Room 101 was the room in George Orwell's 1984 which contained "the worst thing in the world". I didn't know that until today, which just goes to show that a bored moment at work can turn into an educational opportunity thanks to the power of t'internet.
Whenever I've seen Room 101 programme on the telly, I always try and think of the things that I'd like to put in Room 101. Here's what they are today.
I say today, because there are variables - I might put my cat in there on a day when he is trying to bat me with his paw, but I wouldn't put him in there on a day when he is being a furry purry thing, like a cat should be.
On another day, I might put shop-bought cakes in there, because they are full of E-numbers and nastiness. But then something like a Cadbury Mini Roll might turn up in the office and surprise me.
Once, I dropped some money on the floor in town, I bent down to pick it up and my little finger went in a big load of green gobby goo. This has traumatised me for life, and I still feel dirty whenever I think about it - in fact, my finger is tingling with repulsion as I type.
You would not believe how much of this hell-gunk I see on the pavements while I'm walking to work. It is revolting. Men (and ladies if you can call yourselves that, but I strongly suspect it is 99% blokes), either get yourself a packet of Handy Andies to spit it in or swallow it. And under no circumstances should you make that grotesque throat clearing noise trying to bring it up. BLEURGH!
Footballers are the worst culprits. Men outside the Imperial Cafe in Splott are second. You know who you are - now stop it!
Well, what do they actually do? Apart from scare me when I go the cinema to see something seemingly innocent like Lemony Snickett's Series of Unfortunate Events, so much so that I actually squeal at one point and have to hide underneath my coat for at least five minutes. If the story of St Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland is true, it almost makes me want to believe in God. Or Cod.
What is the point of a vegetable that exists only to a) make you gag and b) dye everything else on the plate violet. I've tried to like it, I really have. And not just the pickled stuff your nan serves with boiled ham for Sunday tea. I had some organic beetroot roasted in with some other winter veg; I had it in the form of soup; I even had it with all kind of fancy things in a vegetarian restaurant (what they were escapes me now).
But however you try and jazz it up, there's no escaping the fact that it's just like you are eating purple dirt.
Ooo, I enjoyed that rant, but it's time to catch the train now - bye!
You can add your own pet hates here.