Last time I saw a Great Dane I was sitting in Clissold Park. I was on a bench eating a bagel or something and I looked up to see this friendly behemoth plodding toward me. I genuinely thought I was in a dream.

Match the odd descriptions with the photographs from my life! Win a prize!*

a.  A pretty array of component drawers in Cricklewood Electronic which is in Cricklewood

b. A fucking weird epitaph if ever I saw one

c. A tantalising view into the courtyard of a mysterious, anonymous, and ominous public building in Olympia. One local reckons it is the Royal bookstore, which I suppose means pornography collection

d. Notting Hill vinyl exchange. Which is a funny name for it as they only ever seem to exchange vinyl for money, which makes it more of a shop.

e. Tattoo of a young child on the palm of her uncle

f. The cool reflective muddle created by my flashy yet over-specified perspex Muji in-tray

*Prize is to decide upon and supply the prize for the next Funny Game competition

I know I can be a bit of a Brompton bore when it comes to exulting the charms, assets, and abilities of the great British folding bike. But did you know the Brompton has the magic power to transform into a lady carrying home her shopping from the supermarket? This is critical for when you secretly need to get home slowly to get tea in the oven. Is there nothing this bike cannot do?

Flamenco dresses are weird enough when not surrounding human.

But look what happens when the Spaniards start using mannequins. They take human detail and mannerism more than a shade further than we do in the UK (or everywhere else I have ever been for that matter).

In general, our mannequins have no facial features, smoothed to cool humanoid abstraction. Spanish mannequins actually leer. You worry they are going to creep after you back to your home and murder you bloodily in your sleep. You’ll wake up to the sound of your own screaming and find some little plastic bastard’s stuck a screwdriver through your kidneys. I mean seriously, who is going to think “But yes, ay carumba, that little frock will look beautiful on young Esperanza, especially now I’ve seen it modelled by Chucky from ‘Child’s Play’”.

But come to think of it, I have an inkling of where they got the taste for these weirdly over-wrought figures…

Someone left an abstract painting, seemingly executed in acrylic, perched upon a carwash / garage window. Perhaps in lieu of payment for a £10 in-and-out?

Okay, so, I can see what some morning-drunk publican has done here. It just doesn’t work with my head somehow.

Is this a warning not to enter Ravenscourt Park? Or is it an example of post-twitter review terminology? Or did I dream it?

Puerto Banus is not known for its modesty. It is a pretty bling place crawling with Ferraris and Lamborghinis, and the port always has a fairly overwhelming haul of outrageous luxury yachts in its moorings.

You can really start to feel sick of the excess, but you know you are dealing with a really sick mind when you find this for sale:

Yes, that’s right – for the brat who has every conceivable thing already, why not shock even Mammon with your vulgarity and buy her a diamante encrusted Hannah Montana Wii for a grand. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. This was on sale in El Corte Ingles – a mall packed with unsellable miles of racks of expensive clothing – it makes you gag and boggle (aka baggling).

The consumer culture is massive on the Costa del Sol. Mind there are some upsides, namely in terms of food. The supermarket, Hipercor, puts even Whole Foods to shame (well, not in the fresh meat section). Have a look at the outrageous Iberico Ham department (!!), fresh seafood counters and the good 40m of cheese counterage. Foodies could spend some time here…

I like this yacht’s name – I think this image sums up the Andalucian indulgence nicely:

How did this poor bird end up like this? Hanging upside down under a railway bridge in some satanic inversion?

It looks like the victim of some cruel punishment beating by the avian mafia. Or perhaps it was another one of those Tory sex games gone wrong.