So, I moved to Barcelona...

I live in Barcelona now, come say hello if you get bored.

I decided I needed a change of everything so I sold all my stuff and hopped on a plane, this was about 4 months ago.

I have a Spanish job, a Spanish bank account, a Spanish social security number, a Spanish national insurance number and Swedish furniture (thanks ikea). I speak terrible Spanish and this generally makes everything a huge pain in the arse to sort out, which I love for some reason.

I talk to children for a living, its pretty funny, I get paid about 10p an hour and taxed 25% for being english, it is pretty great. They give me free sandwiches too.

There are a lot of very small dogs here, they even have clothes shops just for tiny dogs.

The only foods available in Barcelona are bread and meat.

There is a beggar with no nose.

I am very tall in Spain.

Our fish died.

Its warm.

Bye.

Psycological toothpaste warfare

I want to talk to you today about decisions, capitalism, self loathing and tongue scrapers.

Now, I would generally describe myself as an intelligent person and I consider myself to have a decent understanding of advertising and the manipulation of the press due to both my degree and my interests.

I know how advertisers mold the world around us in order to make us consume the items they are being paid to promote and I generally keep a cynical eye on the things I am buying.

I am a decisive person, having worked in various businesses environments and also I am good at getting things done under pressure.

Give me a tough choice during a crisis and I will make it.

But I have a problem. An issue. A Psychological foible that ignores all of the above evidence and stuns me, rendering me speechless and immovable.

Present me with a choice between two (or seventy) things that are near identical and I freeze quicker than an earthworm in a tub of haagen daazs.

I am almost incapable of buying a toothbrush.

The toothbrush aisle completely overwhelms me, I can't remember the last time the choice took me less than half an hour to make.

The chocolate bar aisle, the icecream cabinet, petrol station sandwiches; all capable of rendering me inert.

Am I alone on this?