I hate urban handshakes

God, can normal people stop doing these? If I had a penny for every time I tried to shake someone’s hand and they then manoeuvred this gesture into a weird clenched palm, elbow in the air urban greeting, I’d have about 85p right now. Listen, you’re not a “gang banger” in the Bronx. We’re English. We shake hands. Accept it. If you can’t accept it, then please don’t try and inflict your weird hand touching fetishes on other people. Shaking hands may be seen as not macho enough, but wrapping your whole hand around another man’s hand and then pulling him towards your chest is probably bordering on sexual assault in some countries.

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 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 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 people who insist on holding in-depth conversations with me while I am DJing

Before I start, I would like to point out I am not one of those utter retards who wears “FUCK OFF - I’M MIXING” T-shirts or who puts up signs by the decks saying “NO REQUESTS” or anything like that. I am not a tosser. I do, however, have a bit of a problem with people who think it is necessary to attempt to hold a really, really long, in-depth conversation with me while I am DJing.

I hate airports

Nowadays, travelling via an airport to anywhere is a pain in the arse. It’s basically a total waste of time (if you ignore the minor fact that getting to somewhere really, really far away by any other means of transport would take 3-4 weeks).

There are myriad reasons I have grown to hate airports. Firstly, I always fall into the trap of checking in my luggage and then saying to myself, “Hmmm… I’m thirsty. I’ll go and buy a nice, refreshing drink at that handy newsagents over there.” After paying £3.50 for a bottle of water, I breeze along to the next stage of the airport dance - the security check-in for your hand luggage. And what do I find? I’m not allowed to bring my water through with me. Fucking weasels. Why have a shop selling a fine selection of thirst-quenching beverages that are only of use if you are so thirsty you want to pour the entire thing down your gullet in world record time?

I hate Avril Lavigne

I hate Avril Lavigne for the following reasons: she makes music that sounds like a sewer rat being strangled by an alley cat behind a Blink 182 gig, she has one of the world’s most punchable faces, she has pink streaks in her hair (which could never look good on anyone, nevermind her), she wears ties with T-shirts and she replaces letters with numbers (”Sk8er Boi”).

So, there we have it. These are enough reasons for me and anyone with an ounce of sense to hate her. Yes? Case closed. Not so quickly…

I hate Kanye

Does Kanye West practice being a prick before awards ceremonies or does it come natural? First the onstage shitfit, then the backstage tantrum, and then last week he made that painful speech at the Grammys. Lucky for Kanye he’s got buds like Spike Jonze. After spending a Saturday together last year, the two have collaborated to create “Flashing Lights“, in which the rapper is bound and gagged in the trunk of a car by a scantily clad woman who proceeds to batter him to death with a shovel. It’s brutal, but I can imagine what drove her to it.

I hate dentists

I know that this one is a bit like saying I hate murderers or I hate AIDS or I hate famine, but dentists can eat a bag of dicks. Now, I need to make it clear that I’m usually pretty good about dental hygiene. And even though I’ve started eating more sweeties since I quit smoking, I brush and mouthwash twice a day. Yesterday however, I awoke to an sharp, alien, tear-inducing pain in my mouth. It felt like a molar had exploded and was now a popped kernel of corn. I couldn’t stop tonguing it, but every touch triggered excruciating pain - like I was snogging an exposed nerve. Drinking water felt like swallowing molten lava. I clearly needed emergency treatment. So I phoned around and found a dentist to do it. She quickly assessed the damage; I had a very deep cavity and the rotting had caused a bit of tooth to break off. Despite her prognosis and the forecast of forthcoming pain, she assured me that it would be OK. When she injected the local anesthetic it didn’t hurt. I didn’t even flinch when she dug out all the shit that was clogged up in the cavity. I didn’t even feel her peg in the silver filling. But you know what did fucking hurt? The £190 bill she hit me with. Ouch.