Celebrity Crush: Honestly, I can’t believe that you’re asking me such a trivial question, given the RUINATION that surrounds us: a terracotta fuckwit has just been elected as the 45th President of America while Britain has gone rogue from the rest of Europe. China and Russia can’t be trusted; Africa remains peckish after all these years and the Middle East continues to burn - as do my loins for TOM HARDY, so there you go. Tom Hardy all the way. Are you watching that Taboo programme that he’s in? I am. I think it’s good, although a) I’m not sure I fully understand what’s going off and b) I wish Tom would get his tits out. For the lads, like.
Height: According to science (ie. the tape measure) I’m 5 feet 11 inches. According to my Dad: 6ft. He cannot bare the fact that I am the only male offspring that has failed to hit the magic 6ft, even with a back-combed bouffant. The fact that I also developed a penchant for all things poofery didn’t really go in my favour either. Either way, I blame the parents.
Favourite food: I try and eat my five a day and drink two litres of water, but it’s hard. It’s just a shame that the five a day pertains to fruit and veg and not slices of stuffed crust pizza - which is my artery-threatening weapon of choice. I love pizza, but once upon a time I ordered a family sized affair from Dominoes and wolfed it down in a time that could’ve got me into the Guinness Book of Records for the Recently Type 2 Diabetic. Then I thought it would be a good idea to look up the amount of calories I’d just consumed. Turns out it was 2,400 - ie. more than my daily recommended limit. The thing is, I’d already been particularly gutsy that day: I’d had a big breakfast, a solid lunch and had various snacks in between. So, full of shame and self loathing, I turned to Ben and Jerry’s ice cream for solace. And then I looked up the calories in that and it turns out that I’d just inhaled a further 1000. At this point, I became consumed by despair, so I opened a bottle of wine and chugged an additional 600 calories. I mean, the damage was done by that point, no?
Favourite song: According to my iTunes statistics - and this will come as a HUGE SURPRISE to you, I know - but the song Rebel Heart by Madge (peace be upon her) sits at the pinnacle of my most played songs and deservedly so. It was like I wrote it myself. In terms of non-Madge songs, George Michael’s You Have Been Loved moves me to tears when I’m feeling especially melodramatic. A regular occurrence, if you're wondering. I also love Kalinka (look it up, bitches) by the Red Army Choir because it reminds me of being a kid and watching my Dad sing the lead tenor's part.
Favourite singer: Again, I am going to simply refer to my iTunes Top 25 most played. Madge occupies 24 of those slots. I might make her an award out of Kit Kat foil or something. Or just give her a Kit Kat. I'm sure you're all shocked to your very foundations (a bit like Kylie, eh?)
3 facts about me:
- I’m pretty easy going and chilled out apart from when people add sound effects to their food. Then I’ll happily cut a bitch.
- I don’t like touching public door handles. Dirty! The same goes for petrol pumps and debit card key pads. Hurrah for contactless payment and hand sanitizer. It’s always heart-breaking when the machine insists I insert my card. And a bit rude; like it thinks I might be a thief or summat.
- I once got mistaken for a rent boy outside of Leicester Square tube station. Not only was the punter RANCID but I ended up apologising to HIM for turning his business down. That probably sums me up in a nutshell.
- Okay, I know it says three facts and here I am, giving you a fourth, but I think my house might be haunted. The calendar has just thrown itself off the wall right before my very eyes. Mother? Is that you?!
What song did you last listen to? Erm, Let It Go by Idina Menzel, if you must know. The cold never bothered me anyway! Actually, that’s a lie: the cold really pissed me off this morning when I had to scrape the ice off my car at 7am. And why is it that cans of de-icer are impossibly cold to the extent where holding them gives you frostbite? Answer me that.