The story of a man's life as a failed artist and spoiled brat. In 1987 he moves from New Zealand to London. Now in his late twenties he has adventures with sex, drugs and gardening. He paints unpopular photo-real paintings in oil. Disillusioned with this world and disgusted by himself he decides to print the word 'fuck' on underwear, pyjamas and other novelty clothing items and opens a pop-up shop off Oxford Street to sell these products. He hopes to create a Situationist furore with a lurid courtcase and minor rioting thereby alerting the world to the stupidity of fashion and capitalism with a sideswipe at definitions of obscenity and the hypocrisy of censorship. What could possibly go wrong?