You absolute twit

Yeah, I'm on twitter, like everyone else. If you follow me, I will tell you a joke a day; that's nice, isn't it?

You got no people skills!

Let's put on a chauvinism!

Liquid Soap update

The BBC did an article on Liquid Soap. It's now been nominated for a Royal Television Society award, and apparently over 90, 000 people have visited the website. Which surprised me, I never really thought it would take off.

Did I mention that I wrote and acted in the second episode? No? Maybe because I've shut up about it after seeing just how hideous I look in it. Seriously, I do not know what I was thinking with that hair. Anyway, if you have no particular affection for your eyes, you can see my episode here.

More Howard Designs

You do the maths

Waterstones are good. They are very good at what they do. By which I mean selling books. Not only do they own shops that you can walk into to view the books, and bring them to a counter a purchase them, no no. They provide very special 'deals', forcing you into a life of debt.

They are devious these book sellers. I was caught out yesterday when I saw that they were selling the new Hornby for just £4.49. Bargain, I thought. Only on closer inspection of the book's sticker did it transpire that this price only became available when your total purchase was £10 or over. OK, a little cheeky, but fair enough. I found a suitable partner for the Hornby, (That Mitchell and Webb Book, for those who are interested) and went to pay.

Now by this point, I was already invested in my purchase, I was anticipating soon owning them, doing with them as I willed, whether that be reading them, or something far seedier. E.g. makeshift doorstop.

It was only when I went to make my purchase that it further transpired (or should I say, 'conspired' !?!?!) that I needed to have already spent £10 in order to receive the Hornby discount. I could have, and perhaps should have walked away then, lobbing the books at the distressed assistant, crying my outrage at such daylight robbery. But I was too far gone, already too attached to my purchases (It's Hornby for chrissakes!)

So in order to save myself £2.50 from the RRP, I instead spent £22 on books that I had no intention of buying half an hour before. They're good.

Maybe Later

Sorry to everyone who was expecting a Makeup tutorial video this week. I've filmed it, and was in the process of editing it when I realised how it could be so much more awesome. So I've asked a fellow youtuber if he could provide the voiceover for the piece, and it's not for definite, but he may be able to fit me in next month. I think the potential collaboration is worth waiting for, so I'll try and resume the regular vlogs as soon as I can get round to it.

Also if you hadn't noticed, I've stopped posting my videos here (if you think this is a bad idea, tell me why), so go make a youtube account and subscribe to me or join the Facebook page to keep up to date with me.


Take care you guys x

Finding Howard

OK, so as some of you who I speak to may already be aware, I'm setting a website called (atm) 'Howard Bingleton Solves Social Situations with Science'. Howard is a fictional character, and his website is a guide for surviving modern life. He knows not everyone is cool or sexy, and he's the first to admit that he's neither, but he argues there are rules you can follow, algorithms to prevent you making a tit of yourself (my words, not his).

Illustrating the website for me is Liz Greenfield, you can see her other examples of her work at www.lizgreenfield.com

Along with each article, Liz will provide an appropriate image of Howard to really spice the whole thing up. I'm very excited about it all, but we still haven't quite figured out what Howard should look like yet, so I'm posting some of Liz's sketches, with the hope that you'll tell me which ones you like, or seem to fit his voice. And beneath the images, here's a prototype article of what will be appearing on the website once it gets online. Please please please comment, and let me know what you think.



How to hug a woman

In your friendship with women, there will come a time when they will let you touch them. They are very specific about where, and for how long, but this is contact all the same. Women call this Hugging. It is not the petting zoo you might have imagined, there are strict rules to follow, and cries of sexual harassment if you don’t.

Many people hug, so it’s important to remember that it’s a convention, not a privilege. Accordingly, you shouldn’t view it as a chance to ‘cop a feel’, but instead, behave responsibly, and return the hug without implications.

The First Hug

The first hug is the most exciting and dangerous. It will tell you a lot about the woman, and how they feel about you. It will become a template from which all future hugs will spring. Get it right first time, and you’ll soon be hugging with no clothes on for minutes at a time.

One of the many rules is that you let the lady dictate the pressure, but it’s difficult to gauge this on the first hug, as it will last only a matter of moments, so it’s best to play it safe.

The first few hugs will be more a meeting of the shoulders as you lean towards each other, instead of any torso-to-torso intimacy. Let your arms rest on them, whilst applying only minimal pressure. I call this The Drape. It is relaxed and non-threatening. Remove your arms as soon as she begins moving away. Keep it simple, and without any excessive flourishes.

Words to describe actions you should avoid:

1. Stroking
2. Caressing
3. Lingering
4. Grinding
5. Tonguing

If you’re worried about your technique, practise on a large cushion. If you can hold the cushion without changing its shape, then you’ve got it right.

Key to knowing if you’re pressing too hard:

1. You feel her breasts flatten against you.
2. She screams.

Latest Special K

Special K: That's not my name

I've been trying to upload this for like a week, and now it's here in all it's disappointing glory. Should have the next vid up in a few days. Enjoy.

For all you nostalgic folks

New Special K

Little update and more Special K

I know, I know. I haven't made any real posts in ages; fobbing you off with extracts from la novel, and now videos from some shmuck called Special K.

I do miss writing the blogs, but I'm a busy boy these days. At the moment I am:

* Setting up an actual website, with content and everything
* Writing a radioplay
* Working on the novel
* Making weekly videos
* Other boring uni stuff
* Watching Grey's Anatomy

I might find some time to write something proper in the future of some alternate universe, but for now, this will have to do.



If you're new to this site, then take a look around, there's some good stuff in the archives I reckon.

Special K: Too Feminine?

This one is a bit random, soz.

Special K: Is that my friend?

New Vlog: Special K hates horny drivers

This was a bitch to upload, being almost a gb, it took five hours. Which I had to do twice! I stopped enjoying it a few days ago, but hopefully as my computer skills improve, I'll be able to get these videos out faster. Just waiting on a new tripod so I can resume filming. Enjoy

Vlog Launch

Hello friends, I have an announcement to make. You can now see me in animation. Wonder no longer about how handsome I really am, see for your self!



OK, so it's my first video, it's a little rough, a bit rambly, but I'm new to this. Even if my videos never quite break out of mediocre, there shall always be enjoyment in the title sequence, which would be nothing if it weren't for my exploited friends.

Irisz Heathershaw assisted me in creating the logo, and Stephen Barlow knocked together the jingle in under three hours when I arrived on his doorstep and demanded he help me. He would also like me to point out that I requested the solo guitar be amped up. It was just so camp I couldn't help myself.

I would like to sincerely apologise to them for making such impositions when they both so busy, and to express my deepest gratitude and awe for their work.

Sorry for neglecting you

So I finally came back with another actual blog post, and not a cop-out excerpt. Allow me to apologise profusely to all ten people who actually follow this blog, really, you guys mean a lot to me. I was pretty dismayed to see that I only managed one post in August. That's pretty pathetic, especially compared to my fifteen in January.

For the time being, most of my creative juices are being expended on the novel, which is sometimes going well. Looks like it's gonna need another couple of months before I finish it, and that's before I even get down to editing the son of a bitch.

For those interested in any of my other creative exploits, I've ordered a lovely Creative Vado HD which I'll be using to start vlogging. Will this replace my blogs? Probably not. But I think the website that I'm setting up for my third year will. Stay tuned for more deets. Or follow me at my twitter.

Why smokers look so cool and how to stop them

There’s something about the act of smoking that speaks to me of moral corruption. Perhaps it’s because I have always wanted to, but never dared. The teachers from school and parents, the institutions of guardianship, instilling their values so thoroughly, their voices loud with an unquestionable truth. Smoking is bad.

Perhaps this is why smokers appear so dangerous to me. If they’re willing to do that to themselves, where do they draw the line for others? All I’m saying is that second hand smoke is just a taster of what they’re capable of. These people habitually carry around the tools to start fires.

For them, smoking is freeing. It’s a gateway into a life of anti-authority. They’re aware of the overwhelming evidence which condemns them to a shorter lifespan. They read the block capital portents of misery and infanticide on every packet, and ignore them, becoming stronger with each tiny act of rebellion.

In truth, I’m jealous; I’m weak enough to actually feel threatened by a slow and tar ridden death. But perhaps this is what appeals to them. They are controlling their own death, deciding their fate. Leaving the door unlocked for that assassin, so they can greet him in their armchair, and rasp their goodbye. People have been dying from cigarette related illnesses for years. There’s a certain comfort in that, in the predictability of the symptoms, which can be traced and measured, related anecdotally to other smokers, charted against each other, graphing their own timeline, whilst sharing a hacking and face-purpling laughter.

It would seem the government has mistaken humanity's health concerns. Smokers share cigarette packet labels, these banners of mortality with a private revelry, buying cigarettes not by brand, but instead by effect: “Can I get the ‘Causes harm to unborn babies,’ please?” If we can’t appeal to a smoker’s health, then perhaps we can appeal to their wallet, displaying instead the price in wide bold letters, £5.45, and what this equates to in their life, such as an hours’ wage, or a Coldplay album.

If we take this further, each packet would come with a calculator to determine what else they could have bought compared to what they spend in a year. The results wouldn’t show the meaningless numbers, but instead precious items in a glorious and high definition display. I’m not thinking so much rubies, but Xboxs, cashmere garments and conservatories. Or for developing countries, twenty camels.

From what I can understand though, the real reason many people start smoking is because it looks cool, and there’s very little evidence to undermine this claim, because it does. All musicians and actors smoke. Fact. Or at least the cool ones do. There’s something very mysterious about a figure with a cigarette. They’re introspective, probably because their hands are occupied, they have no choice but to confront their thoughts. When I think of smokers, I think of an unshaven man sipping whiskey at a bar, staring into the middle distance. Unapproachable, untouchable. Or a writer pouring over a manuscript, squinting through his haze of smoke. These are images cast from film, but the reality is much less cinematic. We have to be aware that cigarettes are like berets, people who own them tend to have smelly breath.

And wear stripy blue and white shirts. And speak French. What I’m saying is that there are side effects. But then again, we live in a world of skinny jeans and high-heeled shoes, piercings and tattoos. In youth we constantly sacrifice comfort for image, looking ahead only far enough to realise the immediate impact, and screaming to our future selves, “Fuck you future self!” And our future selves, who stopped caring about the way they look the day they wore slippers to Tesco, who feel only embarrassed by the Chinese character tats that were once emblazoned on a chest taut with muscle, but now sag unreadable, beneath three layers of wool. They think about their young unruly selves, how they were such a different person, only connected by memories, and they moan back to the past in phlegmy rattling breaths, “Damn you past self, damn you…”