Last week, after a long afternoon at the Original Oak, my friend came home, wet the bed, put a towel over the offending patch and went to sleep. Fair. That was last week and he’s still sleeping on the towel. Another friend spent his Friday morning bragging about a girl he’d dragged back from Tequila, who’s opener was  ‘stick it in my ass, my fanny’s for my boyfriend.’  Classy.

As I stand in the p*ssy club, it is a night like any other. I victoriously crumple the recently emptied plastic cup in my hand before gazing down mournfully at my penultimate whisky and red bull treble. Perhaps the contrasting effects of these respective fluids shall cancel each other out and subsequently render the drink harmless, I muse; they do not, rather the cocktail simply irritates and confuses the f*ck out of my precious heart. Yay.

Beards are just amazing.

Not a day goes by when I don’t reaffirm this fact. They accessorise a face in a way that no impressive tattoo, radical piercing or glittering smile can hope to do.

During a break-up, Facebook is the ally we love to hate, shamelessly offering up all the information:Yup; he’s sleeping with the skanky methadrone dealer from second year, despite agreeing with you last month that she really does look like a dysfunctional jawline sticking out of a tacky Select dress.

The immensely entertaining Twitter page @verybritishproblems has made me realise how very polite and awkward we English folk are. Our biggest fear, our ultimate terror, would be bumping into an acquaintance in the supermarket, or sitting in someone’s reserved seat on a train. Our lexis is primarily made up of ‘sorry' ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, wasted not only on people who clearly bumped into you, but also doors and chairs that you happen to stump your toe on.

Posting a Facebook status has become this weird modern day phenomenon with no real earlier equivalent. Previously, the ability to declare statements to the world was a far more selective process, and for good reason too. I can’t imagine there was many a town crier shouting to the masses what he had for breakfast or that he can’t be bothered to write his essay. It can be a troubling experience deciding whether your daily musings are good enough to share to your 600 “friends” but, fear not, help is at hand as I run through four statuses that should be avoided more than a man wearing sandals with socks. 

Well known by practically all nightclub enthusiasts, the monopolistic chain of Tiger Tiger can be found in the majority of UK cities; the reason behind its existence and debatable popularity is genuinely beyond me. In essence, if you are yet to lose your Tiger Tiger virginity then I commend you hold on to your abstinence, as the entire copulation process is comparable to engaging with a blind prostitute in the red-light district – it’s expensive and consistently disappoints.

Copyright Bounce Sin, 2011.Web design by Wrightway Digital, Maintained by BounceSIN Ltd.