This morning on the bus to work, I must have yawned at least 30 times.
But that's not the only thing involving the number 30 in my life right now.
As part of my Superdrug Summer Insider challenge, I have to find 30 people to don bright pink Superdrug Ponchos.
Ooh and I get extra points for famous people – anyone know anyone?!
Now, London is not know for being the friendliest of cities, and if I march up to complete strangers in the street asking them to do this, chances are I'll be sectioned quicker than you can say straight jacket.
When I was younger, I was much more gung-ho at speaking to complete strangers. Once in the supermarket car park I saw personalised number plate with my initials on it and the number 6. I was 6 at the time and before Ma could stop me I had marched up to the man to tell him that was my number plate.
He was a little bemused, but thankfully in the Wild West um… Country, complete strangers do say hello to one another.
Another time I got chatting to a cute guy on the train when I was about 17. ‘Hurrah for strangers,’ I thought then, until halfway through the conversation he handed me a strange-looking religious book and started trying to convert me to whatever religion it was.
Time to change carriages…
And then one time, I was interviewing WW1 veterans in the pub for a college piece and this mad old man suddenly appeared to have some sort of flashback from his time in the war and grabbed my arm and threatened to break my thumb. It was an odd experience and I ended up floored on the carpet in Wetherspoons by an octogenarian, hoping that someone, ANYONE, would come to my aid.
So yah, talking to strangers is not a strong point of mine.
But a challenge – I like them.
Photographed on people…
What to do, what to do, what to do?!
I'm off to have a think and a biscuit.