Sometimes you get a tick. Not like one of those jungle buggers than buries its way into Harry Redknapp’s gooch, but an incessant, persuasive buzzing that follows you around buzz buzz buzzing everywhere you go. One week ago, I too fell victim to the tick. It all started when rolling down my Twitter timeline, glassy-eyed, discarding thousands of Manchester United transfer rumours.
Something then peaked my interest: @ITV2 Meet our 2019 islanders. Before I could face the reality of it being June again, I was faced with 12 of dazzling white teeth flashing back at me. Love Island, the reality TV show that dictates the social lives of a whole country for two months, was back. My brain started to itch. “My mum kicked me out for bringing too many girls back!”
In Year 7 science, our teacher introduced us to hydrochloric acid. Dangerous stuff, he said. I remember wondering just how dangerous it was. What would happen if you drank it? Not the wonderings of a psychopath, merely an example of the dumb shit you think about when you're a kid. What happens when you spray deodorant on fire? How many Toxic Waste can one eat at once? Coke and Mentos... what's going on there? In this instance, it was just how bad hydrochloric acid was.
When I heard Anton, the class of 2019's token scotsman, brag about the above, I felt the pain of pouring hydrochloric acid into your own ears. 12-year-old me satisfied. 23-year-old me mortified. And there it was: the content tick. I gave these sparkly bastards a week to stamp their impressions before succumbing to the tick and producing some equally sparkly content.
Iain Stirling, step aside.
