I Don't Watch Too Little TV, I Watch The Best TV. There's Difference...

If I stood up and announced that I was planning on selling my shins for medical research, I'd probably not get a strange look. Instead, people would probably point out that without shins, I should now be called Tony (toe-knee, get it? I'm here all week, try the beef). If I decided that I would now sell all my worldly possessions, set up in a tent and wear nothing but shoes on my ears, I'd barely get so much as a raised eye-brow. Even if I went so far as to declare that I will dive into the sea with a Great White Shark because I thought he wanted a hug, then you'd probably come up with a reason or two to agree with me. However if I tell people that at most I watch probably two or three hours of TV a week, they stand there gawping at me, their jaw sitting on the pavement three feet away from them, while they wonder if I've injected an extra strong dose of stupid. I might as well have said that 1+1= a jam sandwich, the reaction would probably have been better. But, honestly, I watch so little television simply because I am too busy doing other things, like working, studying and maybe using the screen to work my Xbox. If I do watch it, it's normally to watch one of the endless Top Gear re-runs on Dave, new Top Gear when it comes on, and sometimes Come Dine With Me.

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Moving House Cheaply Is A Very Silly Idea Indeed.

So as you’re all aware, I bought a house a few months ago. If you actually know me personally, you’ll know this is the case because I’ve been going on about it for the last few months like a yappy child awaiting the arrival of a new puppy, only far more frequently and annoyingly. In the last six months, I’ve spent more money on this house than I probably have done in the rest of my life combined. I don’t know exactly how much, but it’s very much into the five zeros territory! I’ve mentioned the vast deforestation and extinction that hasn’t been seen since the last great asteroid impact that came about from the mountains of paperwork I’ve had to autograph, and the carpets I’ve had to actually co-ordinate with something called “fleck”. On a slightly side-note, talking about “carpet-fleck” is the surest sign that you’re now officially an adult. No longer can you grasp desperately onto being still vaguely “young” when you’re talking about high-traffic areas, and you suddenly realise that you sound like your Dad. It was quite awkward walking out of Carpet-Right thinking to myself “Max, you adulted the hell out of that situation”. But, whatever; It’s all in now, and I’d rather have that than acne.

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