During the lead up to my THREEHUNDREDANDSIXTEEFIVE challenge, I had a telephone conversation with a journalist who wanted to find out more about the project and write up an article brimming with exhilaration for her newspaper.
We chatted happily for 15 minutes or so and I enthusiastically answered all of her questions, offering as much information as possible to make for a juicy scoop.
Midway through the interview, she asked me which of the T-shirts I already owned was my favourite.
"That's easy", I replied without hesitation. "I have this one T-shirt I bought last summer from a store down in Brighton that's wonderfully grotesque. It's got three completely naked undead women draped sexually over a trio of stag, wolf and bear carcasses, which have all had their innards extracted to form an intestine-based mattress for the girls to frolic on. The girls are severely mauled to the bone but still they persist in rampantly riding the dead creatures, and--"
I noticed that the journalist hadn't said anything for a while, so I stopped talking.
She continued to say nothing.
The line was still connected - I could hear the din of the office behind her, but she was not saying a word.
The silence lingered for a little longer before I tried to speak again.
"You probably can't print any of that, can you?" I asked.
"No", she replied flatly, which ushered in another long silence.
The call concluded shortly afterwards.
I was not surprised to discover several days later that mention of my favourite T-shirt hadn't made it into the published article.
Not to worry; I had a plan to get this design seen by hundreds of people. I planned to save wearing it until my birthday, and when that glorious day presented itself in the middle of my THREEHUNDREDANDSIXTEEFIVE challenge, I would stride the pavements of old London town beaming the beautifully drawn carnage at the faces of every diner, shopper and passer by that I encountered, while I went out and celebrated.
Today has been an eye-opening birthday.
