Text "Drunken Average-Looking 19 Year Old" to 78888

I know it's a bit early, but I've already come up with a new year resolution for 2008; learn how to use the keylock on my mobile phone.

Alright, so I do know how to use it. I just don't know when.

Take last night, for example. I was having a perfectly drunken evening, minding my own business and causing very little trouble in general. But as my grasp of sobriety slipped away, I got a phone call from a friend who'd apparently been on the receiving end of six blank text messages.

My first instinct was a sort of defiant "Nah, I ain't sent nuffink. You must be drunk, innit love."

But I soon realised it was my fault. The girl in question is unfortunate enough to have a name beginning with A, which naturally sits at the top of my contact list.

I've now changed the contact details so that she's listed by her surname. I figure if I rotate the order of my contact list, everybody - in time - will share an equal helping of my drunken harrassment. Or to put it bluntly, if your name begins with B, you might want to find a nickname real fast.

I could compile a whole blog entry on my bar crawling antics of yesterday. But we'll cut to the chase and skip to the sad ending. I'm still alive.

You haven't lost me just yet, although I am a little worried about the sheer weight of photographic evidence featuring man-fondles which could later be used against my heterosexuality in court. Refer to Stop 22's lack of integrity as a prime example.

Is it just me or is the "I'm a Celeb" gimmick running a bit thin? I loved the first series, but there's only so much creepy crawlie trauma I can cast my eyes on before I start to question the intelligence of the muppets who've applied to be on the show.

Going to fall out of bed over a rat? Probably don't belong in a jungle, mate. If you can call it a jungle, that is. We all know we're watching an elaborate TV set.

Remember the episode where two celebs were sharing a quiet moment away from the rest of the group? Out of nowhere, they heard a fart coming from behind one of the bushes. Turning to look at each other, the poor cameraman decided to show some manners and offered a quiet "Sorry". That, I found hilarious. Maybe I'm still going through puberty or something.

ITV4 adverts are truly unbelievable after midnight. I was just watching a Clint Eastwood movie, when a break interrupted it with SEVEN lonely hearts ads. I thought I'd seen all of these before, but apparently not. You can now actually text the variety of girl that you're looking for to the number.

Text Wild to 78888.

Text Divorced to 78888.

It even had one for Lonely and Older women.

So I'm sitting here thinking, first of all, what kind of man is SO short on female contacts that he has to resort to a money skimping agency on the box? I've been there, I've felt the urge. You've had a good night and you fancy a bit of flirty banter. But if you don't have at least one contact on your mobile who can be relied on to send a bit of juicy filth when it's most required, you haven't lived enough.

Secondly, where are the adverts for the woman that we're being matched up to?!

You say you can pair me with an older divorced lady, yet I've never seen a text advert appealing to said ladies who fancy some of a drunken 19 year old bum with the taste of KFC on his breath. Where are they getting them from? I want to know.

I'm debating whether I should send ANGELINA JOLIE to 78888.

But I don't think I'd impress any girl with my current financial predicament.

"hey wats ur name? call me. i got no credit. xx"

I was asked today, hypothetically, if I ever had to treat a girl to a homemade dinner, what would I serve up? Well, I'd love to say I'd mash out the finest Italian pasta with a classy wine on the side. But let's be honest here. I know my limits. She'd be lucky to get a Rustlers cheeseburger with microchips.

If that doesn't make me eligible, I don't know what will. But as you can see, I'm in desperate need of a stabling female influence in my life. Oh, alright, and in the kitchen too. Any takers out there? I'm not hard to find.

Have you ever had that feeling, when you come down for a drink of water in the middle of the night, that you're being watched from the darkness? I could swear, one day I'll turn around and see two red eyes piercing a hole through the window glass. I don't know what it is, but I always get the impression that there's more than a reflection staring back at me. Or that sooner or later, I'm going to see what I dread most.

It's like when I was younger, I'd refuse to hang my feet over the edge of the bed for fear of a cold hand suddenly grabbing me.

I probably shouldn't be writing this in a pitch black bedroom. I've given myself the creeps.

Good night.