Bristol Museum vs Banksy

Two hours in line, it was worth it. Five hours? Maybe not.

Gastro barbecuing

Rosemary stalks for skewers - that's fancy camping.

So this is camping?

So this is camping, no wonder my parents bought a caravan and we spent every summer up at Pauanui (before it became wanky that is).

Come on, Come on, Come on, Get Through It

This poster was a highlight of my daily, three part commute. It read in my mind lyrically and shot me back to the summer of '99 when I had bought the Best of Blur from the Warehouse and dubbed it onto a hyper yellow cassette to play in my car. The radio was hinky, installed with love by my sister while I was away with my parents in the UK, which may have been the reason she plastered a bumper sticker announcing 'BRAT' on the back of my first car - a smoky white diesel station wagon. I looked like a courier, but I would get hoarse driving home from a crappy house party on a Friday night singing 'Tender'.

The ten o'clock Restricted License curfew saved me from a tragic youth. And that poster saved me from getting impatient when the platform got congested.

Put your hands up for Detroit

Replacement hands are available

Urgent work related materials sent through internal mail

Bribery to do work for an American colleague. Sharing my yanky treat, one team mate used the words 'something from Chernobyl' to describe the taste. More for me then.

Second to one