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 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.

Day 18: MY SEX IS SO AMAZING

Last week I tweeted in despair of the fact that all urban R&B songs sound utterly identical, and that I seem to be spending a seriously unhealthy quantity of my life listening to it in the office. For the record I don't regard myself as being a music snob, and I'm sure I'd find the genre much more enjoyable if listening to it didn't make me lose all respect for myself as a human being.

Upon mentioning the phrase R&B of course, I instantly recieved this incredible piece of targetted advertising, recommending that I check out some hot Toronto R&B by Show Stevens. A message I recieved from a man called Show Stevens. If you want to check out the song, you can download it from here.

My initial reaction was that I should just tell this guy to fuck off. Then I had a much better idea: I'd tell him to fuck off, then I'd give the guy the publicity he's been gunning for by reviewing his latest track: "So Amazing"; a song which tells a tale of a man who's going to have sex with a woman, and that's a really good thing for the woman, because this guy's sex is so amazing that it'll make her go crazy, because his sex is so amazing.

That's just my interpretation of the lyrics of course, but you should feel free to divine your own from the opening lyrics:

Oh. Oh (yeah baby).
We gone do it like this, girl.
I'm a touch your body like this, girl.
We gone have sex like this, girl.
My sex is so amazing; make you go crazy (go crazy).

Then of course I realised that someone like me reviewing the track wouldn't really be objectively sound, so with this in mind I decided that someone else should review the track:

I think it's important that they also get to see the fruits of their efforts - so please, post the below message into Twitter so we can see what Mr. Show Stevens thinks of this video review of his song.

Awesome video review of Toronto R&B legend #ShowStevens latest track check it out: http://tinyurl.com/ycxsohc

I've specially used a different Youtube account that doesn't have my face all over it to see just how far we can take the joke, so please don't mention me and @ShowStevens in the same tweet. Also, if you could take a moment to post a faux-genuine comment on the video itself, that would be brilliant. There's literally no reason for any of this other than the joy of senselessly confusing the shit out of a total stranger.

EDIT: Fuck fuck fuck. Three days of preparation, and it's all gone pear shaped - it seems that @ShowStevens has been banned from Twitter for spamming, throwing a serious wrench into the works of my master plan.

CHANGE OF PLAN: I've got his fucking email address. Please Tweet the above message and rate the video - once we've got enough buzz going on, I'll contact him directly. Keep an eye on the blog over the next week for an update!

Personally I like to think of this as an elaborate experiment driven by a cheeky sense of spam justice. My girlfriend thinks I'm just somewhat dangerously baiting a large black guy from Canada.

But fuck it, let's see what happens - chances are it'll be funny. Hell, he might even want to meet up in London to hang out with my crew. Failing that, can you think of a more amusing way to be brutally killed by a gang? No matter how fond of me you may be, you have to admit - you'd find it difficult to not have a cheeky grin at the funeral.

Remember to keep sending pictures of men wearing dresses to Masante86@gmail.com in order to be in with a chance of being the 'leading lady' for the official video for 'So Amazing', and encourage everyone you know to pass on the video review.

Day 17: A Cautionary Poem

Beware the Gherkin

Two crimson lights watch without motion,
their malice unseen, their menace untold.
Watching and waiting for the moment to rise.

One man could see.
Kindly branded as fantasy,
listeners smiled, charmed by this childish notion.

But the twisting steel would one day squeal.
Tumbling crumbs of masonry smashing to the ground,
cruelly punctuating this undeniable truth;
a truth forever etched into the earth,
our horizons defaced by a barrage of lasers.

Two crimson lights watch without motion,
their malice unseen, their menace untold.
Watching and waiting, for the moment to rise...

Day 15: I was going to create a supergroup...

Mobile phone companies excel when it comes to whipping up advertising campaigns which consist solely of heart-warming dollops of absolute fluff. Rhetorical questions and inspirobollocks collectively hell-bent on informing us that we're not using our mobile phones properly. It's not meant for making phone calls, silly, it's an inspirational device for reaching out to touch the hearts of those around you, to make their lives better. To make your life better. To make everyone better.

Judging by the depressing Youtube figures surrounding Vodafone's flash mob japes, it appears that most people are happy enough to accept the notion that meeting up to have a dance with a bunch of other pricks in a train station is somehow both brilliant and amazing. If you've got a handful of braincells however, it was evident that the whole affair was as mechanically engineered as a Cadbury's Creme Egg'n'Cheese Slice.

Slightly more recently, Orange also left me particularly cold with: "I am who I am, because of everyone else" - which always struck me as being a fairly depressing statement that seemed to indirectly belittle individual achievement. More importantly, I can't really get over the fact that it's clearly the kind of phrase you'd expect to find obsessively scribbled all over the walls of a serial killer's secret underground rape-bunker.

In 2009 however, we've been struck in the face by one of the worst offenders yet. Joshy Joshy Text Text Text and his T-Mobile Super Band; a campaign more insipid and transparent than a shit jellyfish.

So what would you do with free text for life?

I get about six hundred a month, which to me seems like fairly ludicrous number to begin with. If I was to take full advantage of my tariff as it stands, I'd be spending roughly ten hours a month writing text messages, which does seem a tad excessive considering the fact that I'm not a fourteen year old girl.

I don't think I'd need unlimited text messages to start a supergroup though - I'd probably need about 12, and even that's accounting for a couple of additional back and forth textage. I don't have that many people in my phone book to begin with, and not many people I know are musically talented. But why has josh cast such a wide net looking for a band? Does he not know many people? Has he run out of friends willing to put up with the lead-singer tantrums he repeatedly threw in his mum's garage? Has Josh actually just twisted the innocent opportunity T-Mobile has gifted him to create a vaguely sinister Polyphonic Spree-esque regime of terror?

But then Josh also had 'unlimited internet' too. On his phone. Imagine that. Of course, you could use that to set up a supergroup I suppose. But of course if you're going to do that, you might as well just do it on a computer- it would be much easier. Maybe Josh doesn't have access to a computer. Maybe he's very poor. Maybe he's homeless. Maybe he's only going along with this whole charade because T-Mobile are putting a roof over his head whilst he carries out the band's UK tour, rightfully terrified that when it all ends he'll have to drag his pay-as-you-go handset back to the makeshift ditch hut he calls home, shuddering in the harsh rain of the night as he remembers the brief glimmer of warmth T-Mobile injected into his awful existence. Actually thinking about it, maybe they should have just done the whole thing with a tramp - that would have been brilliant, probably.

Or I suppose I could stop being dark and cynical - maybe he's just a guy going along with the whole thing for a bit of a laugh? But if that is the case, what the fuck is Josh going to do when all this is comes to an end? I mean, if the band doesn't end up making the big time, what are his backup options? The guy must be spending about 20-30 hours a week using his mobile phone to organise all this stuff - it takes long enough to organise a band practice that only has three people in it for fucks sake. It might be fun now, but when a potential future employer asks why he failed his A levels then "I was travelling the UK finding strangers to join my super band" is roughly on par with "I went travelling around India to find myself" on the Oh-My-Lord-I-Hate-You-O-Meter.

But I guess it's easy for a lot of people to just look at Josh's band and happily soak up the feel-good factor. Hey you! Have a crazy idea, and then JUST DO IT, MAN! DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, JUST DO IT!

As a motivation, this might be enough to kick off the first project. To carry an idea into planning requires a fair chunk of commitment to begin with, and from then on it requires a huge deal of motivation to keep pushing it forward. You need something that these invented television characters lack: genuine, believable, observable motivations. I honestly think there's a vast amount of people out there who've never had the bravery to try and execute any of the crazy ideas they've had, and realise just how fucking easy it is to give up halfway through.

I can happily say that if I was Josh however, I'd have given up on the super band idea months ago - half the country calling me a twat would be enough to kill any motivation I could have mustered, and I expect I'd have long ago given up on the tour and called it quits.

Oh, unless you pay me.

Day 11: Kill a Horse

Over the past few years I've actively noticed the fact that I use odd little phrases I've picked up from my parents all the time. I'm sure I've been doing this for years, but I've only really clocked it in the past year. It's not an unusual trait by any means: what do you call the TV remote in your house?

Obviously, I call the TV remote 'The Blobber', because it lets you blob between channels. I also rarely serve food without declaring it 'untouched by human foot'. Dangerous Pastries are a family favourite. My brother only found out last month that 'Bellybuttons' were actually called 'Tortellini'. These are just a few examples of the vast wealth of mildly strange things my mother has drilled into my brain over the years - hardly surprising considering she's a woman who gets paid to make up words and dress up like a chicken (her words, not mine).

I don't know how most of these phrases came about exactly, but at their origin they all seem to be based on mutation. You change a few words in a phrase, and somehow it sticks - overwriting the original version in your brain. From that point onwards you always seem to find yourself (often awkwardly) automatically using the quirky bespoke version of this well known phrase that your brain has decided is evidently superior to the original. The most salient of these will stick with you for life, and 20 years later your children will find themselves suddenly realising that a phrase they've been using for years makes no fucking sense at all.

One phrase I seem to be solely responsible for however, is one day going to get me into a lot of trouble - chain of mutation below:

"I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse."

- Standard. Safe. Won't offend geriatrics. It then mutates into two separate phrases:

"I'm so hungry, I could kill a horse."
"I'm so hungry, I could eat a whore."

- These, I can live with. I'd argue that there's humour to be found in both of these statements, as dark as they may be. But lately I've noticed my brain has handily saved space by merging the above to create a fantastic new omniphrase:

"I'm so hungry, I could kill a whore."

This is something I have actually, genuinely said in public. More than once. There's no comic depth to it as a statement - it genuinely just makes no fucking sense. It's the kind of utterance you'd find scrawled in the diary of a man who's hobbies include KILLING WOMEN WITH A CLAW HAMMER. And yet I have genuinely said this in public, more than once. Part of my brain has decided this is something that is an ENTIRELY ACCEPTABLE thing to say when offered a slice of birthday cake. I've also found myself using many of the above as being an apparently viable solution for relieving fatigue. That's right: I'm so tired, I could eat a horse. I'm so tired, I could kill a prostitute. Fucksake, brain.

If I can't even begin to justify any of this stuff to myself. So how the hell am I going to explain it when it gets brought up at a parents evening in 2025?

Day 8: Two Hats

Sometimes I worry that I'm entertaining myself too efficiently. I'm constantly reminded of a backlog of seminal TV shows I've been recommended. I own a wide variety of critically acclaimed videogames, many unfinished - many still wrapped in cellophane. I've got Spotify in my pocket. In my fucking pocket. I'm continually trying to catch up on all of this, and I can't. This incredibly silly guilt means I often find myself trying to squeeze every moment of my free time trying to catch up - guzzling down other people's entertainment, never having to think of how I could make my own.

I guess the main problem I have is how difficult it's become to be utterly bored. Being bored seems rubbish at the time, sure - but it's also a great catalyst for creativity. Thinking about this has reminded me of a time once on on holiday, where my brother got so bored in an airport that he just started throwing things at my face. Eventually, something stuck.

So today, I'd like to teach you the rules of the best two player holiday game ever devised: 'TWO HATS'. If you don't have any reservations about looking like an idiot in a public place, this game will keep you genuinely entertained for hours. Teach it to children, and you might even shut them up for fucking days.


Two Hats - A Game of Two Hats.

First of all, both players will require a hat. Any hats will do, although some hats are more effective than others. Two hats is best played when travelling somewhere sunny, as this will provide the type of wide-rimmed hat that is perfect for a good game of Two Hats. Feel free to experiment with different forms of headgear to find the perfect balance between challenge and comedy.

The Rules:

- Whilst facing the other player, the aim is to lightly throw your hat so that it lands on their head/face and remains there. Once a hat has landed on your head/face, you are not allowed to remove it until the round is over.

- If the throw fails, the hat remains in the possession of the other player, who then takes their turn.

- If you do not have a hat to throw (because it is on your head/face) the other player takes their go.

- When a player has both hats balancing on their head/face simultaneously, the other player has won the round, and will then shout "TWO HATS!" (Optional.)

- One hat on the head/face of each player resets the round.

- If a players vision is partially obscured by a hat covering their face and yet still manages to land a hat on the other player's head/face, the strict bonus point rulings mean that this player automatically wins the round due to awesome.

TOP TIPS!!

- Use a light, flowing wrist action to carefully add spin to the hat, ensuring it slips itself onto their head without bouncing off.

- Aiming directly for the face can be deeply satisfying, particularly when you manage to entirely cover the other player's face (widely regarded by experts as being the true zenith of Two Hats) but exercise caution; this move is easiest to achieve with wide wicker hats, and despite looking like an idiot, your opponent may well retain good visibility for their next - potentially match winning - throw.

PLAY SAFE, KIDS.

Day 3

Exactly a month ago today, I gave up smoking. Considering my proven track record of failure however, this time I decided to get a little help in the form of patches. Honestly, they've been amazing.

People have been congratulating me for the past month or so, but I can't honestly say I've felt like it's been deserved - if anything I've been pumping more nicotine into my system than I was before when I was puffing away. I've been without the patches now for 2 days though, which means the real challenge has just begun.

In the time I spent studying Psychology at Uni, the one thing that fascinated me most was the way we're able to justify the reasons behind the choices and actions we make on a daily basis. It seems reasonable admittedly, but what gives any of us the right to presume we're in any way capable of comprehending how our own minds work? I always find the way we deal with the subconscious really amusing: It's widely regarded as being something that does exist - in one way or another - and yet when was the last time anyone used it to justify their behaviour? I for example have just had a Cajun Chicken Burrito for my lunch - and if you were to ask me why I chose this, I'd be able to give you a variety of reasons why, but as far as I'm aware the real motivation for this choice could well be:

A) Today I done an email with a chicken picture in it
B) DUH DHUH DUH DUH DUH PROTEIN

But even then, both of these justifications rely on things that I'm consciously aware of. As a ruckload of studies have shown in the past, people are able to make strong, rational decisions based on knowledge they're not even consciously aware they have, which I've always found fascinating. In my mind, the subconscious is a entity much more biased towards physicality - it looks out for number one. A shadowy council, calling the shots from behind a velvet curtain, leaving the conscious to wipe up the mess with a series of guess work justifications.

Bring physical addiction into the mix, and things get hairy. Over the next few days my mind will be concocting a variety of incredibly thought out justifications for why it'll be OK for me to have just one smoke. It's nothing new when you've been a smoker for years of course, the excuses we're able to concoct are blindingly strong considering all the shit we have to justify, including everyone's favourite - POTENTIAL FUCKING DEATH. And yet we don't carry on because we're physically addicted to an unpleasant substance, we carry on because 'we enjoy it'. In a way, you have to admire the subterfuge though eh?

If there's one thing the human mind excels at, it's the ability to trick ourselves that we're in control. That we know what we're doing, and it's OK. Being tricked by other people is fucking irritating sure, but there's nothing worse than falling for your own tricks, again and again.

So this week, it's time to start treating my brain like the shameless fucking liar that it is.

Wish me luck.