I hate living with people

Living where I do, being anal about hygiene and house tidiness means I can’t turn a blind eye when faeces is smeared all over the toilet, and I prefer the fridge not to smell like it’s got a decomposing family of rats at the bottom of it. My housemates are much more laid back characters. They have a special, yet common condition called Selectively Repetitive Blindness to Disgusting Mess Disorder.

I hate America

Yep, I hate every single person, place, object and entity in America.

Okay, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t hate a great number of things that America has given to the world. And it also doesn’t mean that I won’t list a selection of these things for you now.

I hate people who blog about themselves and their boring lives

I find blogs where people solely talk about themselves and what they get up to every day weird, deluded and a bit mental. I guess people see these blogs as a sort of digital diary but isn’t the whole point of a diary that it’s for your eyes only? The appeal is in the secrecy, surely? Having a diary for the world to see must defeat the object, unless the whole thing is a desperate cry for help (which often appears to be the case).

I hate going to see my friends’ bands

There’s little worse than being emotionally blackmailed into going to see your friends play a gig. It’s bad enough watching a dreadful, sleep-inducing band. But when your friends are the members of this soporific group, unlike at any other gig, you can’t leave early for fear of offending anyone. So, for the entire night you will then have to stand with a constant forced gleeful grin on your face to give the impression you are having fun. If everyone else is dancing you may even have to sway from side to side so as not to look too conspicuous. I pride myself on my honesty but is there anything you can do when the band come at the end to ask you what you thought apart from smile falsely, nod a lot and tell them it was “really good”?

I hate the little sign language people who pop up on TV

One night last week I was attempting to watch a painfully inane film that seemed to mostly involve Kurt Russell violently rutting Courtney Cox (don’t worry, there was no Johnson’s Baby Oil involved, it was just a very slow night elsewhere on terrestrial TV) when a bulbous, big-eared bloke in a pink shirt popped up at the bottom of the screen and started flailing his arms about and making sign language gestures. The guy was fucking massive. He wasn’t even keeping over to the corner either – he was right over towards the middle of the screen waving his arms up and down, and generally getting in the way.

I hate trampolines

When I was at school, I opted for trampolining in PE because it meant getting to jump around aimlessly with your friends while watching Sophie West’s boobs bounce up and down quite vigorously, rather than having the boys from the year above slide tackle me in the rain. Anyway, I digress, the trampolines we had were huge things that folded up like sandwiches and had to be wheeled out by us like we were armies of ants carrying a twig, and then opened out. This opening out bit is where my problem with trampolines first arose.

I hate perfumed toilet paper

If my flatmate buys another roll of perfumed toilet paper I swear I’m going to stuff her mouth with it until she chokes. I’m allergic to perfume so every time I wipe I get nervous, like my bum is about to break out into a rash or something. Anal itching aside, what’s the point of it? Who is sniffing her ass so much that she needs to disguise its odour with chemical flowers?

I hate Agyness Deyn

I just really, really, really can’t stand her stupid face any longer. Every time I see it – which these days is at least 5,000 times a day – it makes me want to move to a remote island where fashion, neon and peroxide don’t and never will exist. Also, it is me or does her name make you think of a rare breed of cow that might be found in the Outer Hebrides, or maybe a demented, heavily wrinkled incidental member of the Royal Family?

I hate the “And finally” section of the News

Switch on the news any day of the week and you’ll see the the same thing:

33% will be terrible events that 99.999% of us are powerless to stop.
25% will be pointless bullshit such as the McCartney divorce or the Diana investigation.
19% will be disproportionally-hyped personal interest stories, such as a kidnap or a murder.
12% will be sport.
7% will be weather.

And the remaining 4% will be a gently amusing tale to round the show off and prevent the viewer from feeling too traumatised.

I hate My Super Sweet 16

When I first came across this programme I was dumbstruck. It’s a bunch of cackling, screeching, dribbling, mentally vacant rat children with Sun-In-treated hair making horrifically extravagant demands and treating their parents, their “workers” and most other people they come across like a big bag of festering dog poo. I know the show is edited to make the kids look as bad as possible, but I still feel genuine hatred towards every single one of them.