So, without further ado, let me introduce my top predictions for 2026...

*Begin accompanying mood music (an ethereal wind chime cascade, followed by a mild bout of the hiccups)*

1. Water will be discovered on a distant planet, sparking immediate debate over how to privatise it.

2. Red squirrels will stage a comeback against their dominant grey cousins after the UK government arms them with swords and crossbows.

3. As a man is found bludgeoned to death with a box of Rice Krispies, London will awaken to news of a new cereal killer.

4. A sequel to the movie Don’t Look Up will be announced: I Wouldn’t Look Under There If I Were You!

5. A YouGov poll will reveal that 85% of people don’t understand statistics. (Thankfully I’m in the other 25%)

6. To improve delivery standards, courier companies will announce parcels will be delivered by trebuchet.

   

7. Ed Sheeran will release a song about self-raising flour.

8. As big industry continues to search for alternative, more sustainable fuels, Google will invent a car that runs on taramasalata.

9. In February, a man called Simon will marry his iPhone 17 and name her Iris.

10. In September, Simon will be caught cheating with an iPhone 18. Iris will file for divorce on grounds of unreasonable behaviour and win full custody of their wireless AirPods.

11. To clear surgery backlogs, the NHS will hire anyone who’s ever beaten the board game Operation.

12. Someone in Barnsley will build a full-scale replica of Stonehenge entirely from chicken teriyaki. Druids will gather for the summer solstice with a bowl of rice and stir-fried vegetables.

And that, as they say, is that. What an exciting year it promises to be. I’ve been tempted to escape the madness going on in our world by faking my own death and moving to a cave in the Scottish Highlands, but I might just stick around to watch everything unfold.

Until next time,

Claire Alastair 👋

P.S: If you want to go back and re-live last year’s predictions, you can do so here.

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To mark the occasion, I've penned a festive verse:

‘Twas the night before Christmas,

With a full moon and frost,

Not a creature was stirring,

Except the rats in the loft

I must say I’m a fan of the traditional Christmas. Stockings by the fire, Christmas cards, choking on a sixpence in the Christmas pudding, and the old favourite...

You may remember that last year I put together a Christmas wreath-making class at my co-working office. This year I decided to follow it up with something equally festive.

At Christmas, everyone seems to love singing songs about people called Carol. So, there seemed only one suitable course of action this year - to put together a choir. With my usual [poor] standard of creativity, I set to work on a poster...

(No one signed up.)

Maybe I should go back to the Christmas wreaths.

Wishing you a very merry Christmas.

Alastair

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Work updates

In early September, a new White Stuff shop opened next to my workplace. Being an inquisitive sort of chap, I paid it a visit. Must admit, I felt utterly bewildered – coloured stuff everywhere. I was expecting Tippex, swans and table salt. After calming down, I expressed my disappointment in writing, with a weakly worded letter.

On white paper.

Now, believe it or not, I don’t earn a living from my Noodle Chasing, and occasionally I’m called upon to do serious work. Indeed, a colleague told me recently, “Not everything has to be funny, you know.” (Clearly, they’re a reader of my articles.) I learned a lesson that day – don’t crack jokes during a hostage negotiation.

They had a point, though. There is a time and a place. Take the incident where someone tipped salt and pepper on my head during a work lunch. Nothing funny about that whatsoever. In that moment, I became what I’ve always dreamed of being: a seasoned professional.

Health

Health wise, I can report that things have been a bit rocky of late. You see, a couple of months ago I got admitted to hospital with kidney stones, after a very long wait in A&E. It was an excruciating experience all around. Doctors told me I needed to drink three litres of water a day to pee the stones out. I almost passed out in shock: “THREE LITRES? How am I supposed to do that – waterboarding?”

On the positive side, the doctors told me I’m a “stone former”, which makes me sound like some kind of revolutionary. I’ll take that. In fact, I might have “Stone Former” etched on my gravestone. Although, that depends on how I go out.

You see, I’m famous for having an allergy to milk. And you may remember I previously declared my perfect departure from this world would involve being run over by a milk float.

Tough decisions lie ahead.

Anyway, I’ve gone wandering off into death, and no-one should ever do that. Let’s get back to my stone experience.

After my long A&E visit and hospital stay, I did what any sensible Noodle Chaser would do, and drew up a blueprint for behavioural zoning in hospital wards...

(I need practice drawing hands.)

Still on the subject of health, my psychological state took a hit recently too. I felt more than a little upset (which is rare for me (although last week I overheard someone say “expresso” instead of “espresso” (which at least isn’t as bad as someone saying “pacific” instead of “specific” (did you know that the Pacific ocean is home to the tallest mountain on Earth (Mauna Kea in Hawaii))))) when someone suggested I might have ADHD.

Deep thoughts

Moving on, I’m pleased to report to you that my recent health experiences haven’t stopped me pondering life’s big questions:

• If I’m force-fed Alphabetti Spaghetti, is it CAPITAL punishment?

• Is a cat cafe just a feline lap dancing club?

• If Stevie Wonder’s song ‘Signed, Sealed, Delivered’ was rewritten for the 2020s, would it be called ‘Signed, Sealed, Left in a Safe Place by the Wheelie Bin’?

I think the answer is “yes” to all three of the above questions, but I might throw them open to a public consultation.

Speaking of questionable ideas, everyone seems to be writing crime novels these days, aren’t they? I’ve always wanted to write one, creating a character like the famous fictional sleuths of 70s and 80s television: Perry Mason, Jessica Fletcher or my favourite of all:

Lieutenant Christopher Columbus.

Truth is, though, detective novels are ten-a-penny. If I really want literary acclaim, I need to aim higher. So I’ve set to work on some ideas for Booker Prize-worthy novels. I encourage you to choose your favourite:

1. A noir-style detective novel, but set in the current age where vaping has displaced smoking. ‘He walked slowly away, leaving nothing behind but the faint ghost of blueberry and mint...’

2. A novel about an 80-year-old former library worker-turned-detective who puts her age and excellent health down to a meat-free diet. The crime-solving tales of an octogenarian, vegetarian librarian.

3. A high court judge who sentences criminals with a haiku: Poetic Justice.

They’re great aren’t they? Let me know which you prefer and I’ll make a start, right after I water my goldfish and construct a self-driving car out of napkins.

And finally

I’ve realised that it’s been a year since I started Chasing a Noodle. 52 weeks. Or, to use the modern parenting unit of time, 365 sleeps. That may not seem long to you and me, but to an insomniac it’s an eternity.

Anyway, you’d think these articles would be funnier by now. But if nothing else I can regard it as a victory for consistency. They’re a lot like my kidney stones – a bit rough around the edges and an altogether tormenting experience.

That’s it from me for today. I’m heading off to get a coffee. An expresso, pacifically.

Until next time 👋🏻,

Alastair

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Back in 2012 in Mexico, I engaged in a legendary battle of wits with a mosquito named Gonzalo. Here he is...

Now, obviously, this isn't actually a picture of Gonzalo. I didn’t have time to ask him to pose for a series of candid portrait photographs before sending him to early retirement. So, you'll have to make do with my artistic interpretation, along with the knowledge that he wore EXACTLY this hat (the guy had swagger!).

Of course, if I'd had time to plan properly, I would have considered taking ‘before’ and ‘after’ photographs of Gonzalo to publish on billboards as a warning to other mosquitoes not to mess with me. Kind of like the ‘Don’t Drink And Drive’ campaigns of the 1990s. Possible tagline: ‘Don’t Whine And Dine!’ I think it’s got legs… which is more than could be said for Gonzalo after I'd hit him with a shoe. He left a small but definitive mark on the bedroom curtain.

I hate mosquitoes

Ask anyone with the same name as me, and they will tell you that I detest mosquitoes. They’re about as welcome in my house as a town crier in a library.

Quite simply, if one makes an appearance in the same room as me, I have to safely dispatch it with a slipper, magazine or other hardy thwacking implement, before I can go to sleep.

It has been a long-held belief of mine that alarm clock makers are missing a trick by not incorporating a mosquito-like wake-up sound in their devices. As irritating noises go, that high-pitched whine is right up there with popcorn bag rustling in cinemas, people who over-stir their cappuccinos and family members who scrape every last bit from the bottom of a yoghurt pot as if they're on an archaeological dig. JUST STOP IT ALREADY!

And frankly, there's nothing guaranteed to get you out of bed quicker than hearing a mosquito whine in your ear, either... with the possible exception of your cat peeing on your head.

Mosquito Combat Protocol (MCP)

If you're anything like me (my deepest condolences), this is the standard protocol you follow when you hear the dreaded sound of a mosquito in your ear at night...

1. You react impulsively by swinging your arm. Lashing out blindly and with the coordination of a stoned chimp, you slap yourself around the face, leaving a perfect handprint on your cheek. If you weren’t awake 5 seconds ago, you bloody well are now.

2. You flail around for the light switch, only to knock the glass of water off your bedside table and onto your half-finished crossword.

3. Still fumbling, you finally locate the light switch. The room lights up, blinding you like a vampire at a tanning salon. With blurry eyes, you glance around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the offending insect. He’s not there. This is going to be more difficult than you thought.

4. You engage in a game of insect hide and seek. But, you’re at a disadvantage – mosquitoes are masters of disguise, like calories in a sponge cake. You try to hunt him down, but he’s craftily transformed into a lamp, a sock or the March issue of Pigeon Racing Monthly. Unable to find him and feeling wearier by the minute, you slump into a chair and wait for him to make the next move.

5. An hour passes, and he hasn’t made an appearance. In a desperate attempt to resume your sleep, you stumble around the room randomly hitting and moving things, hoping for some movement. He, in the meantime, is having a good old giggle at your feeble attempts to find him. It’s a complete mismatch in size terms, but the little bastard is beating you.

6. After a further hour of searching, you spot him clinging to the wall above the window. Looking for something hefty to flatten him with, you grab Pigeon Racing Monthly (March issue) and tiptoe slowly towards him.

7. As you reach striking range, you take a big swing and… bang!!!! A big chunk of plaster falls to the floor. Sadly for you, the mosquito isn’t under it – he flew off a millisecond before. You’re now faced with a new challenge – concentrating your eyes on where he flies next. You go cross-eyed as he does three loops of the lampshade before vanishing into thin air.

8. You repeat steps 4 to 7 endlessly until you collapse onto the bed in defeat, utterly exhausted. As you lie there contemplating your humiliating loss to a creature the size of a grain of rice, your cat walks in and pees on your head. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

The latest chapter

The latest chapter of Alastair Versus the Mosquito unfolded this summer with a new protagonist. Meet Kevin (I chose the name Kevin because it reminds me of two of my favourite things in life: Kevlar and the Mandolin).

Now, clearly, this isn't actually a picture of Kevin...

It was obvious that Kevin hadn't got the memo about Gonzalo when he foolishly decided to enter my room for a meal at 2 am. I was halfway through my eight-step Mosquito Combat Protocol (MCP) when a thought entered my head:

If you spray insect repellent on a mosquito, does it develop a creeping sense of self-loathing?

For the purposes of both science and entertainment, I thought it prudent to find out. As Kevin sat on the skirting board, mocking me, I grabbed my can of insect repellent and gave him a thorough dousing. The result? He did a spectacular nosedive off the skirting board, and I never saw him again.

My conclusion: I think this insect repellent idea could really fly (which is more than could be said for Kevin...). Either Kevin fell to his demise, or he suffered such an immediate identity crisis that he absconded to find a therapist. Either way, I'm calling it a victory for science.

I'm seriously considering submitting my findings to the Journal of Ridiculous Bug Studies. So my advice to you is this: next time you hear that dreaded whine in your ear, skip the eight-step MCP and go straight for the psychological warfare.

You're welcome.

Alastair

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I would like to apologise for my radio silence. You may imagine I've been up to something revolutionary and earth-shattering – like inventing a cure for stupidity (I briefly considered Wine Gums, but suspected they'd only make things worse!). Alas, the truth is far less spectacular.

Brace yourself: I’ve been busy writing an unusually serious article. And just to manage expectations, by "serious", I don't mean something peer-reviewed. Frankly, it wasn't even self-reviewed. But it was serious enough that I had to clear my schedule of meetings, social events and anything that got in the way of deep thought. Like this gathering:

So, what was my serious article about? Well, as you may have gleaned from the title of this less-than-serious piece, it was about AI and human creativity. You can find it here, in the unlikely event that you have nothing better to do (like negotiating a truce with your smart speaker or varnishing your bamboo toothbrush).

If you need further persuasion, I can promise you that it contains a piece of [bad] art that I painted. Less National Gallery, more National Disgrace.

I find AI a complex subject to get one's human head around, quite frankly. That’s because it stands to impact so many areas of modern life and the direction we're heading as a society. Much like oat milk, if you're not using it already, someone will soon force it upon you. I use it myself for brainstorming new product ideas. (That's AI, not oat milk – although both are made from stuff no one fully understands.)

The board game concept below is one such example of an Alastair-plus-AI collaboration. I had the idea, and AI created the artwork.

Yes, that's right – you too can turn bedtime tears into early retirement. And, at the same time, teach your kids financial literacy. It's literally the definition of a win-win, and I'm fully expecting that phone call (you heard me, Hasbro!).

So, what else do I use AI for? Well, it helps me improve my grammar and check my articles for spelling and typos. There is, after all, a very fine line between stepping out of the house wearing a three-piece suit and stepping out as a three-piece suite...

It looks surprisingly comfortable, though, doesn't it? And that fabric really exudes 'casual summer' vibes.

Loungewear aside, it’s nice to have fun with AI tools and use them to enhance our creativity (the board game is genius, though, right?). But beneath the novelty, there are serious warnings – from the very people who created it and from organisations like the Center for AI Safety.

And then there are the people building it, shaping it and supposedly regulating it. Perhaps we could start feeling more relaxed about a future involving AI if the companies controlling it weren't funded by venture capitalists and owned by megalomaniacs with a God complex. It's like putting Hannibal Lecter in charge of a wine-paired tasting menu. Memorable, yes. Enjoyable, less so. 🍷

So will AI save us? Destroy us? Or simply shift our fashion toward a more beige, upholstered style? Who knows. One thing's for sure, though: we're all strapped into this slightly wobbly rollercoaster together, and there's no getting off it.

So, for now, I suggest we just remain calm. Carry on. And follow the wise motto of the Paranoid Society: Trust no one. Especially the toaster.

See you soon. First Class, obviously. 👋

Alastair

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- Is this article going to be funny?

- Is oat milk a viable long-term alternative?

- Why am I writing this while standing on a ladder? 🪜

Unlikely. Maybe. It seemed like a fun idea at the time.

The world offers us few answers — but it does offer surveys. FAR TOO MANY SURVEYS!

These days, you can’t even buy a takeaway sandwich without being asked to rate your emotional experience.

Surveys have become like a Colin the Caterpillar cake 🐛 - omnipresent, overly cheerful, and wheeled out for every occasion.

Taking matters into my own hands

As with most things that annoy me, I took it upon myself to highlight the ridiculousness of the survey situation by enthusiastically getting involved. Jumping on the bandwagon. Riding the metaphorical wave of passive-aggressive market research. Climbing on the ladder of... ENOUGH ladders already!

I figured I’d start things light. So, my first foray into the surveying world was via a simple poll in the WhatsApp group at my co-working office...

A pretty conclusive result, if you ask me. Although I may just be clutching at straws. 🤔

With this successful first attempt behind me, I began to feel an increased level of confidence. Naturally, the next logical step was to create a proper survey. One with important questions that need answering. I got to work. And then, I released it into the wild at work...

A frankly baffling number of people filled out my survey. And five spectacular drawings of horses were contributed. Like this little fella!

He’s quite something, isn’t he? Although I think it’s fair to say you wouldn’t be backing him in the 3.15 at Cheltenham.

While I was pleased with the standard of horses drawn (I’m easily pleased), I felt an undeniable urge to find out which was the best one. The pinnacle of greatness. The supreme being. The horse with the secret sauce. And the way to do that was, as you might expect, very clear to me...

Voter response was unprecedented (for a horse-based ballot) - people were chomping at the Bic to vote. 🖊️ And, naturally, the result was as clear as bin juice. So, with a starring role in a West End show and a 12ft bronze statue of Celine Dion on the line, I took appropriate and decisive action to crown the winner...

Was all of this entirely pointless? Absolutely. Am I happy about that? Absolutely.

Frankly, I think this process serves as a metaphor for the ridiculousness of modern feedback culture.

Now, will someone PLEASE get me off this ladder! 🪜

Alastair

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Famed scholar and champion of tight trousers Freddie Mercury once proclaimed, “Friends will be friends.” Profound. Deeply philosophical.

Yet, following a recent incident, I find myself questioning my appreciation of friends.

You know that thing where you have a favourite song, and then a friend murders it in front of you and ruins it forever? 🎤

Yeah, that.

I used to love the National Anthem.

(and screw him for winning that gold medal!)

Defining friendship

When it comes to quotes about friendship from people without a magnificent moustache, someone named ‘Anonymous’ (stupid name if you ask me) once remarked:

"Friends come and go like the waves of the ocean, but the true ones stay like an octopus on your face." 🐙

Sounds a bit clingy. And you’d attract some strange looks going out for coffee.

On the subject of meeting up with friends, a few weeks ago I invited an old school mate to a fancy restaurant for a catch-up lunch. Now, I’m not saying he’s become obscenely posh and loaded, but he asked if ‘fully accessible’ meant it had a helipad.😲

I mean, really? The clue’s in the name — Subway.

Needless to say, we don’t speak anymore.

He was killed in a tragic helicopter accident.

“Who wants to live forever?” 🎶

Friendship: a numbers game

Anyway, onwards and upwards... 🚁

My therapist recently asked me how many close friends I have, and I replied that I can confidently count them on the fingers of one foot.

“How many should I have?” is a question I didn’t ask — but I’ll pretend I did, just to segue into some facts that I’ve spent 43 seconds researching...

Studies suggest that we, as humans, have an average of three to five close friends at any one time, with 10 to 15 general friends and the rest falling into the realm of casual acquaintances. This number can stretch all the way up to about 150, a concept known as Dunbar’s Number.

Anthropologist Robin Dunbar claimed that 150 is the maximum number of stable relationships a person can maintain.

Just remember: go one over 150, and the universe automatically assigns you a random mortal enemy to balance things out.

“Too much love will kill you...” 🎶

If all this sounds a bit tricky to keep track of, I have a suggestion for you: start a spreadsheet. Complete with league tables, promotion and relegation.

I’m not saying I’ve done this, but if you haven’t heard from me in a while, consider yourself in League Two. 📉

Friendship: A user’s guide

Whilst writing this article, I’ve found myself reflecting on the unspoken rules of friendship. What is it that makes a friend? I decided to carry out a rigorous survey of 2.37 people to find out, and here’s what they said:

• Trust and confidentiality

• Supporting each other in both good times and bad

• Forgiveness and understanding

• Being able to pivot furniture up a staircase (it’s NOT about the TV show!!)

• Encouraging others to be their true selves

The last one on that list really resonates with me. Just the other day a close friend said to me, “Alastair, stop pretending to be something you’re not!”

To which I replied, “That’s no way to speak to the Dalai Lama!”

Looking closer at our list of unspoken rules of friendship, I think there’s one glaring omission — it mentions nothing about recognising each other’s boundaries. For example, knowing when it’s appropriate to make jokes — and when it’s definitely not. Take this recent exchange I had:

Conversation with a friend at work

Him: "I had to let a member of staff go today."

Me: "Oh... did somebody pay the ransom?"

Him: 😐

We're not friends anymore.

Kidnappers always get their comeuppance.

"And another one gone, and another one gone..." 🎶

Final thoughts

So, what have we learned from today’s article? Well, as usual, very little. But if there’s one thing that’s clear, it’s that we all need good friends because they make life worth living. It’s as plain as the octopus on your face! 🐙

Alastair

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Last weekend, I spent roughly 3.27 seconds mulling this over before deciding to diarise my daily highlights. And so, in the spirit of oversharing, here they are...

Monday

Brainstormed the idea of creating a footwear brand for obnoxious people with ill-fitting shoes: Insoles for Arseholes. Started a list of potential customers.

On the way home, glanced at Google Maps on the car display and saw a label for 'Hitler’s Rest.' Questioned my entire education. Considered the impact on house prices. Turns out it was Hiker’s Rest. Crisis averted.

Tuesday

Watched an hour-long programme about how to win at board games. Now armed with strategies to wipe the floor with my opponents at Monopoly. Haven’t played Monopoly since before social media, when people had common sense and my best friend was a Furby (he was a great listener). But hey, knowledge is power! 💪

Wednesday

Started writing a story about a female clairvoyant detective. Couldn’t decide whether to make her serious or jovial. Went for the happy medium.

Later, read a book with my young daughter about how to draw a cat. Had a go myself…

He looks like he’s been run over (although, he seems quite happy about it).

Thursday

Tried a guided meditation podcast in the morning. Felt really relaxed. Decided to see if I could spread the relaxation throughout the day by talking to my co-workers reeeaally slooowly. Got a few strange looks. One person asked if I was having a stroke.

Later, had a brilliant idea but no time to flesh it out. So, I just scribbled something down on the back of an envelope.

Friday

Thought about adding 'fully compostable' to my social media profile (I like to be up with trends). Wondered if it's too soon to let the world know I’m biodegradable, or whether to hold off until I’m certified organic.

Later, sent a friendly end-of-week WhatsApp message to my workplace colleagues. 👇

Saturday

Considered the idea of writing a puff piece for my blog. Then realised I don’t know what a puff piece is. Figured it had something to do with asthma.

Sunday

Felt inspired by my artistic brilliance from earlier in the week. Began work on a groundbreaking new invention. 👇

(drawing this made me hungry)

And that’s my week wrapped up: a surprisingly productive one, by all accounts. And, I think I’ve made some new work friends. 👍

Alastair

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At this time of year, it’s tradition for me to look back on my predictions from the previous January and boldly forecast the next twelve months. That’s right. Today, it’s time for me to don my mystical hat, ready my crystal ball and become my alter ego: Claire Voyans.

You may be wondering why I do this. Allow me to explain.

A few years ago, David Bowie appeared to me in a dream. “Bill,” he said (not sure why he called me that, but it felt profound), “the stars have whispered your name, and they've revealed your rare gift for glimpsing the future. Go forth and share it with the world.”

And so, every year, I peer nonchalantly into the cosmic unknown to make my predictions for the following year.

*Begin mildly otherworldly mood music (an enthusiastic harp flourish, followed by an unwelcome sneeze)*

Before we gaze forward to 2025, let’s revisit 2024 and marvel at the accuracy of the predictions I made last January…

I can tell you’re impressed. If you’re wondering how I achieve this level of accuracy, the answer lies in these three things:

1. My mystical hat (an old colander, stained with the remnants of last night’s pasta).

2. A connection to the great beyond (usually through Wi-Fi).

3. A stash of magical Jammy Dodgers.

Looking back at 2024, it was quite a year for me. I organised a speed awareness course and Christmas wreath-making class at my workplace, announced plans for an inconvenience store, and even brainstormed some revolutionary new products, including a new range of milk…

I’m still waiting to hear back from supermarkets about this one. With Christmas now over, I’m confident I’m at the top of their calling list.

But, that all seems very last year. You’re no doubt wondering what’s going to happen in 2025. Well, wonder no longer. Here are my predictions…

And there you have it. You know what’s coming for 2025, so you can prepare yourself accordingly. Personally, I’m heading off to hide somewhere safe: probably inside a reinforced biscuit tin with a roll of bubble wrap and a trowel.

Wishing you a very happy and healthy 2025.

Until next time,

Claire Alastair 👋

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To me, nothing says Christmas quite like a wreath. Well, except for this hat…

It’s quite something, isn't it?

Wreath-making seems to be enjoying a resurgence of late. The decorative guardian of the front door has reclaimed its place as a cherished festive tradition, alongside Elf on the Shelf, bad Christmas cracker jokes, and indigestion.

Being the festive joy-bringer that I am - and inspired by the roaring success of my Speed Awareness Course - I recently decided to organise a wreath-making class at my co-working space. Naturally, I couldn’t resist putting together a poster to spread the word…

I know what you’re thinking - you wish you had a course like this at your workplace.

Well, here’s my suggestion for you: kick off the new year with a class of your own. Wreaths, in my opinion, should be a bit like dogs: not just for Christmas. I say we make them for all occasions. Birthday? Create a wreath. Housewarming? Create a wreath. Funeral? Don’t be so bloody insensitive…

Merry Christmas. I’m off to buy a festive hat!

Alastair

P.S.: If you enjoyed this article (or just feel pity), give it a like. ;)

Fourteen is also the number of attempts it takes me to iron a shirt to end up with fewer creases than it started with. So, there's a lot going for that number.

I wish I could thank each of you individually for helping me reach my triumphant landmark, but that would take me all minute. So, instead, I’ll light a ceremonial candle and make an overly dramatic bow of gratitude.

As you can imagine, now that I've reached the elite level of mid-teens, I'm feeling very positive. In fact, I haven’t felt this level of pride since I passed my primary school Cycling Proficiency Test.

I remember the occasion well. Battling through driving rain, I overcame the challenging conditions and became the only child that day to fully complete the test and receive a certificate. (That may have something to do with the fact that every other child had passed the first time: a week earlier, in the sunshine)

Certificates aside (or rather, proudly displayed above my fireplace 🚲), with my meteoric rise in popularity, this seems a good time to take the obvious next step.

So, here we go. Drum roll, please. 🥁

I’m launching an OnlyFans…

Although it sounds enticing, be warned that it may give you wind.

But hey, every OnlyFans journey starts somewhere, right?

Believe me when I tell you that I have big aspirations for Chasing a Noodle, so I'm not about to rest on my laurels with 0.00000017% of the world’s population as a subscriber base. That’s why I’ve fully committed to reaching the mighty heights of 20 subscribers by October 2036: a figure Henry XIII would have deemed ambitious, but achievable with the right kind of lawyers.

I might offer some kind of free prize draw for reaching the big 2-0, with the winner receiving a year’s subscription to Sheep! Magazine or a tub of industrial-grade margarine. Food for thought, as it were.

Anyway, I’ve got to leave it there for today. Like a dog enthusiastically chewing on a toilet brush, what started as a fun idea has rapidly turned into 💩. My ceremonial candle is now burning out of control and has set fire to my pile of creased shirts. The fans aren’t exactly helping the situation, either. I need to rescue my cycling proficiency certificate before it’s reduced to ashes! 🔥

Until next time. 👋

Alastair

Now, we recently established that I like to be helpful: something agreed upon by 95% of those who don’t know me. In many ways, you can think of me as 2024’s answer to Clippy…

You may be wondering where this is going. Well, despite all the focus on speed awareness, I’ve never actually been on a speed awareness course myself. And neither, I suspect, have at least three of the other 425 people at my co-working space.

So, being the nice, helpful person I am, I decided to put together a Speed Awareness Course to help educate them. I created a poster, put it up in the kitchen, and waited for the throngs of people to sign up.

I think you’re going to be impressed…

Like Edward Scissorhands trying to navigate airport security, a few eyebrows were raised. Nonetheless, four brave souls (one who appears to be wearing nothing but an oversized tie and another holding some kind of metal detector) drew themselves and reserved their place on the bus.

I must admit, I’d hoped to spark a bit more FOMO with this, but it seems I triggered something closer to FOGI (Fear of Getting Involved).

Anyway, I feel pleased to have helped further educate our world. To those four people and to you, I say…

Until next time. 👋

Alastair

Answers:

1. Don't know. 🤷

2. Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee. 🪄

3. The British Scone Association.

4. 56.3%.

5. The Ford Cortina Mk4 1600E.

6. Haven’t a clue. 🤷

7. The Milkybar Kid. (the third one. Did you know there were ten?)

8. I think it’s either Baked Alaska or The Talking Clock.

9. The 1824 Anglo-Burmese War and the subsequent Treaty of Yandabo, which resulted in the cession of Burmese territory to the British East India Company and marked the beginning of British colonial rule in Burma.

10. Toast

11. The combined running time of all four series of The A-Team, including ad breaks.

12. Absolutely no idea. 🤷

13. She was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar.

14. 21 minutes past 6.

15. Could be a) or b), but definitely not c) because you can’t possibly fill a bathtub with that much Pick ‘n Mix…

… or, maybe you can? I don’t know.

Anyway, that’s the quiz sorted. You just need to work out the answers to the remaining 3 questions, and you’re all good. 👍

If you fax your answers through to 01 499 1234, you'll be entered into a prize draw to win a luxury teasmade and a year's supply of Angel Delight (flavours subject to availability).

You’re welcome!

Alastair

PS: June’s winner was apparently Alan from Exeter, who won a caravanning holiday in Great Yarmouth and a box of Finders Crispy Pancakes. So, it’s worth a go!

PPS: The Milkybars are on me!

After careful consideration, I have reluctantly decided to rule myself out of contention to be the next James Bond.

I know what you’re thinking: this is shocking news. I am, after all, more than qualified for the role. I’m renowned for my charm, sophistication, magnetic charisma and having the poise and awareness of a startled meerkat. I’m also unintentionally deadly with a pair of chopsticks and have an online degree in sellotaping (excluding double-sided tape). So, I can see why you might think I’m the ideal candidate.

Alas, however, this role is not for me. But, before you start a social media campaign and petition, let me explain the reasons behind my decision:

1. I’m not a fan of vodka martinis - unless they’ve been vigorously stirred (not shaken) and served with a tiny pink umbrella. 🍸

2. I have an allergy to horses… and milk! And it seems highly likely the next Bond film will feature an intense scene with Bond drinking milk on a horse.

3. I’m not a great risk-taker; I still struggle to live with the daily risk of being hit by a milk float.

4. I've never fired a pistol, let alone a Walther PPK. Although I did shoot my brother with a potato gun when I was 8.

5. I'm not great with high-tech gadgets. It took me 3 years to work out how to use the dishwasher.

6. A friend once compared me to a cheap air mattress because I don’t perform well under pressure and get easily deflated.

7. I struggle with remembering lines. Or, indeed, remembering anything. I have trouble memorising a three-item shopping list, where two of the items are ‘banana’. 🍌

8. Any stunt involving heights might be tricky. I'm not afraid of heights. I'm not even afraid of falling from heights. I'm afraid of hitting the ground after falling from heights.

9. My comic timing of one-liner puns is terrible. 🫤

10. Still, I’ll always strive to leave a lasting impression! (Sorry, this should have been at the end of number 8.)

Despite everything I’ve said, I can appreciate this news will come as a crushing disappointment for many, evoking levels of sorrow akin to when the Queen died, or when Liz Truss resigned. But, after an intense session of uncontrolled sobbing, I trust you’ll find a way to pick up the shattered pieces of your now-ruined year.

Alastair

Speed Towel-Drying 🚿

Fairly self-explanatory. Participants must dash out of the shower and dry themselves with a towel as quickly as possible. The fastest one wins, but time penalties are imposed for any water dripped on the floor. To add unpredictability and peril, a roulette wheel determines the size of their towel, ranging from a generous bath sheet to a minuscule face cloth.

Brie Eating

The rules are simple: the first competitor to consume an entire wheel of Brie without hurling wins. To aid their cheesy challenge, each contender is granted one 20-second timeout for an emergency cracker.

Fencing

Not the traditional sport with the pointy swords. Instead, participants have 15 minutes to put up a fence panel. Bonus points are awarded for creosote, but deductions apply for wobbly installations or complaints from fictional neighbours.

The Tug of Love ❤️

You can banish that dirty thought from your mind right now - it’s nothing to do with that!

Imagine a traditional tug of war, but with a twist: the two contenders love each other. The winner is the one who graciously loses, allowing the other person to win and proving that love conquers all. Aww! 💏

Synchronised Gargling

Teams of garglers perform elaborate routines set to music, creating bubbly melodies. Bonus points are awarded for executing complex choreography without choking on gargle backwash.

3,000 Metres Steeplechase

A twist on the traditional Olympic event in which athletes run around a track, navigating hurdles and water jumps. In this version, competitors have to run 3,000m while dressed as a church.

Paper Clips

I haven’t fully worked this one out yet. But, it will involve paper clips. 🖇️

Real-life Snakes and Ladders 🐍🪜

It's a travesty that this isn’t already an Olympic sport. Entrants attempt to climb ladders while avoiding venomous snakes. Execution points are awarded for avoiding death. What’s not to like?

Deliveroo

Nothing to do with the food-delivery company, of course.

For this event, participants must embark on a journey to deliver a feisty kangaroo, a cockatoo and a post-festival portaloo to a far-off location as quickly as possible and without incident.

Competitive Napping

A proper spectator sport. Competitors are judged on their ability to fall asleep in unusual positions. Style points are awarded for snoring harmony and dribble control.

and finally…

Freestyle Gift Wrapping 🎁

We all know someone who’s good at gift wrapping, right? I certainly do (it’s not me!). In this event, participants are tasked with wrapping a series of tricky objects, including a bowl of soup, a live octopus, and the Taj Mahal.

I think we can all agree that these events would greatly enhance the excitement of the Olympics, and I recommend that the International Olympic Committee introduce them forthwith.

Alastair

What’s in store?

Not a lot, so temper your expectations. Should you make the Herculean effort required to get to my store, and by some miracle find it open (highly unlikely), here’s what you will find:

Milk — Forget picking up a 2-litre bottle of semi-skimmed; we’re back to basics. Expect to find our lovable cow, Bessie, whom you’ll need to milk by hand. Don’t worry, we provide child-sized plastic gloves to help with the task!

Bread — If you want a loaf of bread, you’ll find it in the oven. So, you’ll need to wait 20 minutes before fetching it out with a pair of unwieldy salad tongs. As for baguettes, they’re available, but only if you can defeat our eccentric baker, Pierre, in a one-on-one baguette duel. En-garde!

Cereals — Good news: our store has a cereal section. Bad news: the section is just a giant crate of cornflakes, and you’ll need to pick up each flake by hand using a pair of chopsticks.

Eggs — Every good convenience store must have a range of eggs. And, that’s why we don’t have any. If you want eggs, you’ll need to buy a chicken from the farm down the road and BE PATIENT.

Frozen foods — All frozen foods are encased in large blocks of ice. You’ll need to use ski gloves, ice picks, and chisels to free the items you want. Make sure you bring those tools with you, as we don’t provide them.

Fruit — Our inconvenience store stocks a wide variety of fresh fruit - if you like watermelons. We’re currently offering an incredible deal: buy 19 watermelons, get the 20th free!

Free From — We boast an extensive free-from produce section. By that, we mean it’s a section free from produce (just an empty shelf).

Milkshakes — Our store offers a range of FRESH milkshakes. There’s a bit of a process involved, however. You’ll need to coax Bessie (introduced above) onto our malfunctioning massage chair. As it vibrates and shakes wildly, you can start milking. Moo-velous!

Alcohol — Although we don’t stock any alcohol (why would we?), we are proud to have an in-store whine merchant. His name is Harold, a perpetually tipsy, embittered old man who spends his days complaining about ‘woke culture’.

The purchase experience

Naturally, we have only one checkout in our store, with a conveyor belt that’s slower than an arthritic tortoise. Leading our checkout team is Maureen, a self-proclaimed ‘semi-amateur’ psychic who likes to make snap judgments based on shoppers’ baskets, often broadcasting them over the tannoy to impress her imaginary friends.

Every now and then, to keep checkout customers on their toes, Duty Manager Tony will showcase his tenpin bowling skills by hurling one of our fresh watermelons down the conveyor belt. If he manages to knock all your shopping off the belt (strike!), you’ll be rewarded with a whopping 0.3% discount on your bill. Bonus points if you catch the watermelon without breaking a finger!

When it comes to paying, please note that payments are only accepted in cash, either in Japanese Yen or Mongolian Tögrög.

As you prepare to pack your shopping, it’s important to remember that plastic or paper ‘single-use’ shopping bags are not provided at our store. However, we do offer an exclusive range of ‘Bags For Death’ at the checkout. Simply exchange one for your soul, and then use it as much as you can before your imminent demise. Death is, after all, the ultimate inconvenience.

If you don’t enjoy your shopping experience, ‘Tenpin Tony’ will be on hand with a 154-page feedback form for you to fill out. Note that all completed feedback forms will be fed straight into our shredder without being reviewed, and then ceremonially fed to Bessie. This is in accordance with the ‘Inconsequential Feedback Disposal Act’ of 1653.

Thank you for considering a visit. I apologise in advance for any convenience.

Alastair

If you enjoyed this article (or feel an overwhelming sense of pity), I would feel smugly validated if you would consider giving it a like and sharing it with a colleague, friend, or sworn adversary.

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Today, though, I want to give you an entirely different choice. Before I do that, let me tell you a story, as I take you back two and a half decades…

The year was 1998. I was working my first full-time job on the telephone help desk of an accounting software company. Calls arrived quickly, and support staff like me were required to take customers’ details and solve their problems in a timely manner.

Looking back on my time there, one particular call stands out amongst all the others. Here's how it began:

• Me: Good morning. Can I please take your customer number?

• Caller: Sure, it's XYZ.

• Me: Thanks. Let me bring up your details...

At this point, the computer returned the customer's name and address information. And, at the very top, listed as his surname in all capitals, was...

‘DEATH’.

I sat bolt upright in my seat. Was this a sign that the Grim Reaper was here for me?

Trying to hold it together, and eager not to offend the man by pronouncing his name the OBVIOUS way, I took a deep breath and threw the gauntlet back at him: “Can I take your name, please?”

“De - Ath”, was the reply.

Ah yes, of course. He pronounced it “De-Ath”, not “DEATH”. We’d just entered an episode of Keeping Up Appearances with Hyacinth 'Bucket'.

Now, there were many questions I could have asked at this point:

• Do you ever get strange looks when booking flights or hotel rooms?

• What’s your favourite Queen hit - 'Another One Bites the Dust' or ‘Who Wants to Live Forever’?

• If you sit next to a bar of Dairy Milk, is it Death by Chocolate?

• Do you always like to have the final word?

Sadly, I wasn’t quick-thinking enough to come up with any of these responses. Instead, I remained entirely professional and helped him to fix his computer. And, for the rest of the call, I was super careful not to mispronounce his surname (just in case he was the Grim Reaper after all).

Coming back to the present

Bringing you back to 2024. Last week, I was sitting in a cafe sipping an oat milk latte (I’m allergic to cow’s milk - don’t judge me!). As I enjoyed my drink, someone was introduced on the radio with a surname that immediately caught my attention: 'Bland.' The name struck me as similarly unfortunate, albeit in a completely different way. Being reminded of the 1998 phone call, I started wondering - would I rather be named Death or Bland?

As you can imagine, with a slightly obsessive mind, I've given this question way too much thought. To begin with, I tried to imagine them as Mr Men characters.

If Mr. Bland looks a bit like this…

Then, Mr. Death should surely look like this…

I know what you’re thinking - little kids would love this book! I really don’t know why it hasn’t been produced. Here’s a possible first-page draft courtesy of AI:

In the shadowy depths of Gloomsville, where sunlight dared not venture and laughter had long since departed, lived Mr. Death. His pale, skeletal fingers clutched his scythe with a chilling grip as he glided silently through the fog. One dreary afternoon, he arrived at the bright yellow house of Mr. Happy, the town's only beacon of cheer. With a sinister grin, Mr. Death knocked on the door, the sound echoing like the toll of a funeral bell. Mr. Happy opened the door, his perpetual smile fading as the cold, hollow eyes of Mr. Death met his gaze. "Good day, Mr. Happy," whispered Mr. Death, his voice dry and threatening. "It's time to carve that smile off your face."

My verdict

After mulling it over for some [too much] considerable time, I've come to a conclusion. I'd rather be called Mr. Death. Why? Well, it's a topic of conversation - an ice breaker - it's easy to laugh about being Mr. Death. In fact, combined with a dark sense of humour, it's gold dust for cold-call situations:

• Cold caller: "Hi, I'm Alex from O2. What's your name?"

• Me: "Death. Should I add you to my list?…"

*END OF CALL*

The death knell

We can take this fun a step further. If I were Mr. Death, I can imagine this obvious question coming up:

So, how do you want to leave this world, Mr. Death?

Well, thank you for asking so politely, and I do have an answer. When it comes to exiting this world, I'm a big fan of the quick and unexpected. So, naturally, my perfect departure would involve being run over by a milk float. Why? Well, I could then have this inscribed on my gravestone:

"Here lies Alastair Death. He was allergic to milk."

I’d set a standard for dairy-based humour!

Bland

I’ve made the case for Death - it makes life so interesting! Let's contrast it and imagine you're Mr/Mrs. Bland. Where do you take that? It's like you must instantly make yourself more interesting to compensate for the big beige elephant in the room. It doesn't have the shock factor of DEATH; it's just bland!

So, that's my opinion. It’s Death for me, just not literally. What's your choice - Death or Bland?

Alastair

Think of the Olympic marathon, and you’ll imagine one of the showpiece events of the Olympics. It’s a true test of endurance and stamina against the world's best athletes, who have dedicated themselves to rigorous training routines to prepare for the competition.

In addition, course planning requires significant time, effort, and organisation to ensure it challenges the athletes, showcases the host city, and prioritises the safety and well-being of participants.

Why am I mentioning all this? Well, in 1904, things were… somewhat different.

The St. Louis marathon took place in sweltering afternoon heat over an unpaved, 26-mile dusty course encompassing seven hills, some of them hundreds of feet high.

To make the race more of a test of stamina, the organisers arranged only one water stop - a roadside well situated 12 miles into the race!

Thirty-two athletes took their places at the start line. Let’s look at some of the “highlights”…

The Race

Conditions from the very start were brutal, with many athletes succumbing to extreme heat fatigue, dehydration and dusty conditions throughout the race. American William Garcia was among the first, having inhaled so much dust while running that he suffered a near-fatal stomach haemorrhage.

Len Tau from South Africa was one of the first black Africans to compete in the modern Olympic Games. He started the race well and was looking good for a high-place finish. However, a pack of wild dogs somehow found its way onto the course, chasing him a mile off track. He finished ninth.

Cuban postman Félix Carvajal had entered the marathon at the last minute, having lost all his money on a dice game a few days before. He arrived at the start line dressed in a white shirt, long trousers, and walking shoes—less the clothing of an athlete, and more the attire of someone heading to a job interview. Mercifully, another athlete cut his trousers into shorts for him, and off he went.

Carvajal started his race steadily and was plodding along well until hunger got the better of him. Having not eaten for over 40 hours, he stopped at an orchard to feast on some apples, which turned out to be rotten. Suffering from stomach cramps, Carvajal took a long nap by the side of the road. He ended up finishing fourth.

As the race progressed, an ever-increasing number of competitors began dropping out due to extreme fatigue, dehydration and sickness.

When one of the race favourites, Thomas Hicks, found himself struggling seven miles from the finish, his support team gave him an unusual stimulant booster to aid him. A cocktail of strychnine (a pesticide and rat poison), mixed with egg whites and brandy. He completed his last few miles hallucinating and barely able to walk.

Who won?

The first competitor to enter the stadium and cross the finishing line was American Fred Lorz, who reached the finish in just under three hours. However, all was not as it first seemed.

It transpired that Lorz actually dropped out of the race after 9 miles and hitched a ride to the finish line on the back of a truck. The vehicle broke down before the finish, so he re-entered the race and jogged across the line, taking the applause, before being disqualified.

The 1904 marathon ended up being so brutal that only 14 of 32 entrants completed the course. And the winner? Thomas Hicks - the man who drank the rat poison cocktail. Still hallucinating and barely able to move, he was carried across the line by his support team after a gruelling 3 hours, 28 minutes, and 53 seconds.

Life is a marathon

When I first read the story of the 1904 Olympic marathon, I found it both extraordinary and funny at the same time. We can obviously look back and say that the planning for the event was terrible and invited problems (slight understatement). But, for me, the different characters of the people really stand out.

I love the character of Félix Carvajal, who turned up at the start line dressed in a shirt and trousers, and who paused throughout the race to chat with spectators. You really get the impression he was just enjoying being there. And, who knows, if it wasn't for a rotten apple, he might have won the race and written himself further into Olympic folklore with the ultimate underdog achievement.

It has often been said that life is a marathon and not a sprint. I think the unusual story of the 1904 Olympic marathon serves as a good metaphor in this regard: Things often don't go how we plan them to, and we sometimes have to adapt to a changing situation.

Alastair

1. The 1904 Olympic Marathon May Have Been the Strangest Ever

2. The Games – A Global History of the Olympics

3. Athletics at the 1904 Summer Olympics (Wikipedia)