As it's approaching Christmas, I asked 6 of Britain’s favourite celebrities what they’d do if they were trapped on a desert island with only 100 eggs for company 

1 - MATT BAKER (The One Show) 41
“This is one of those questions that you spend a lot of time thinking about when you’re staring out of a train window isn’t it? So I’ve certainly given it a lot of thought.
I think if I could get a fire going I’d try and hard boil them and then peel off the shells. After that I’d store them in a rock pool and dedicate my days to fending off crabs with a stick. The saline water would act as a preservative so I’d probably eat one per day for 100 days and if I hadn’t been rescued after that then I’d probably kill myself”

2 - VICTORIA DERBYSHIRE (Journalist and Broadcaster) 51
“I think it’s fair to say that if you ground down the egg shells into a sort of powder and then used the remaining albumen as a binding agent you could probably start to fashion a half decent raft using your hands. Once it was baked under the scorching sun I wonder whether you wouldn’t end up with something not dissimilar to fibre glass. After that it would simply be a case of hitting the open seas and feasting on the remaining yolks until you came across civilisation”

3 - PETER JONES (Dragon and Entrepreneur) 53
“I don’t know if this would work but I’d probably try and incubate the eggs in the hope that enough of them hatched. Once I had a clutch of chicks I’d try and spend the next few years selectively breeding the brood until I was left with a gigantic super hen that had developed the ability to fly. After that it would just be a case of building some kind of enormous saddle out of vines and leaves and flying back home”

4 - JESY NELSON (Pop singer in Little Mix) 28
“In the 2000 survival movie ‘Castaway’, Tom Hanks keeps insanity at bay by drawing a face on a volleyball with his own blood. With that in mind I’d probably do something similar on each one of the 100 eggs and give them all a name and intricate backstory. As someone with a head that’s exactly the same shape as an egg I don’t think it would take me long to integrate into their society and I’d hopefully be able to see out the rest of my days without feeling even the slightest twinge of loneliness”

5 - KIERAN TRIPPER (England footballer) 29
“It’s well known that eggs sink when they’re fresh and float when they’ve gone off. With that in mind I’d try and stay alive long enough for the eggs to expire and then I’d simply put them in the sea and let them teach me how to swim. Once I felt like they’d taught me everything I need to know and I’d gleaned enough knowledge from the avian ovulations it would be a case of setting my sights on the horizon and making good my escape”

“When eggs or egg products are heated, Hydrogen Sulphide is produced as a result of non-enzymic reactions. H2S is a dangerous colourless gas that’s both flammable and explosive. With 100 eggs at my disposal, I don’t think it would be beyond the realms of imagination to think that I’d be able to build a veritable arsenal of fairly effective flares and grenades using hollowed-out mangos which would hopefully be visible to any ships and planes within a 50 mile radius.

If that didn’t work then I understand that Hydrogen Sulphide is used to produce heavy water for nuclear power plants so it would simply be a case of working out how to split the atom using coconut shells and after that figuring out how to build some kind of nuclear power boat that could blast me back to west end like Prospero from Bill Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest’”
Got a boot sale bargain or an old ornament you reckon might be worth a fortune? Why not let me - Simply Red frontman Mick Hucknall - find out? Just send me a pic of your treasure and I’ll tell you if it’s worthy of the STARS or TOO SHITE TO MENTION!

  • I picked up this ‘Doc Martin’ tea towel in a charity shop last week for 50p and when I took it home my husband wondered whether it might be worth a small fortune. We’ve been too scared to use it and both been wondering if it wouldn’t be more at home in some sort of film and television museum. I’ve never seen another one and I’ve just got this sneaking suspicion that I might be in possession of something special. What’s the value, Mick?
  • Hi Brenda. What a find! Martin Clunes memorabilia is very hot at the moment and just about anything brandishing his hilarious jug-eared face is worth sending to an auction house if you can bare to see it go. Just last week I saw a pair of Men Behaving Badly oven gloves sell for a ridiculously high price at Sotherby’s. In my opinion this could be worth anything from between £5000 and £10’000. Good luck!

  • Me and the wife recently moved into a new flat and after talking to the neighbours we were amazed to find out that Dave Berry from Absolute Radio used to rent the place in about 2003. The other day I was bleeding the radiators with the radiator key which was left in a draw next to the oven and it got me thinking that there’s every chance that he might have used it himself during his tenure. I wondered if it might be worth the big bucks thanks to its celebrity connections.
  • Hi Gavin. Wow what a piece! You were right to get in touch. This is exactly the sort of thing that serious collectors will be beating down your door to get a hold of. Usually with items owned by a celebrity it’s important to have a certificate or photograph linking them to the item, but in my opinion even without any evidence this could still fetch anywhere between £5000 and £10’000. My advice - Get it insured as quickly as you can!

  • Hi Mick. My husband’s mother sadly passed away last week and we’re currently in the middle of sorting out all of her clutter. We’ve come across this 18th century Chinoiserie decorated long case grandfather clock that has been in my husband’s family for years. It seems to work fine and it’s quite beautifully decorated with golden East-Asian engravings but I’m just not got a clue what it's worth. Any help and advice would be greatly appreciated
  • Hello Kitty. I’m afraid it’s bad news this time as I’m not sure this is something that anyone would be impressed with in the current marketplace. Unfortunately in the era of digital clocks and and smart phones I don’t think many people would be interested in cluttering up their houses with something as cumbersome and old fashioned as this. It’s a shame because there is something quite charming about items like this but I’m afraid it might be time for the bonfire for this out-of-time relic. Sorry it’s not better news, but keep hunting!

Winning the lottery is something that we all dream about every day, but to lose the magic ticket before you’ve even cashed it in is surely the stuff of nightmares. And it’s a nightmare that West Yorkshire bin man, GARY EGGPIPER, knows about all too well having come into an unbelievable fortune on several occasions, only to have lost the evidence whilst on his way to collect the winnings.
“I sometimes feel like the world’s basically just playing a sick joke on me” Eggpiper told the Choddington Chronicle. “For something like that to happen once is rotten luck, but to have to go through it on multiple occasions just makes you wonder if it just isn’t supposed to happen for someone like me.”

Gary, 43, went on to explain how his bad luck with winning tickets hasn’t only affected him but has also cost his friends and family the chance of living the high life.

“I wouldn’t mind so much if it was just my money because I’d only have myself to blame, but unfortunately these winning bets have always been part of a syndicate which means that losing the slip has cost my loved ones their fair share as well…I feel pig sick about it.

Money shouldn’t be the most important thing in the world but sadly my lousy luck has resulted in bad blood with the people I care about most.”

Eggpiper, who enjoys racing sports cars at the weekend, explained how he first came to both win and lose a mammoth windfall.

“It first happened about 10 years ago. Me and my family had been paying into a little syndicate since the National Lottery first started. My mum, my sister and two brothers each chose a line which was all made up of birthdays and dates that were pertinent to the family. My older brother, Alan, kept it in his wallet and we’d all give him the money so that each week he could buy the ticket when he went to pick up his fish and chips on a Friday night.

Over the years we’d picked up a tenner here and there, but nothing to write home about, until one evening I got a call from Alan. I could barely understand what he was saying through the excitement but it didn’t take me long to realise that we’d hit the motherload. That night had been a massive rollover and the jackpot was a whopping £24 million. It was so exciting that I actually felt dizzy. It really is a feeling like no other. Me and the family all met up at the local pub and celebrated like we’d never celebrated before. This money was life changing to all of us, and not least to my dear old Mum who needed an operation on her legs and my sister, Pat, who’d been off work for years with depression.
The next day I agreed to take the winning ticket to Camelot and sort out all of the boring admin…but what happened next still sends a shiver down my spine.”

The binman, who lives in a 9 bedroom detached house in a private road near Ilkley, explained how he came to lose the lotto ticket which would have seen his mother, and each of his siblings, receive almost £5 million each.

“I was walking to the bus stop with the prize winning piece of paper firmly wedged in the pocket of my jeans. The burden of responsibility weighed so heavy on me that I remember  my brow dripping with sweat. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a fox ran out of the woods and knocked me over. As I fell my jeans must have torn on a fence post or something and I remember watching as the lottery ticket fluttered out of my pocket and into the road. With no thought for my own safety I sprinted into the path of oncoming traffic to retrieve the prized coupon but alas I was too late and I watched in horror as a peregrine falcon swooped down, picked it up in its wretched beak, and flew away into the distance with everything we’d ever dreamed of.”

Gary, who owns a boat in the Dordogne, now had to tell his family the bad news and pray that they could find it in their hearts to forgive him.

“The next few weeks were all a bit of a blur. I remember there was a lot of shouting and tears as tension in the family ran high. I frantically tried to find a way to sort it out but there was nothing I could do and the money was gone. Unfortunately Camelot said that without the ticket their hands were tied because my brother Alan had bought it from a shop that didn’t didn’t have CCTV. I tried to explain to my family that in many ways it was Alan’s fault but things turned ugly and I decided it might be best if I moved out of the family home that we all lived in and into a new house that had a bit more room.”

Eggpiper, whose mansion contains an underground swimming pool and bowling alley, was confused by his family's reaction.

“I appreciate that my family don’t want to see me anymore but I sometimes feel like they don’t understand that I’ve lost out as well. I also had things I’d have loved to have done with that money. I sometimes think that they forget that I’m a bin man. They say that time heals all wounds so I’m hopeful that they’ll forgive me one day.”

32 stone Gary who is currently dating a 22 year old underwear model from Ukraine, thought that he’d seen enough drama for one lifetime but in an almost unbelievable turn of events, he was just about to go through it all again.

“After the lottery debacle I started spending a bit more time with the lads that I ran the bins with. I hadn’t really been turning up to work much because I was studying for my helicopter pilot’s license but I was still seeing the boys at weekends. We used to go metal detecting  around the Yorkshire Dales and then spend the evening in the pub studying the bits and bobs that we’d dug up. Our plunder was usually just old bottle tops and the odd rusty key, but one day our detectors started beeping and flashing away like billy-o. We began digging and what we found absolutely blew us away. We’d just unearthed a treasure hunter’s dream, thousands of gold Anglo-Saxon coins dating back over 1000 years and worth a kings ransom. We had it valued at almost £5 million and went out to raise a glass and celebrate.

The next day, after an interview with the local rag, I agreed to take the life changing hoard down to the British Museum and sort out all of the tedious paperwork…but what happened on my way still makes me wince with frustration.”

Eggpiper, who was last week photographed at one of Elton John’s Christmas parties, described how he lost his second opportunity to become filthy rich in another bizarre and unfortunate turn of events.

“I was on the train with a case full of the extremely valuable coins thinking about what had happened the previous year with the lottery ticket. I was determined to take extra special care of it it this time and also looking forward to being able to have the opportunity to give my share of the cache to my family and start building bridges. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the train door opened. There must have been a fault with the electronics or something. I went over to try and fix it but the train must have hit a fox or something because as it jolted I fell out and rolled down a hill into the woods. Dazed and confused and only concerned with my colleague’s money, I frantically darted around the undergrowth trying to find the case but unfortunately, just as I spotted it, I could only watch helplessly as it was carried off over the treetops by some sort of eagle or falcon or something.”

Gary, who owns a vineyard and was recently featured in Forbes Magazine, now had to tell his workmates that they wouldn’t be jumping off the bin lorry just yet.

“I felt absolutely awful and couldn’t believe it was happening again. None of the lads were as understanding as I’d hoped and the whole thing had put a deep fracture in the friend group. At that point I decided it was time to quit my job and get away from it all for a while.” 

Eggpiper decided to go and spend some time on the Caribbean islands of St.Kitts & Nevis whilst he let things cool down back in Yorkshire.

“I was sat on my boat thinking about how lonely I was and actually feeling a bit annoyed with my friends and family who didn’t appreciate that missing out on the chance to become a multimillionaire was something I’d have to live with for the rest of my life.

I buddied up with some rich fellas whilst I was on holiday. They were nothing like me at all and we had very little in common but we seemed to get on OK. One evening we had a skinful and decided to all go in on buying a racehorse. It all seemed a bit mad for a penniless bin man like me but you only live once and I was on holiday. A few weeks later it was running in the Grand National and we pooled our money  We each threw in 1Mill into the pot and gathered around the TV. Unbelievably the bloody thing won and all of a sudden we were holding a ticket for almost £80 million. I’ve never drunk as much as I did that night I can tell you. I couldn’t believe I was going to get my third shot at prosperity.”

Gary, who owns the publishing rights to over 30 track by The Beatles, couldn’t wait to get hold of the money and make amends with his friends and family back in Yorkshire.

“With my share of the £80 million I’d be able to pay back my family, my colleagues and still have enough left to live out my days with more than enough. The next morning I agreed to take the betting slip to the bookies on the main island and deal with all the faffing about… It couldn’t happen again and this time I’d be extra, extra careful.

I hired a small motor boat and headed to the island with the betting slip safely in the gusset of my underpants. I wasn’t taking any chances this time. I was about halfway across the choppy, Caribbean waters that separated the two archipelagos when something hit me in the head knocking me into the sea…possibly some kind of water fox. As I spluttered to the surface with no consideration for my own wellbeing I saw the invaluable slip of paper floating away from me. As I darted towards it like a torpedo some sort of tropical kestrel dived out of the heavens, snatching it with its cruel talons and sadly I could only watch as the bird disappeared down into the briny deep.

I decided to get on the first plane back to West Yorkshire and stay at home with only a team of armed security guards for company. I don’t gamble or put bets on anything anymore as I’m terrified of what might happen if I ever try and collect the winnings. It’s already cost me my family and friends.

I sometimes think about how different my life would be today if lady luck hadn’t dealt me such a cruel blow and I still had all of that money. I suppose it just wasn’t meant to be.”


Once upon a time there was a little boy named John who lived in Chicago, Illinois. John’s father liked drinking lots and lots of beers and boshing him over the head. To make matters worse John had a poorly heart that meant he couldn’t play any sports and he quickly turned into a bit of a chunky fucker.
John got fed up with being boinked over the head by his dad so he went to live in Las Vegas where he began working in a mortuary. One day John started hugging one of the corpses and it made him feel funny in his head so he went back to live with his Mum and Dad.
Luckily for John he sorted his shit out and got married and became a big successful business man and sold lots and lots of fried chicken.
Everyone seemed to like John and even his own father said sorry for being mean to him and everything was nice and happy for a while.
John joined a club called the ‘Waterloo Jaycess’ which involved lots of drugs and cuddles with strangers. John was so good at drugs and fiddling about with other people’s winkles that he actually became vice president of the club. Sometimes when you get good at something it goes to your head and unfortunately John started kissing too many boys and even paid to get the shit kicked out of some of them.
John had done a naughty and the policemen made him go and sit in a prison for a bit so that he could calm down.
He was very helpful in prison and kept his room tidy and ate all of his vegetables so they let him out almost immediately which is mental.
When he came out he made new friends and got a new wife and started dressing up like a big, mad, clown so that no one would be scared of him.
John and his new wife fell out because he told her he preferred kissing boys and all of his neighbours got angry with him because his house started to stink.
People started going missing in the area and John began acting the giddy goat by growing a big, bushy, beard like a pissed up wizard and drinking lots of whisky.
When the policemen went to look inside John’s house they found about thirty lads buried under the floor and a few in the garden. Some of them had things put up their bottoms.
John admitted that he’d been a right handful for the last ten years and was very honest about all of his mad shenanigans and went on to spend his time in prison painting himself as ‘Pogo the Clown’.
The court decided it would be for the best if they put poison into John Wayne Gacy’s arms so that he died. 
When he was dead they cut his brain out and wanged it into a jar.
And that was the end of John.

“The dead won't bother you, it's the living you have to worry about.” 
- John Wayne Gacy


Once upon a time there was a man called David who made friends with Harvey, his next door neighbour’s dog.
David was a postman who lived in New York City and had spent some time being an army man. One of his friends in the army bought him a gun which he liked a lot.
When David had been a baby his Mum had decided that she didn’t want him anymore so she gave him to someone else. This made David very angry.
David had two best friends, Harvey (his next door neighbour’s dog) and Satan (the demon that lived inside his brain box). David told Harvey and Satan that he was cross about his Mum running away and leaving him on his own and asked them what they thought he should do about it. Harvey and Satan told David that it would be a good idea to run around New York for the next two years shooting people to death.
David liked girls with long dark hair best so he tried to shoot them the most. 
He would run around at night with his gun shooting people whilst they sat in their cars and he found it very funny that the policemen couldn’t catch him, even though they were all trying really, really hard. Sometimes David would leave the policemen funny little notes that said things like ‘I love to hunt, Prowling the streets for fair game, I am a monster, I’LL BE BACK’. 
David changed his name to the ‘Son Of Sam’ because he was bored of the name David and he thought it sounded more scary.
David got caught because someone saw the numberplate on his car and he had to go and sit inside a jail.
He admitted he’d been a bit of a handful but said that it wasn’t really his fault because Sam Carr’s dog had told him to do it and demanded the blood of young girls. The judge asked him if the dog had told him to jump off a cliff would he have done that? And he said “No, probably not”.
Everyone decided it would be for the best if he went to live inside a prison for six, 25 year sentences which is a very long time and he’ll be almost 200 years old when he gets out.

“A 'possessed' dog in the neighbourhood won't let me stop killing until he gets his fill of blood.” 
- David Berkowitz (The Son of Sam)


Once upon a time there was a boy called Edward who lived in La Crosse, Wisconsin with his Mum and Dad and his brother Henry . They all lived together on a farm. 
Ed’s Mum was a silly old sausage and used to spend all day shouting about Jesus and reading Ed and Henry bedtime stories from the Bible. Her favourite parts were the bits with all the death and murder and the devil and that. She was always shouting about how God was in a mood with everyone on Earth.
Thanks to his Mum’s incessant gibberish, Ed’s brainbox started to go all squishy and his teachers and classmates would notice that he’d just sit on his own laughing to himself about whatever popped into his head. He’d sit at the back of the classroom and picture himself with a chicken’s legs and howl to himself with laughter. Eventually all the other boys and girls stopped inviting him to their birthday parties.
One day Ed’s dad drank so much beer that his heart burst like an egg in a microwave and he died, which made Ed sad.
When Ed grew up he was such a good boy that when he killed his own brother with a mallet and set the entire town on fire no one even thought it was him.
Ed and his Mum were now the only ones left in their family so they became best friends and Ed looked after her when she became poorly as well as looking after all the goats and chickens on the farm because he was Mummy’s little soldier. Unfortunately one day she had a stroke and died because God was sick of her acting like a cunt.
Ed was gutted. He decided to board up his Mum’s room and keep all of her dresses looking nice and pretty while he lived in the kitchen like a pig and read books about Nazis and cannibals like a right proper nutcase.
One day a lady from the local hardware store went missing and the police thought they better go and see what Ed was up to because he’d been acting so silly.
When they had a look round they discovered that Ed had been a busy little beaver. He’d been making lots of arts and crafts but he must have run out of paint and papier mache because all of the things Ed had been building were made out of people. The police found a rubbish bin made out of skulls, a chair covered in human skin and he’d even stretched a lampshade out of someone’s face. He’d been having a whale of a time. He’d made a corset out of a female torso, leggings out of a woman’s legs and he’d even stitched loads of nipples onto a belt. When the police found a box full of vaginas and a necklace made of cocks Ed knew he was going to get in big trouble.
Ed tried to explain in court that all he’d been trying to do was build a “woman suit” so that he could dress up like his dead mother and he’d done that by digging up graves and killing a few people. He reckoned that if it’s a crime to murder people, dig up the corpses of the recently deceased and wear their faces like masks and turn their skeletons into household objects then he supposed he must have been guilty. The court decided that doing all that stuff is indeed a crime and he was certainly considered guilty. He explained that he hadn’t even had sex with any of the bodies because “they smelled too bad” but even that wasn’t enough for the judge to let him go so he spent the rest of his life living happily ever after in the Central State Hospital For The Criminally insane until he died in 1984.
And that was the story of Ed.

“When I see a pretty girl walking down the street, I think two things. One part wants to be real nice and sweet, and the other part wonders what her head would look like on a stick” 
- Ed Gein


Once upon a time there was a doctor called Harold.

Harold’s Mum thought he was the bee’s knees and when she became poorly Harold looked after her until she died. 

Harold went off to learn how to become a proper doctor and honour his late Mum. He’d become a General Practitioner and make his Mother proud as she looked down at him from heaven. Unfortunately, within a couple of weeks, Harold got addicted to prescription pain killers and lost his job when everyone noticed that he was smacked off his tits.

Luckily for Harold, in England, stealing drugs and forging medical information is more of a slap on the wrist sort of thing and before long Harold had his stethoscope back on. This time in a medical Centre in Hyde.
Harold must have been very good at his job because he stayed there for about 20 years and the only bad thing he did was to murder more people than almost anyone else in the history of mankind.
No one in the field of medicine had any idea that Harold was up to no good, but luckily the lad that did the bins noticed that almost every single person who went into Harold’s office would often spend the rest of their life being cremated.
One of Harold’s colleagues thought it was strange that he had started referring to his patients as ‘victims’, she also noticed that they all died in the same upright, seated position so she called the fuzz.
Harold carried on killing elderly women on an almost daily basis until he finally cocked it up. He forged a will and pretended that an old lady had left him her house. The old lady’s daughter realised that this was probably bullshit when she took about two seconds to think about it.
After this, it all started to go tits up for Harold. His home was raided, jewellery and typewriters were found and bodies were exhumed. 
Harold had to go to court and the jury thought that killing over 250 old ladies was just about the bloody limit. The judge found himself agreeing with the jury so hard that she said Harold would have to go and live inside Durham Prison for about 1000 years even though nobody even thought he’d probably live that long.
Harold tried living in the prison for a couple of years but realised that he couldn’t be arsed staying there for another 998 years, also some of the other prisoners were calling him names and poking fun out of his beard so he hung himself to death with his bedsheets.
He spent the next 10 years frozen in a Sheffield morgue, perhaps in case anyone wanted to reanimate his corpse and let him carry on with his rounds. In 2014 they decided that bringing Harold back to life would be a terrible idea so they burned him up and lobbed his ashes in the bins.
And that was the story of Harold.

"No one saw me do anything. As for stealing morphine off the terminally ill, again no-one saw me do it.” 
- Dr Harold Shipman

Once upon a time there was a little girl called Elizabeth. 
Elizabeth grew up in a big castle in The Kingdom of Hungary, and, being from a noble family, was given everything she could ever dream of. She had Jewels and horses and the grandest clothes in the land made from the finest lace and silks. She had such lovely things that it must have made growing up in the arse end of nowhere near Transylvania, during the 16th Century, borderline tolerable. Elizabeth was so showered with good fortune that she was even lucky enough to have her very own baby before the age of 13, which might have actually been where the problem started come to think about it.

Elizabeth eventually got married to a man with a very long name at the ripe old age of 15 and they moved in together into one of his castles on the Slovakian border. As soon as they got there he buggered off to college and then to war leaving Elizabeth kicking about the castle in her jogging bottoms and flicking through Snapchat while watching Ru Paul’s Drag Race. It was boring the tits off her.

Eventually her husband came back from what was called ‘The Long War’ but he’d picked up some strange disease that had made his legs go all fat and then he died.
Elizabeth had just about had it up to here with this bullshit.  
After chatting with one of her scullery maids she decided she would try and get into the Guinness Book of World Records. She tried juggling pigs and then she tried smashing eggs into her own head but nothing seemed to stick. She needed to do something that would carry her legend far across the lands for years to come. She decided she would become the most prolific and mental serial killer that anyone had ever seen and call Norris McWhirter post-haste. 

Elizabeth began luring young girls to the castle by telling them she’d give them a job. That job, as it turned out, was to be beaten, burned and eaten alive. Elizabeth would use hot tongs to burn the girls and then freeze them. Occasionally she’d cover them in honey and flesh eating ants and there was even talk of needles. It was a party in the castle, and no one wanted to be invited. 
Some say she bathed in the blood of her victims in an attempt retain eternal youth, but even if she did, that stuff about the ants is worse, isn’t it?
Eventually the police turned up and caught her red handed, quite literally. They found girls dead, dying and locked up in the castle, so they placed her under house arrest, which seems extremely bloody lenient as far as I’m concerned. 
During her trial they worked out that she might have killed about 650 people which is so naughty that it’s quite hard to put into words. When you consider that you shouldn’t even murder one person, murdering 650 really does take the biscuit.
The King said he wanted her dead but she had a pretty good legal team and they managed to get her bricked up in a tiny room in a castle which is a small victory of sorts.
After 4 solitary years in her windowless cell she said her hands felt cold and then she died.
And that was the story of Elizabeth.

“Do I look like someone who cares what God thinks?” 
- Countess Elizabeth Bathory de Ecsed

Illustrated by Nick Reyniers
Written By Matt T Haydock

  • Go to a fancy dress party dressed as your own genitals and choose this as the night to propose to your partner.

  • Prank all of your work colleagues by running out of the toilets in tears and frantically telling everyone that you've just been raped by a man in a mask.

  • Soak your next door neighbour's pumpkin in petrol overnight so that they blow their hands off when they try and light the bugger. (Also, rob their house whilst they're at the hospital if you're feeling particularly cheeky)

  • Go to the police station and confess to a bunch of murders that you didn't commit. Write the word paedophile on your head in lipstick and see how much trouble you get into. A terrifying night guaranteed.

  • Sellotape bits of soil to your face and spend the evening sat on the toilet listening to Aswad

  • Dig up grandad

  • Paint the names of famous serial killers onto the side of stray dogs and hurl them into your local Pizza Express 

  • Go to a fancy dress party dressed as a dog's vagina. 

  • Tell your 7 year old son that his dad died in a car accident on the way home from work and his ghost lives in the basement now

  • Empty the contents of your Hoover into a bowl and offer the contents to 'trick-or-treaters'. (Answer the door in tears and waving a gun about) 

  • Break into an old people's home and whisper loads of mental shit to all of the senile residents when the nurses aren't looking