He didn't get where he is today by stealing somebody else's catchphrase.


A few days ago, I was in a rather crowded lift. It was hot and the smell was awful, as the waft of bodily odours pervaded the air. Combined with the constant that in a lift full of strangers nobody talks and you have a journey that lasts for an eternity. As the nasty niffs wafted and the lift chuntered away, I could only think of one thing....

"Shit. We'd better not get stuck".

Being stuck in a lift for an extended period of time with a bunch of people who smell foul would not be nice. In fact, it could possibly exist as one of my personal hells. As we arrived at the top floor and poured out, gasping for air, I started to think on how Hell is actually a very personal thing. I thought a few variations:

1) Nuclear Armageddon occurs. I survive. From the rubble comes the promise of a new civilisation - but the remnants of society have got to build it first. All who are able to work must do so, the wages of our labours - food. The problem is that the only foods available are Baked Beans, Marmite and Stilton. Please, kill me now. I really should have got myself vapourised.

2) Karaoke. No, no, no, no, no and no. No.

3) Being dangled by my legs from the top of a multi-storey car-park. My assailant then lets go. Repeat in a Groundhog Day style loop.

4) Being stuck in a coach full of cross-Europe travellers, who have decided to drink as much as they can before boarding. One person vomits one hour into the 24 hour long trip - and does so into a carrier bag. The stench of stomach acid hangs in the air for the remainder of the journey. (I speak with experience on this one).

5) For indeterminable reasons, I am stuck in a branch of Claire's Accessories and cannot get out (I think any bloke who has been shopping with their partner might be with me here). Everywhere I turn, I knock vast arrays of girly plastic, scrunchies and shiny/glittery stuff onto the floor. The music playing in-store is the entire back-catalogue of the Lighthouse Family and M-People.

6) I am in the nightclub from hell. Due to the location, I am forced to wait until closing time for transportation home. My age is at least double that of most of the clientelle, who are probably underage drinkers and think that Diamond White and Blue Lagoons are "classy" drinks. In the meantime, I have to drink myself to numbness to escape the sound system, which is blaring out Y.M.C.A, It's Raining Men and various Abba tracks at levels that are audible from the other side of the galaxy,

I could keep going on forever. I guess the point is that my Hell could be your Heaven. Who knows?

In the meantime, you could always take this test to find out which version of hell you'll be going to: (*clicky*)
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