NOTICE OF EVICTION

Hello chaps!

I've moved - but don't worry, you can find all the old stuff and some new tosh too by dashing over to http://jamsponge.tumblr.com/

It's new, it's sexy, and it's purple. Good times.

Day 46: Pizza Update

I was going to tell you all about the amazing pizza delivery takeaway just around the corner from my house, but I lack the focus to explain all the reasons why it's incredible.

I was going to take a photo of the delicious looking pizza I'd bought, but I forgot - and have eaten it all.

I was going to describe the toppings laid on the crispy base, but I can't remember what they were. My mouth feels like it's been attacked by chilli. Perhaps kidney beans were involved.

But i'm drunk, and I can't recall or manage to pull together any of the above.

Soon i'll explain all. My new plan - a blog philosophy to see me through, and keep this alive. But today, I'm drunk. I've no regrets - I left the office at 9pm, because I'm working on something that I think is fucking brilliant. I'll need your help on this too, so watch this space.

But good night - i'm off to watch Dexter and rub my stomach with glee.

Day 45: Red Vs. Blue

It must have been about a year ago that I actively stopped giving a shit about UK politics.

Why? Because it's clear that no-one's interested in actually doing stuff that's good - the only important aspects of any new policy seem to be the following:

- It makes our party look good.
- It makes their party look bad.
- There is minimal risk that it can be twisted to make us look bad.

Politicians are always banging on about making a difference, but painfully it's utter rubbish. It's all just about scoring more points than the other side, which means that publicly accepting the fact that the other party are good at anything just isn't on the cards. To clearly highlight just how fucking mental this actually is, I've done a nice little diagram:

I mean, these are fundamentally people we're supposed to be placing trust in to make the right decisions for the entire country, and yet look at them in fucking parliament, booing and cheering like a Saturday night quiz show audience split down the middle into two opposed teams for no reason. Except on Ant and Dec's TwatChat Quiz Master Challenge the teams are asked to perform awkward Mexican waves, rather than EFFECTIVELY GOVERN THE COUNTRY.

To be honest, I find it difficult to even justify the point in voting. Lib Dem are clearly the lesser of three evils, and yet they've been out of power for so long they'd probably be so nervous that they'd probably end up bumbling around in a slapstick manner, knocking over the treasury with a ladder. Besides, they'll never fucking get in. Most people at this stage can't resist the smug insinuation that there are probably fucking millions of people JUST LIKE ME sitting on the fence who have been keeping the Yellows out of their rightful throne for years.

But of course, the only genuinely important reason I can see to vote is to try and minimise the number of seats the BNP win by proportion. A worthwhile reason enough, certainly - but you have to admit, it's pretty fucking rubbish.

Day 44: FATIGUE

2010 is here, and it's hitting me like a ton of bricks. January? That was just a preamble. Looking at my work diary, it's not likely i'll have any free time until Christmas 2010, and not arriving home from work until 9:00 at night has already become a fairly regular occurance.

I'm not complaining about that though to be honest- as painful as it often is, I genuinely love my job. Today however my optimism has been shattered by the realisation that it is however going to utterly destroy my attempt to complete a year of #oneaday, sadly.

I'll keep it up for as long as I can, but unfortunately I just can't work out a way of reasonably accommodating it into my life. My work is utterly draining, and the minor amount of free time and energy I have remaining at the end of each day is going purely into writing this. I barely manage to balance my work and social life as it is, and writing every day is basically removing a huge chunk of the latter. I've barely even had a chance to play videogames since I started, which is an awful shame as it's basically my favourite thing to do.

I'll keep going for as long as I can, but realisations like this that make me genuinely very miserable. I'm naturally driven towards jobs where the work is remarkably hardcore, but at the same time I'm so very jealous of all the people who can be home by 6 every day, and get the luxury of being able to take functional brain home with them too.

The most frustrating thing of all, is that I really want to do this. It means a lot to me, and I love doing it. But I can't keep doing it through bleary eyes late at night, the full extent of my intelligence and creativity quota sapped by a day at the office. I'm an awful perfectionist, and it's not the fact that I have to write every day of the week that I find so upsetting, it's the fact that I know I'm rushing through most of what I write so I can squeeze in a life on the side.

Anyway, fuck this - i''m going to bed.

Day 43: MY SEX IS SO AMAZING (PART 2)

Click here to see part one.

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From: Davey C pimpin4guns@hotmail.co.uk

Date: Tue, 2 Feb 2010 21:49:41 +0000

To: masante86@gmail.com

Subject: Word up Show!

Hey man whas happenin? Blood where you gon on dat Twitter shit - was tryin find u but u gone man!!

My man DJ JamJahz made dis well bizting vid of yo new track "So AMazing" and peeps were chattin 2u bout it on twitter but you be gone, man...

ANyway\z check out the vid let me know what ya feelin. Sound is whack but dat shit aint how we roll ye fuck that geek shit.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNNEd7CFXpI&feature=player_embedded

U still lookin 4 yo leadin lady? Blood u shud check out ma sister she is well bangin-fit for reeal.

Massive respect love yo work keep it real 4 real.

DAVE-E C LONDON CREWE (Massive UK england 4real)

==============================================

From:	masante86@gmail.com
Sent:	02 February 2010 21:51:25
To:	Davey C (pimpin4guns@hotmail.co.uk)

Hey send some pics of her bruv.

Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

==============================================

From:	Davey C (pimpin4guns@hotmail.co.uk)
Sent:	10 February 2010 12:24:41
To:	masante86@gmail.com

Yo word up word up Sorry for the slownees on this bruv - i got some snaps and that but want to realtalk that shit with my sisters boyfriend - hes my main man y'no so I want 2 to try get somehin a little drrrrty 4 u to give ya a FULL idea of what we're chattin bout here for real. I aint sayin I would cos she's my sister and yeah but hell man that shit is off the hook!!

Yo yo my main man JamJah wants 2 kno what you think of da video review I sent ya - he works in TV over here in da UK and wnts 2 know if he can get an early copy of yr album for a project he's workin' on - could get your ass involved in some of that BROAAAD-CAST shit you hear?

Let me know bruv could be slick - will get my sis's man to get snappin on that dirty shit.

Peace out show (real talk).

DAVE-EC LONDON CREWE

==============================================

From:	Michael Asante (masante86@gmail.com)
Sent:	10 February 2010 15:29:57
To:	Davey C (pimpin4guns@hotmail.co.uk)

Davey,

No worries bruv. I aprpeciate the word you are putting out there for me.

It is much appreciated! We would love to get down with your team and make things happen in the UK. I took a look at the video and I love it.

Give me your infor and I'll give you a call bruv.

Phone #

BlackBerry PIN#

Anything you can give me. We are moving quick with things right now and me and my team are ready to blow.

Get back to me as soon as you can.

Appreciate the lvoe and the feedback brother.

Much love.

==============================================

From:	Davey C (pimpin4guns@hotmail.co.uk)
Sent:	11 February 2010 22:19:31
To:	masante86@gmail.com
	1 attachment LEGGGS BI...jpg (25.1 KB)

For real bruv - I need to speak to my man JamJahh and 2 get 4 his details and shit 4u so we can HOOK THAT SHIT UP.

HE works on this TV channel called Ideal World and if he can sort it we could be able to get your CD shown on that shit 4real. Need JamJah 2 sort shit out first though man and U might need 2 send some pictures and shit - keepin it real 4 real but not too real coz his boss Ethel aint usual featurin this kind of wicked shit on the show, but 4 U Show we can WORK THAT SHIT OUT cos we got to make Ideal World THE IDEAL WORLD, you feel?

But wait up hold up my little sisters man came up good and I got U a good shot of that ass man - let me know if you into that shit, bruv I know she's my sister and I AINT SAYIN I WOULD, but you KNOW I been thinkin about that shit A LOT.

Gon' speak to JamJah bruv will try 2 hook u up with a number

DAVE-E C (Massive 4Real London)

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Day 42: Being a Girl

Unashamed exhibitionist that I am, in all honesty it's amazing I've never done it before - but this weekend for the first time I dressed up in drag. My girlfriend Emma had a brilliant time painting my face to 'make me pretty', and the universal comedy value of shoving a couple of balloons inside a t-shirt is something anyone can appreciate.

With a black roll-neck jumper, a wig, and some fake glasses, she was going as Andy Warhol. Somewhere along the way I became 'Joyce' - a pretty rough looking thirty-something housewife with a penchant for pottery classes. We set off to a cross-dressing valentines warehouse party called 'Macho Minge' - but it was a few bus journeys away, in Hackney.

At the beginning of the night in particular, the distance to the party seemed vast. As the bus snaked up through South London to Elephant and Castle, I became quite aware that I was the only man on the bus dressed as a woman. I wasn't sure how best to handle this situation, even though I'd had ample time to develop a strategy before leaving the house. Part of me wondered if it might be best to actually pretend to be a woman. I decided that this might end up being a gamble I'd regret however, and realised that there really wasn't any good way of breaching the situation, and instead decided to just stare at the ground in quiet, fearful shame.

Things got better once we left South London however, once we started being surrounded by people who could appreciate the joke. Brilliantly, I'm also pretty damn sure a bunch of pissed polish blokes were genuinely giving me the eye at one point (to be fair, I did have one hell of a rack). Still, after a sustained campaign of blushing, we eventually we got to the party, where things loosened up considerably. It's funny how walking into a room full of bearded men in dresses can have this effect, I'll freely admit.

After spending the night drinking, dancing, and being photographed by questionable men who in retrospect will probably end up doing terrible things with pictures of me, it was time to take my clip-on earrings off and get a taxi home.

Despite the immediately overwhelming sense of "OH GOD MATT WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING I AM TERRIFIED" it ended up being a great party, and a really entertaining chance to play up to stereotypes like silly buggers and pretend to be a girl for the night. I played hard to get, I threw tantrums, I lost my handbag, and was repeatedly touched up by strange men. The defining moment of the night however came at the very end when I was presented with a beautiful home-made valentines card, and - big girl that I'd become - I found it very difficult to stop myself from welling up.

Thank you. You deserve so much better than a slag like me. x

Day 41: Miserable Photo #2

It is a cold Tuesday morning. You get off the bus, and step into a puddle. You look up, and you see this. I don't even know where to begin.

I mean, it's not unusual for charity shops to have strange window displays - if anything it's fairly standard practice. I particularly enjoy the way they try and entice you in with what they feel are likely to be the finest pieces of shite they have on offer; which usually tends to be a handful of Steven Seagal films on VHS, and a dusty boxed copy of Wing Commander III.

But this... This is just bleak.

Day 40: Music

I've been meaning to kick off some music recommendation posts on this for a while - but before I did, I wanted to make my stance on music very clear. So, here we are.

We love music, don't we? Everyone loves music. It's on your Facebook profile, it's on your CV. You've got an iPod, you go out dancing. You love music. Except, the thing is... i'm not sure you do.

It's not about listening to the radio, or keeping up with the charts. It's not even about filling your ears with it for every waking moment of the day.

It's not about knowing the names of the people in the band, or being able to reel off a string of trivia about their history. It's not about watching music videos.

It's not about owning the T-shirt, or the fact that you saw them live six years ago at T4-on-the-fucking beach.

Conversely, it's not about owning the rare 1993 EP, or being able to nail that awesome solo on guitar, or knowing all the lyrics to their critically acclaimed seminal album.

Loving music isn't about status, knowledge, or a good tune. Music can remind us of moments of our past, evoking forgotten emotions through this alone.

But there's more than that.

It's about being filled to the brim with an uncontrollable passion. It's about dancing down the elevators, and singing on the tube.

It's about the fire running through your veins. It's about needing to move - be this dancing, convulsing like a maniac, or just fucking sprinting down the road.

It's about letting the music take you. It's about being dragged away to another world, or dancing and singing on the London underground.

It's about looking around the room at a party to find the other grinning people who just clocked THAT bit of the song, because that bit, was fucking amazing.

It's about ascension. It's about becoming and invincible Deity, stomping, skulking, and strutting through your domain without a care in the world.

It can make you want to laugh, and it can make you want to cry. It can make you unimaginably happy. It can make you want to throw your body against a wall in the most brilliant way imaginable.

You'll either get this, or you won't. By this point you'll either be grinning, or you'll think I'm fucking insane. But I just wanted to get this out of the way so we're nice and clear, going forward.

I love music.

Lots.

Day 39: THINGS I CANNOT DO #3

EFFECTIVELY DRINK LARGE QUANTITIES OF LAGER

No, I won't 'down it' - I'm full of bubbles and I need a nap. I'll have a vodka and cranberry or a gin and tonic, and you'll let me drink it without sneering. We live in a world where fully grown men are seemingly allowed to drink booze-infused panda pop in public without being immediately exiled from society or thrown into a fiery pit, so letting me off for not sticking strictly to beer doesn't seem too much to ask, frankly.

It's not a major problem, but I think everyone knows one of these people. The kind of people who'll ask you what you want to drink, scrunch up their face, and come back grinning - handing over two pints of lager before heartily slapping you on the back. There always seems something vaguely insidious about this enforced encouragement to BE A MAN, leaving me wondering if beneath the surface of society there's some kind of FHM funded secret society bubbling away.

But anyway - Admittedly, the fact that you can drink two pints in the time it takes me to finish one does make me less of a man, but that's only because I'm one seriously svelte motherfucker.

So down that, chubba-chubba-chub-chub-chubs.

Day 38: THINGS I CANNOT DO #2

Add value to any conversation about Football, or accept the concept that it is in any way some kind of valuable or important pastime

Well known for my ability to inject impressive insights such as "DO A GOAL!" and "KICK ON THE BALL!"- It's true to say that the only thing that can ever get in the way of the enthusiasm I have for football is my complete and utter lack of enthusiasm for football.

If I wanted to see a bunch of men aggressively kicking something around a field, I'd go and live in Wales. Whilst I've never actually seen this happen in Wales, it's a stereotype that somehow makes a vast amount of sense in my head but thinking about it now, this is probably more related to the hugely unfair level of disdain I have for the country in general.

My favourite teams are the red ones, although failing that I will happily support the blue ones too. Luckily these days I don't often find myself trapped in a pub surrounded by men fixated by green static lamps, but whenever I do I make a point of repeatedly asking them to explain the rules whilst purposefully struggling with comprehension and attention. Whenever it seems like they're getting irritated by this, I ramp up the feigned enthusiasm to truly intolerable levels. Depending on how gullible the target is, I can sometimes entertain myself with this for the entire ninety minutes - usually I dip my toe in at the start by enquiring if the game is Arsenal against England.

Possibly because of the above, people don't tend to invite me to watch football down the pub all that often these days, which is brilliant. I can kind of understand the appeal - to an extent - but essentially it seems like a pretty brain-dead and worthless outlet for human passion. I mean, it's easy to argue that most things people get passionate about are often well known for being repetitive or unoriginal; but there's only so much variety to be had when it comes to the medium of twenty-two pricks running round a field.

BALL BALL BALL, FOOTY FOOTY FOOTY!

Day 37: THINGS I CANNOT DO #1

Listen to anything you say whilst there are bright lights in my peripheral vision.

Televisions/ iphone stuff/ videogames: I am a moth, and I cannot hear you. Ask me a question whilst i'm playing a videogame and you're unlikely to get a response before the 3 minute mark. In the past I've been known to literally take 10 minutes to respond, before quietly slipping back into my fixated coma of silence. By this stage, most people have forgotten their initial question, considerably adding to the awkward confusion. Basically if I have bright lights in my line of vision, you simply cannot hope to maintain my full attention, because the flashing fruit machine will always win.

Sorry, it's not my fault. Every time I visit Piccadilly Circus at night there's about a 60% chance i'll get hit by a bus whilst gawping skywards at the wall of rainbow above. I'm worried that if I ever visit Time Square my brain will give up the ghost before I can even turn around a full 360 - leaving me a burnt out husk of a man wandering the streets of NYC - begging for spare change so I can buy a torch and a selection of coloured acetate sheets. Keep me away from naked flames, please.

Day 36: Bad Day

Some days I just get out of bed the wrong way, and the world seems somehow perfectly shaped into awkward pointy bits that seem intent on repeatedly poking me in the eyes. That was a metaphor, by the way - people haven't actually been poking me in the eyes mum, don't worry. It's at this point though that I do all I can to remind myself that things really could be worse. And of course, it could be so much worse - because I could be that guy. I could be trapped in an inexplicable rage, wanting nothing more than an endless corridor of swinging doors to blast through, with backing music by Nick Cave. But i'm not that guy.

One day though, it really could all go to shit. It could all go totally wrong - big time. One day I might just give up, and retire to a simple life of hiding under duvets and growling at passers by, cautiously venturing out of my quilted fortress to hunt for videogames and biscuits; crying myself to sleep amidst a sea of crumbs. This could happen. But I will never be that guy. That guy has to be that guy for the rest of his life. I couldn't live with that. Could you?

I'm thinking of getting it framed and keeping a copy on my desk, just to help stop me from slipping into a black hole of self indulgent misery. In the meantime, I've just bought myself eight luxury chocolate croissants, which should hopefully make a dent in this wall of Tuesday meh.

Wish me luck.

Day 35: Stealing Thunder

Thundercats, eh? Legendary. I've got a fantastic T-shirt with the logo printed on it - it's a tight fit, black - genuinely greyed and weathered by 8 years of wear and tear. The red transfer is cracked vertically through stretching, and aside from my beloved Interpol T-shirt it's probably the only genuinely vintage looking bit of gear I own.

I bought it when I was 17, and whilst I've seen loads of different versions over the years I've never spotted another one that's quite like the one I own. It's been envied by many over the years, and I've had to stop a variety of people - mainly women, to be honest - from stealing it.

I could never give it away of course - the Thundercats are legendary, a classic piece of kids TV history; an unforgettable part of the 80's childhood. But here's the kicker: Honestly? I don't actually remember the Thundercats. I don't remember their names, I don't remember what they got up to on a weekly basis. I vaguely remember the swords, and that irritating furry thing that followed them around, but apart from that, nothing; a guilty secret I've carried around for the best part of a decade.

I'll continue to wear the shirt though, the logo emblazoned on my chest shining as a beacon of shame. Should you see me wearing it in public, you must point at me and slowly shake your head in disappointment - eyes ablaze like a pantomime witch - and I in turn will break down onto my knees, and begin to weep uncontrollably.*

Do you know what makes it worse, though? Button Moon. I remember Button Moon, and every candid detail of the adventures of the blasted Mr. Spoon. There's no justice in the world.

When faced with this kind of adversity, who wouldn't forge a childhood?

* Actual melodrama may vary

Day 34: Miserable Photo #1

Brutally slung around a tree trunk and it's supporting wooden post beside a bus stop, the bright red slinky wibbled slightly in the wind. I always find the sight of abandoned children's toys bleak yet fascinating, and this in particular really caught my mind one wet Wednesday morning. Rather than just being thrown away, there was a degree of intent behind it - more decorative than aggressive, certainly - but interesting nontheless. I couldn't stop looking at it, wondering how it had ended up here, and why. I suppose it could have just been a really shit present.

Despite it's positively bright appearance - the fiery red plastic curls a stark contrast to the grey surrounding vista - no one else seemed to pay the abandoned slinky any notice at all, apart from a school boy who arrived shortly after I snapped this photo. After initially building up the courage to wander over and poke it, he then visibly came to the decision that it retained enough spring to be worth salvaging, and began unravelling the spaghetti mess from its trappings.

As my bus pulled away, I watched out of the window as the final section of the slinky was untangled. Proudly removing it from its resting place with a satisfied grin; he looked around to try and find someone to share this moment of success with, to no avail.

It was unexpectedly pleasant to see someone rescuing the toy from its grave, but I can't help but wonder where it ended up after this. Who knows, perhaps it'll end up in a shoebox for years to come, kept for decades as an inexplicably meaningful memento.

Or maybe the buzz of success had worn off just moments later, the boy finding himself encumbered by a shit toy he didn't really want, leaving it behind for another child to discover and unravel.

Day 33: Bedroom Desk

An upside down carton of Ben & Jerry's; Chocolate Fudge Brownie variety - empty. A Kit Kat Chunky wrapper. A cereal bowl sandwiched between two dirty plates, garnished with forks and spoons. Poking out of bowl is the stringed paper tag of a Peppermint teabag. Beneath all of this is a copy of Bayonetta, and a frayed red pack of Colorama printed photos. The photos are around 10 years old, and depict me and my childhood friends walking around a forest, taking it in turns to dress up as a big pink gay robot called J.I.M.M.Y-12.

Three empty bottled of Carlsberg create a perfect diagonal line towards my small silver PC speakers, which are pumping out Midlake at a considerable volume. Atop the left speaker sits the unboxed disc for Modern Warfare 2, and beside it there is a Tanglewood electronic guitar tuner, and a tall tin of Oust spray. A 22" black LG monitor dominates the glass desk, trapped beneath the corner of its stand is a small felt bag that came with my Flip camera - it's covered in dust, and looks filthy. Three receipts; two from Salisbury's, one from Gamestation. Three pound coins poke out from beneath these, bunched together to create a very rounded tri-force. The torn off corner of the packet of a Nutri-grain elevenses bar. Raisin, obviously.

Two mugs of half finished tea sit to my right - both went cold whilst I was playing Mass Effect 2 or furiously blogging. Drinking tea is great, but sometimes just the process of going to make one is all you need to fire the brain up. My black standard issue Microsoft optical mouse sits atop a 2008 diary; used more effectively now than it was in 2008. This mouse lacks the handy side buttons that the one in the office does - I always forget this and end up instinctively pressing non-existent buttons with my thumb. The cream Microsoft keyboard is six years old, and filthy. I'd like a new one, but it invokes so many memories that I don't have the heart to throw it out.

Behind the keyboard are a pair of 90's styled sunglasses with awful off-white zebra print sides. I bought them for $5 when shopping in the rougher side of downtown LA with a great guy called Paul from OPM Australia. They make me look like a total prick, and I love them to bits. Beneath my keyboard is a black felt tip pen, a bright yellow cigarette lighter, and the wrapper for a Boots nicotine patch. A PSP; no battery. Mass Effect 2, Fallout 3, The Force Unleashed - stacked. A pair of silver nail clippers. A mug of tea - fresh. Hurrah.

Day 32: Hangover Tips

Hangovers are awful - and whilst there's no decent cure, over the years i've developed a fairly strong collection of battle tactics for dealing with these evil beasts. There's a lot of mumbo jumbo banded about within the subject: Not long ago I endured an insatiable cunt on the telly waxing lyrical about the benefits of rubbish lime into your armpits and jogging on the spot, which was a stark reminder of the insane amount of useless advice thrust around the world on a daily basis.

So here we go - a selection of tried and tested hangover recovery/prevention techniques:

POWERADE!

Or Gatorade - if it's still about in the UK...? - isn't like ordinary energy drinks, because it contains 'electrolytes'. Amazingly, this isn't just a pseudoscience buzz word: Electrolytes cause your body to rapidly absorb whatever they're mixed with, which means that whilst a glass of water will eventually rehydrate your dry, shrivelled brain, Powerade will do it remarkably quickly - knocking the edge off an immobilizing headache in around 20 minutes, and zapping away that evil dried mouth feeling very quickly indeed.

SPLISHY SPLASHY

Great trick I learnt from an American barman - when you wake up with a cracking headache, this is often caused by your body reacting to the withdrawal of alchohol. It may sound obvious - and dangerous - but if you literally just add a tiny splash of spirits to a glass of water, this new tiny influx can often be enough to get your brain to CHILL THE FUCK OUT a bit.

GIVE ME NUROFEN

This should never become habitual, but a ibuprofen breakfast can really get you out of a tight spot - removing the crippling brain pain for long enough for your body to get itself in gear a bit and start moving around. If you suspect that tomorrow may not be pretty, popping a couple before you go to sleep will usually sort you out a right treat while you sleep.

PLENTY OF WATER

Obvious obvious advice, but it's amazing how much of a difference this makes. Most hangovers can be mostly avoided by drinking at least 2 pints of water before you go to bed. If you're battered, stay up and drink 4 of 5 pints - this will usually require you to stay up until 3 or 4 in the morning while you placate yourself with television or videogames, but being sleep deprived and clear headed is usually much more preferable than going to bed early and waking up with the apocalypse inside your head. Usually people think it's more important to eat something - but this only works earlier in the night: Whacking a kebab in your stomach and passing out will not help your hangover, whereas downing a pint of water will. If your head is spinning when you close your eyes - don't fall asleep!

BUT NOT TOO MUCH WATER...

This applies more to the following day - if you're not careful then too much water will wash out your body's salt levels, which will make you feel rough. If you're not aware of this, it's easy to just keep drinking water to try and make yourself feel better, which won't work. The best way to avoid this:

HAVE A FRY UP

Go on, bacon is brilliant.

VITAMIN B, BITCH

Really takes the edge off that whole 'oh my god I want to destroy the universe with my fucking fists' vibe. Drinking totally depletes your Vitty B reserves, so the sooner you can top this up the better. Most people usually go mad for the C, as it's notoriously percieved as being the happy juice and everyone loves oranges - but in reality topping up what you've lost should be a priority.

HAVE ANOTHER?

If you've already downed enough drinks to get you into this state, then one more tin of lager is hardly going to make a difference. Waking up and having a booze breakfast feels remarkably wrong, but the benefits massively outweigh the negatives; just one drink will remove your headache, and make you feel tons better for the rest of the day.

And fuck it, you don't have to be back in work until Monday.

EDIT: Oh, and please feel free to share your own tried and tested techniques, just so I don't feel UTTERLY ALONE IN THE UNIVERSE. Comments shouldn't be locked, so it won't involve much faffing. xx

Day 31: Office Desk

A mishmash of important documents and notes - some pristeen and stapled, some older and crumpled. Half a box of Quality Street Matchmakers - 4 months out of date. An Amazon package, unopened. Seasons 1-4 of the X-men cartoon on DVD; eight cases in total, stacked akwardly like a precarious game of Jenga. A single red Bakugan. A pen holder, with various sections; mostly empty - aside from a handful of coppers in the back section. I don't know who put them there - it wasn't me. A tiny piece of purple chalk sits just beside this - too worn down to be of use. A box of dorset cereal - the 'simply delicious muesli' variant. 7/10. A paracetemol box - empty, aside from the instruction leaflet that came in the box (I'll put that in the bin now, actually).

A Dell monitor, sat atop two packs of A4 paper - partly to improve my viewing angle, partly so I can dip my head and avoid becoming distracted by stuff going on behind it. Attached to the monitor is a sheet of paper, folded in half, listing the names, countries, and responsibilities of the main people I deal with on a daily basis, as well as a post it note that simply says OZ in big red letters, to remind me not to forget about Australia. Stuck to the top of my monitor is a tiny die-cast model of princess leia - a secret santa gift recieved last year. It came with a pack of superhero Top Trumps, but i've no idea what happened to them. The top of my monitor also has a cutting from a magazine that simply says : "HEY SON! THAT'S RAD!". Six budget Wii games.

A stylophone; still boxed, no batteries. A fistful of payslips. Four official Nintendo GBA connector cables. A selection of booklets that came in the box with my iPhone. A Natwest card reader. Three packs of Trebor extra strong mints - one half finished. Two partially depleted blister packs of paracetemol (now without a box). A 2010 Argos catalogue; one page ripped out, and kept in wallet. A 'No Fear' branded full face balaclava. An empty bag of swedish sweets called 'Polly'. A tub of Bryllcreem wax. A radiator key. A Panasonic KX-T7665 phone - the handset has a sticker on it depicting the evil train from Zelda: Spirit Tracks. About 15 copies of MCV - many unopened.

A box of value brand ibuprofen. Two cigarette filters in their plastic tube - one end twisted off. A wrapper for an Australian sweet called 'Fantales'. A Street Fighter music collection that came free with PSM3. A Black and Red notebook. A Dell keyboard with multimedia buttons i'll never use. A Dell mouse with the handy side buttons that let you go back and forward through pages. A bowl of chicken noodle laksa soup: Lunch in progress.Two white mugs, branded with the FrankPR logo - one filled with chilled water from the cooler, the other contains a sludge sediment from this morning's coffee.

Day 30: Happy Snaps

Some straight up recommendations today: I often get asked how I make photos on my iPhone look really cool. The answer to this, is that I stalk the every move of the brilliant @MrMelanin, taking everything interesting he says or finds and claiming it as my own personal brilliant discovery without a morsel of shame. On that note, let me tell you about some brilliant iPhone apps I've discovered.

The iPhone camera is rubbish - which is why if you're not using at least one camera app, you're missing out. People pay a small fortune for shit cameras, so why not just pimp out the one you have on your phone? By using some of the wonderfully simple programs below you'll be quickly whipping up all sorts of magic photos and - surprisingly - turning the ability to take photos on your phone into a fairly engaging and fun activity to pass the time.

I considered a top 5 on this one, but it feels a little excessive - so here you have my top three essential iPhone Camera apps. Buy em all: It'll set you back less than four quid, and for the number of gawking idiots you'll be impressing on facebook it'll work out at each vapid grin costing less than a penny.

Tilt Shift Generator

Incredibly little application that lets you play around with a variety of sliders to change the way the image looks, creating an overall 'toy camera' feel. Even without any tweaking you'll find the app brings the rather dull pallette of the iPhone camera to life quite nicely. Having said that, the examples i've included are just my personal taste, and there's scope to create really interesting washed out, paler imagery.

Unlike many of the other similar apps you'll find however, the custom tweakable nature of the blur position, spread,shape and intensity make the process of tweaking a photo feel handcrafted, and there's a lot of joy to be had in taking previously dull photos from your phone and turning them into something really visually engaging.

The above might sound techy, but one of the best features of the app is its traditionally minimalistic Japanese style; slick, intuitive, and wonderfully minimalist. As well as taking photos from scratch with it, you've also got the ability to touch up photos you've taken using the normal iPhone camera; I have a lot of fun from time to time just playing around images to see what I can create - the hands-on nature and creative control you get make it feel really satisfying.

After you've had a fiddle about, you can then either save a copy of the tweaked image to your phone, email it, or post it directly to twitter through the app. Lovely.


QuadCamera

Made by the same guys as TiltShiftGen, this little beauty lets you take cool little animation style shots. Simple, sure - but it's still brilliant if like me you always fancied a film camera that did it but could never justify the cost. There's a whole bunch of fun tweaks to take advantage of here, which let you choose the total number of shots to be taken in sequence as well as the time interval between each snap. Whilst not as satisfyingly tweaky as TiltShift, you've also got a nice selection of non-gimmicky image styles to be applied too.

It's hardly groundbreaking, but it's without a doubt the most immediately fun camera app on the iPhone - hand it to someone to have a play and you're guaranteed to entertain them for a good few minutes. I also really like the way the hurried snapshots are often handled badly by the shoddy iphone camera - it usually creates these wonderfully blurry dreamscape style narratives punctuated by brief moments of clarity. But then again, I'm a pretentious prick at times.


It's worth noting for both of the above apps that the support for these is excellent - they seem to be continually adding functionality and improvements to both these apps at no additional cost; QuadCamera in particular is likely to soon have a .gif export function, allowing you to literally make tiny animations using your phone. Awesome.


Hipstamatic

A totally different kettle of fish to the previous two apps, this one's a lot less minimalist - if anything there's slightly too much faff to glug through before it lets you actually take photos. There is however, something absolutely delicious about the entire package; letting you switch between lenses with a flick of your thumb, recreating a traditionally minimal viewfinder window on the iPhone screen - which literally flashes when using the entirely processed effect - there's something wonderfully tactile about the entire experience; almost as if you actually have a camera in your hands.

It's my personal favourite of all of the polaroid-style iPhone apps, coming with three different virtual lenses which create very cool looking photos without any need for tweaking. My love for this app is a little odd - it even has the nerve to include optional additional purchases within the app itself, letting you buy further virtual lenses and effects to unlock the application's full potential. But it's all just so darn charming that even the virtual shop bits they've integrated into the app just make you feel like you're playing a brilliant videogame about taking polaroid photos.

Overall, it's a slick package that creates swish looking polaroid-esque snaps - which is all you need to know. Hipstamatic is a pretty accurate name - there's something irritatingly and knowingly 'cool' about the whole thing, but despite this having a quick play around with it always leaves me feeling warm and fuzzy inside.


So there you have it - get snapping.

Day 29: Facebook Phantoms

Yesterday Facebook informed me that someone had commented on my status update - when I followed the link however, they hadn't.

But of course, they did. These phantom messages usually appear from people you don't know all that well - strangers from the past who leave a comment, but then retract the decision immediately afterwards - most likely because it was over familiar, or excessively narky (two assumptions based on personal experience).

It's a shame, because I often think these messages would be the most interesting of all - what was so bad about it that you decided to delete it afterwards? Could it really be that fruity?

Regardless, whenever someone does it to me I always do it back to them immediately- just to freak em out a bit - make them think that I must have seen what they wrote, and responded by commenting on their status, before then also removing my response because they'd deleted the original message.

Alternatively, I've devised another brilliantly sadistic game you can all play - just start commenting and deleting all over the place. People will keep clicking to see what you've said, but it'll always be gone by the time they get there.

Obviously when you get people posting stuff like: "Do I look fat in this dress?" you've hit a fucking goldmine.

Go on, have a bash. If you're ever confronted, blame the internet.

Day 28: Pocket Lint

Check your pockets right now- you're likely to find at least one.

My desk is spattered with a handful; folded and frayed. A quick scan has me spotting six.

The murky depths of every set of pockets I command are clogged with their sediment; the mashed up paper hiding untold tales of our thrilling forgotten lives:

N/VALLEY OAT & HONEY, GO/AH R/BERRY BRK, PREPACKED BROCCOLI.

They've always gotten in the way - a fistful of coins squeezed and scrunched into a pocket - smoothness of motion hindered by their unwanted wrapping paper. Often difficult to distinguish from weathered five pound notes - leading to various unfortunate conclusions.

They're a nuisance.

Oh, and the fact that you're given them with fucking everything also ensures they've lost almost all significance, which tends to cause complications when expense claims get thrown into the mix.

Lately however, rather than being handed a bit of crumple with your cash, handy little machines dispense them so you can take them yourself. This would seem a brilliant idea - letting you take your receipt if you want to.

Of course whilst it's technically entirely your choice whether or not you take the receipt, it rarely feels that way. As you turn to leave, staff immediately point at the forgotten slip of paper peeking out of the machine whilst glaring at you with their sickeningly helpful, smiling eyes. Being a painfully polite soul myself, I'll turn back and awkwardly take it - with clear emphasis on awkward due to the fact that by this stage my hands are full of loose change, shopping bags, iphone, and wallet. I'm clearly at full capacity, and yet they insist on adding more.

If you've got your hands even vaguely full when offered a leaflet by someone in the street, it's a standard response to give that little 'no hands!' shrug before wandering off. And yet I'll happily go out of my way to ensure i'm able to take a small piece of paper informing me i've just bought a Mars bar, adding it to a ceaseless flow of utterly useless crumpled up bits of rubbish that i'll inexplicably keep for a couple of weeks at least.

No, I don't have a Clubcard.

Day 27: Mess Effect

Oh god it is late and I have to go to work again tomorrow. This is not ideal, because over the past two days I have also taken up a new full time job as a space captain. In the past 2 days, I've done two shifts in my new position, clocking in eighteen hours - in what feels like a few moments.

It is now time for me to publish my first genuine cop-out #oneaday, and go to bed. But I don't want to go to bed, or go to work, or talk to anyone ever again. I just want to be a space captain. In space.

Oh god Bioware. What have you done to me?

Day 26: Mass Affection

Quite a few people this week have asked me about Mass Effect 2, and whether or not it was worth getting.

Problem is, it's a really complicated answer - which is why I haven't replied to any of you. Sorry.

The thing is, there's clearly only one type of person who'd ask if Mass Effect 2 is worth getting - and that's someone who hasn't played Mass Effect. If you've finished the first game, Mass Effect 2 is pretty essential - not only does it continue the flipping brilliant space adventures of captain Shepard, but it basically appears to have taken everything unlikable about the first game and thrown it in the airlock.

First up though , a little about the type of series Mass Effect is - basically it's a space captain simulator, packed to the brim with believable characters, grey morality, and difficult decisions. It's also got a lot of shooting aliens in it - although this is handled with much more finesse in the second game. If you're someone who's open to the idea of not skipping through dialogue in games as long as it's beautifully voiced and genuinely interesting, you'll be in for a treat. If you're consistently intent on skipping everything to get to the next bit of shooting - it might not be your kind of tea party.

Part of me would love to tell people to just skip the first game and play the second one off the bat, avoiding the mildly ropey combat and incredibly slow start in favour of jumping straight into the polished action thrills of the second part. You get a brief synopsis of the first game when you start up a new file, and effectively I'm sure you could get by without knowing all that much about the original.

But this would be an awful waste. The second game plays a lot off your previous knowledge of the incredible universe and characters, showing you how things have changed since you last saw them knowing full well it will evoke an emotional response. It's what Bioware do - and as always - it's executed with a stunning degree of excellence.

Because of this, unlike other sequels where you can read between the lines and quickly pick up the pace, Mass Effect 1 can't be summed up with a fact sheet - because it's all about your experiences, and your perception. I could tell you about all the events, revelations, and characters in Mass Effect, but it wouldn't help in the slightest. When old characters appear in the sequel - it's rarely a case of "Oh COOL! It's THAT guy!" but usually more a sense of "how the hell have you been?" or sometimes - unfortunately - "What on earth happened to you man?"
This is of course amplified by the fact that you can transfer your save file from Mass Effect over to Mass Effect 2, taking with you the decisions - and consequences - of the choices you made in the first game. This blows the whole experience wide open - if a character you know is pretty fucked in the second game, it's not because of a rudimentary decision made by developers - it's probably because of something you did.

So yeah guys, hate to pull the shiny carrot away from your nose - but if you want the same kind of treat that i'm having this weekend, you need to put a bit of time into the first game.

BUT DON'T PANIC - I've created five brilliant tips for how to make your jaunt through the first game much more enjoyable:

DON'T GIVE UP: The first few hours are slow. Awfully slow. But stick with it, seriously - before you know it the drama will have been ramped up to 10.

TAKE IT EASY: The combat is rubbish, and you'll die unfairly all the time anyway. Put the difficulty on easy and this happens much less, meaning you can run around blasting people with shotguns like the mega space captain that you are.

STAY ON THE ROAD: Chances are if you're driving the space buggy around a planet, you're in the wrong place. Mass Effect was infamous for padding out the length of the game with hundreds of planets to explore - all of which were pretty much exactly the same, and far from rewarding. Of course, most of us didn't notice this until we'd spent about 10 hours driving round mining stuff on the blasted places. Throw in a few sidequests if you fancy, but if you start to get bored just get straight back to the main story, which is a total blast.

TAKE YOUR HANDS OUT OF YOUR POCKETS: Avoid the inventory system whenever possible - it's a frustrating mess. This works best when playing on easy - as you'll only have to upgrade your gear once in a blue moon to keep up the pace.

DON'T THINK ABOUT THE ELEVATORS TOO MUCH: Ignore them, seriously - you'll go fucking insane.

I hope the above is useful, and just remember - it really is worth sticking it out. Enjoy.

Oh, and it also lets you swagger about the universe banging chicks in space - but they didn't write that on the back of the box.

Day 25: Coke o' Poppers

I can't stop looking at this advert. There's nothing remarkable about it in the slightest - in fact, upon closer inspection the only real emotion I can attach to it is that i've taken a mild disliking to the art style they've used on his hat - an extremely unremarkable opinion in itself.

But it's not the design that's found me fixated by this poster - which seems to haunt the same bus stops as I do - as what really grips me, is the message. There's just something ever so slightly off about the wording, and - being a strange and anal chap - it keeps catching my attention:

"Ever thought of Coco Pops after school?"

There are of course, multiple interpretations of this:

Perhaps it's a recruitment drive, looking to find the bright young minds of tomorrow to enter the booming breakfast industry. Maybe I missed the fine print at the bottom, which reads: 'Competitive 20k+ starting salaralies with industry comparable first year bonus opportunities including the possibility to make the milk go chocolatey.'

Alternatively, maybe it's a stark reminder to children of their own mortality - sharply pointing out their fast-fading youth. Have you thought when you grow up? Guzzle those Coco Pops down now, but seriously - it's time to think about your future. You can't spend your whole life just eating novelty chocolate rice based cereals, you know -It'll be muesli and brown toast soon. But of course, you're far too wrapped up in a schooldayz haze of breakfast hedonism to take the time to think about your own future. It's time to grow up, son.

Or maybe it's tapping into that soft-drug-dealer mentality, the older kid hiding round the corner from the teachers to offer you illicit funtimes: "Psst. Kid. Yeah you - you want some Coco Pops? Just after school, yeah - Don't tell yer mam." You know it's wrong, and that's why you wouldn't ask your mum if you could, she'd quite rightly tell you no: You'll spoil your tea for fucks sake*

So seriously kids, it's not worth it. Sure, we've all thought about Coco Pops after school once or twice - but just say no: You'll spoil your tea.

*Actual comment from mother may vary

Day 24: Cheer up you bastards

I've had a love/hate relationship with psychology for years - I'll no doubt go into the hate one day - but what always amazes me the most is how frequently in the field you'll see years of scientific research discoving something that's been happily accepted as common sense for years. I think it's a testamant to how unknowingly brilliant we all are as a species; you might not have any proof to back that gut instinct of yours right now, but that's not to say that a scientist in 20 years time won't be able to explain it perfectly.

At the same time though, the word 'psychology' itself has had all sorts of negative effects on society - primarily fueling senselessly self-centred beliefs that we're all incredibly deep individuals with issues that must be carefully resolved through measured personal actions. It's because of this that we're often hugely skeptical and dismissive of any advice which seems too simplistic.

I've been guilty of this for years - one piece of advice i've found myself repeatedly snarling out over the years is this little gem:

"Smile!"

Smile? Fuck off.

Looking at it with a clued up 21st century head well screwed on, it's an immediately irritating piece of advice - the notion that such generic advice could help solve this specific problem implies that there's nothing unique about the predicament that's making you unhappy; an unpleasant slap in the face to your ego, which would much rather have a cup of tea and a cuddle. Lose the irritating social connotations behind being a grinny faced muppet however, and there's more to a smile than meets the eye...

This week I've been reading an excellent book called 0:59 - a piece of writing that effectively debunks a large quantity of feel-good self-help gunk with clearly structured empirical evidence. Most vitally however, it's helped me to bypass this arrogance and remind me of the importance of smiling.

Seriously, next time you're in a mess: Smile. You're angry, you're upset. Just smile.

No no no, not like that. Forget the sentiment right away; you can chuck that saccharin rubbish right out of the window - it's not required. None of that pass it on and change the world bullshit - it might be nice, but it's not what it's about - If you're going to take this seriously, I'd recommend you don't even do this in the presence of anyone else. Find yourself a quiet spot out of the sight of anyone - possibly whilst you're on the toilet - and just grin like a bastard. Not just for a moment, either - it's important that you maintain the smile for a full minute, at least.

Amazingly, this alone tends to make you feel immediately happy - do it a few times a day, and you're genuinely sorted. No positive feedback from peers or warm fuzzy feelings required - just abuse your own muscles and trick your brain.

Give it a go, and let me know what you think.

Day 23: GREGGS SIGN DEAL GROUNDBREAKING DEAL WITH RUSSIAN PROSTITUTE ALLIANCE

Honestly: I was just as confused as you are.

Oh, and sadly the headline isn't true. Or if it is, to my knowledge it's not something that's been openly disclosed into the public domain. What you're looking at is the promotional material for what must literally be the most misleading application available on the iPhone:

Tasty Pasties.

Beg my pardon for asking - but where's the fucking bakery, ladies?

A quick spot of googlage leads me to a discovery - 'pasties' (or 'pastys') is also a word that's also used to describe nipple covers, the rights free image on the Wikipedia page suggesting that these are items usually used by women on beaches you are reet keen to get their knockers out, but feel that throwing nipples into the mix might be a bit presumptious. i.e. women I am entirely unable to relate to, but will somehow manage to endure.

I can appreciate that words have multiple meanings, but this is one's a little hard to swallow; primarily because i'll never be able to think about Cornish pasties again without having this mental image scratched into the depths of my consciousness:

Despite having spent ten years living in the north of England, I somehow still can't bring myself to find this arousing. I might just be old-fashioned, but I tend to feel filthy enough as it is just buying stuff from Greggs to begin with. Maybe in later life when things get boring I'll spice up my steak bake purchases by diving into the sordid world of flaky pastry fantasy, but right now it's all a bit much.

Back to the matter at hand however, the Tasty Pasties app describes itself as being 'the most explicit app approved by Apple', which is a bit like someone lending you a DVD on the recommendation that it's 'the hardest porn my dad will let me buy'. Load the beast up, and it's an incredibly well thought out piece of software with two unique options: Blondes, OR, Brunettes. Altogether as a package, I can happily recommend it to anyone who's sexually aroused by bored industrial cleaners with stuff stuck to their nipples. If you're not a fan of the genre however, I'd recommend you try the demo first.

Each time (the first time) I booted up the app I was immediately coaxed to buy the full version of the app with the promise of being able to see '200 hot women in pasties'. I honestly wish I had the time and patience to photoshop something so clearly epic, but to be honest considering how close she is to my PC i've been lucky enough as it is to get away with superimposing images of savoury baked goods onto soft porn without her noticing.

If anyone wants to give it a bash however, I'll rustle you up an amazing prize for your utterly senseless efforts.

Lick my lattice, touch my traybake. Two for a pound bitch, two for a pound.

Day 22: Haitus

Today I've something to say about Haiti. You might not like it, but i'm pretty sure it's all entirely true.

What's happened is undeniably tragic; a country with very little economic stability has been hit by a pretty fucking nasty natural disaster - and without any kind of decent building regulations set in place, the structures they'd built frankly didn't stand a chance. At it's heart it's a deeply tragic human story which we can all relate to, something I'm confident we can all agree on.

But here's where opinion may split: is donating a vast amounts of money really the right thing to do? The response has been incredible, with millions of dollars being raised worldwide to be sent to Haiti to buy food and medical supplies. Food aid in particular is an utterly vital element of the early stages of disaster management, but if this isn't dealt with carefully in the long term, the cultural damage can be severe; corruption leading to food aid being sold on whilst preventing farmers from making a decent living, effectively leaving a country's ability to self-sustain somewhat crippled.

Far from being straight-up disaster management however, Haiti is looking well and truly fucked. Donating money could really help to change this, but not without some seriously intelligent management to ensure this money is spent effectively - aiding the process of recovery - and not just spent on a long-term campaign of food aid supplements. Hate to be a cynic, but I'm just not confident that this can or will happen.

Charities spend years creating carefully formulated plans to make change happen - a lot of this is ensuring the money gets spent on the right things, and doesn't end up in the wrong hands. They send people out to build the wells, and they go out there and teach communities skills. Rather than reacting to immediately observable tragedy, they do their best to help prevent the small tragedies that occur every hour all over the developing world.

Much more popular however, is the school of Bob Geldof - which involve well thought out campaign strategies such as "give us your fucking money" and "let me be on the telly".
Well we let you on the telly Bob, and we gave you our fucking money. Your band were shit, and most of the cash we donated ended up being spent by warlords on automatic weapons.

Just as the hypothetical bloke who wins the lottery ends up in a right pickle; pumping a vast quantity of money into something very quickly is simply never a good idea. At best, there's major wastage. 2004's Tsunami saw landfills packed with prosthetic limbs surplus to requirement, one of the many examples of simply having too much money to spend, and having to spend it very quickly.

And if you can't be sure you're spending it on the right things, how can you be sure you're giving it to the right people either? At worst, your charitable endeavours could end up being used as blood money; just ask Bob.

The people of Haiti were hugely unlucky, and if you've sent money across to help then that's great - I applaud your intentions.

If you've not pledged money yet however, then please - don't. The tragedy that's occured is one that's immensely sad, but there's only so much good money can do, and I believe we've already gone past that cap - I can assure you that any of the future funds provided will not be spent in the way you'd like them to be.

The charity singles will only benefit those who produce them, and your donations will make you feel good about yourself, but sadly have no further positive impact. We shouldn't deny our human reaction to this terrible tragedy, but we should do all we can to ensure our reaction is more than just a kneejerk.

If you've been touched by the Haiti story, I'd implore you to instead consider pledging money to longterm, sustainable charities that have proven track records of achieving important change in communities worldwide. It's the only way you can really be sure that your money is going to a good cause; send it to Haiti however, and it's nothing less than a gamble.

Day 21: Cake Review

Based on a light and moist chocolate foundation, the icing is swirled roughly across the crown of the proud sponge; decorated generously with a shimmer of edible pink and a clutch of stars. The deliciously rich icing is sweet yet subtle, leaving room for tingling tones of cocoa hidden beneath. Encased in a cheerful cherry-red jacket: Disrobed, observed, devoured. Good cake.

10/10

Based on cake provided by Emma Russell - Review session supervised by Rami Mallis.

Day 20: Ungrateful Bastard

Both endearing and lazy in equal measure, for the past 3 or so years my brother has bought all of his presents for me from Firebox. I'm very fond of the large collection of cool junk I've collected from this over the years, but sometimes it's difficult to find the space to store it all - last year's birthday present in particular is a bit of a nightmare, but as with the other things I can't bring myself to get rid of it.

Almost everything I own is wonderfully oblong and stackable, so on the rare occasions when I do tidy my room, it's quite satisfying to watch the chaos fade to perfect order, albeit for a very brief moment. DVDs go back in their boxes and are put on the shelf. Guitars go back in their cases and get put in the corner. Trinket boxes are neatened, ordered, and stacked.

Everything is in its right place, aside from a bright yellow exception.

Where the fuck do you keep a crossbow?

Day 19: The Murder

When I was six years old, Boglins were officially the most brilliant thing in the universe. The full size ones with moving bits were always clearly out of my reach, but I was quite content with my collection of Mini-Boglins - which did include a special edition shiny gold one. I strongly recall having the desire to create a display case for them out of cardboard, although I can't remember if this ever came to fruition.

The only thing more exciting than Mini Boglins however, was Baby Boglins. They came in a little opaque plastic egg, so you didn't really know which one you were going to get. My little brother had a glow in the dark one, which I found absolutely fascinating. I'd seen glow in the dark stuff before I imagine, but the realisation that you could increase the strength of the glow by putting it near to a bright light qualifies as being fairly groundbreaking science when you're six years old.

In what felt like a Nobel prize-worthy gambit, I decided one evening it was time to push this science to the limit - placing the illuminated bulb of my bedside lamp about an inch away from the Baby Boglin and switching it on. I then went downstairs to watch Coronation Street with my parents, all the while buzzing with excitement over my undoubtedly brilliant creation - when exposed for this long, it would no doubt illuminate the entire room!

I don't need to tell you what actually happened, because you're not six years old.

The melancholic nature of its googly eyes amplified by the state of it's body and tail, which had now become a nonspecific shape of latex gloop - now partially attached to the wooden shelf it sat on. I'd killed a Boglin. My intentions were good - it was manslaughter at best - but nonetheless, I was panicked. I'd killed a Boglin. Not only that, it was my brother's Boglin. A Baby Boglin, for Christ's sake. I was in trouble.

But I had a plan - it was undeniably foolproof, a stroke of infallible genius. I would quite simply, do nothing. I would not touch it, or look at it. Eventually when my mother noticed the burnt Boglin corpse on my bedside shelf, I would turn and look surprised. I would tell her that I had no idea how it had happened, and that it was nothing to do with me.

Of course, I don't need to tell you what actually happened, because you're not six years old.

I doubt you'll even remember it to be honest, but I'm sorry I killed your Boglin.