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?