Schemes.

There comes a time of an evening, when men are drinking, and knocking about ideas, that one sounds good. Typical of this genre would be comments like:
"Dude, we should totally write a short film, that would rule!"
or:
"Yeah, we would make a fucking excellent band, like the white stripes...only...good, and y'know...fucking yeah!"

For the rest of that evening, you're in a band, or writing a film, so it's ok to tell girls with tongue piercings that while yeah, for the moment you work for the telephone company, it's all about the music.

This is all well and good. The women know we're making shit up half the time, that the 'novel' we're 'writing' is a beer stained A4 sheet with the words 'JFK - WW2 - the french resistance - a helicopter chase!!! - historical accuracy???' and a small map of France with a drawing of an apache helicopter. They get that our band only ever had one rehearsal, where we just played the one guitar and sang Africa by Toto.

The problem arises when these schemes surface the next day. When y'know...maybe we could be a good band. When you're sitting in work staring at a blank word document, trying to remember the incredibly witty opening line of dialogue you worked out the night before.

Ordinarily, this is about as far as they get. There's a handful of word documents, sales of guitar strings go up, open mic nights are looked up, but nothing really happens.

So here we have the provisionally titled Ford Capri. With articles for men who "No seriously man...because you know the way we're not all builders, no, cause it'll be really different from FHM and that...y'know it'll be...smart!"