Monday, February 23, 2015

Write it off

The week's already a roaring success.

Spent the majority of the morning trying to conceal two green fairies on my face.

Needless to say, Ginger purchased me a Kinder Egg Surprise, in which resided a Tinkerbell stamp ring. I tested the capabilities of aforementioned ring on my right palm, shortly before falling asleep.
In the night, I have lovingly cradled my own face, and thus marked it with two very well defined sprites in luminescent green.

Only slightly less humiliating than Friday morning, which saw me projectile vomit down the side of a Tesco Express.

I've been trying really hard to get my shit together in 2015, but I'm afraid that the forecast for this year is looking much worse than for the last.

Is anyone out there who has mastered elegance, poise and integrity, willing to take me on as a protege?

I can do better. Really. And eventually, convenience shops everywhere will be safe from my binge drinking.

Anyone?

I don't have any money. I've spent it all on the wedding and alcohol (obvs), but I can pay you in the business cards of over-enthusiastic photographers.

Ginger and I stumbled out of the National Wedding Show yesterday, like babies from the trauma of the womb. So much glitter, so much pink, so many promises of everlasting memories. I guess that doesn't really paint an accurate picture of childbirth, but I'm not a writer anymore guys, I work in admin.

The point is, it was pretty disgusting. And I got a headache, and conned into a massage from a body builder. As I sat down for my presumed free rub, he said,

"The way it works, is that people pay what they think I deserve, which is usually £10-£20."

And I thought, well that's £10 of my Lambrini dosh down the pooper.

Then I watched Ginger's lovely, autumnal face level with mine, and an overjoyed girl place her hands on his shoulders. Well that's £20 of my Lambrini dosh down the pooper.

It's weird being enthusiastically jiggled in front of people eating their over-priced baguettes, mere metres away. Probably won't do that again.

On the plus side, after entering fifty competitions, we probably will win a honeymoon in Jamaica, and a crate of Baileys.

Totes worth it.





Friday, February 06, 2015

Sleep of the week - Hall of fame

This is the best sleep of the week I will ever take.



I don't know where to go from here

Should I shut down the feature?

It feels like I should.

It's what Barnie (the dog in the photo). would want.

I think they are best friends.

I'm sorry that my finger is slightly in shot - I was overexcited by the potential.

It was a really busy tube, and lots of people kept heading over, staring at the sleeping duo, and deciding not to engage.

But I really wanted someone to say, "Can you please move your dog?"

Londoners are cowards.

If I was a more awesome person, I would've picked the dog up, and sat back down with it on my lap.

But I'm not.

Plus, Barnie and Barry were emitting a strange smell.

We also have Barry later in the week, on his way to a Safari:

















The man loves a bit of beige.

It's nice that he has trimmed his beard.

But where the fuck is Barnie?

Oh, oh I get it, a weathered Londoner has sat on him, and by the looks of it, Barry has then sat a bit on her. Seems fair.

Who the hell is this guy:





















No one likes him. I think it's because his shoelaces are made of brown linguine pasta. Or maybe because he's cupping himself.

Is anyone awake? It doesn't look like it guys.

I am, I've hardly slept. But I don't think you can tell.