£4.99 chocolate caterpillar cake from ASDA (or your local supermarket).

A seductive Chocolate Caterpillar Cake

Just look at it, with its beady eyes, looking up at you. Do you remember the story of ‘The Hungry Caterpillar’? I think that is what this famous cake is based on. Generally it’s made with a chocolate frosting and dry chocolate sponge. It is the sexiest price possible, £4.99. This is important as despite market fluctuations and global downturn, it is a consistent giver. There is a very important etiquette to lusting over a £4.99 chocolate caterpillar cake from ASDA. For starters, the ‘birthday boy/girl’ gets to have the head piece. That is the best bit, lovely fondue. Just look at the way there are ridges in the way the cake is made, perfect for cutting into slices. Are you going to get a piece with three smarties and two feet, or is it going to be your lucky, lucky, LUCKY, day; and have more?

I don’t think anything could be more appealing than opening up that box of cake, pulling out the green tin foil tray, and then lightening some candles. It’s not your birthday, but you’ll feel like it is, especially if you get some candles that say ‘Happy Birthday’ on.

Traffic Warden Roll play

COR BLIMEY GUV'NOR !

I’m just going to copy’n’paste on here a post I made

I fucking love traffic warden role-play. I put on my traffic warden costume (I’m not a really one, I got one from here), and get my partner to park just inside some double yellow lines. I get my Psion, little notebook and casio digital camera. I take some photos of him parking in the lines. I make sure I get the right measurements and put them into the PDA.

I then go for a walk for a little bit, about half an hour plus ten minutes grace, and I come back and start writing a ticket. My partner, in the mean time, comes back from the pub and sees me writing this down. He then comes at me, all manly and butch, shouting, “You can’t give me a ticket!” “Sorry sir, you’re in the double yellows, and I’ve already started writing it down”, “Please man, I need this car, and I can’t afford to pay the fine”. We then have a heated debate as to my self worth, he calls me a jobsworth cunt and all that, and I act calm and rationally. It ends with me giving him a ticket.

Then within 28 days, I go around to his house, he could be doing anything at the time, and I tell him “You’ve got to pay the fine”. I then get another friend to play the part of a junior court clerk so we can play a bit of role-play contesting the fine.

I won’t get into all the sex part of thing on here, don’t want people to think I’m weird, but it doesn’t take much imagination to see where it can fit in. Loads of opportunity to have sex in those 28 days.

Jenga; and other family board games… except Cloud, that’s just sick.

Look at the size of that one !

Picture it, just me and you, sitting around the table. There are a whole bunch of board games in the cupboard, what one will we play? Hungry Hippos? Kaplunk? Should we…., no, we can’t do that; it’s not even the weekend. Ok then, I’ll get the jenga out. 54 wooden blocks, minus the 2 we “lost” the last time, all approximately three times longer than it is wide, it’s height approximately half it’s width. The lovingly printed ‘Jenga’ written down the sides. It’s just asking for sexy-fun-times. The way you lay out three blocks side by side, and then another layer on top but facing the other way. The way you have to have a very steady hand and a good eye for structural integrity. Is it going to fall? Is it going to stay up? I just don’t know. With each brick pull, the anticipation of the potential destruction of 15 minutes work. As you watch your partner “Pulling a jenga brick”, you must remain quiet as to not distract them. Just watch the perspiration on their forehead.

I meet a girl once who was also into this sort of thing, her big one was Cluedo. Now, I’m no prude, so I thought I would give it a go, see what it was all about. For all I know, Cluedo could have been the best thing I’ve ever tried. Turned out that it wasn’t for me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking down on anyone who enjoys Cluedo… some of my best friends enjoy Cluedo… but I couldn’t get over the fact that someone in the room was a murderer, and a few people were accusing me of such things! I was quite shocked at first; I would never do such a thing. I think it was a set-up, because when I looked at the card that told me I had killed that poor lady with the candlestick in the game’s room; well, I just couldn’t recall doing that. In the end, I exclaimed to my harem of players “I’m just not into necrophilia” and left the room.

The Television

Living on my own

I could watch what I want, when I want. Nobody complained about me watching two hours of Hollyoaks a day (today’s one, tomorrow’s one, then all again on +1) and the rest of the time I could watch cooking all day long. The trouble is that soon you realise that you’re not laughing at the funny bits. You think to yourself “lol” instead of actually laughing. (Mum: if you’re reading this, ‘lol’ stands for ‘laughing out loud’ now, not ‘lots of love’…. lol.).

Watching tv on my own.

Living with friends

Thankfully I now live with friends who like similar interests in television to me. They’ve infected me with F1 Fever, but I don’t understand much more than the ones who get around the track first are the best. I think I can’t even blink as fast as the difference some of the stuff makes. I keep on asking questions that I’m told are stupid. Apparently the most stupid one is that I reckon at least one driver has used a modified version of a playstation game to practice in their hotel bedrooms, it sounds plausible, right? I also can’t work out what stuff makes a difference or not, so I ask things like “Does the vinyl stickers from the sponsors make a difference?” and “What happens if they need to use the lavatory?… All those vibrations over a long time would probably make me need to go.”

As revenge, ‘S’ is now interested in the daily going-ons in Chester and although none of us would admit it, there were wet eyes when Steph died the other week. I’m still trying to inflict it on ‘R’, but it’s not happening, I think it’s because he is nostalgic for the days of Chloe, who went on to write this: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fat-Girl-22Hollyoaks-22-Mikyla-Dodd/dp/0340935472

Watching tv with friends.

Living with Mum

There is some serious politics going on when I stay around my ma’s place, in regards to the television. We both have a mental list of shows that we like and the other doesn’t, and we have a list of ‘neutral’ shows, stuff we both like. For every show I pick that she doesn’t like, she gets to watch one of hers. It may sound petty, but her shows are normally a few hours long, and we judge it on a per-show basis. She also counts the time when she’s out at a friends place. This is deeply unfair on me, but I have a few tricks of my own. She thinks I really don’t like Law&Order, but I don’t mind it in truth*, this way I get to watch Hollyoaks. My general rule of thumb for something I hate but she likes is “If it’s on ITV3, two hours long, has a detective and is based in a village in England”. I just can’t relate to films or television shows based in small villages, casinos or forests. She’s tried to do the same to me, claiming she doesn’t like cooking shows, but I know she’s got a bit of a soft spot for Nigel Slater

* I’m not giving away the real name of the shows I don’t mind but she likes, I’m keeping those cards private.

Watching TV with mum

What to eat

Living on your own

Baked Beans, cheese, potato and jellipinos... what's wrong with that?

Cooking for one is a bit shit, normally there are loads to throw away and I just can’t be bothered for it. Once a month I would cook something special, but in general I can’t be arsed. This can sometimes lead to wonderful creations, such as “Potato and Beans… Thing”. I would get some baby potatoes, put it in a dish, and cover with beans and a few jellopinos, top with cheese and bake for an hour or soo. The reaction I got from displaying this culinary creation was far worst than the result. Reactions to this include:-

• it looks like a mong has been let loose in the kitchen and told to feed itself
• I can’t look at it without crying a little bit for you
• That’s a bowl of spasticity if I’ve ever seen it.

I actually missed things like Sunday Lunches when I lived on my own, which is weird, because I find them mostly dull and boring, unless there are loads of Yorkshire puddings and gravy.

It’s allowed for me to think of lots interesting things that I could never put into practice, such as The Everlasting Desert. Don’t dismiss this one, it’s got potential, one day I shall UNLESH THE CULONARY DRAGON. You get a tiny ball of cream cheese, batter, deep fry, cover in peanut butter, batter, deep fry, cover in nutella, batter, deep fry, cover in mashed banana, batter, deep fry, cover in caramel, let it set, batter, deep fry, cover in….. etc etc, until you have a rugby ball. Slice that baby up like a watermelon and enjoy! I think it’ll work; one day I shall create this.

Living with Friends

This is great if you have people you can inflict food on. It’s easier to cook for two or three than it is for one. All our tastes are pretty similar, except my intense dislike for Tuna. There are a few ‘weird’ things that I like that ‘R’ doesn’t, but ‘S’ seems to enjoy everything I’ve made so far. ‘T&C’, my old flatmates, sometimes would enjoy my creations, and would come up with a few of their own. The general rule of thumb is that as long as I tidy as I go, someone else will do the cleaning up if I do the making of it. We tend to split things quite evenly in regards to paying for things, I would pay for bits and bobs, and someone else would pay for other bits. Which is great because I normally make enough for two or three and throwing stuff away anyway; but now it’s not costing as much ‘cus other people are eating it.

Nobody complains when I get a take away, except for myself, when I attempt to justify it, when there is no reason too. Just the other week I phoned up ma’ and declared to her “Ma’, I’m an adult. If I wanted to join the army, then I could. I can die for this country. I’m old enough to have a child in secondary school; legally. I pay my own bills and earn my own money. If I wanted to drive a big truck, like an artic lorry, age would not be the thing stopping me. I’ve called you to tell you that tonight I shall be getting Sushi for dinner, and I’m not going to justify it to you or anyone else…. Ok ma’, I know, I know, yeah’, yeah’, I just felt I needed to tell someone. Ok. Love you loads… bye-bye.”

Brave friends trying out my sometimes dubious looking food.

Living with Mum

This is a winner, if your mum is a good cook, which my one is. Except if you fancy a take away and have to justify it. It’s great that you can ask them to get you a glass of squash and as if by magic it appears. On the other hand, even though there are 10 ashtrays in a one-bedroom bungalow for one person; they magically disappear beyond reach every time you go to light up. Her kitchen is always stocked to a level I can never achieve though; she has all kinds of exotic ingredients such as two kinds of Olive Oil, Smoked Salmon and a jar or questionable pickles.

Ma's Steak and Chips.

Tidying up

Living on your own

Meh’, why do today what you can do tomorrow. Until eventually you’re ashamed to even get pizza delivered.

Living with friends

This all depends on the type of people you live with. I used to live with someone, and there was a stand off. On principal people wouldn’t clean up after anyone else until there was a Showdown in the Wild Wild West and we had to get a cleaner in every week. I was no saint, but I’m adamant that I was not the worst (despite the evidence). The worst thing about this is that we have a dishwasher. Now I’m living with some really awesome people though, so it is all working out cleaning wise. No one begrudges the other when they have to wash their plate, and nothing gets left out for more than 24 hours. There was ‘words’ in regards to the cleaning of the bathroom though, which came down to basic genetics… women are clean and men are dirty sods.

Living with Mum

When I go to my mums and stay the night, I ask if I can ‘crash round’, this has turned into a literal expression, as I tend to dump my stuff where I am. Ma’, being a ma’, will always feel the need to deep clean on a weekly basis, and it makes her happy, I just time it so I crash ‘round the day before rather than the day after.

Bringing Girls Home

Living on your own

Sad Times. This is a good thing considering the state of the place I was living in.

Living with friends

Sad Times… with added whooping and hollering, and the awkward conversations for the next few days.

Living with mum

Sad Times… with added “Oh thank goodness, I thought he was a feygela. I can still be a grandma one day!”

Like so many of us have done on yet another Friday night alone at home, I’ve gone through my friend’s friends on facebook, ignoring anyone with a male name, clicked their profile, went straight to the ‘relationship status’ and gone through each and every single photo of anyone listed as “Single” or “It’s Complicated”, and maybe “Divorced” too, because at my grand old age of 27, that category has suddenly opened up. I would include ‘Widowed’ too, but I think I’m a bit young for that. The rules are half your age plus seven, so that’s anyone between twenty and a half (but anyone who counts ‘half’ automatically gets put off the list) and…. forty-seven.

That’s a pretty wide demographic; it covers everyone from fans of Hollyoaks to fans of Prime Minister’s Question Time. From Dizzee Rascal to Simon and Garfunkel. From Heat magazine to the Daily Mail (“only ‘cus I like the crossword”). People who remember what it was like to hate Thature to people who can’t remember the first Big Brother… probably. Surely there has to be someone out there.

So, what is it a guy like me has to offer to a very lucky lady?

My Generosity

My generosity knows no bounds.

As you can see from this photographic evidence, I am a very generous person. This week alone I’ve bought 3 poppies. The first one was because I bought sushi from the fabulous but very expensive (to me) sushi place down the road. I felt a tad guilty for this luxury, so thought the universe would balance out karma wise if I buy a poppy.

I wore it with pride for a couple of days and I wasn’t bothered by shaky tin people, until I noticed they were shaking their tins at me again. At some point I must have lost my badge of caring. In order to stop the pangs of guilt when walking past them, I emptied my penny section of my wallet and got another one. Alas, the look of acceptance amongst my fellow Londoner turned to shaky tin and scorn again, so there goes my change; I was looking forward to getting a can of ‘V’ drink when I got home too.

This third time though, I was going to get value for money, I decided to use the little pin they give you to go through the red bit and though my jacket. Fabulous, this one isn’t going anywhere. The next morning while at Kings Cross waiting for my train to Farringdon, some very important person barged right past me and it tore. I was horrified, worst than people thinking that I’m an apathetic Londoner, they’ll see the now tatty poppy and give me The Tut of Disapproval. So I binned that one while no body was looking and got the one I have to this moment.

I’m a published photographer and model.

I'm a published model and photographer !

I have had my ‘art’ (or ‘work’, what sound’s better? ‘Work’ or ‘art’?) Published in several places, such as my friend Julian’s facebook wall, and my friend Sam’s Flickr, which gets an audience of several billion trillion people. Apparently Google and YouTube have also featured me.

I am the very definition of Vogue.

The very height of fashion.

As you can see by my outfit here, I am at the very epicentre of fashion. I’m also a man who’s not afraid to order a fruity cocktail and a cheap cigar. If Del Boy can order one, then so can I.

I’m not chubby enough to fill John Prescott’s wheel chair.

Not big enough to fill John Prescott's wheelchair.

No explanation needed.

I have an amazing body

What a hunk !

Some people have to work at their bodies, going to the gym every day, some people are naturally good looking…. I, on the other hand, know Photoshop.

So there we have it, I’m quite a catch, so now it’s time to find me a misses !

I’ve come up with some lovely new foods, like Duck Legs with a Honey/Mustard/Curry-powder sauce, it’s OMGood. I’ve also been eating a lot of salad and beetroot, oh man, I love beetroot.

I’ve had an idea for a few days now to make some Chilli Chocolate Brownies, which I’ll give a go this weekend.

That’s it really, Thank-you to everyone who’s wished me better over the last few weeks, and sorry to all the people I’ve been missing.

Loveyaloads,

Pauly Pops

xxx

Mwah’

I’ve gotten passionate and started writting letters to people, here are the first three.

• An open letter to every sushi bar IN THE WORLD.
• An open letter to Subway.
• An open letter to Tescos

Enjoy =)

Then, next week, I shall make a Dislike button for Facebook, hopefully one that does something.

Something a day

It’s a new year, and a new decade. There are a lot of ‘Photo a day’ things. My plan is to dedicate a bit of time (maybe 10 minutes, maybe a few hours, we’ll see) a day, every day, for the next year, into doing something creative. Weather that’s cooking something new and interesting, designing some wallpapers or web apps, developing a new section to a website…. It doesn’t really matter, as long as it’s something. It’ll help keep the mind sharp, and hopefully I’ll come up with something useful to someone.

So, everyone, have a great 2010, I’m going to make this one My Year, and I look forward to the journey.