I’m writing this mad excuse for a blog post, now on a train to Euston, listening to Beyoncé “smack it smack it in the urr”. Which brings me nicely onto partying, drinking and general misbehaviours. This month has had some truly wild nights out.
You know you have reached a NEW LOW (or your flatmate has – Sorry Hele, this is too good not to share), when you are slumped in the back of an Uber traveling from Embargos, merely a short crawl from our flat, shouting down the phone to the man who owns our local Kebab shop, BEGGING him to stay open until we have arrived. Classy ladies we are not. I have no memory of inhaling my salad pita, just about the only thing a psudeo-vegan can order in a kebab shop. Full acknowledgement of this meal washed over me as I awoke in a bed full of shredded lettuce and half removed clothes; only one leg successfully out of my leggings. Thank you Embargos for our VIP membership cards. Thank you footballers for all the drinks. I have NO IDEA who any of you are, please stop Whatsapping me.
After 3 hours sleep I went to watch the cricket still smashed, my eyebrows drawn on with far less skill than usual – think Ming The Merciless, wearing an interestingly thrown-together outfit. Cirencester Cricket Club loved it. It helps to be smashed when watching Cricket anyway right?! I do love being 25 sometimes.
So where are we? This is turning into an editor’s worst nightmare. In this series of life updates I have rambled about not being (as) fat, London life being alright, but not everything, and calling the kebab shop man. Some bloggers sugar coat their lives, pretending they don’t wake up surrounded by half-eaten kebab. Who are they kidding? I like to keep things real. I really hope you have enjoyed this mini-series of posts. There is a ton of other much more important stuff I could fill you in on, like work, love, friends and wholesome adventures, but I have run out of writing juice and am almost at Victoria where I will need to change and get on the District line. Joy of joys. Ciao x