A Wild Old Man Suddenly Appears

I’m officially a terrible human.

At least that’s how I feel.

Have you ever felt like you’ve done something that really isn’t expected from someone of your age, position or appearance?

How about if you’ve done something that checks all three of those things? You’re an adult, you have kind of a respectable job, and you can usually be seen wearing professional attire, looking all serious and shit – would those three things combined make you feel like you need to behave a certain way?

If you’re like me, I’m first of all very sorry for you, but I’m also understanding of your feelings and you’d be happy to hear that I, too, suffer from our society’s expectations of us based on their perception of how we should be, and not of how we really are.

Earlier tonight, me and my girlfriend decided to go to the gym, which we have successfully done quite regularly the latest couple of months in order to not look like two complete bums who watch the entire Lost series in a way too small amount of time.

Usually, this is our routine: we change into workout clothes, head out to the elevators, take the elevator from the 43rd to the 44th floor, walk outside, turn left and walk alongside the rooftop pool*, head up one flight of stairs to the 45th floor, enter the gym, exercise for a while, feel like Johnny Bravo, flex for a while, feel like Johnny Bravo some more, then head back home, and give ourselves a nice, warm pad on the back.

This time, however, was different.

This time, after we changed into workout clothes and headed to the elevator, but before we stepped into the elevator, something… occurred. Something unpredictable. An unforeseen development.

Since my brain is moronic and random, I got a magnificent idea. My brain decided that it’d be great fun if I started to run away from my girlfriend and beat her to the elevator, leaving her to wait for the next one.

I know, I’m hilarious and mature and a true gentleman.

This is when a higher power decided to interfere and punish me for being lame and immature and a douchebag instead of those three nice things I just mentioned.

As I was fully sprinting towards the approaching elevator and the slowly opening elevator doors, excited from my brilliant idea, A WILD OLD MAN SUDDENLY APPEARS out of nowhere.

There he was, quietly and peacefully minding his own business, surely after a long, hard day’s work, counting down the last steps before he opens his door and sets foot in his condo. As soon as the elevator doors opened, there was, right up in his face, coming at him in full speed.

Naturally, he freaked out, made a shocked face and grunted angrily, which kind of sounded like “HAAAUGGHHH!?”, and then just cold-bloodedly stared at me while I tried my best to comfort him and apologise for my sick and childish behaviour. He then decided that he didn’t need my desperate apology and continued to stare at me in disgust while I embarrassingly entered the elevator and watched him watch me while the doors were closing oh so slowly. Had he decided to physically take me down and kick me victoriously in the stomach, no blame would be headed his way.

To sum things up, let’s establish what I have accomplished here:

I didn’t only almost succeed in physically assaulting and attacking an old man, I think I almost gave him a heart attack as a result of my sick interpretation of the concept of fun.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt like such an idiot.


This post was written in October (or something) and it’s been stuck in draft limbo ever since. You’d be very pleased to know that I still haven’t had to share a silent, stink-eyed, tormenting and excruciating elevator ride with this man since that night I almost killed him (and he contemplated killing me for almost killing him).


No, not that stink-eye, this stink-eye:

Could you imagine sharing a minute-long elevator ride with a man looking at you like this without ever breaking eye contact?

Although I’ve seen him around the lobby collecting his mail as I’m hiding from him behind the plants with the mosquitoes in the corners of said lobby, creepily watching him from afar, in pure fear of being confronted.


= brag


Movies, TV Shows and Anti-Me

I watched The Revenant yesterday. I liked it. But it was long. Way too long. With a 2 hour 36 minute length, I think it was at least 30 minutes overdue. That being said, it was a beautifully shot film with great performances from especially Leo DiCaprio and Tom Hardy. As usual. Oh, it was also very intense at times with painful violence. Yay!

I also recognised one of the other dudes in the movie, Domnhall Gleeson.

It’s weird.

Because I’m a nerd, I just recently googled the entire cast of Star Wars: The Force Awakens, which he was in, and that’s when I became aware of his existence and he became a blip on my nerdar. Then, a week goes by, and I discover the absolutely amazing and intensely affecting show, Black Mirror, which he was also in. Then I happen to watch Ex Machina, where he of course is the main character. As if that isn’t enough, I’m rewatching the entire Harry Potter film series with the girlfriend, since:

  • I’ve only seen them once, when they first came out, making them now re-watchable
  • I remember that I liked them more and more with each movie released, because they were getting darker and darker and more grownup
  • My girlfriend hasn’t seen it. Or at least she thought she had, but it turned out she’d only seen the first three (out of eight). She almost roundhouse-kicked the TV when Dumbledore died. She couldn’t believe it

We just have the eighth movie left, and we’re both excited. I’ve almost forgot what happens, which is very, very exciting.

Anyway, so upon starting to watch the seventh movie yesterday, The Deathly Hallows Part 1, who the hell is there if not Domnhall Gleeson! That dude is everywhere. He’s been in 96% of things I watched since Christmas. Weird.


Speaking of movies, I don’t think the Harry Potter film series is one of the best ever. It’s good enough, but not the best. I rank The Lord of the Rings higher. I rank Pulp Fiction as the greatest masterpiece ever. I think Fifty Shades of Grey was a horrible, horrible piece of cinema. I basically like all of Quentin Tarantino’s and Christopher Nolan’s movies. I am a big, big fan of American Psycho. That movie is filled with memorable, classic quotes. Despite this, HP is still an enjoyable series.


Speaking of series, TV shows are apparently the shit nowadays. A good TV show today looks like a great movie did just 10 years ago in terms of visuals and effects and stuff like that. This is a result of bigger budgets which is a result of a higher demand for quality TV.

Some absolutely stellar TV shows are, in no particular order:

  • Game of Thrones
  • The Walking Dead
  • Breaking Bad
  • Mad Men

Just amazing productions. They’re all kind of different, but what they have in common, is high quality.

A show like Suits is easy to enjoy, but I have a tremendously hard time believing it when two characters can have an intense, law-riddled conversation alone in a room for 10 minutes about a painfully insolvable case, and just as they’re about to finish the last sentence, some dude or chick steps into the room with a perfectly convenient solution and saves the day. Like they’d listen to the entire conversation from the start, hiding behind the cactus in one of the corners, which they, of course, haven’t. Or when they are handed a 300-page law document, they’d casually scan the first couple of pages, and say, “of course! Why didn’t I think of this before? It’s so obvious”.

Sure, GoT and TWD are not believable because dragons, magic and zombies, yes, I’ll give you that, but they compensate for that with realism in every other way possible. I think. Kind of.


As you know, Norway bothers me. Not the country (well…), but my colleague and friend Norway. He bothers me because he is so anti. He’s anti me. I also respect him for that. When I believe HP gets better with each movie, he ridicules me, laughs, and says he thinks it’s the opposite. He supports the Lannisters in GoT, and especially the abusive child king, bastard Joffrey. He is also a huge fan of all the Real Housewives of-series, and was just recently on the verge of tears of happiness when he discovered the Real Housewives of Melbourne edition. He also loves Justin Bieber and One Direction and he certainly keeps up with the Kardashians.



Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to return some videotapes.

WordPress is Nice, Gmail is a Two-Faced Douche

Good morning, taxpayers and tax-avoiders.

I just woke up from a drunken night’s sleep, which for me means eerily vivid dreams. As always, to see what’s up and to be in the know, I automatically reached for my phone the first thing I did, like it was a primal instinct. I think my phone was in my hand before I’d even opened my eyes.

Nothing makes me happier than seeing certain notifications from certain apps when I browse what’s happened while I spent a third of my day asleep, being vulnerable to predators and a playground for roaches.

There are some apps that make me happy when I see a notification, and then there are some that make me ache. When the ache-producing apps send me notifications, I impressively sigh and grunt simultaneously, before I casually swipe them away, out of existence, out of my world, to hell.

What if you could do that in real life, just swipe away things you don’t want to deal with? But maybe that’d be like dealing with things like an ostrich, drilling his silly head down the sand, thinking he’s invisible. Instead, his head is covered in sand, his ears, mouth, nose and eyes, too, probably, and his ass is vulnerable as fuck. Not ideal.

So when I saw that WordPress had sent me a few notifications – new likes, new followers, new comments – I became very excited and, in my mind, jumped around in circles, giggling. My blog is still small, and I don’t really care about having lots and lots of followers, but it’s still nice to see some action and growth.

Other apps that fill me with various amounts of joy include, but are not limited to: Instagram, Clash of Clans (I know, I know…), and Podcast Addict. I’m not especially active on Instagram, so whenever I see a notification, it means something specific and presumably interesting has happened, which is always nice.

Gmail is too much of an inconsistent dick to make the Apps I Enjoy list, because its content is too mixed with shit I don’t want to read when I turn off my brain and try to relax. Like work emails, like newsletters from Investopedia, like spam. Oh, and recently I’ve seen a strange and sudden increase in Nigeria letters in my inbox, mingling with my other emails, polluting them with their presence. Sorry, Gmail.


My drunken eerily vidid dream I had was a result of a night out with the girlfriend and Norway. There was beer, there was wine, there was the dreadful Vodka.

Alcohol always makes me dream strange, silly and incredibly real dreams.

In today’s edition, I got kicked in the face by a large moose and miraculously managed to keep all my teeth. However, I did walk around for the entire remaining time in this strange, silly and incredibly real dream with a moose’s footprint on my face, which was amusing to my dream-friends. After making sure my face had survived – in an insane and totally unpredictable turn of events – we all went for chocolate donuts in a donut shop that for reasons unknown was in the middle of nowhere, just next door to a moose-infested forest.

It was nice to be able to enjoy those delicious treats with all my teeth still in my mouth.

The World’s Smallest Violin is Playing Just for Me

“Gratuity”, also known as “tip”, is defined like this:


noun – gra·tu·ity – \grə-ˈtü-ə-tē, -ˈtyü-\

Something given voluntarily or beyond obligation usually for some service; see tip

Example of gratuity in a sentence:

A 15 percent gratuity is automatically added to the restaurant bill.

Related words:

donation, gift, present; bonus, favour, reward; contribution, offering


Today over lunch, I had an interesting discussion with some of my colleagues – NorwayJakarta and the just-now introduced Manila – regarding the insane and somehow also non-existent rules about tipping.

In my world – in an ideal world – a tip symbolises that a paying customer is so satisfied with the service that has been provided for him or her in various situations in life that he or she is willing to pay more than the actual price. So far, it seems like my views are backed up by Merriam-Webster’s definition above. Comforting.

For instance, people I think we’d all happily agree deserve a nice tip, if good service has been performed, could be:

  • Waiters and waitresses in restaurants who actually know stuff about what’s on their menus, and can recommend good shit that go together nicely with other good shit
  • Non-jerk cab drivers who don’t rip you off, drive comfortably, and know the quickest way to your destination
  • That hotel dude who’s struggling to carry your ridiculously overpacked and intensely heavy bag up to your room. Also, every time your bag is ridiculously overpacked and intensely heavy, the hotel in question is almost always not really a hotel, but a resort or another establishment that doesn’t really believe in elevators

These cases are normal, tip-wise.

But, there’s a major dependent variable here. Let’s consult the homemade equation I just made up to see if we can find it:

Service Performed + Nicely Done = Tip is Deserved


It would seem like a tip is appropriate only when a service has been performed in a nicely (satisfactory) manner.

But wait, there’s more.

The Plot Thickens

If you remove the Service Performed part of the equation, there wouldn’t be any need for a tip – in fact, there wouldn’t even be anything to tip.

It would also seem like the Nicely Done part is significant, because a service performed just for the sake of performing it would mean that the person performing the service has barely put in any extra effort in making you, the customer, feel extra satisfied and inclined to reward him/her.

If you go to your barber or hairdresser and they greet you with a smile, make pleasant, comfortable conversation while you’re just awkwardly kinda sitting there while their touching your hair, they offer you a water or a coffee, and they give you solid recommendations regarding styles and products, they would sure as hell deserve a tip. They’ve not only done their job, they’ve done it in a very impressive (“nicely” on steroids) manner. Tip fucking deserved.


Continue reading “The World’s Smallest Violin is Playing Just for Me”

Roaches: Roaches Everywhere

Pre-post note #1: Ugh. It happened again.

Pre-post note #2: This post is about my never-ending feud with the titular freaks, otherwise known as cockroaches. I’ve encountered these assholes on three occasions in my Bangkok condo, and this post is a result of encounter number two, a few days before Christmas. However, the post never got published and sadly ended up in development limbo. Until today, just now, after encounter number three.


A few weeks ago, I was out for a business dinner and had a few drinks. This little detail will prove vital later in this post. I came home, headed to the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth before going to bed, and decided to give my teeth top priority.

Now, I didn’t wanna wake up my girlfriend, so I had to leave the lights off. Why couldn’t I turn the lights on, you might ask? Well, our bathroom is surrounded by glass walls, with a large part of the walls being frosted. So, if I turn on the lights in the bathroom, it would light up the entire bedroom as well, and wake her up, since the bedroom and bathroom are wall-to-wall.

Luckily for me, one of the walls in the bedroom is entirely made out of windows, so the neighbouring sky-skrapers and their neon lights were more than enough for me to brush my teeth. While I’m making my dentist proud, I see something very unpleasant crawling in my peripheral vision.

It’s a roach.

A hideous, disgusting, creepy-looking roach, all up in my space, zig-zagging on the bathroom countertop.

This was encounter number two.

I’m not afraid of roaches – or other large, intruding insects for that matter – but I sure as hell don’t like them, and I definitely don’t approve of their presence in my home.

I kinda have a GTFO-type of approach to these foul creatures.

When I was living in Guangzhou, China a few years ago, I was having loads of them in my room (which I shared with a Chinese-North Korean dude) and got kinda used to their presence.

This was back in 2011, I was there for five months, and my rent was 300 RMB (Chinese Yuan) per month, which would be 45 USD per month in today’s currency equivalent. Ridiculously cheap, I know, but there wasn’t anything luxurious about the place, and it was evidently crawling with roaches.

Very often, I’d be standing in the bathroom brushing my teeth or taking a shower, and I’d see a complete family of roaches somehow squeeze their exoskeleton bodies through the smallest cracks imaginable in the walls. Then they’d stare at me for a while, make me feel like was bothering them, silently judge my naked, showering body, and then squeeze their asses back inside the wall. After a while, both parties would sigh in defeat and greet each other with a casual “Zup?” and continue to go on with our lives.

Other times, I would open one of my drawers where I had my cash and other valuables, and I would find another sweet family of roaches lurking there. Apparently, they had been sleeping, and I happened to wake them up. They’d freak out and I would then close the drawer to give them some space, wait for a few moments, and then open it to now find it empty.

The point I’m miserably trying to make here is that I wasn’t freaked out so much about their presence back then, since I saw them so often. Here in Bangkok, they visit me more sporadically, catching me by surprise every time. I’ll tell you more about my amazing time in China in a future post.

So there I was, brushing my teeth, and there it was, looking me dead in the eye, violating its rights. I, feeling very confident after having a few drinks earlier, seized the opportunity by taking some paper and scooped his ass up, and flushed him down the toilet. I would never have the balls to take him with my hands had I not been a little tipsy. I know I’m lame, but that’s the truth.

The last time a roach invaded our apartment – encounter number one – I used the vacuum cleaner to get rid of the creep. This particular vacuum has no paper bags that need to be changed, but instead has one of those boxes that you just take out and empty. Very convenient. At least until I went to the garbage room in the corridor, opened the big trash can, took out the box and opened the lid, turned it upside down, prepared to shake the intruder out of the box, only to catastrophically fucking drop the box down to the bottom of the filthy, disgusting, now roach-infested trash can.

I was already sweating like I’m in a sauna, but this horrible turn of events took it to the next level. After I summoned a little drunken courage, I managed to retrieve my box from the bottom of the trash can and headed back into my condo and took one of the longest, most thorough showers anyone has ever taken.


Encounter number three, just 30 stressful minutes ago, was very similar to post-provoking encounter number two, but with the outcome of encounter number one. This was the biggest fucker by far.


Today I did a little research (just like I did that other time a roach decided to say hello to me). Once again, I discovered that one roach is almost always evidence that there’s anything from 100 to 1000 more roaches lurking inside the pipes, in the walls, or elsewhere in the vicinity. This is incredibly upsetting.

Since I’m a dumbass, I decided to google roach infestation, which is one of my most moronic ideas ever. Since I’m such a nice guy, I’ll just leave a link to these horrifying images instead of posting an actual image here. Happy New Year from me.


Speaking of bugs and their level of disgustingness, I can’t help to wonder why almost everyone on this planet think they are repulsive. I could understand why people are afraid of snakes and spiders, since they are potentially poisonous and lethal, but roaches? Sure, a cockroach doesn’t look very appealing, and, yes, it can carry diseases (but not necessarily), but I’d bet that it is more afraid of me than I am of it. Still, it’s super-icky to approach them, touch them or even look at them. But why is that so?


Could it be that, earlier on our evolutionary road, we didn’t have the proper knowledge to separate a potentially lethal bug from a harmless one, and we developed this “fear” in order to avoid all kinds of bugs to avoid getting bit and die?

Sounds logical enough for me.

They Didn’t Get the Memo

Also, roaches, along with spiders, houseflies and other annoying beings, apparently haven’t got the memo that conveyed that humans are atop of the food chain, and that we are to be avoided, for the sake of everyone involved. I don’t have to freak out and they don’t have to die horrible deaths.

Another thought regarding these terrible creatures – imagine if you could make a roach large enough to be five meters long and three meters high, instead of five centimeters long and three centimeters high. What would you get? You wouldn’t get a terrifyingly large roach, no, you would get an actual monster. The same can’t be said if you’d do the same with a dog. It’d still be a dog, only large.


In a total dick move, I’m gonna end this post with some disturbing facts about roaches I found in my research; facts you’d probably be better off without knowing:

Roaches can live without their heads for about five weeks;
they can endure droughts and starvation;
they can take about 4x radiation as humans can (lethal doses);
and they can of course loose all limbs and still live on.


I need to have a serious talk with the guy who invented these fuckers.


By the way, Norway left Bangkok for Norway over the Holidays, and had given me the keys to his apartment. I guess he figured I could check on it while he’s away, but now, in an insanely unpredictable plot twist, knowing a shit-load about roaches, I might go all scumbag and casually throw in a Big Mac and a half-eaten apple in his bed, to attract some oily, antennae-wearing visitors.

*Evil laughter*

But, no, I could never do that to another person.

Or… could I?

The First Dream of 2016 was a Nightmare

Hi, everyone.

I hope everyone had an enjoyable New Year’s Eve, that you spent time with loved ones, that you had something tasty to sink your teeth into, and that you didn’t get any fireworks exploding in the back of your head, like I got in 2005. More on that in a future post.

I celebrated NYE with the winner of a Banana. Together, we went to a Mexican restaurant and enjoyed an all-you-can-eat and all-you-can-drink kind of evening, NYE-style. I had a few mojitos and a few more margaritas. Not enough to make me drunk, but evidently enough to make me experience a deeply intense and incredibly vidid dream, which made me sleep very poorly, on the first night of the new year.

You know how sometimes your dreams are super-real, and when you wake up, it takes a few moments before you realise what you dreamt wasn’t real? Sometimes it even takes longer than a few moments to shake off the dream completely. Like you know it was a dream, but the impact of it sticks with you. Since you woke up, realised it was just a weird, yet impactful dream, you’ve even had breakfast, lunch and dinner, and you still haven’t gotten over the reality of it. That’s how real this particular dream was for me.

Like a novel, my dream starts in the middle of the action.

I’m outdoors. I’m not alone; I’m with a few others. It’s a complete storm. Almost apocalyptic. It’s raining heavily, the winds are almost tornado strong, resulting in unfathomably scary noises, it’s grey and it’s dark, and the only thing that’s giving me any source of light is the frequently recurring and intense lightning. Without it, it’d be complete darkness.

But thanks to it, we all realise that we’re in the middle of the ocean, standing on some kind of a platform. Imagine a helicopter landing pad had a baby with a raft, but in the middle of the vast, freaking ocean.

The waves are high and violent, and we’re all very upset and stressed out about something, and we absolutely have to leave the helipad and go somewhere else, for reasons I don’t know (besides being stranded on a helipad in the middle of the ocean in an apocalyptic storm, at night).

Basically, we need to get from A to B. And, as luck would have it, B is apparently just a few hundred meters away from us. Despite B also being in the middle of the ocean in an apocalyptic storm, at night, this was good news to us.

Connecting A and B is a rope. The rope is not 100% tightly tied, meaning that as soon as anyone grabs it when in the water, it drops just below the ocean surface, but somehow still high enough to keep our heads above sea level. The plan is to pull ourselves between A and B, using the rope. Swimming would result in us drowning immediately because of the Earth-ending storm.

We all get in the water. We’re maybe five guys, and I think I’m number two or three in line. I don’t have any idea who these guys are supposed to be, but in the dream, I feel like a know them. One of them, I think the guy right behind me, is the oldest of my two younger brothers.

So now we’re all in the the water. The freezing, stormy, dark and scary abyss that is the ocean. We’re maybe two meters apart, and we’re shouting things to each other, like “Hold on!”, “Don’t let go!”, “We’re almost there!”, and “Hang on, guys!”. Pep talk.

Like things couldn’t get any scarier, the lightning starts to become more violent, more massive, more intense, and more frequent. Every time lightning strikes, it lights up the entire ocean underneath, unveiling a complete freakshow of scary sea monsters, all of them lurking a few meters below our feet. Terrifying sharks, giant squids, freaky sting rays, and murderous, mushy jellyfish were only some of the creatures eyeballing us from a very close range. Remember, this dream was incredibly vidid and intense.

So we’re all kind of freaked out when we realise we’re being watched by these monsters.

The dream intensifies, and it reaches its climax when the guy behind me, aka my brother, gets stung by a sting ray, which kills him.

Now, I wake up, completely traumatised and kind of winded from what I’ve been experiencing in this dream.

I guess I’ll never find out what happens next.


The impact from the dream has worn off a bit now, more than a full day since, but, believe me, shit was real yesterday.

Summarising 2015: Introducing the Banana Awards

Since 2015 is creeping towards its end, it’s probably a good and appropriate time to try to summarise what’s been going on the last 12, somewhat crazy months.

Also #1, for the first time ever, I’m going to launch a new, super-prestigious award; the annual Banana Awards.

Also #2, I wanted to have a “z” in “summarizing”, but WordPress insisted on going all UK English on me and spell it “summarising”, so I had no other choice than to admit defeat, assume a fetal position, wobble back and forth, and let WordPress decide who’s boss. 

Let’s go.


Personally, it’s been a great year, filled with personal development and new experiences; the vast majority of them being positive. For that, I’m thankful, grateful and appreciative. I’ve been completing my first full year working abroad, which is a new experience in its own. The only other time I’ve been away for a significant period of time was when I was studying in Guangzhou, China for a semester in 2011. Being away from family and close friends is, naturally, not preferable. However, I’ve always been very keen on living (and working) abroad, ever since I was in my teens. And I firmly believe that people should always dare to try things they’d like to try, dream to try, or wish to try, rather than not try those things, and then regret them later – for life. Let’s look no further than to Inception for an appropriate quote:

“Do you want to become an old man,
filled with regret,
waiting to die alone?”

Umm… no?

Looking back at 2015 with global goggles, it’s certainly been a total shit year. The devastating refugee crisis in the Middle East and Europe caused by the assholes called ISIS, and the now iconic and heartbreaking picture of drowned three-year-old Aylan, sadly stand out when looking back at 2015.

Then, some pinheads thought that not enough shit had hit the fan, so the terror attacks in Paris and Beirut also had to occur, just to make sure that no human will feel safe for a while. Of course there are countless other tragic incidents, not getting as much attention in the media as they probably should, that are traumatising mankind, scarring us forever, always reminding us that sometimes our world is a crappy one. Boko Haram. Je Suis Charlie. The increase in support for right-wing political parties across Europe. Donald Trump running for president. Donald Trump’s hair. Scary, crappy, depressing stuff.


But, let’s end this year with a positive post.

A post where I introduce and launch the Banana Awards for the first time ever. This is a big deal. A game-changer. You know how people refer to the Oscar’s as The Oscar’s, and the Emmy’s as The Emmy’s? I’m hoping that the Banana Awards is going to become The Banana’s in the future. Plain and simple. Like, “Hey, did you hear that Sriracha won a Banana this year at The Banana’s in the Best Fucking Thing Ever category?”.

I haven’t got around to make a trophy just yet, but I imagine it will look a little something like these two happy bananas:


But first, some general, random notes about the Banana Awards 2015:

Even though some of the recipients of this very prestigious award may have been around, invented or released prior to 2015, what really counts is that discovered these things this year. Also, they don’t necessarily have to be the absolute best per se, but they must have made an impact on me, or meant something to me, this year. So now that we’ve got that established, let’s get on with it: Continue reading “Summarising 2015: Introducing the Banana Awards”