The first time I can remember being IDed was in 2006. You’d think it would have been in a bar, but I can’t ever remember being asked for proof of age in a drinking establishment (any sober friends of mine remember this happening?).  No, it was for a book.  This one here, The Vice Guide to Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll.

The first issue I ever read of Vice Magazine contained features on child suicide and tips on stalking, so, in retrospect, I should probably have expected this.  When I got the book home I could understand why the cashier had wanted to take a peek at my student ID.

Behind the cover of this book (featuring a young lady doing a handstand into a toilet) lurks such essays in journalism as; No Shit (The Truth About Female Defecation), Home Surgery Party (How to Operate on Your Guests), My Mum Shot Me and Cum Vs Moisturiser (Vice Settles the Score!) *

When The Daily Mail writes about the abominable world of UK lads mags it likes to include a nipple count for some reason, as if nipples are really offensive and we all don’t own a pair.  The nudity in this book tells a slightly more twisted story, for example;  page 12 – naked man in mask squats over (presumably) a kitty litter tray; page 59 – X-ray of a dildo firmly lodged in a girl’s ass; page 114 – it looks like a disfigured child but on closer inspection a vagina has been collaged over his mouth and a penis penetrating a second vagina forms his nose, also his eyes appear to have been replaced by garden peas etc. etc.

Anyway I seem to have strayed into a very dodgy place (buy the book, it’s highly immoral but very funny) and we need to get back on track before Google picks up on some of the keywords in the previous paragraph and condemns me to some kind of search result hell.

The next time I got IDed (excluding the time at Sainsbury’s when they tried to stop me purchasing the pre-mix margarita) was a few weeks back.  At the time I wasn’t carrying my passport on me (I only tend to carry it when I’m in the People’s Republic of China, mainly because it’s the law) so no Wilkinson’s 99p kitchen scissors for me (with the plastic baby blue handles).  It’s a shame because now if I wanted to stab someone I’d have to buy a knife from Amazon.

On Friday night I drank so much that when a man dressed as a Smurf asked me to rub his erect nipple I thought nothing of it. On Saturday I was IDed in Wetherspoon’s for coffee, coke and two meals.

I look forward to the day I’m IDed for a pint.

* If you’re curious, moisturiser won.