One of the things that grips me and terrifies me more than anything is the stress people go through in their own home, no matter how hard you try to avoid it, the home is the most stressful place on earth. The kitchen for example is pretty bad and it drives me nuts pretty much all day, it’s the one place where if it can go wrong… it bloody will.

Cans and tins are pretty traumatic in the respect that it don’t matter how carefully you grind the tin opener it somehow it always manages to either lose grip or completely drops off all together. The thing that makes it worse is that the newly sliced lid always ends up pointing inside the can meaning you gotta bend the teeth of yet another fork popping it back out, leaving you with a tin of beans with tiny wisps of fucking shredded label in your beans.

Why is that every time I go to make a cup of coffee the kettle is always empty? I say to my brothers all the time “when you’ve made a drink… fill the fucking thing back up… or better yet… fill it right up when you make your drink.” Also the bastards try to sneakily make one without anyone knowing, they go all covert trying to do it as quietly as possible so they don’t have to make anyone else one. I watched Fluff (my brother) do it the other day… how long does it take to make a coffee? Five minutes? Three minutes? It took the fucker twelve long and agonizing minutes to make his coffee stealthily so he didn’t have to make the effort to make extra cups.

My kitchen is pretty small so it don’t matter what way you turn you never have to take a step to reach anything, what makes matters worse is that I have a bin under my sink, actually you come to the bin before you come to the sink… so why do tea bags always end up without fail in the washing up bowl? It drives me nuts and I mean copiously fucking insane.

I don’t know about you guys but I have one of them new television remotes that have cloaking technology, even when I was the last to use it, it still manages to go invisible or end up in the one part of the room I aint been in. DVD players are another tool of torment… you switch them on and they spend three bloody hours booting up a disc that aint even in there before the poxy “eject” button works. And why is there no disc in there? Because my bloody brothers have left them on the side in messy stacks that look like metallic bog rolls, all gathering dust and magically scratching themselves.

The bathroom is another place of torment and suffering, as soon as you go in there you see a smelly damp flannel that smells all stagnant and gross, that goes well with the damp towels that are dumped in the corner out of sheer laziness. The soap sits in a little pool of water dissolving into a soggy mess that looks like a bald head smeared with ice cream… and why is it theres always a lonesome nasty stray pubic hair embedded into it?

I like baths and they are the one pleasure in the world that you don't have to pay for or spend hours chatting up and pleasing, making it them my one vice that I take pride in freely. I languish in my bath thinking about life, posts, website ideas and just general pondering. When it's time to get out I simply pull the plug with my toes and just doss until the water is gone... but sometimes nothing happens... cue the stress. I have to reach into the plughole and I always end up pulling out a massive wad of hair that looks like a half eaten otter, and it's never fucking mine... It's like a soggy infected wig that I have to tactfully try and flick in the toilet... and yep you guessed it... I always bloody miss.

Saving the worst until last and the one thing that really gets on my nerves is when people squeeze the toothpaste from the middle like they are strangling an earth worm; I have to roll it from the bottom every bloody day… I say to Mike “have you cleaned your teeth?” And he denies it flat down, I ask Fluff and he grunts at me like a pig with a mouthful of dog shit. I guess nobody done it, which is pretty normal… Mr Nobody has lived at mine for a while, he comes in and brushes his teeth, empties the fridge, makes three hundred phone calls and fucks off again… one day I’ll catch the bastard!