Fuck This Journal, by Dale Shaw, is the perfect Secret Santa gift to buy for that annoying co-worker who sucks in air and shakes their head when you share an amusing anecdote from your drink fueled weekend. Or give it to someone who has just joined the firm to confuse them.
Based on the inspirational tropes which encourage creativity and mindfulness, this does the opposite. Did that last sentence make sense? Neither does much of this book, which is rather the point.
There are pages filled with suggestions for filling time now that your wife has left you for a man who makes his living selling cleansing products at car book sales. For example:
“Write your deepest darkest fantasy on this page. Rip it out screw it into a tiny ball and drop it into the bicycle basket of a passing clergyman. That’ll show him.”
There is advice to ignore and suggestions for stupid things to do (that plenty of people do anyway). Under “Make the whole world your canvas” are instructions for creating what would probably pass as art if placed in a modern gallery.
Or, you could “have an adventure”. You may get arrested if you followed these suggestions but hey, wouldn’t that be a new experience? (if not then maybe don’t read this book after all).
I suspect that there is something within these pages that will offend every reader at least once.
There are sketches of poo, of a wicker man, pictures to colour in, pages to pull out for no reason, and plenty of space for you to “write about how that makes you feel…”
The one thing that you mustn’t do is wear this book as a hat. No, I have no idea why either.
I requested a review copy because I was intrigued that, at its launch party, attendees were given ‘Baddy Bags’ (that’s baddy, not buddy or body, and definitely not goody).
What is your excuse for reading it going to be?
My copy of this book was provided gratis by the publisher, Headline.