#oneaday, Day 271: Clever Pun on “Teriyaki”

Food is great. Everyone loves food. Some might call it an essential to survival. But not all foods are created equal. Some are lame and bland and tasteless. Some are Brussels sprouts. Some are chocolate eclairs.

And then there's Japanese food.

"So what?" you might say. "Who gives a god-damn doodly bugger bollocks?"

Well, okay. You may take Japanese food for granted. But it's still a relative rarity in certain parts of the UK that aren't London. And even then, YO! Sushi isn't really Japanese food. Or perhaps I should say "authentic" Japanese food.

Tonight I went to a place in Southampton that I'd always wanted to go to but never had done for some reason. That place is Zen, a Japanese restaurant at the far end of the High Street. I was gently encouraged into this course of action by my very lovely dining companion for the evening, who was a big fan and certainly didn't need much convincing when I suggested we give it a shot.

Inside, the décor is a curious blend of Japanese and Western cultural influences. There is Japanese artwork on the walls, but the heavy chairs would look more at home in a banqueting hall than an Eastern-style restaurant. Also, there is a glitter ball, the presence of which was never fully explained.

The place is bathed in a soft red light from the lights on the bar and the candles at the sides, and the ambient light is dim, but not annoyingly so. It's a very pleasant atmosphere in which to dine, marred only slightly by the distinctly Western pop music playlist.

Then came the food. It came very quickly, for starters, which is a good thing. Also, it was delicious.

You want more details than that eh? All right. I had a "Teriyaki Salmon Set", which included several generous chunks of beautifully-cooked melt-in-the-mouth salmon in gorgeous, sweet teriyaki sauce. Then there was a simple salad with tomatoes, cucumber and lettuce with a mild yet tasty dressing. There were some pickled vegetables (cucumber and carrot strips) that had been pickled in a very sweet vinegar. There was a mound of sticky rice. And there was a bowl of very tasty miso soup, too, containing tofu which dissolved into nothingness pretty much the second it hit your tongue.

There was not one thing on that plate that wasn't delicious. Even the simple "side salad" tasted great thanks to the dressing. But the highlight of the show was the salmon. It was magnificent.

Dinner was followed with a look at the sake list. We opted for "Kushi" (I think), which is a plum wine which tastes dangerously non-alcoholic and is served cold. It was fruity and delicious, and had a bit of a bite to it, but not in that sometimes-unpleasant overly-alcoholic way. The bite in this was from the tartness of the plums, and it was a pretty delicious way to cleanse the palate after the yumminess of the main course.

I later told my experiences to a friend, who claimed that an actual Japanese friend of his didn't rate it much. This was a surprise. So maybe it's not that "authentic" after all. But it was certainly delicious, and I'd definitely recommend it. So who are you going to listen to? A Japanese person or the guy whose blog you're reading right now?

Actually, don't answer that.

#oneaday, Day 270: Go Go Gadget, uhh, Gadget

I love gadgets. Anyone who knows me in "real life" will not be surprised by this revelation. But I'm always impressed by quite how much we can do with various little portable implements these days. And even not quite so recently, too.

The most recent mind-blowing moment I had was during this last week when I had my little expedition to the woods. I was standing in the middle of a forest with absolutely no trace of civilisation except a little crude wooden bench by the side of the muddy path. And somehow I had better mobile signal than I do in the house I'm sitting right now. So, without thinking, I popped out my iPhone and fired up eBuddy to say hello to my buddy Chris in California. He responded back and we had a nice discussion about music.

Let's just think about that a minute. I was in the middle of a wood in Cambridgeshire, England. Chris was somewhere in sunny California. And yet there we were, chatting away like this was a perfectly normal thing to do. That's awesome.

One of my favourite gadget moments, though, was a good few years back now. I was up in Edinburgh at the Fringe with the Southampton University Theatre Group, or "Rattlesnake!" as we'd inexplicably decided to call ourselves. At the time, I had somehow managed to end up with the responsibility of keeping the Theatre Group website up to date. I'd prepared a special Edinburgh page and everything, and I decided that it would be pretty awesome to keep an online diary. The concept of "blogging" was but a pipe dream for all but the biggest nerds (even bigger than me) at this point. And doing so via a mobile device was absolutely out of the question.

I did, however, have my Palm Tungsten with me, to date my second-favourite gadget after my iPhone. You could play Shining Force on it, for heaven's sake. That's awesome, if beside the point. No, the reason my Palm came in handy was that I could type up my diary entries into the Notes application on it and then use the handily-provided SD card (32MB!) to transfer said material to a computer in the conveniently-located Internet café we found one day.

One may ask why I didn't just type said diary entries straight into the computers. Well, the advantage of doing it on the Palm was that I could write things as they happened. I could write a rehearsal report. I could write what we were up to in the park. I could write about flyering the Royal Mile. The Frankenstein pub. (AMAZING) Being on top of Arthur's Seat drinking sake as the sun rose. (DOUBLEPLUSAMAZING)

Sure, I could have written about these things after the fact. But the immediacy of being able to write about it there and then was pretty damn cool. Each new generation of gadgets makes this sort of thing easier and easier to do. And while it has its downsides—the sea of people filming concerts on their mobile phones instead of actually watching the damn things being one—on the whole I think it's really great to be able to share life's exciting little moments (or, in the case of some of you out there, the details of your latest bowel movements) with people that you care about it. Of course some of this is vanity. But the other side of it is being able to share things with people that you don't get to hang out with as often as you like.

So gadgets are awesome. For everyone. Not just nerds.

#oneaday, Day 269: Things To Do While Waiting For The Phone To Ring

Of all the items of technology the human race has ever invented, the humble phone is surely one which has the greatest hold over our lives. It can make us drop what we're doing and run off somewhere. It can make us laugh, make us cry, make us scared. And it can make us wait. Wait for hours.

You might be waiting for the results of a job interview. An STD test. A loved one's driving test. You might be waiting for a special person to call. You might be hoping that someone from your place of work doesn't call because you skived off today and you think someone might have seen you on your lunch break. You might be waiting for a utility company to "call you back" with the results of an enquiry you made six months ago.

In short, you could be waiting for lots of things. Which means you could be spending an awfully long time sitting and staring at your phone, particularly if you're kicking yourself that you gave the person you're expecting to call you back your landline number. Because who the hell uses landlines any more anyway? Mobile's where it's at. With a mobile phone you don't have to sit and stare at the phone, willing it to ring. Of course, in practice all that happens is you tend to sit on the couch with your mobile nearby instead of near the phone table. Because you don't dare go anywhere in case you miss an important phone call. And heaven forbid if you ever have to answer an important phone call while you're engaged in toilet activity of the sitting-down variety. ("Is that an echo?" they'll say. "Where are you?" "In a cave," you'll reply, a little too quickly. "A cave with a mobile mast on top of it.")

So what to do while you're waiting for the phone to ring? It can't be anything which you have to commit to, because you might have to drop everything at a moment's notice to go and answer the phone call. It can't be anything that gets your hands dirty, because no-one likes picking up a phone with dirty hands. And it can't possibly be anything which requires you to go outside, because then other people might hear you discussing your itchy parts with the nurse.

So, here are five suggestions.

1. Pair up your socks.

You've been meaning to do it for months. And you haven't. So instead of sitting staring into space, why not make a start on it? Pairing up your socks is a job that you can easily leave unfinished and go back to, months later sometimes. Hence, it is an eminently waiting-for-phone-call-friendly activity. Experienced professionals with cordless phones can even continue pairing their socks while they are on the phone.

2. Play a casual game.

This is what casual games like Bejeweled, Peggle and the like were made for. Playable in short bursts, easy to jump out of at a moment's notice if you need to and actually fun for those few minutes you're waiting, they also give your brain a bit of a workout. Unless it's Farmville, in which case all you're working out is your clicking finger. Moo.

3. Play "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" on Wikipedia.

Here's how this works. Pick two completely disparate topics. Open the Wikipedia page for one. Using six clicks or less, you must navigate your way to the second topic using only the hyperlinks within the Wiki articles.

4. Bleach the toilet.

You've been complaining for weeks that the toilet stinks, so go and squirt some bleach down it. This takes a matter of seconds. And if the phone rings once you've bleached it, it'll be time to flush by the time you're off the phone again.

5. Make me a coffee.

Well go on. Don't just sit there.

#oneaday, Day 268: Through the Night

I took my first steps into the night. Coming from the brightness I'd left behind me, the inky blackness looked impenetrable, a solid wall of darkness into which I'd vanish, never to be heard from ever again, were I to take one step further forward.

I took a step forward, and I did not vanish. The light was still behind me but my eyes were gradually adjusting, focusing, bringing that which was hidden into view again.

I took out the small torch and lit it, the small pool of light it cast spilling onto the floor, concentric circles of light and shadow. There's always a way through even the blackest darkness if you have even just a little light.

I stepped forward again, and again, and began walking into the darkness. I didn't know where my feet were taking me save into the black of the night. But I was moving forward, ever onward, like it was the thing to do. It was important. This was all that mattered right now. I walked, sweeping the dim light of the torch in front of me and watching ill-defined shapes pass as the light caught them and I walked past.

"Run," whispered a voice in my ear, and I obeyed. I quickened my pace, still holding the torch, still sweeping it around, not knowing where I was headed or where I would end up. But I was running. The ground was hard under my feet, the regular thump-thump-thump of my steps mingling with the quickening of my heart in a chorus of drums that only I was witness to.

The darkness closed in around me, and the pool of light showed me that I was surrounded by shadows, but they did not feel threatening. Rather, they encased me, enclosed me, kept me safe. And still I ran, ever forward. The hard ground gave way beneath my feet to loose stones and finally soft mud. I felt the occasional splash of a puddle, but I was already past it, ever moving onwards. Still moving, still pushing forwards. But to where?

A scent filled my nostrils, a natural smell; the smell of the woods, of trees and leaves. It infused my being with a sense of peace. Out here there was nothing to fear, nothing to hide from, nothing to run from. But still I ran, with a sense of purpose that became ever more urgent.

In the distance, a pinpoint of light. As I drew closer, it flickered, its warm glow drawing my eyes away from the dark and towards what I now knew to be my destination. Closer still, and I could see the gentle flames; a source of comfort, warmth and safety, a place to rest a while.

As I entered the clearing I felt the warmth of the fire on my face and smelled the sweet smoke. And then she was there too, looking at me, smiling, those eyes gazing deep into my soul.

"I've been waiting for you," she said, taking my hand.

#oneaday, Day 267: Go Outside!

It's funny. I've never particularly thought of myself as an outdoorsman, despite growing up in the country and despite semi-regular trips from primary school and Cub Scouts (yeah, deal with it) to various campsites. This is largely to do with being a nerd, of course, because everyone knows that nerds, like vampires, tend to shun sunlight in favour of the glow of a TV or computer screen. Or sometimes candle-light and books. But books don't glow. Unless they're on an iPad.

Anyway,  the point I was getting at is that I appear to have spent most of the last couple of days outside. This is partly due to the Couch-to-5K running programme I've been following which, by its very nature, requires one to go outside to do said running. Today, though, I decided to just go out for a walk. Of course, I had the flimsy justification of putting various GPS trackers on to try and measure how far I went yesterday (3.75 miles, as it happens) but mostly it was a desire to actually go out again. The place I went yesterday—a nearby wood—is a place that's nice and quiet and peaceful and has literally nothing surrounding it on Google Maps. Today, rather than running there (or run-walk-run-walk-ing there, to be more accurate) I just walked and took my time. I had some awesome tunes on for the duration and just enjoyed being out, feeling the breeze on me (until it got a bit cold later) and the feeling of being surrounded by nature. Evidently I have some sort of latent hippie/wood elf tendencies.

Of course, any kind of sudden change in one's routine is normally down to external stimuli, and of course there's one in this case. A few online chats with a very nice person (who may be reading this right now… hello! *waves*) inspired me to go out and spend some time in all this countryside I'm surrounded with. This countryside I grew up in, and pretty much took for granted, and then became a teenager and thought was boring. So I have. So, special person, thank you for being the one to give me a nudge in the correct direction. It just takes the right person to say the right thing and… well, you find yourself in the middle of the woods listening to Shpongle.

For those who are keeping up, this person is also the person who bullied me (not very hard) into picking up a copy of Firefly and then sat until the early hours with me yesterday watching it "with" me. Which was nice. But also made me forget to write my blog. Although that was mostly my own fault for not writing it earlier and then engaging in a conversation I knew would continue for quite a long time.

Anyway. Yes. Going outside is good. So do it. Especially if you've just finished watching that DVD box set or beaten that game you were playing. Don't pick up another one (yet)—open that door and go and enjoy the lovely mild Autumn sunshine and the crispy brown leaves under your feet. Unless you live in the city, in which case you can go out and enjoy the howling Autumn Peugeot chavmobiles screaming past at all hours.

I have been outside most of today, so I now have no guilt at settling down under a warm duvet with a mug of hot chocolate and a Firefly box set. Can you say the same? Can you?

Oh, here's some photos. These were taken using the iPhone 4's fancy-pants HDR setting and haven't had any processing done to them. Enjoy! I'm off to watch aforementioned Firefly.

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#oneaday, Day 266: Shiny!

Yeah. I know. Don't look at the timestamp. But technically I haven't broken the rules as I haven't gone to sleep yet. Therefore it's still yesterday.

Again, don't look at the timestamp.

The reason I'm awake at this ridiculous hour and not sleeping the night away? Firefly.

I am super-late to the party on Firefly but a selection of Whedonite acquaintances have been bugging me to watch it for ages. One in particular tipped me over the edge and convinced me to grab the DVDs from Amazon. (They were cheap.) So I have. And now I'm hooked, particularly as I've spent the last several hours virtually watching Firefly with said person and commenting via IM.

I've always loved Joss Whedon's work (well, Buffy, Angel and Dr Horrible) as he is a masterful character creator. Firefly is no exception. There is not one single person in that cast who is "filler". They all have a role to play and all are unique, entertaining people who bring a great deal to the series. The tone is kept quite light-hearted throughout, despite the serious scrapes they find themselves in at times, and that, too, is a hallmark of Whedon.

What I wasn't expecting was the tone and feel of the series in general. Firefly is a Western! In space. And not even a little bit. There are times when it doesn't even try and hide it. Cattle ranching. Weaponry that looks mysteriously like revolvers, rifles and shotguns. A slightly bastardised form of Wild West American English. And some cracking saloon fights.

There's also an element of Chinese in there, too, with the "Galactic Language" (which seems to be reserved for swearing) being Chinese, apparently. Quite what that's all about, I'm not sure yet.

The best thing by far, though, is the writing. Every character gets some magnificent lines and Whedon's trademark quick-fire exchanges are present, correct and frequent. Nathan Fillion's wonderful performance as Mal is delivered with such wonderfully deadpan gusto that it immediately makes him a wonderful character. But his supporting cast are incredible too, with tough guy Jayne being a particular highlight.

One of my favourite things about the series, though, is the slang used throughout. It actually brings to mind classic RPG Planescape Torment in that, to begin with, it's sometimes difficult to work out what these characters are talking about. But after spending a bit of time with them, you soon start getting wise to their idiosyncratic way of speaking. And you too will start using the word "shiny" in conversation.

At this stage (nearly two discs in) I'm wondering why on Earth this show ever got cancelled. It's magnificent. It's well-written, tightly-scripted, beautifully acted and tells an excellent story. But someone, somewhere at Fox didn't like it, it seems, and didn't feel it was worthy of renewing. Which is a crying shame when you see tripe like The X-Factor gracing our screens for year after year. I know X-Factor isn't Fox. But it is shit, unlike Firefly.

So, if you (yes, you) have never had the pleasure of watching Firefly, drop everything you're doing, watching, playing and pick up the series on DVD from Amazon.

#oneaday, Day 265: Skill Points

Take a minute, now, to take stock of yourself. Specifically, take stock of the skills you have. And don't say that you don't have any. Everybody has skills of some description, whether it's the ability to make the perfect Angel Delight without the use of a measuring jug, the ability to excite women simply by looking at them, an understanding of the various wires, pipes and bendy things that make up a car engine or being able to do something awesome like play the piano.

It's quite a strange experience to suddenly be conscious of your own skills. But there are times when it happens. It often doesn't happen when you're young or lacking in self-confidence. But at some point in your life, something flips a switch in your head and says, "Hey. You're awesome. It's okay to think that." Not in an arrogant way, simply in the sense that you can picture a task in front of you—be it making said Angel Delight, exciting said women or… you get the idea—and feel confident that yes, you probably are going to be able to pull that off.

You know you're at that stage when you casually mention something you're doing to friends and they're all "Oh wow! That's so awesome!" and you're all like "Yeah, whatever." and then they're all "No, SRSLY, that's AWESOME!" and you're like "Really?" and they're all "Yeah!" and you get all proud of yourself and then a bit guilty that you're feeling pride because it's one of the Seven Deadly Sins after all and you don't want to end up in a field shouting "WHAT'S IN THE FUCKIN' BOX?!" and finding spoilers in the spoiler. (Yes, I know the Statute of Limitations was up on Se7en years ago.)

But it's actually a pretty cool feeling. Particularly when you realise that rather than being someone quite a way down the "pecking order" of "talent", whatever your skill might be, you're actually pretty high up, and that people know that, realise that and respect you for it.

My skills that I'm most proud of? (Hi, Satan.) Music and writing. I'm sure there are ways I could improve both. I know for a fact I'm not as good a musician as many of my peers and friends, for example. But I'm satisfied with the skills I've got, I'm an awesome accompanist and my sight-reading skills are the stuff of legend. Amongst musicians. Who tell legends about sight-reading.

And my writing: if you're reading this, take a look at the number at the top. 265 days. That's how much I love my writing. 265 days of wanking on about bollocks, at least 500 words at a time. Some of it is bullshit. Some of it is profound. Some of it is non-descript. But I like all of it. I see some trusted friends, peers and colleagues being so very hard on themselves and their writing sometimes. And it actually makes me glad for once; while there are many things I would like to change and/or improve about myself, my writing is the one thing that I generally find myself feeling happy and satisfied with and, dare I say it, proud of.

So take a moment the next time you have a free second. Put down that celebrity gossip rag, that chocolate eclair or that tube of personal lubricant. Think about yourself. Think about what you're good at. And take a moment to give yourself a pat on the back. Well done. You do a great job on that thing you're really good at.

#oneaday, Day 264: Cupid Rules OK

OKCupid! is a fascinating site. Even if you're not looking for a potential partner, soulmate or someone to shout "gief cyb0r plz" at, I'd encourage you to take a look at it for the simple reason that the site itself is pretty unique when it comes to the world of social networking, finding friends and dating.

If you've ever dipped a toe into the murky waters of online dating, you'll know that most sites are 1) filled with people who are apparently far more attractive than you (but in fact are either using a fake photo or a very good photographer) and 2) demand that you give them vast quantities of cash every month for the privilege of being able to actually talk to anyone. Fair enough if they work; certain places like match.com even offer a money-back guarantee if you can't find yourself someone to talk to on their network. There's also that interminable string of "OMG! GET LAID WITH GIRLS IN [insert location from your IP address here] TONIGHT!!" that you get on some of the Internet's less salubrious sites. But the less said about them the better.

No, OKCupid takes a different tack by first of all being free to use. Marvellous. Second of all, rather than relying on people searching via simple criteria ("I am looking for a woman aged 25-35 in the Outer Hebrides") it does some rather clever profiling of your personality via a bank of approximately five bajillion "match questions", some of which are "official", but many of which have been submitted by other users. All of them are multiple choice, and all of them require you to not only put your own answer, but the answer you'd like your ideal partner/friend/fuckbuddy to put, too. And they don't have to match. Perhaps you're spoiling for a fight, so you put that you like immigrants, but you'd rather your ideal match were a card-carrying Daily Mail reader with borderline racist tendencies. Or perhaps you want to find someone who will never, ever argue with you about anything, ever. In which case you put that your ideal partner/friend/fuckbuddy should answer the same as you, and that it is MANDATORY (like the sex party) that they do this. And you won't accept anything less. No sir.

Anyway, the upshot of all this is that the site builds what is probably a pretty accurate psychological profile of you and, as such, allows you to find people who you're likely to "click" with fairly quickly. It's pretty remarkable in the way it works, and it's surprising to see how accurate a picture of your personality it can build from these questions. And of course, the more you answer, the more accurate said picture becomes.

Not only that, though, but the site also does stuff like tracks how likely people are to respond to unsolicited messages. So that hottie you have your eye on may only have a 5% response rate, in which case your declarations of a desire for a night of wild and steamy passion will probably fall on deaf ears. Or at least ears that will go "ugh" and block you promptly.

All that for free, while the sites out there that demand your credit card information to even get you to sign up still cling to the old ways. Why not go on over and find out a little something about yourself? You might even make some awesome new friends. "AND MAYBE MORE!!" as the saying has it.

For the curious, these are my Sims-style personality traits based on the 389 questions I've answered so far. (It's super-quick to answer questions using the convenient iPhone app. Also, I get bored at night-time.)

From left to right, said icons indicate that I am less aggressive than average, less ambitious, less compassionate (not sure I'd agree with that one), more attentive, more pessimistic, less spiritual, more loving and more scientific. The magic robots have spoken. That is me. Until I answer some more questions and prove them wrong, of course. Apparently I need to grind my spirituality and compassion stats a bit.

#oneaday, Day 262: Padawan

I hate reality TV. Loathe it with a passion. I actually want to throw things at the TV if The X-Factor dares to show its face. And Big Brother just makes me want to… also throw things at the TV.

But I have one exception to this rule, one guilty pleasure, and that's The Apprentice. I'm not sure why this is, as it is consistently home to some of the most obnoxious peen-arses that have ever graced the nation's TV screens. But there's something oddly addictive about it.

Twitter helps, of course. The Apprentice is one of those shows that a lot of people on Twitter get behind, narrate, comment and enjoy together. It's like sitting together with an enormous group of friends, pointing and laughing at the prize gits on screen and (possibly) drinking to excess. Of course, it wouldn't be Twitter without other people trying to tell you what you can and can't post on your own stream, so add at least one person to the metaphorical throng of people who is sitting in the corner with their arms folded, sulking, whinging about everyone else having a good time.

That is an overstatement, of course. Most of my non-Apprentice-watching friends politely informed me that they'd either be avoiding Twitter for a while, or temporarily unfollowing me. Perfectly fine; it's the way Twitter's designed to work, after all. The image of the sourpuss in the corner was too amusing to leave out, though. And there are certainly those who do like to throw a strop when people aren't posting what they think should be posted. Balls to them, I say! Or indeed, I point them to this response to me from the fine and lovely @velourvelvet:

(Also, look, see? #newtwitter is good for something. You can see my original tweet and the reply! Stop moaning.)

Anyway. Tonight's episode revolved around sausages and the manufacturing and sale thereof. Naturally, the episode was edited to include as much innuendo as possible. Come on, we're British. What's the world coming to if you can't snicker at the line "Hello there sir, you look like a sausage connoisseur"?

As usual, the people involved appear to mostly be prize dicks. They have, of course, been chosen because they make "good telly". Pop in some grade-A peens amongst the blokes, pop in a few hotties and a few bitches amongst the girls, light the fuse and simply sit back. Easy. It also helps that grade-A peens who are also self-professed "entrepreneurs" up the knobjockey potential by, like, tenfold.

Tonight's casualty was Dan, who looked like a mashup between Nicolas Cage and Bruce Willis. If indeed it were possible to do a mashup of people's faces. Dan took on the poison chalice that was the first episode's project manager position. And his style of project management was to slam tables, say "fuck" a lot and stand back not doing very much besides adjusting his cuffs. And his response to "why didn't you sell anything?" was "I was managing the group". Yes. Badly.

It was actually quite a surprise to see him go, though. As one friend put it on Twitter, "they usually keep the biggest cunt in for at least 4-5 weeks". But to be fair, Dan has plenty of rivals for that illustrious post. Chief among them is Stuart, who deserves a punch in the balls for coming out with the line "everything I touch turns to sold" [sic] and miming punching numbers in on a calculator at every opportunity. The smart money is either on him being next out, or on him being kept in as long as possible to stir up as much discord as possible. My vote is for the latter.

Anyway. Enough talk of nonsense TV. And possibly time for bed.

#oneaday, Day 261: Random Access Memories

It's weird, the things you remember over time. Perhaps it's just me. But I've found over time that I have a fantastic memory for completely pointless crap and yet I can quite easily forget the things I need to buy from the shop in the space between stepping out of the house and reaching said shop.

So I thought I'd share a few stupid memories today for no apparent reason. I have hundreds of these. So this topic may return at some point in the future. For today, I'm going to focus on memories from my childhood.

First up: the ad starting at 2:17 of this vid right here:

Phurnacite. I'm still not entirely sure what it is, or was. But I remember this advert freaking me the fuck out when I was little despite, I believe, only ever seeing it once. Watching it now, it's completely laughable, overacted and utter nonsense. For the longest time, I couldn't even remember it was something to do with cookers. I remembered the image of the "doctors" with the masks on, though, and the woman crying going "HOW WILL I FEED MY FAMILY?"

Why do I remember that? That holds absolutely no benefit to me whatsoever unless taking part in a particularly specialist pub quiz on the subject of TV adverts from Christmas 1989 that freaked me the fuck out.

On a related note, the magazine advert for Mindscape's surgery-em-up game for the PC, Life and Death, also featured doctors in masks, bloodstained swabs and the like and also freaked me the fuck out. I have never been in hospital for an operation, and those adverts were the reason I was terrified of the prospect of ever having to do so. Disappointingly, Google Images has let me down on an actual picture of said advert. But it was in an issue of A.C.E. magazine. Which was 1) possibly the best multi-format magazine of all time, now sadly defunct and 2) the only games magazine I'm aware of that rated games out of 1,000.

At some other point during my childhood, another completely random memory I have is to do with visiting the chap who was my best friend at the time. We'd acquired some weird little toys called "Wiggly Gigglies" (yes, laugh it up, it was the 80s) and much to my chagrin, friend in question had acquired a glow-in-the-dark one. I was fascinated by the idea of a glow-in-the-dark anything at the time, so one or both of us decided that it would be a really fantastic idea to lock ourselves in his airing cupboard to see that luminousness at work. Unfortunately, the airing cupboard wasn't really big enough to even fit two kids inside, so I ended up shutting two of my fingers in the door and it really fucking hurt. It didn't break them or anything, but they were bleeding a bit. I went home shortly afterwards, and resolved never to do two things: touch a Wiggly Giggly again, and shut myself in an airing cupboard again.

In that case, the pain is probably the trigger to the memory. But as I kid, I hurt myself quite a bit—kids will be kids and all that. It's strange how that incident in particular sticks in my mind.

Let's cap this off with a third memory. What I like to call The Great Injustice. It was lunchtime at primary school, and I was enjoying a game with a girl called Anna with whom I had something of an off-on-off-on friendship in that way primary school kids do. Particularly kids of the opposite sex.

I forget the exact details of said game, but it involved swordfighting. Or rather, stick-fighting. Our school field had a number of big trees on it, and they often dropped decent-size sticks that were great for mock swordfights. And so it was that Anna and I were staging some sort of battle for some reason. It was fun. Lunchtime ended and we went inside.

When I got home that evening, I got absolutely bollocked. Turns out my mother had been wandering past the school field at the time we'd been playing our game, at a point when I'd evidently been "winning". As a result, I found myself in a lot of trouble for "hitting a girl with a stick". And no amount of protestation could convince my parents that it had, in fact, been just a game, and if you talked to Anna she would back up my story. Because, after all, who believes the screeches that come out of the mouth of an eight-year old when they're in trouble?

Hmm. These aren't terribly positive memories, are they? Perhaps I should make more of an effort to remember things that didn't freak me out or make me incandescent with an eight-year old's rage!