2212: The Stat Connection

“Go to your Stats page and check your top 3-5 posts. Why do you think they’ve been successful? Find the connection between them, and write about it.”

Daily Post, February 9, 2016

All right. Let’s have a look, then. Since we’re not that far into 2016 and WordPress doesn’t appear to have an “all time” function to search top posts, I’ll provide the top five posts (excluding the homepage, which makes up the majority of pageviews but doesn’t tell me much) for both 2016 so far and 2015. In other words, these are posts that people saw the title of (probably on social media or via a search engine) and directly clicked through to, rather than simply checking my front page each day.

Here’s 2016 so far:

And here’s 2015:

All right. So let’s get analysing.

Since I write about a wide variety of topics on this blog — regular readers will know that it’s my personal outlet for venting about whatever is on my mind on any given day rather than any attempt to provide a coherent editorial experience — it’s perhaps not surprising that not all of the entries in these two lists have something in common, but there are a few common themes along the way.

How to Do Stuff

Let’s look at 2016, first. Both How to Win at Omega Quintet and Helping your Squad in Xenoblade X were written in 2015 (indicated by them not having the orange bar next to them), yet have remained consistently popular since I wrote them. The reason for this is that they are instructional content: guides for video games. Instructions or guides are consistent traffic magnets, regardless of the subject matter of your site, because one of the most common things people search the Internet for is how to do something. Video games sites often use guide content for current popular games to attract visitors to their site and guarantee a baseline of ad revenue, then cross their fingers that readers will click through to other, less “baity” content. It doesn’t always work like that, of course, which is why we’ve seen a rise in deliberately provocative “clickbait” content across the board, not just in games journalism.

Anyway. The reason that my guide content for both Omega Quintet and Xenoblade X proved popular is that these were both games that had a specific audience, but neither of them were “big” enough for a commercial site to want to devote time and column inches to them. In other words, those searching for help when playing Omega Quintet and/or Xenoblade X would be out of luck when searching the big video games sites, but a cursory Google search would doubtless throw up my posts here fairly early on — indeed, at the time of writing, my post on Omega Quintet appears sixth in my (admittedly personalised) Google search results, embarrassingly with a typo in the preview text which I have now corrected:

It’s for this reason that a couple of my other previous posts have proven popular over time: my post on How to Play Pocket Academy, for example, detailing the baffling and frankly illogical mechanics of Kairosoft’s mobile-based school sim, rode high in my rankings for quite some time. I tell you: if you want traffic, write posts that tell people how to do stuff, and preferably how to do stuff that mainstream sites haven’t covered.

The Power of Sharing

My most popular posts are always several orders of magnitude more popular than their nearest rivals, with perhaps the most impressive example being 2015’s An Open Letter to Paul Glass, Slimming World Consultant, Upper Shirley. This post was pretty far from my more regular subject matter on popular media, particularly video games, and yet it was my most popular individual post for 2015. Why? Because it had the absolute shit shared out of it.

Paul Glass was the consultant at our local Slimming World group when I first joined, and his enthusiasm and belief in the programme was and is a big part of why I’ve stuck with it and had so much success over the course of the last year — I’ve lost six stone in a year, hopefully with more still to come off. When he revealed that he would be leaving the group to spend more time with his family in far-off climes, I felt it important to express my feelings about what he had helped me accomplish in such a way that I could be clearly understood. I’m shy and socially anxious by nature, and at the time I wrote this I’m not sure how confident I would have felt saying all those words in person, but writing them down on paper is no big deal: I can “fire and forget” that way.

Something told me that I should probably share this post a little wider than just my Twitter followers, though, and so I decided to make one of my extremely irregular visits to Facebook to post a link to the letter on the Facebook group for the Slimming World group in question. That one simple action caused that one single post to absolutely explode in popularity, as it was shared by group members, Paul himself, and subsequently by other people I’d never met involved with Slimming World in various capacities, either as group members or staff.

You never can quite tell what the next big viral sensation is going to be, but there is one thing that all my popular posts do tend to have in common:

The Passion of the Post

It is, I feel, no coincidence that my most widely shared, most popular posts are those in which I feel most passionate about the things that I am writing about. I am a person who, I feel, can express their passion for something pretty clearly through my writing. And indeed, due to the aforementioned shyness and social anxiety mentioned above, I find writing to be the easiest means through which I can express that passion to an audience that can — hopefully — appreciate what I’m saying, or at least respect it.

2015’s most popular posts were all about passion, from my letter to Paul to Perhaps We Should Stop Insulting Fans of Japanese Games. Four out of the five posts above were about video games — four out of the five posts were pretty much about the same thing, in fact, which was critics’ regular dismissive and unfair treatment of both Japanese game developers and the fans of the games they make — but these posts all resonated deeply both with myself and with the circle of friends I’ve cultivated on social media, most of whom share the same interests as me.

Consequently, much as my letter to Paul got shared far and wide, so too did The Joyless Wankers of the Games Press (actually written the year before in response to an absolutely atrocious review of Fairy Fencer F on my former stomping grounds of USgamer), Some Thoughts for Critics (a response to Jim Sterling’s dreadful and ill-informed review of Senran Kagura 2), Hi Games Journalism, It’s Time We Had Another Chat (a response to Mike Diver’s equally dreadful and ill-informed review of Senran Kagura 2, a game which is a ton of fun but which proved to be a whipping boy for self-described “progressive” types on the grounds of the female characters’ big jiggly breasts) and the aforementioned Perhaps We Should Stop Insulting Fans of Japanese Games (a response to an extraordinarily narrow-minded editorial on USgamer by my former editor Jeremy Parish, and almost certainly the reason he has me blocked on Twitter). I saw these posts get shared and reshared, not only on Twitter, but also on Facebook and Reddit, the latter of which I don’t really use myself.

The things I had written had clearly got the strength of my feelings across, and other people felt like they could relate to them in some way — either agreeing or disagreeing — and this caused them to explode in popularity, at least in terms of numbers. The same, too, can be said for 2016’s Why It Would Be A Mistake to Not Localise Valkyrie Drive Bhikkuni, an impassioned plea for the progressive loudmouths not to stop Senran Kagura creator Kenichiro Takaki’s new game making it over to Western shores.

Bovril?

I’ll be honest, I have no idea why a post from 2013 about beef-and-yeast-extract black sticky substance Bovril is my third most popular post this year so far, but oddly enough this post has been consistently popular: it finished 2015 in sixth place, just after my various rants at the games journalism industry and also ranked sixth in 2014, but only managed 19th place in its original year of publication.

It’s not even a particularly exciting post: it simply describes what Bovril is and how I feel about it. It doesn’t even appear on the front page of Google results for Bovril. But I guess it meant something to someone somewhere. Perhaps not many people write about Bovril on the Internet, and my post offered a safe space for Bovril fans to convene and share in silent contemplation of salty beef drinks. Or perhaps it’s just one of those things that can’t quite be explained.

So what can we learn from this?

There are a few things you can probably see my most popular posts have in common. To my eye, these things are:

A clear, conversational title that makes it clear what the post is about — i.e. a simple subject line rather than a “title” that tries to be clever or funny
Passion for the subject — clear emotion, either positive or negative, is infectious and relatable
Scope for sharing — be it a topic that a lot of people feel strongly about, or something that is written in such a way that presents a strong argument in favour of or against something
Complete honesty — even at the expense of a few “bridges” if necessary
Instructions on how to do stuff — particularly if nowhere else has published instructions on how to do that stuff

Not all of my most popular posts have all of the above elements — although I do make a specific effort to apply the “complete honesty” element to everything I write — but these are, by far, the most common factors that all of my most popular posts have between them.

I hope that’s proved as enlightening for you as it has for me: it’s certainly given me some food for thought with regard to what to write about going forward from here, so I’d say both as a writing exercise and an analytical investigation, this post has been a great success.

Thanks, Daily Post!

1452: What Can You Use Bovril For?

bovril [Note: This was written last night, but for some reason didn’t publish. My apologies!]

Inspired by someone who found my blog today by searching for “what can you use Bovril for?” I proudly present to you the Definitive List of Things You Can Use Bovril For.

You can make it into a drink. This is supposedly its primary purpose. Essentially you put a dollop of it in a cup and add hot water. The result is a jet-black drink that is somewhat salty, and which is supposed to taste of beef but doesn’t really. I’m not really sure what it tastes of. It actually doesn’t really taste of Bovril any more, oddly, because I associate the taste of non-drink Bovril with being somewhat… pungent, for want of a better word; the kind of thing that feels like it’s stripping the lining of the roof of your mouth off. Bovril as a drink doesn’t have that effect, really; it just tastes of salt and disappointment.
You can put it in sandwiches. Growing up, this was a mainstay of my school lunchbox, but I genuinely don’t think I’ve had a Bovril sandwich since I was at school. If the idea of putting a thick, sticky, vaguely beef-flavoured salty black paste in a sandwich as its sole ingredient doesn’t sound massively appealing, you can also use it as a sort of condiment; cheese and Bovril works quite well, for example.
You can put it on toast. This is, for me, the second-most optimum use of Bovril, because toast’s relative solidity compared to regular bread ensures that the Bovril remains largely in its natural state and gives your toast a strong, vaguely spicy flavour that is not altogether unpleasant. In fact, it’s actually quite nice — but again, be careful with the quantities, since applying too much Bovril to your toast will cause your mouth to feel rather strange for the rest of the day. As a guideline, when looking at your toast, it shouldn’t be a solid mass of Bovril; it should instead be smeared across it relatively lightly.
You can put it on toast, then dip it in Heinz Cream of Tomato Soup. This is the absolute best use of Bovril, and the discovery of which is one of the very few good things I look back with fondness on from my relationship with an ex-girlfriend. It sounds like it should be disgusting, but trust me on this one; you absolutely won’t regret it. Unless, of course, you don’t like Bovril, in which case why are you reading this post anyway?
It makes a not very effective adhesive. In other words, you probably wouldn’t want to stick anything together using Bovril, but in the process of opening a jar that’s a few months old you will almost inevitably end up accidentally doing so — usually your fingers to each other, or the spoon to a wall, or your face to a cat. Wash hands thoroughly after preparing any sort of Bovril-based dish.
It makes a not very effective fake tan. Again, in the process of opening a jar that has been in your cupboard for perhaps a little longer than it should have — though trust me, unless you leave toast crumbs in it, a jar of Bovril will happily survive the apocalypse — you will almost certainly end up staining yourself with it. For fair-skinned individuals, a light smearing of Bovril over your entire body will equip you with the uneven tan typically sported by Britons returning from a holiday on the continent.
It makes for excellent scatological practical jokes. A light smearing of Bovril in the victim’s underpants — probably best to do while they aren’t wearing them — will make them look like they’ve shat themselves. Be sure to scoop out any excess Bovril before secreting your victim’s underpants back in the drawer, because seeing black sludge that has apparently emanated from their rectum will probably make them want to call the doctor rather than just throw the pants in the bin and/or washing machine.
Apparently if you hit Marmite repeatedly with a spoon it turns white. I don’t know if the same is true for Bovril, but if you are bored of an evening, the attempts to prove or disprove the theory may prove to be adequate entertainment if the television is showing nothing but reality shows.

I hope you have found this list helpful, mystery reader. Be sure to enjoy your Bovril safely and responsibly, and always remember your safe word.

1124: Bovril

(with apologies to Spaced.)

I actually intended to write this post yesterday, but instead became embroiled in the unpleasantness I describe in yesterday’s post. If you would like to read yesterday’s post, which you have probably noticed is password-protected now, please contact me via some other means than this website so I know who you are and I will happily furnish you with it assuming I am happy that I actually know who you are.

Regardless, here is a blog post about Bovril.

For those who are unaware — which is probably most of you who aren’t from the United Kingdom or the Antipodean lands — Bovril is a thick, sticky, black-brown substance that looks like you could probably use it to tar roads with. It comes in small, distinctively-shaped jars with red lids, and is sometimes grouped in the same category as Marmite, which comes in the same shape of jar but with a yellow lid. The key difference between Marmite and Bovril — which are fairly similar in many ways — is that Marmite is made of yeast extract, while Bovril is something to do with beef. (I’ve never asked exactly what to do with beef it is, as I figured given how little it seems to taste of beef, I’m probably better off not knowing.)

There is another key difference between Marmite and Bovril, however, and that is the fact that you can make Bovril into a drink. Yes indeed; plop a dollop of the black goop into a cup, add boiling water, stir until it turns as black as a moonless midnight sky and then enjoy a… weirdly salty, not particularly pleasant hot beverage that certainly doesn’t really taste of beef. (Besides, as I memorably once commented to my former housemate Claire — so memorably that she actually made a note of it, as I recall — “any drink that is beef is just wrong”.)

I actually don’t know whether or not it’s possible to make Marmite into a drink. I guess technically there’s no reason why it shouldn’t work, but if any drink that is beef is just wrong then surely any drink that is yeast is just even wronger. Except for various alcoholic beverages. Although those tend not to be made of nothing but yeast. Anyway, fuck Marmite. (Not literally.)

You know what is a far better use of Bovril than turning it into a weirdly salty, not particularly pleasant hot beverage that certainly doesn’t really taste of beef? Spreading it lavishly on toast. That way you end up with toast that would stick to a wall if you threw it at a wall (but then you wouldn’t be able to eat it), and which tastes of something weirdly salty, peculiarly spicy and not at all beefy. It’s worth noting at this juncture that amateurs should take care when spreading Bovril on toast because the application of too much Bovril to a single slice of toast when inadequately prepared will lead to that curious feeling where you feel like you don’t have a roof on your mouth any more. Once you eat it, obviously. Just spreading too much Bovril onto a piece of toast doesn’t magically strip off the roof of your mouth. That’d be weird.

You know what is an even better use of Bovril than turning it into a weirdly salty, not particularly pleasant hot beverage that certainly doesn’t taste of beef, or spreading it lavishly on toast and ending up with something that tastes weirdly salty, peculiarly spicy and not at all beefy that would stick to a wall if you threw it at a wall (but then you wouldn’t be able to eat it)? Spreading it lavishly on toast and then dipping said black goo-encrusted toast into a piping hot bowl of Heinz cream of tomato soup. (It has to be Heinz, otherwise the magic doesn’t work.) What you end up with is a piece of toast that tastes weirdly salty, peculiarly spicy and not at all beefy covered in tomato soup, which makes everything involved in that equation taste approximately 4,000% better through reasons only known to the Food Wizards.

So anyway. That’s Bovril. It’s weird but sort of awesome, but like Marmite, you will either, as they say, love it or hate it. Try the tomato soup thing before you declare your feelings one way or another, however.

#oneaday Day 566: The Top Arbitrary Number of Quintessentially British Foods

This post is largely aimed at my American readers out there — you know who you are. (Largely because you live in America.) I thought you might be interested to know an arbitrary number of the things that we have over here in Britainland that are considered edible. Some of them you may have come across before, some of them you may not. So without further ado, let us jump into the list.

Bovril

You’ve probably heard of Marmite, the thick, brown, goopy substance that supposedly you either love or hate. Well, its bastard sibling is Bovril, which rather than being made from “yeast extract”, whatever that is, is apparently made from beef. What you end up with is a thick black tar that supposedly tastes of beef but more accurately tastes “of black” and has a propensity to burn the roof of your mouth off if you have too much at once. It’s good on toast. It’s especially good on toast when dipped into Heinz tomato soup. You can also make it into a drink, which is inadvisable unless you like a mug full of black, salty, slightly beefy water.

Biscuits

What you know as “cookies”. You may have the awesomeness that are Chips Ahoy! but we have a wide selection of biscuits that are firmly ingrained into our culture. We have the bourbon cream, for example, which is two chocolatey biscuits with a layer of chocolatey creamy stuff in between and no actual Bourbon involved. We have the custard cream, which is like a bourbon only more square and vanilla-y. We have the jammie dodger, which is another two-layer biscuit with jam in the middle. And we have Rich Teas, which are rubbish until you dunk them into a hot beverage or squish melted marshmallows between them.

Fish and Chips

Plenty of places in the States sell fish and chips, but you haven’t had it the truly British way unless you follow several steps in the process. Firstly, get a portion of chips that is enough for at least three people and put it in some paper. Then smother it in enough salt to give a midget an immediate heart attack. Then drown it in vinegar. Then slap a large, greasy, wet battered fish on top of it. Then wrap it up into a neat little parcel and admire as the grease seeps through the paper. The key element of British fish and chips is the size of the portion. If you can finish a portion, the portion wasn’t big enough. There is also generally an inversely-proportional relationship between the price of a portion of chips and the amount they will give you. The cheaper the chips are at the chip shop, the bigger the portions will be.

Curry Sauce

Companion to the above, the slightly-lumpy brown-green-yellow curry sauce that is on offer in most chippies is the perfect companion to your carb overload. It may look like someone has just blown chunks over your bag of chips, but it’s a one-way ticket to spicy heaven.

Indian Takeaway

British takeaways are something else. You may have had a curry from your local Indian, but you haven’t had it properly until you’ve had it from a dodgy British takeaway — the kind of place that sells dishes like the entertainingly non-specific “meat curry”. Also, when a dish says it’s “hot”, it means it. A vindaloo will probably blow your head off. And having a drink won’t help.

Proper Chocolate

You have chocolate, sure. But you don’t have our chocolate, which is just better. From the immensely calorific Yorkie bars (which still somehow manage to get away with marketing themselves as “not for girls”) to the legendary Cadbury’s chocolate, we sure know how to do it properly.

HP Sauce

HP Sauce is the perfect condiment that goes with pretty much anything and even makes a good sandwich by itself. (On bread, obviously.) It has a taste that is impossible to describe except through the word “brown”. It tastes like brown sauce. Because it is brown sauce. Try it on bacon or sausage sandwiches for the perfect breakfast, or dribbled over baked beans to give them a pleasingly spicy kick.

I hope that’s educated you on British cuisine. Next time you pay us a visit, remember to give them a try.