I am a grown man in a boy’s body. Alright, alright, perhaps not. Let’s start over. I am a boy in an overweight man’s hairy body. No, no. That doesn’t sound quite right either. What I am trying to tell you is that I am at the advanced age of 33 on the outside, while the inner me is a doe-eyed 5 year old. I like gadgets, robots and shiny and colourful things that dazzle my retinas.
Whether it is the yellow tea submarine I use to infuse my tired mornings with a bit more zing, smartphones, Nintendo memorabilia or a James Bond-type mini gyrocopter, they all make my life a bit more bearable. For a very long time, I actually thought I was alone in this world of mentally delayed adulthood, but lo and behold, the world is full of us men who can only ever hope to call ourselves adults because we have day jobs that we hate and despise every minute of. So without further ado, I present to you a little piece of my dream world; a place where formal attire is absolutely forbidden and where any colourful thing that goes ‘blip’ is king.