Really? You want to borrow my special, one of a kind, signed by Pele, number ten shirt, worn by the Brazilian himself in the 1970 World Cup Final against Italy?

It’s beautifully framed in the finest timber, covered with bullet proof glass in a room that is climate controlled so that the shirt is always comfortable.

The security is second to none. You can see two armed guards standing beside the shirt. I have another two guards watching security footage. The alarm system never fails and only I know the code.

And your time is up, I can’t have anyone looking at it for too long, otherwise they might think they can borrow it.

Wait, your lips are moving. I honestly didn’t notice, I’m just loving this song. It’s definitely one of my favourites and it sounds amazing on my new sound system.

What was that? If you’re talking to me you need to speak up, it’s very hard to hear you over Skillet. Actually, you really shouldn’t even try talking over Skillet.

Sorry, I can see you’re still trying to talk. This song is just about over, I can turn it off. Just a little longer… finished.

Now you can talk.

I propose a new law for retailers, if they sell a product that claims to glow in the dark, they must turn off the lights to test the product.

My proposal comes from a recent shopping trip. I found a ball, and written on it was ‘GLOWS IN THE DARK’. Now a ball that glows in the dark is very useful, especially for people who refuse to stop playing despite the darkness.

I soon found a shop assistant and requested that she turns the lights off so I can test the claim of this ball.

She said she couldn’t. I didn’t buy it. But I still wonder if the ball does really glow in the dark?

Well, I love jousting, you know, with the long sticks. So, a few days ago a friend and I went jousting, like normal.

So, we’re charging, he’s on a horse, but I just have the stick under my arm. So, my stick goes into the horse’s chest while his stick goes over my head.

Anyway, the horse freaks out and knocks him off. So, I go over and offer my hand to help him up, but while I’m doing that I scratch myself on his armour.

And that’s how I got this tiny scratch.

A week ago Euro 2016 finished, and Portugal claimed victory over France in the final. It was a tight match, won 1-0 in extra-time. Eder’s brilliant long range winner deserved to win any match, however it seems that I’m the only one to notice major referee influence in that long range winner. Eder struck his winner in the 109^th minute of the final, but it was a referee’s decision two minutes earlier that influenced that winner…

In the 107^th minute the ball bounced up into a player’s arm as Eder and French defender Laurent Koscielny tussled for the ball. The referee awarded Portugal a free-kick (that hit the bar) and gave Koscielny a yellow card for handball. However, replays showed that the ball actually hit Eder’s arm, meaning the free-kick should’ve gone to France and Laurent Koscielny never should’ve received a yellow card.

Two minutes later the ball comes across to Eder, Koscielny comes out to him but doesn’t challenge him, allowing Eder time and space to shoot (and score the winner). Koscielny should’ve challenged Eder and probably needed to foul him because Eder was getting away from him. Yes, a professional foul and yellow card offense, but something that a player has to do.

The only reason that Koscielny didn’t bring Eder down in that moment is the yellow card that he was unfairly given minutes before. If Koscielny didn’t have that yellow card he would have brought Eder down, because he already had a yellow card he couldn’t run the risk of picking up a second.

An incorrect refereeing decision contributed to Portugal’s triumph, but Eder still had to put the ball in the back of the net from range with a wonderful shot. And he did just that.

Well, ten days after I turned eight, got my lips stick in a gate, my friends all laughed, and I just stood there until the fire department came and broke the lock with a crow bar and I had to spend the next six weeks in lip rehab with this kid named Oscar who got stung by a bee – right on the lip – and we couldn’t even talk to each other until the fifth week cause both of our lips were so swollen and when he did start speaking he just spoke Polish, and I only know three words in Polish, except now I know four because Oscar taught me the word for lip, usta!

There was also a time when I had to kiss my Great Aunt Ruth, she had a beard, and it felt weird.

When I was just two years old I left my lips out in the cold, and they turned blue, what could I do?

Childhood scarred me.

*Shakes head*

A while ago I was in a horror movie, but it was a slightly odd horror movie.

It wasn’t a dark and stormy night, instead it was a crisp early morning and it all started when I felt a chill down my spine.

As I went through my morning routine I heard rustles outside. In most horror movies people would’ve gone outside to check, not me. I just stayed inside and locked the doors.

As I picked up the keys to my car, three loud knocks jolted my attention.

“Knock, knock,” came the call from behind the door.

I stood frozen as my gaze fell to the door.

“You’re supposed to say ‘Who’s there’,” came the voice from behind the door.

“But I know who’s there. Marco you’re in front of a glass door. I can see right though it. Now, can we go? Or do you insist on playing this game again?”

Today I forgot my belt, and the world exploded. Sorry.

I’m fond of my belt. It does its job well. Every day it strangles my waist and keeps my pants in a respectable position. Until today it’s always been around me and I’ve been able to keep an eye on it.

I take full responsibility.

It was a few months ago when I first thought my belt might be talking and planning behind my back. I found notes in my back pocket that I hadn’t written or placed in my pocket. I also had people taking great interest in my bottom. I just thought it was a weird cult tradition, I never knew that my belt was involved.

I should’ve seen the signs. My belt was acting very suspiciously for the past few days. Knowing now what happened, it brings every single pocket dial into question, and the possibility that, maybe unknowingly, my pants were involved too.

A homemade mixture actually, 100 per cent organic, no dangerous chemicals and the smell is unforgettable. I call it Sham’s Poo.

Have you met Sham? I got him a few months ago from the dog pound, which is kinda weird, cause he’s a cow. He’s lovely, come out the back and meet him.

Anyway, Sham’s been trained to poop in the same place, which is great, less clean-up. But eventually I just had this pile of poo.

The next morning I was in the shower thinking about what I could do with the pile of poo, and when I reached for my old shampoo I had the brilliant idea to make shampoo out of Sham’s poo!

So that’s what I did. A month later and my hair looks amazing!

Did you want to try Sham’s Poo?

I went to a fancy restaurant last night. The menu was magnificent, it was full of questions. For instance, how did they get the Moroccan platter here from Morocco?

Morocco is in Africa, it’s a small country right on the North/West tip of Africa. It’s right below Spain and next to Algeria. The capital city is Rabat, while the largest city is Casablanca.

Morocco is currently ranked 62 in the FIFA World Rankings and have qualified four times for the FIFA World Cup, their last appearance coming in France 98.

So, with all I know about Morocco, how did the fancy restaurant get me a platter all the way from Morocco?

“Through the mail,” says the waiter.