Thursday, 30 June 2011


It's the last day. I'm a little disappointed.

I'm not exactly going to miss the many and various odours that the different parts of me are currently producing, not exactly. There is a strange sort of comfort to be had from your own smell though. The one produced at about armpit level that is; any lower than the waist and things can be a bit shocking.

How do I know this without some kind of unnatural contortion, you ask? Why, scratch and sniff, my friend. Good old tried and tested scratch and sniff...

Maybe not disappointed, more preemptively nostalgic. I am the source of a variety of distinct odours. Not strong necessarily, but present, and mine.

You see, the actual experience of being dirty really hasn't been a problem. The associated social awkwardness hasn't been great, and no-one really enjoys celibacy, but being unwashed is fine. In some ways it's strangely comforting. I smell undeniably of myself.

Not that I'm not keen to wash. I can't wait to soak in a bath; it's going to be unbelievably good; but that's because lying in the bath is brilliant, not because I desire to be cleansed. I really miss warm water. I really, really miss warm water.

This is all starting to sound a little perverse, possibly even perverted. Probably a good thing it ends tomorrow.

Wednesday, 22 June 2011


The situation has become a lot more awkward. Through developments that are all of my own (stupid) doing and none of your (fucking) business, I am currently living on the sofas of friends. Several different friends. I don't want to be responsible for having to wash anyone's cushion covers, and I am rather greasy.

I only have 8 days left and I have just enough clean clothes to see me through that in my rucksack, so hopefully I'll make it without work telling me to wash. But you can't sleep naked in someone else's living room, so I'm definitely getting smellier.

The end is in sight, it would be really shit if this had to finish prematurely so late in the game.

Wish me luck and start stockpiling the soap...

Saturday, 11 June 2011


I must say I'm rather proud of my highly imaginative system for creating titles.


I was ill for a couple of days this week and was repeatedly asked if I thought it had anything to do with not washing for over two weeks. Well, put simply, I live in England. In a flat. If my immune system can't cope with a little bit of normal, everyday dirt of the sort you get in an affluent country with a temperate climate then how the fuck have I survived so long? Bell-ends.

At this point I am really rather used to the state my body's in and, in reality, it's not that bad. The only real problem is that one of the rules of the competition states that I have to tweet about it daily. This is a massive pain in the arse.

Firstly, before I entered into this, I had been avoiding twitter like the plague. I had some vague notion that it would just be a massive collection of the boring prattle of the self-important. I was at least ninety per cent right.

Secondly, it's very tedious wasting whole minutes of my day every day trying to think of some boring prattle about not washing to share with the masses when most of the time there is nothing to say. I have not washed. I continue to not wash. That's about the short and tall of it now except for the occasional thing which is of some interest (to me at least) and therefore cannot be expressed well in 140 characters. Hence this blog.

Thirdly, as I mentioned on twitter don't-cher-know, the only bit of not washing for forty days that really strikes me as unhealthy is the morbid self-analysis that having to say something about it daily incurs. Most of the time I don't give a flying fuck. Only very occasionally would my physical state impinge on my consciousness if I wasn't forced to constantly consider it, even in circumstances like this. It is tedious and paranoia inducing and I don't like it. So there.

What a particularly vitriolic post this has been.

Rant over.

Saturday, 4 June 2011


It's about time I wrote something really.

It's been two weeks now. Over a third of the way through and I'm coasting really. People keep asking me when it starts, then looking shocked and telling me I don't smell. Please allow me to clarify: I do smell. It's just much easier to smell me when I'm naked.

This is not an invitation, just a fact.

Wearing clean clothes every day is making a huge difference. Apparently some people do this all the time, which strikes me as a huge waste of water, electricity and effort, but there's no accounting for taste I suppose. I have just put the washing machine on for the fourth time since this started. That's twice a week for the clothes of two people, which is practically criminal as far as I'm concerned.

I think it's actually my mouth which is the most upsetting part of me as far as cleanliness goes. Not really on a day-to-day basis, but it was a friend's birthday yesterday and I was drinking til the wee small hours last night. Now my mouth feels and tastes a bit like an ashtray that an alcoholic tramp has pissed in and I would dearly love to do something about it but sheer bloody-mindedness is stopping me. It's OK though, this feeling will pass. It might just take a couple of hours to, and those couple of hours will be a little unpleasant, but it will pass.

OK, live update. I am sitting here naked (you may remember I mentioned this in an earlier post) and have just managed to sneeze all over myself. I couldn't get my hand in front of my face in time. Please refer to what I have just been saying about the state of my mouth and take a little time to imagine exactly how I feel about this turn of events. I am sitting less than three metres from a bathtub. This is torture.

I will persevere. I WILL persevere.

Bye now.