Continuing Trivial Pursuits: History

<< Starkey: "It's 116 years, you fucking idiots"

As mentioned last time, it's now the turn of surely the most derided TP category: History. Its brown brethren, the equally frustrating Art & Literature, has proven surprisingly popular with opponents in the past, but History wins out for always being picked as the last question to answer. I feel I'm maybe talking a bit too much about Trivial Pursuit, however, and we're not even halfway through, so let's get on with it.

Questions:

1. What did the word 'catholic' mean in ancient Greek?

2. Garum was a popular sauce in Roman times. What was it made of?

3. What is the chief ingredient of Worcestershire sauce, first produced in 1837?

4. Which Asian country invented fingerprinting?

5. From which ancient language does the word 'salary' derive?

6. What was the worst epidemic of the 20th century?

7. Sean is the Gaelic variation of which popular British name?

8. Nike was the Greek goddess of what?

9. For how many years did the Hundred Years War last?

10. How old is our universe estimated to be?

And now, the answers...

1. Universal

2. Fermented fish guts

3. Fermented anchovies (look, it's like one of those cards where all the answers are the same!)

4. Fermented anchovies... just kidding, god, this is like that Two Ronnies sketch... it's actually China.

5. Latin. It comes from the word 'salarium', which means salt. Quantities of salt was offered as payment in Roman times. Presumably the diet consisted of chips, fried egg sandwiches and Margaritas.

6. Spanish flu, which killed over 50 million people in 1918. Puts swine flu in perspective.

7. John. Now, some of you may have noticed this is not a question about history. The problem, you see, is that I dislike history so much, I subconsciously avoid taking on any information related to the topic. Starkey would be furious.

8. Sweatshops. Or maybe victory and strength.

9. 116 years. This is such a Trivial Pursuit question.

10. 15 billion years old today.

Next up, it's Art & Literature. I would like to point out, ahead of the unveiling of ten questions that vary between straightforward and factually dubious, that I have a degree in English Literature. A degree that took 3 years to earn, and which appears to have irrecoverably destroyed any interest I ever had in the subject.

Further Trivial Pursuits: Entertainment

<< Gerry Rafferty, literally waiting by his letterbox in anticipation of more royalty cheques





For those at the back not paying attention, I'm devoting 8.5 weeks' worth of facts to the newly-remembered catalyst for my love of trivia, classic board game Trivial Pursuit (to be more specific, the Genus edition, as if you had to ask). The previous post celebrated the notoriously unpopular Geography category - today it's the more mainstream pink cheese, Entertainment. Probably the most popular and accessible TP category, the big E however fills me only with a sense of trepidation. The reasons for this are multiple (well, two) - firstly, the memories of my dad carving a path to glory around the board using only judicious use of the roll again squares, and an encyclopaedic knowledge of every film or TV show ever made, leaving the rest of us trailing in his wake. Secondly, my personal knowledge of film/TV is embarrassingly patchy. To demonstrate, here are 3 films I haven't seen:





The Godfather


The Deer Hunter


Citizen Kane





Here are 3 films I have seen:





Pearl Harbour


Miss Congeniality


Addams Family Values





You get the idea with that - here's the questions (answers below - you don't have to invert the screen)





1. Which sci=fi BBC sitcom was originally intended to be a film?





2. In which leafy London suburb do Jerry Hall, David Attenborough and Richard E Grant live?





3. What was the name of Jade Goody's perfume, released shortly after her Celebrity Big Brother appearance?





4. From where does U.S. TV show 30 Rock get it's name?





5. How did Peter Andre first find fame in Australia?





6. What is Ronnie from Eastenders' real first name?





7. Which sci-fi film inspired several thousand people to create a new religion in the 2001 census?





8. What nationality is Chris Roy Taylor, the creator of The Omnipresent cartoons which feature in The London Paper?





9. Which Scottish singer started his career as a busker?





10. Which type of film did Alfred Hitchcock begin his career working on?











Deep breath, here's the answers -





1. Red Dwarf, which finally sort of got it's wish in recent 90 minute (though it felt a lot longer) special, Back To Earth, which was, in three words, weird, laboured and depressing.





2. Richmond-upon-Thames. Some would say it's not a suburb of London, and that it's a town in Surrey. They'd be wrong.





3. Controversial.





4. 30 Rockefeller Plaza, the building the show is chiefly set in.





5. He appeared on the Australian version of New Faces.





6. Veronica. I know Ronnie is short for Veronica, OK? I ran out of questions.





7. Star Wars. Thousands put 'Jedi' as their religion on the 2001 census. Many a pub quiz bore will try and tell you that had enough people claimed to be Jedi, it would have become a religion. This is not the case.





8. Australian. He has an Australian e-mail address anyway. Good enough for me.





9. Gerry Rafferty, most famous for 'Baker Street' and being one half of Steeler's Wheel, who most famously soundtracked the removal of an ear in Reservoir Dogs. Rafferty recently went missing for several weeks, before reporting he had been relaxing at his house in Tuscany. Which begs the question: how can Gerry Rafferty afford a house in Tuscany?





10. Silent movies.





Next up, it's the last cheese to be obtained in 99% of Trivial Pursuit campaigns - the unattractive bright yellow Cheddar that is History. Does anybody like this round? Apart from David Starkey, who probably collects an entire roundel filled with 6 yellow segments, despite howls of indignation from Jon Snow, Tony Robinson, and him off Grand Designs. More soon...

Trivial Pursuits - Geography

<< "I'm afraid the card says Moops..."

As you may have noticed, the dawn of 2009 has seen me take a slightly less hands-on approach to posting - I've been learning plenty of new stuff, but haven't summoned the spirit to render it into something readable. Instead of becoming the billionth person to apologise for not writing a blog entry for 3 months, I'll press on as I have facts spewing forth from every inch of grey matter I possess. Maybe not every inch.

Anyway, the presence of the veritable fact mountain I've been stockpiling, like grain in a massive barn in Switzerland, has got me thinking - why do I do this to myself? From whence my love of trivial nonsense, to the extent that I spend my life racing around with a large metaphorical fact-net, trying to scoop them up and regurgitate them onto a bemused and indifferent public? Two words - Trivial Pursuit. The giddy thrill of a four-cheese streak. The horror of landing on the central victory podium, a full set o' cheeses glinting in the afternoon sun, only to fall at the last hurdle and spend another half an hour frantically trying to return, all in vain.

Trivial Pursuit is the best game ever, and I think it's what first turned me on to the irresistible glow of pride and achievement gained from knowing things nobody needs to know. In TP, this pointless knowledge makes you a champion. If only it were so in real life. And so, in an earnest homage to the world's finest board game, and in no way a barely concealed attempt to dump large chunks of my fact fountain into barely discernible categories, I begin at the beginning, with 12 questions on the blue cheese, Geography (my favourite TP topic - a specialist subject, no unwelcome surprises like Sport & Leisure). Answers below - try your luck, punks.

1. Which invented language is still spoken natively by thousands of people?

2. What is unique about the nations Liechtenstein and Uzbekistan?

3. Where in the world is Bedlam?

4. How many nations form the G20 economic group?

5. What is the capital of Alaska?

6. Which Latin American capital city was originally built on volcanic lakes?

7. True or false: Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch was given it's stupid and long name to attract tourists to the village.

8. Which German city was built in 1938 to house workers at the nearby VW plant?

9. Which is the only London Underground line to intersect with all other lines?

10. Which country on Earth is furthest from any ocean or sea?

And now it's answers time. I used to love reading the answers - by now you can probably imagine what an insufferable little turd I must have been, gleefully informing people of their slight inaccuracy and snatching the dice from their disbelieving hands:

1. Esperanto - those who learnt the language and married a fellow Esperanto speaker, who presumably they met at an Esparanto-based event, taught it to their children, who have now grown up as Esperanto speakers.

2. They are the only two nations on Earth to be doubly landlocked - this means that they are not only landlocked themselves, but border only other landlocked countries.

3. Bedlam was the name given to Bethlehem Hospital in Lambeth, South London. It is now a military museum.

4. Nineteen. Someone forgot to turn up.

5. Juneau.

6. Mexico City.

7. True - the name was made up in the 19th century to attract tourism to the otherwise unremarkable area.

8. Wolfsburg, in the central Saxony region, was founded to provide homes for a new car plant, and was originally named, slightly less romantically, Stadt des KdF-Wagens by the Nazis, who admittedly are not renowned for their sense of romance.

9. The Jubilee line, following an extension in 1999 which took it from Green Park to Stratford. A little bit of extra info thrown in, in what I like to call a 'Chris from Eggheads' manouevre.

10. Kyrgyzstan, in Central Asia.

Next up is Entertainment... hopefully soon.

I Don't Believe It!

<< Robert Ripley: About to get served

The recent opening of the Ripley's Believe It Or Not! attraction in Piccadilly Circus, complete with five floors of baffling, barely related artefacts culminating in a killer spinny walkway thing, suggests that casual knowledge is becoming big business. In order to compete in this bold new marketplace, I'm going to have to raise my game. So for my latest post, ladies and gentlemen, I have assembled a bevy of actually quite interesting things, which I shall deliver with no small quantity of giddy hyperbole...

Davina McCall used to be a drug addict. Can you believe that?! She seems so clean-cut! Apart from the weird late-night game shows she used to do. You heard it here first!

High heels were invented in the Middle Ages, and were designed for horse riders, to keep their feet in the stirrups. Coo! Who'd have thought? The one article restraining the natural domination of women all over the world, and it was invented to stop people falling off horses. Madness.

Look over here! Traditional Bolognese sauce should contain pork, beef and chicken. That's mental.

A polydactyl is the name given to a creature with excessive fingers or toes. Doesn't sound that interesting? Well, check this out! Eww.

Phoenix Nights star and poor comedian Dave Spikey is vegetarian. But he's Northern! And slightly overweight and middle-aged. It doesn't seem possible! What's more - he really likes broccoli. What is this guy on?!

Brides before the 20th century used to wear blue rather than white. Can you even conceive of such a spectacle?

Behold the world's largest manufacturer of automobiles - at 3 miles high and over 2 years long, it's Japanese car maker Toyota! Weren't expecting that, were you?!

The Super Bowl, the single most widely enjoyed sporting event on the planet, was named after a toy called a Super Ball. A name that conjures image of titanic sporting struggle like no other was name after a mere ball - albeit a super one. My world is collapsing!

You can't buy a return bus ticket with cash on a London bus. We're not safe from this topsy-turvy madness out in the streets. Run for cover - it's factageddon.

Liberia in West Africa was founded by slaves returning from the U.S., hence the flag's similarity to the Star Spangled Banner. Is Spangled even a word? I don't know what to believe any more!!!

The Chinese had invented a form of gun in the 13th century, a full 600 years before Colt, Smith, Wesson and the like. Rip up your history books. They are now worthless. Do it!

And finally...

Fibre doesn't help to keep your bowel movements regular. In fact, it will probably make it worse. DID I JUST BLOW YOUR MINDS?!

And much like the fine institution I have aped so childishly, I have no more facts for you, and will now jettison you all into the cold London night air. Until next time...

An A-Z of Things Barely Worth Knowing

It's been a while. I'd like to offer up an excuse, but the basic reason behind such epic tardiness is that I'm lazy, indolent and have a phone that can record around one month's worth of trivia in a handy, new-fangled, "draft text message" form. Anyway, let's crack on. We've got a lot of catching up to do, and what better way to do it then with a dispassionate alphabetical list of 26 unrelated pieces of information. That's right... it's come to this. It's A-Z time!

A is for autoroute, the name for major roads in France. As I can personally relate from a perplexing on-road experience, roads are given more than one number in France if two main roads converge to form them.

B is for brown - the colour of the salt put down in the event of unprecedented Arctic blizzards/one day of moderate snow. Or, in the case of my road, not put down.

C is for Camberwell, the fashionably edgy/dog-rough area in South London famous for its eponymous carrot. Camberwell has long been mooted as the site for a possible extension to the Bakerloo line, and may finally get its wish, as Boris Johnson has suggested extended the brown line on the map as far as Lewisham because, well, it was the first place that came into his head. Camberwell has come so close to getting on the network previously that for several years, the map at Warwick Avenue station showed Camberwell as a destination, never bothering to remove the station when it wasn't built. It's tardiness like that that I aspire to.

D is for Dungeons. The London Dungeons are part of a chain that also offers subterranean fun in Edinburgh, York and Hamburg, to name but most of them. Whether the other branches come equipped with the kind of phenomenal queue not usually reserved for fair-to-moderate attractions, I cannot say.

E is for Everest. At the top of the world's highest mountain you can boil water at only 68C. Handy information to have.

F is for French Roads Again. Parking in Paris can only be paid for via a pre-paid card (like a mobile top-up card) which in turn you can only get in tobacco shops (which are admittedly a lot more prevalent than over here). Try to imagine for just a moment the chaos that this system created for two pasty, doe-eyed British travellers who just wanted to park their car.

G is for Galling, which is the only way to describe the fact that fat-chinned megalomaniac Robbie 'cool for 6 weeks in 1995' Williams has won more Brit Awards than anyone else - 15 in total. The fact that he is miserable beyond his most wretched nightmares is barely a consolation.

H is for Hitler - as anyone with digital TV will tell you, it's hard to avoid learning about Hitler; as a result, I have two mildly diverting facts about the most evil man who ever lived. Firstly, he had terrible table manners, often shouting, belching and annihilating entire races at the table. Secondly, he spared Blackpool in the Second World War despite quite a lot of weapons being built there as apparently, he wanted to keep it as a private holiday resort. Quite frankly, it doesn't seem likely, although the claim is backed up by the fact that Coventry, which made a similar quantity of munitions, received an almighty shoeing at the hands of the Luftwaffe.

I is for India, and Iran. Two misunderstood nations, set to take centre-stage as the world's power base moves east. I don't know anything about them, but what I do know is that the French word for turkey, 'dinde', means Indian, suggesting some uncertainty over their origin. Secondly, Iran's ancient capital was called Persepolis. Neither enlightening nor relevant, but at least a bit interesting.

J is for JML, the company formerly seen on weird mini TV screens in Woolworths, advertising their own handy products, including the childishly named Dryer Balls, and a sponge that cleans your whole house if you leave it in water (maybe). JML stands for John Mills Ltd., a fact I found out from a JML product that I own. It's a vibrating back massager (no giggling at the back). I tried it and it gave me muscle spasms (I said no giggling).

J is also (who'd have thought it? Two Js! this crazy world) for Jongleurs, the nationwide comedy club whose Battersea branch is the one that started it all. Stay tuned for more J-based trivia, except there isn't any.

K is for Kick, the Tesco-made energy drink I have been drinking since the advent of the credit crunch. Prior to crunch time, I drank Red Bull, which started out as a medicinal syrup in a tiny wee bottle.

L is for the Love Bug, a film which was the first to star Herbie the self-driving car. Not to be confused with the Love Boat, the disappointingly pedestrian aquatic soap opera which has a weird knack for appearing in some form whenever I mention it.

M is for Matt Stevens, the England rugby player who has been banned for 2 years for taking a 'recreational substance'. Stevens is orginally South African, though now it doesn't really matter where he comes from, as he can't play for anyone.

N is for Niall. I have discovered from a fairly reputable source (i.e. someone Irish) that nobody pronounces my name 'Neil' in Ireland - only 'Nile' as in Niall Quinn. This revelation immediately followed my being asked to join the St. Patrick's Day committee, and I'm not sure whether this denouncement of my Irishness counts as a withdrawal of the original indication. It had seemed like an easy ride - organising a St. Patrick's Day event? Guinness, outsized green top hats, shamrock and the backroom at O'Neills, surely? Alas, I may never know.

O is for Ouroboros, the symbol of cyclicality and reinvention which features a snake eating it's tail. The word 'ouroborus' is Greek and means, perhaps unsurprisingly, tail-devouring snake.

P is for Park Lane, the desirable street in Central London famous for being the second most valuable square on a Monopoly board, and more recently for being blighted by a gang of dirty squatters who had the temerity to move into a massive house that some rich old bastard wasn't even living in. Park Lane is so called because it overlooks Hyde Park. Those squatters must be enjoying some great views tonight.

Q is for (le) Quatriéme Dimension, the French name for the Twilight Zone. I learnt this from going on the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror ride several times at Disney. It was a hoot of Paultons Park proportions. Quatriéme Dimension, incidentally, translates as Fourth Dimension, for those of you who can't read.

R is for Reese. The company forever searching for new ways to combine chocolate with peanut butter are owned by Hershey. Will I ever run out of new things to discover about American chocolate?

S is for Skid Row. The address which symbolises humanity's lowest ebb is real, and can be found in downtown Los Angeles. You know you've fucked up when your address is actually Skid Row. What next? A Boulevard of Broken Dreams somewhere in Chicago? Perhaps a suburb served by Shattered Dreams Parkway station...

T is for TSA, which stands for Tenants' Service Authority, and is the new name for the Housing Corporation. May not mean a lot to those of you working outside of housing.

U is for Ultras, those divisive supporters of many European teams who give to the cause by being passionate, vocal and loyal supporters, but who also damage the team's image slightly by being violent, racist and violently racist. Italian club Sampdoria, based in Genoa, had the first fans to call themselves Ultras.

V is for Victoria, the busiest line on the Tube network, and the only line to run entirely underground. The Waterloo & City Line doesn't count. Why? You know why.

W is for wilderness. Nowhere sums up this word quite like the Cotohuazi canyon in Peru. The ancient Incan city of Marpa, situated at the centre of its length, is so remote and inaccessible that more people have been to the top of Everest (possibly to boil water more efficiently) than have laid eyes on the ruined city.

X is for Xplosives (just let me have it... please). The phrase 'damp squib' refers to the fuse on explosives getting wet, meaning that the fuse won't light. Except the phrase to make several appearances when the Champions League returns at the end of the month.

Y is for You're Gonna Need A Bigger Boat, the line from Jaws voted the best cinematic quote of all time by ShortList magazine. This revelation comes at the end of a Top 20 list which summarises nearly a century of film-making into a pointless list of overused lines of dialogue. It did teach me, however, that the line "I feel the need, the need for speed" is from Top Gun. I've never seen Top Gun. People seem to be amazed by this. Why would I want to watch Top Gun? Give me one good reason.

Z is for Zulus, the tribe that continually direct spears towards Michael Caine, despite his repeated, angry pleas for them to cease. In another of Michael Caine's top 'performances', he closes the Italian Job by exclaiming "hold on lads, I've got an idea" as he and his cohorts stand in a lorry teetering on the edge of a cliff (you guessed it, that line featured in the list too). This is because the booty is in the other side of the lorry, so they need to retrieve it. I've actually watched this film and didn't pick up on this. Unbelievable. Apparently some bright spark has suggested that the best way to retrieve the gold without plummeting to certain doom would be to slowly release fuel from the front of the tank. God, I'd rather be idle than spend my time working that out.

Acceptable in the Eighties

<< Tony Hart, 1925-2009

Ah, the Eighties. Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Big mobile phones. Roland Rat. Miners' strikes. Dexy's Midnight Runners. You get the idea. A line of facts sporting flock-of-seagulls haircuts, rooting through their filofaxes and playing with a rubik's cube have got me all nostalgic for a decade that ended when I was seven. Ah, those Eighties memories. Wearing a big jumper and eating an ice-cream (which seems illogical). Watching Bugs Bunny cartoons and needing a poo. Standing alone in a freezing playground. Heady days indeed.

When it comes to those who defined the Eighties in this country, Prime Minister and proletariat crusher Maggie Thatcher is right up there, just behind Phil Oakey and Max Headroom. Thatcher was born in Grantham, Lincolnshire, which is entirely unnoticeable in her mangled Victorian accent. MT was in charge for the entirety of the decade. When she wasn't being hated by her own citizens (Poll Tax riots, miners' strikes again, that weird thing on Swap Shop or whatever) she was putting it up nations much larger and more volatile than ours - Argentina, namely. What I didn't realise was that Argentina was under military rule at the time of the Falklands War. A nation run by an army, and Maggie was more bloodthirsty than they were.

Thatcher may have a lot to answer for, but being so intrinsically connected to the Eighties, she was probably at least OK at cutting-edge video game experience Pong. Gordon Brown, if this footage of him being shit at actual ping-pong is anything to go by, would struggle.

The Internet was a global phenomenon launched in the Eighties, although by 1989 only about 12 people were using it. It came into it's own under the jurisdiction of the Eighties' goofy kid brother, the Nineties. Initially, the Internet was called the Arpanet - a fact pointed out by Norwich Union in their desperate attempt to make the loss of identity triggered by their takeover and forcible name change look like a pivotal moment in their destiny. And incidentally, "can you imagine a punk rock singer called Vincent Pernier?" Yes. That's an excellent name for a punk rock singer. Much better than Alice Cooper, who sounds like a vet.

And finally, we bid farewell to an Eighties legend, and perhaps the finest artist in history - Mr Tony Hart. A volatile, experimental genius, Hart was renowned for creating breathtaking silhouette landscapes, only to sabotage his work by tipping vast quantities of glitter glue over it for no apparent reason. He also seemed like a thoroughly nice bloke, who will leave a legacy of shaky camerawork displaying rubbish kids' drawings, comprehensive guides to art and craft that would shame Neil Buchanan - and the Blue Peter badge. Cos he designed it.

The Bleak Midwinter

You know it's upon you when you reach into your pocket for loose change and find nothing but balls of lint, which have frozen into jagged icicles in the arctic temperatures. Or perhaps it's the moment when you fall headlong over the pile of Christmas decorations (which rather than packing away you have opted to allow to slide pathetically into a congealed mass on the floor) and find that ten minutes later you are still there, weeping hysterically. Maybe it's the moment you try to comfort yourself with the notion that the evenings are getting later, as you peer desperately at a dying sun, suffocated by clouds, as driving hail takes chunks out of your skin. Either way, there's a moment for everyone this month then the horror that is January hits you.

It's the month that makes you pine for November - a vacuum of money, joy, sunlight and motivation that feels never-ending. Even the election of a black president, and my team nearly buying the world's best footballer, have raised little more than a wearied grunt in these dark days. I don't know what idiot decided to place a whole week of festivities directly before this god-awful month, but it's created a comedown that takes up a twelfth of the entire year. It's not like February is any better - it just can't get any worse. The only thing to do is keep your head down, hold the tears back and distract yourself until it's Valentine's Day, when you'll have a whole new reason to be miserable.

Read a book - may I recommend J.D. Salinger's Catcher In The Rye? It's a contemporary classic filled with subtle overtones of longing and despair, and is also quite short. Happy Birthday J.D. - 90 on New Year's Day.

Drink until you're happy again - start with Coronas. They look more sophisticated than a dented can of Tennent's Super. Corona is brewed in Mexico, thus adding a much-needed exotic flavour to your midwinter binges.

Go on holiday - Why not explore the Shetland coast? It's 900 miles long. At least you'll be glad to come home.

Lag your pipes - In early colonial America, pipes were made from hollowed-out logs. The fact that water can pass through wood was something I assume they found out in time. Incidentally, does anyone remember a British Gas ad which had a 'sod's law' theme, but said "your pipes freeze on the coldest days?". I'd just like to point out that they freeze because it's really cold - it's not just a coincidence. You think they'd know that.

Watch a documentary which relentlessly exposes the chasm of misery consuming someone more talented than successful than yourself - as I did with Surviving Gazza, a slightly odd title seeing as Gazza isn't actually dead. If nothing else, it taught me that money can't buy happiness, that I liked Gazza a lot more when he was wacky than now he's a suicidal alcoholic - and that Bianca Gascoigne is his daughter.

Stare at Sky Sports News for hours at a time, clinging to the only constant in your life as everything else crumbles like so many Man City transfer negotiations. They might just tell you that Liverpool full-back Insua is Argentinian. Except I just did. And you don't care.

Consider throwing in the towel and heading back to uni to rack up another £15,000 of debt. Why the hell not? We'll all be living in huts soon anyway. Numerus clausus is a system used to allocate university places according to specific characteristics, e.g. race, gender. It was used by the Romans, and has been used for good (redressing the appalling imbalance in the opportunities afforded to women and people from ethnic minorities) and bad (I'm gonna guess... the Nazis).

Go and buy a big telly and rack up another £500 of debt. Why the hell not? We'll all be living in huts soon anyway. Richmond-upon-Thames has more debt per person than any other town in Britain - around £40,000.

Capture a bee and force it to sting you, in order to replicate even an unpleasant aspect of summer - bee stings can remain in your arm for several months. Maybe even 'til summer comes around.

Sit and stare at a wall, feeling unbearably conscious of your most basic bodily functions, such as breathing, blinking and swallowing. The average person produces 1.5 litres of saliva each day, which is unconsciously swallowed again.

Use the internet to book a holiday, gamble obscene sums of money, repeatedly watch a cat sitting on a moving skateboard, or pour out your January bile unto a small, passive white box, and let everyone you know read it. Internet usage in the UK peaks at 6pm on Sunday evening.

Watch soaps. Nobody's more miserable than people in soaps. In their Januarys everyone gets rickets and then the entire street gets torched when a kid's birthday cake topples over. Coronation Street isn't on on Sunday anymore.

Have a birthday. If your birthday isn't in January, just pretend it is. Everyone will be glad of the excuse. It doesn't matter if they know full well it's not really your birthday. Jehovah's witnesses don't celebrate birthdays. Not even in January.

Liven things up with a cold, flu, or exotic vomiting bug. Even the hiccups would break the monotony. Hiccough is pronounced 'hiccup'.