Come on you, let’s get those things cleaned up…
It’s never anything less than a total pleasure to hear from an important member of the growing Interestment family, and today Oliver – usually our expert on silky cloth and colourful shoes – has turned his remarkable eye onto the world of toilets and hand dryers. He had this to say…
Most public toilets aren’t the nicest of places to hang around in for too long. Go in the wrong cubicle, have a gander through that hole in the wall or start talking and you’re likely to get arrested, propositioned, or – if you’re an ex lead singer of Wham! – both. In reverse order. But, the point is that we’re all only human and have to do poo poo’s and wee wee’s at fairly regular intervals, especially when indulging in a fine evening’s worth of weak lager and mama’s famous chicken curry. And here at Interestment we’re big fans of personal hygiene in all its many guises and always, always, wash our hands. Unless there’s no one looking.
The top four hand dryers look like this…
1. Dyson Airblade
The Rolls Royce of hand dryers. No touching required, just lower your hands into the scary looking gap and roughly 2.5 seconds later they’re as dry and happy as a camel with a erection. But be warned, this machine could chop an anorexic’s arms in two should they be foolish enough to lower their shriveled, malnourished limbs into it. A beast from the man who reinvented those vacuum hoover cleaner things. Great work James.
2. Individual White Fluffy Towels
Not often found in pub or restaurant toilets, and more likely to be handed out by unhappy servants in private members clubs, these are a sure sign of you being overcharged on whatever it is you’re drinking, and you’re probably surrounded by grotesque idiots. Recession – pah. Environment – no way. These guys have Panda milk on their Frosties, and simply love paying for sex. But, unbelievable bastards aside, a white fluffy towel does feel lovely and soft on your hands, like your mummy drying you off after swimming practice…mmm.
3. Dayton 5W630
Ahhh, the Dayton 630. Look at her. As robust a hand dryer as you could wish for. This is the shire horse of the wash room. No matter how hammered you are, that ON button is easy to hit. Whack it with an elbow, and off she goes. You can spin the nozzle round to give your hair a dry if you’ve had a very unexpected weeing accident, and it’ll even dry off those annoying dribbles on your chinos after too many bieres.
4. enMotion Electronic Towel Dispenser
Paper towels have moved on a long way from those scratchy green things that felt like sand paper on your silky soft hands. This bad boy, like the mighty Airblade, requires no human touch. Great for those with minimal fingers or hands. Just waft a limb in front and it automatically gives you a few sheets of deliciously dry paper. If only it could tear itself off, rub your hands in a nurturing fashion, pop to the bar, order some more brewskis and ask for the hot French barmaid’s number, we’d put it straight at number one. A valiant effort from a fine gal.
Like, literally loads…
Mind and body have always maintained an awkward relationship, with one keen to sit down and read, while the other wants to bounce around doing stuff. It’s tricky to find that middle ground. Hence why it’s rare that you’ll meet a body sculptor with much to say, or an English professor with a couple of growling pectorals threatening to burst through his sensible shirt. It’s pretty much one or the other. In this cruel financial downturn, however, body is beginning to take an upper hand, as withered businessmen fight to fend off the post-traumatic stress of getting fired by jogging in parks, or sitting on roadsides bench pressing old bricks or discarded Coke cans. They can’t afford to feed their minds, making for some strange, rather stupid, times. Times that are so weird and mean that we dance for joy whenever we hear about intellectual bargains. Just this weekend, a very high ranking member of the Interestment family stumbled upon an old charity shop flogging books for 10p each – and not just your rubbish Robbie Williams and Sharon Osbourne biogs either. These guys had Salinger, Bukowski, Hemingway, Rushdie, Amis, Oliver. All the good stuff. And thus, a bag was stuffed to the brim, and a doddering old lady behind the counter demanded “£1.40”. She was given £1.50 and told to keep the change.
Amazing sticking-it-to-the-recession! Take THAT body!
Made by people like this…
It’s a great day for the Interestment family, as Oliver – usually our expert on fine silks and wonderful cloths – has switched focus to the sexy world of advertising. He had this to say about his favourite television commercials…
In the words of the great and late Bill Hicks, “…if anyone here is in advertising or marketing… kill yourself.” A tad harsh, but he may have had a point. You only need to watch a few minutes of Mad Men to see that those advertising guys had a pretty sweet deal. Almost too sweet. The bastards. Smoking loads, whiskey in the office, lots of sensual kissy face with the ginger one. Then in the 80s, they all got nosebleeds.
Advertising has also given us some truly brilliant moments. Here’s a few of the finest…
1. Cadbury’s Flake
In the chocolatey section, this classic Flake advert from the 1980’s just nudges out that filthy cartoon bunny from the Cadbury’s Caramel ads, and there’s no room here for drumming Gorillas either. This has got the lot – a saxophone soundtrack, a sexy girl snogging a chocolate bar in a window, and a little lizard dude running across an unanswered telephone. I’ll bet it was just the neighbours phoning to tell her to turn that bloody Kenny G off.
Selling motors isn’t an easy job. Car makers are shutting down faster than a Porsche being driven by Iron Legs McGinty. But, their advertising has spawned some classics – from Paula Hamilton in a VW Golf, to that amazing Peugeot 405 ad with blazing fields and a wicked soundtrack. But the clear winner is Honda, whose Impossible Dream film is just plain blooming amazing. Not sure it makes me want to buy a car, but I really want to grow a moustache and ride in a speedboat. Peowww.
Grab a cluster of attractive sports stars, music faces, skater types and DJ legends, then stick them all in head to toe Adidas, have the kind of house party us mortals can only dream about and bung a sweet Frankie Valli remix over the top. I want to buy those trainers, I want to be at that party. Christ, I actually want to BE that pool. Bosh. Win.
4. Shake N Vac
Finally, if you want to avoid a stinky carpet – and who doesn’t? – just get some Shake ‘N’ Vac. No instructions required. The original does what it says on the tin brand. You shake it onto your carpet, then you vacuum your carpet. And if this is too complicated, get some crazy dancing woman in a pinny to show you how. By the way, that’s probably someone’s actual mum. It beggars belief.
Can you spot danger is this image?
Yeah, you went to the park at the weekend, of course you did. It was blazing. Yet, while the sun gives with one hand, it punches you in the face with the other, as parks are awash with an almighty cross section of society – from the sophisticated picnickers in one corner, gently gnawing on soft cheeses knocked back with fruity wines, to the young bikini-clad office workers, to the tattooed toddlers with shaved heads and footballs in the other. Oliver, usually our fashion expert, was sunning himself this Saturday, and he has made a few smart observations about the people he saw ruining the nation’s delicious outdoor parks. He had this to say…
Britain’s parks have become home to literally millions of eager sun worshippers. Big ones, small ones, pink ones and we even saw one wearing a thong the other day. The only problem is the swathes of park idiots that go with them. Here’s our top 4 of those to avoid sitting anywhere near when you’re out this summer…
1. Circus drop outs
Ahh, zany rastafarians, only white – these posh young gentlemen are easily identified by their dreadlocks, their thai-fishing trousers and that stinky unwashed smell which comes from weeks of lying on a wigwam floor listening to dub reggae. They feel that their amateur juggling, fire twirling and acrobatic dance skills should be shared with the rest of the park. They, unfortunately, are completely wrong about that.
Everyone likes music, that’s just a fact. Sometimes, most of us even sing in the shower. That, however, does not mean that the nation needs to hear some lantern-faced oik practising Columbian Tree Drum next to a few discarded cans of the strong stuff. And as for that guy on didgeridoo – someone should probably explain that the circular breathing is merely ridding his body of extremely important sex hormones? Unless you’re very good, or your name is Neil Young, you should probably shut the hell up.
Sport can be brilliant. It’s inspired things like cool trainers, sexy swimming shorts and balls of all different shapes and sizes. Balls are great. In fact, a good game of kick-ball or throwy-catchy can be a very pleasant way to pass the time. What we don’t need are your funny shaped rugby balls landing in our coleslaw during a lovers picnic. And please stop kicking your football in our godson’s tiny little baby face – he doesn’t seem to like it.
It’s called a leash and it’s very good at tethering and restraining your dog from biting people’s eyes out, pooing on picnic blankets and scaring the toilet parts out of everyone else but you. Leave the hound at home.
Oliver Twist… or Oli Twist?
Like nine tenths of the human race, we absolutely love abbreviations – or abbrevos – so when it comes to nice christian names, Samson becomes Sam, Thomas becomes Tom, Arlo becomes Arl. And yet, there are so many different variables, and we don’t always know which one is right. Today, Oliver H – not to be confused with plain old Oliver – explains how people should correctly abbreviate his name. He had this to say…
Abbrevos of Oliver, it’s something I’ve discussed long into the night with other Olivers – most of them called Olly, which they insist is the most phonetically accurate way of doing it. This, of course, is totally fair enough, although I do have an issue with men’s names ending in “-y”, as it sounds a bit diminutive. I think I started out as an Ollie – once the gold standard of shortened Olivers – before switching to Oli in my early teens because I saw it in a German textbook and thought it sounded kind of cool and European.
Now that I’m older I find it a little anemic, though, and insist on the full Oliver as much as possible.
Oliver it is then.
Fancy explaining YOUR name to us? Email [email protected]
That’s right, a serious fashion piece…
It’s never anything less than brilliant to hear from a member of the growing Interestment flock, and today Oliver – a tall man who specialises in fine cloth and outlandish shoes – thought it important that we learn a little bit about the iconic Frenchwoman, Coco Chanel. He had this to say…
With the imminent release of the biopic Coco Avant Chanel and Johnny France going totally Chanel-mental, we thought it high time we gave this angular fashion woman the attention she demands. Some might argue that she invented fashion. They may or may not be right. Either way, here’s four things that the crow-faced madam deemed fit to pass onto the great unwashed and downright smelly…
1. No 5
The first perfume to ever have a designer’s name slapped all over it, this was sprayed into public nostrils back in 1921, when hardly anyone had cars. Legend goes that it was the fifth bottle from ten when seeking out the perfect scent to mask the strange pong rising from The Seine, making Paris smell like a fisherman’s underpants. In the 1950s, Marilyn Monroe famously said that it was all she wore to bed, causing a massive worldwide erection epidemic.
2. The Chanel Suit
Some may argue that Chanel‘s Slutty Black Dress was her most generous gift to boyfriendless women, but I disagree. And before you try jabbing me in the face with your shiny high-heeled shoes, just look at the classic box jacket and knee length skirt suit. Go on. Look at it. Anyone from a demure old women with dusty hair, to a podgy little KFC oik would look amazing in this. You might even end up doing it with both of them.
3. The 2.55 Bag
The original and only true It bag in my humble opinion. Bored of carrying her bag and desperate to free up her oily hands, Coco designed the 2.55 – named after the date of its creation on February 1955 – and a legend was born. For those not in the know, it’s quite small and very portable. Like a giant’s wallet.
Yes, that’s right, pockets. Big bloody pockets. Ladies, next time you’re stood at a party where you don’t know anyone, you’ve given up smoking, you haven’t got a drink yet, and your hands are just flapping around at your side like eels in a fishing net, thank Ms Chanel for giving you somewhere to store your embarrassed limbs. She was obsessed by the little blighters. Back in the 30’s, her jackets caused near riots because of their conspicuous pockets. What one earth did women need pockets for? As it turns out – miniature Tampax.
This column is in no way sponsored by Chanel, but any freebies should be sent to Oliver c/o Mr Interestment at The Internet, London, UK.
Darling, can I borrow your flick knife?
We bloody love fashion people, with their strange haircuts, and their pink tights worn with completely straight faces. Unfortunately, keeping up with their curious flights of fancy is near impossible, so thank Christ for our Interestment fashion expert, Oliver, who today tells us a little bit about the jackets and trousers that we should be sporting this spring/summer/autumn/winter. He had this to say…
Fashionistas can now stop cutting themselves with rusty stanley knives and re-focus their self loathing onto the nearest pair of denim trousers – or jeans as they’re known in America. Yes, ripped jeans are back, so expect to hear loud tuts coming from befuddled old women as they catch sight of these strange youths with their torn up trousers and silly rap music. A number of gentlemanly testicles flopping from seriously misjudged rips will be reported over the summer. I guarantee it.
In other news, the proliferation of the original pointy shoulder Balmain jackets (below) has caught my attention. This is great for people looking for somewhere to hang their towels, but means sod all to anyone else. In my humble opinion, this will be about as short-lived and costly as a German tennis sex encounter. So avoid this ridiculousness, else spend the rest of your lives weeping into a pool of your own size zero bulimia vomit.
Until next time…
This man, children, is very hip…
We do everything we can to keep up with the fashion crowds. Just last week, we strode around a warehouse in a neckscarf humming songs by a band we’ve just made up called Slutty Joes – what? You haven’t heard of them? How humiliating. The point being, we don’t know what’s going on, that’s why we stay as close as possible to the people who do. Thankfully, yesterday, our most luxurious fashion contact – a dandy called Oliver – gave us a confusing tip-off about what the stylish circles are doing for kicks. “For some reason, lots of trendies are buying fixed-gear bicycles,” he whispered into our silky ears, “I don’t get it.” For those yet to be associated with tight underpants and enormous glasses, fixed-gear bikes are the ones that only move when you’re peddling, completely taking away the sheer elation of coasting down a hill at magnificent speeds. Only a true idiot would buy one. “Also,” continued Oliver, “smoking cigarettes seems to be hip again, now that people are used to standing outside in gangs.” And with that, he took a pipe from his pocket, tapped it with his Zippo, and wandered off down a cobbled street, playfully kicking a stone.
Bikes and smoking, you heard it here first. Or, like, seventh.
Another gigantic problem solved
It’s hard to know exactly what to do with gloves when you’re not wearing them. Women, it’s not so tricky for you, just pop them in your designer handbag. Gents, however, what do you do? Have them hanging from your back pocket like a whithered monkey hand trying to caress your bottom? Leave them on a table for robbers? The answer is: you do neither of those things. According to our great pal with a big brain for fashion, known by his glitzy moniker Oliver, the correct thing to do with gloves is to place them into your chest pocket, where they can wave gently at passers-by. It is, in his words, “the only gentlemanly way to do it.”
So now you know.