Day 186

I imagine that absolutely everybody who's ever clapped eyes on Rodin's The Thinker has succumbed to the same bewilderment - just what exactly has this chap got on his mind?
Chances are, as he is made of solid bronze, the only thing on his mind is dust, but I think the metaphor is what the viewer is really supposed to be considering.
'Philosophy' is the usual go-to for such a query, but I wonder if the sculpture, like most things, has progressed with the times.
He is probably thinking about who started that tremendously annoying trend of pasting empty sentiments over scenic photographs pilfered from Google and then letting them run rife across all of the online social networks.
He could also be thinking about why us Londoners have yet to be posted our gold-plated sets of underwear as congratulations for all the money we obviously made from the 2012 Olympics.

According to Essex-based Dirty Velvet, he is thinking about breasts.
Of course! Boobs!
I can't believe I spent so long pondering this, it's obvious, the clues are all right there! He is a bloke, bored, sitting around naked - there could only be one neurological upshot under these conditions; total consumption by the dreams of magnanimous bosoms.

Dirty Velvet are a streetwear retailer who produce 'clothing for gentlemen rebels', demonstrating that they have definitely moved forward with the times. As well as a pleasing website design, the brand also have an iPhone app and good clean ethics - their tees are made from organic planet-friendly cotton.

Now there's something to think about, Bronzy.

See more from Dirty Velvet via their Twitter account

A bit famous

Something incredible has just happened to me.
Something so amazing that I now find myself standing on a tube train bound for Charing Cross composing an impromptu post for my THREEHUNDREDANDSIXTEEFIVE challenge blog.
This event has been something I've looked forward to since my THREEHUNDREDANDSIXTEEFIVE challenge began and tonight - this run of the mill Friday night out - has finally delivered that moment.

A while ago I checked the time and surprised by the late hour, I decided to part with my friends at the bar we were supping lager at and made my way to the station to catch my train home.
As I walked along the highstreet, I passed a group of people who appeared to be packing foldable garden furniture into the back of a car. I didn't pay them much mind until one of them - a man wearing a red polo shirt and shorts - decided to yell at me.

"You've worn it!" he cried, "you've already worn that one".

My face instantly exploded into a huge grin. My mind was racing with excitement.
Normally when a man bellows at me in the street, it's to subject me to some profanity as he drunkenly believes I've caused him some grievance, or because I've shown no remorse in deliberately ignoring his invitation to buy scores of drugs. But not this man. This man - a complete and utter stranger - wanted nothing more than to heckle me about my THREEHUNDREDANDSIXTEEFIVE challenge.
I was experiencing a heckler! An actual, real life heckler!
More importantly than that, I was experiencing a heckler who I'd never met before. This magnificent Joe Bloggs of a man had recognised me, remembered my challenge and had chosen to openly taunt me on my travels.

What an honour!

What an absolute joy it is to learn that word of my challenge has grown to the extent that random furniture handling gents of London's evening roadways will publicly call me out when they see me and my T-shirt of the day saunter by.
This must be what it feels like to be a minor celebrity popping out in their onesie to buy crumpets from the Sainsbury's Local.


Keep up the good work, London.