more a cheese and onion kinda person. The moment that happens you end up with two packets of salt and vinegar, the flavour you don’t want two of. (Psst I’m talking about relationships)
The government taking control and telling you “you ain’t eating no crisps tonight fatty”. The Big Brother state is already upon us my friends.
How come the vending machine contains only McCoys crisps and how come they’re only salt and vinegar flavour? This image represents the crispism and oppression on crisp brands placed on us by society.
It’s the work of Jesus. (The religious interpretation).
I’m sorry, how much is a Twix? £1.00?! Err no thanks. (The Alice Bennett interpretation).
For Christ’s sake, it’s just a packet of crisps stuck in a vending machine.

I should be working in a high end art gallery. My top-notch ability to spin and waffle are being completely underused in my current position. If you want to own this image it can be yours for only £10,000,000 (open to negotiation, also selling dodgy print copies of said image printed on cheap paper for £100 + postage).

MHAM now has a Soundtrack

May 30, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humour fish, soundtrack

I have decided tonight that this blog demands a song to represent it and all that it’s worth. The selected song to fulfil this great and significant role is Creamy’s 2000 sort-of hit, Help! I’m a Fish!

Why?

Because it’s fish-themed (linking this back to my blog’s roots and my general predicament).
Because it’s awfully cheesy but yet awfully addictive.
Back when I first moved to the town of Swindon one could say I felt like “a little yellow fish, in a deep blue sea”.
You’ll either think “oh my God, this sparks feelings I haven’t felt in years!” or “oh my God, this is garbage”.
Out of context it makes absolutely no sense at all (seriously, how were they planning to market this song mainstream? The lyrics latch loosely onto the synopsis of the film and the video has no story arch at all. Let’s be honest, it’s hardly up there with Take That’s Rule The World is it?)
All said and done though, you come away having learnt something interesting, even if it is useless. E.g. in the English dubbing of this noughties Danish animation, Alan Rickman does the voice of the evil fish. Who’d have thought!

Song credit: Creamy, Help! I’m a Fish! from the film: Help! I’m a Fish! (I know, what are the odds?!)

Trailer here:

(The full film is on YouTube, but you didn’t hear it from me).

Useful Useless Inventions the World Needs

May 16, 2016May 16, 2016 My Housemate's a Mermaid (Alice E. Bennett) Humor, Humour gadgets, invention

My knowledge of technology and gadgetry can be summed up in the following ten second dialogue:

“Hey, Alice, what phone operating system are you on? Are you team Android or team Apple?”

“Team Windows”

“…”

Now, anyone who knows me will know that I was born middle aged. I watch Have I Got News For You, am partial to a bit of Paxman and Mary Beard and I get excited when the BBC air a show catered towards the intellectual market (dramatization of Shakespeare staring Hugh Bonneville? Don’t mind if I do!) Based on this it will also come as no surprise to hear that, outside of mobiles and basic computing, technology has never sat well with me. I mean why does everything need to keep changing? Why do I need an app to tell me how to sleep better? Why do I need a wristband to tell me to work out more? And why do I need an egg timer to tell me how long to oil an egg?! Ain’t nobody telling me how to cook ma eggs! To be honest if it wasn’t for bake sales I’d question what the purpose of a fan heated oven was.

That said, despite all this I feel there are a number of gadget-needing problems that the boffins of this world have yet to fully exploit. Sure, they may not sell in the millions and I agree they might not be entirely useful, but they’re plenty of ‘things’ which desperately need inventing to solve many a modern dilemma. Also, to be quite frank, there’s a literal pile of gadgets we’ve bought Papa Bennett over the years which have never been used. Christmas and Birthday presents lain to waste. No one questions their usefullness as they sit gathering dust in the crockery cupboards.

Therefore, people of the world, I give you Alice E. Bennett’s list of inventions that should exist. FYI – if any of these get made into successful gadgets I’m demanding royalties and/or equity in the business (I’ve watched Dragon’s Den, I know my stuff).

An invention that reminds you of that drawer at home already crammed full of plastic bags BEFORE you get to the till point at Tesco’s

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An app which identifies select times where a cut out of Nigel Farage is required to ensure you and the television corporations are remaining EU neutral. For example, before Eurovision the app would notify you to position Nigel near to the TV monitor and close to alcohol.

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A flag which you can attach to a camera which waves as a warning that the pose you are currently striking resembles that of an awkward British tourist

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(Points if you can spot the author in that group of friendly European tourists on holiday in Oxford)

A chip installed into every phone which automatically tasers the user if the phone thinks it is about to be used to photo friends in a club environment

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It’s hangover blackmail and therefore should be made illegal.

Something to solve this. The world needs an invention to remind people not to drink the blue liquids in the bathroom. It’s a problem faced by me and many toddlers on a daily basis.

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A series of pompous guidebooks which don’t direct you to the prettiest, most popular, paintings or monuments, but the ugliest

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(You’ll find the above in the d’Orsay Gallery in Paris)

In the same guidebooks I would expect there to be a line or two that tells you to sit down, read the information and look engaged with the waffle you’re reading

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A filter that stops you looking demonic in photos

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Oh, and finally, a calendar to notify you know of those days when you might want to make yourself scarce…

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Those are my initial thoughts on useful useless inventions the world needs right now. A lot of time was put into thinking of these revolutionary proposals, but I’m sure I may stumble on some brilliant ideas in the future. If that’s the case I may add to this post or do a completely new one. But as a starter for ten I’d say there’s some pretty good ideas to be working on there. If Papa Bennett can use a bread maker twice, stick it in a cupboard for 20 years and call it a useful gadget then I see no reason why any of the above can’t fill up a stocking and clog up space in homes nationwide as well. I’ll be a millionaire in no time. Watch me.