Lads, I’ve got to share this abomination with you:

I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve tried eating crisps to distract myself but that hasn’t worked. Continue reading “The Blue Peter wigs of evil” →

When you’re five years old in the 80s, your class will go on a trip to one of the following places:

– A farm

– A museum of something no 5 year old cares about, like welding

– The local park/canal

The more exciting trips, such as Alton Towers or abseiling in Derbyshire, are reserved for the older kids, because they can be trusted not to cry and shit their pants on a coach trip of more than two miles. Nevertheless, anything that doesn’t involve tens and units, using the trundle wheel, or running round in your vest and pants is a welcome distraction, so our school trips were always looked forward to like a really shit version of Christmas. Continue reading “The school trip: piss and picnics” →

Further evidence of why I shouldn’t be allowed to go to the shop when I’ve had wine:

I decided it was a good idea to spend £1.49 on a ‘Farm Fun’ activity pack, promising ACTIVITY PUZZLES FUN. Continue reading “Corner Shop Crap: So many evil pigs” →

Charity shops are ace. You can find untold treasures in them, or even a Right Said Fred annual, and all you have to do is polish your kung fu skills so you can fight off the old ladies who are eyeing up your stuff.

The final boss of the charity shop is Yvonne, Guardian of the Raffle Tickets. She stands behind the counter, and will charge you an arbitrary price for something depending on whether or not she likes the look of you:

“Those slacks look common. 20 quid for the jigsaw.”

“You look like a woman I don’t like called Beverley. I’m not selling you this.”

“Your Malcolm works at the bowls club doesn’t he? Have this Faberge egg for 50p.”

She will also bar your path with her mighty bosom if she decides your handbag’s too big. Continue reading “13 things in every charity shop” →

Hello, today we’re making this fucking pile of insanity:

It is called ‘Bungle’s new face’, because the writers wanted it to be as horrifying as possible. Continue reading “Let’s make a terrifying self portrait” →

As a child I was always coming up with stupid get rich quick schemes. I would accompany my parents to the car boot sale and set up my own little table beside them, where I spent the morning trying to convince adults that my empty toilet roll tube with a face drawn on it was an antique, and was worth a hundred pounds. Or I would glue myself to 2p machines whenever we went to the seaside, convinced that I was going to turn a profit and come home with approximately £1,000,000,000 in 2ps. Continue reading “My raffle: a 5 year old’s attempt at scamming” →