A series of occasions in which I look like I could be in a boy band.

Westlife were the last true great boy band. Since their demise we've just seen a whole host of wannabees trying to fill their boots but failing because they're too busy getting with Taylor Swift, an act that will ultimately destroy all of your musical integrity. With that in mind I've decided to form my own band using pictures of myself taken at various stages of life in which I look like I could be a shitty pop singer. There are lots.

Here's me pretending to be the sort of singer who makes one album that does quite well but then decides he wants to be one with the earth and ends up never making anything worth listening to ever again. Kind of like an X Factor winner who let fame go to his head and ended up doing a lot of drugs (as in every X Factor winner.)

Here I am after the inevitable breakdown, likely in some sort of seedy club surrounded by loyal groupies who still treat me like a king but only because they've done all the same drugs as me and don't know any better. At night time they sit around me and brush my hair while I sing some of my classic hits.

Oh God it all went wrong. I used to be someone, didn't I? DIDN'T I? OH PLEASE SAY I DID.

Get them away from me. Where is my security? Who gave them alcohol? What is going on with that wallpaper?

This is when I joined an over-sized Fleetwood Mac tribute act and decided I have should have curtains for hair. Since this photo was taken I was probably spoken to about two of those people because of all the band antics. They were hard to get over.

After the rebound I got inked and went to lots of seedy parties with dangerous looking people.

Beneath these clothes are hundreds of bruises and scars of a past life as a celebrity.

There, that's better.

THE MICROPHONE HAS GONE. YOU ARE NO-ONE ANYMORE. PUT THE DRINK DOWN.

Oh no wait, it's cool. This newly formed vocal quintet will put me back on the straight and narrow. Am I wearing snake skin jeans? Yes, yes I am. Did they itch? Yes, yes they did. I would later try to burn those jeans and several birds would look a little bit faint as the fumes filled the air.

This was an album cover suggestion that I submitted but it was rejected because the band wasn't all about me. This revelation ultimately led to the band breaking up.

This made me drink a lot. I can only assume these girls had no idea I was actually in this picture but it ended up in OK magazine all the same with a story about how I was on some sort of sexual rollercoaster to get over the end of my pop career. I did not deny these rumours despite them being completely untrue.

And now, years later, my pop career is way behind me. I still have the memories and a couple of die hard fans on hard to find internet forums but, ultimately, life must go on. I can't sing or dance and, unlike Bieber, I'm too old for that to be attractive anymore. Shame.