Let me check my diary.

I’ve never really hidden the fact that, for a 23 year old, I’m remarkably immature and /or naive occasionally.  My relationship with the phrase “I’ll have to check my diary first” is an example of this.

For me, this has always been just another idiom that people say but don’t actually act out - such as “pulling your leg” (rarely performed), “taking a rain check” (rendered superfulous with the advent of umbrellas) and my personal favourite, “I’m wearing a condom it’s ok”.

But recently I’ve begun to acknowledge that people - mature, grown-up people, often referred to as ‘my peers’ - do tend to be organised enough to keep an actual diaryand manage to keep it to date.  That is completely and utterly beyond me.  The last time I attempted to remain organised (for more than the immediately forthcoming 20 minutes) was in my final year of uni when I had about 6 essays due over the same fortnight.  No light task, and to help accomplish it I took the sophisticated leap of writing “DO ESSAYS” on my arm more over the 3 days I’d allocated to living in the library typing with the enthusiasm of a toddler given a Fisher Price typewriter.

Actually I’m selling myself short, it wasn’t just that - I’d also set “DO ESSAYS” as a reminder on my phone.  I’m nothing without phone reminders, to be honest; perhaps the most pertinent one that I apparently set at 2.35am on a Thursday night to go off in the middle of the following day’s inevitable hangover, reminding me to bluntly “sort your life out”.  Of course I heeded it for about 30 seconds before rolling over again and falling asleep while watching yet another episode of The OC.

What a series.

My point is that, over the last few months, I rarely do much of anything.  Over the past week or so perhaps the most productive thing I did was to try and listen to David Bowie’s ENTIRE back catalogue to determine which was my favourite song.  There are over 19 hours of music by David Bowie.  And it turns out that my favourite song was the same one as before I embarked upon this obviously necessary exercise.  On the plus side, I worked out the period where Bowie starts to show hints of synthesiser-based shiteness (it was 1975) and found the moment where he brilliantly goes a bit mental.

There was a Hawaiian man on Human Planet weeks ago who was a shark caller.  That is, his job was to sit in a tiny canoe in the pacific ocean and fucking SUMMON.  SHARKS.  No mess.  After getting one of these badboy reef sharks to swim next to him he then caught the shark with a noose and a plank.  Now that really is a righteous, worthwhile past-time.  In comparison, I occasionally play some X-Box.  Not really the same, is it?  Even if, through some bizarre chain of events, a girl discovers my X-Box achievements list and is so impressed that I got through Ravenholm on Half-Life 2 using only the gravity gun that she drops trou right there and then, it still wouldn’t be as cool as catching a fucking shark with a piece of rope.

Still, I bet yer Hawaiian man can’t name his favourite Bowie album.  He probably doesn’t even have an iPod.  Edwards 1, Hawaiian shark caller 0.