Warning: this post contains some strong language and sexual references.
I had barely slept a wink. The excitement bubbled inside me like a shaken bottle of pop on the brink of an explosion. I was like a kid before Christmas, impatiently counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until my alarm played its heavenly jingle and I could FINALLY get out of bed. I
backflipped (are you kidding me? I’m not elastic-band bendy anymore!) CRAWLED out of bed and stumbled sleepily over to the mirror, where I watched the colour drain from my face and my eyes widen in horror.
“Ahhhhhhhhh!” I screamed. For on my face habited a crater of a spot, oozing more pus than an infected toenail. And sods law, I just so happened to have a special place to be that day.
But what can one do when there’s a small alien on one’s face, screaming, “Can you see me…can you seeee me”?
“Yes, I can see you, you hideous beast!” I cried, clamping my spot like a crab pinching a toe.
Suddenly, I stopped.
Didn’t my mother always say, ‘Never squeeze a spot, you’ll only make it worse’? Her words couldn’t have rung more true, as my spot transformed from a pus-contaminated crater to a miniature crime scene.
In search of a quick cure, I decided to research some spot-busting remedies. “Come on Google, don’t fail me now!”, I prayed.
So there I was, at 6 o clock in the morning, dousing apple cider vinegar over my face until my eyeballs felt like they were dissolving into my eye sockets. Why? In desperate hope that my spot would magically disappear, why else?
It didn’t disappear.
As I glanced in the mirror once again, I found my spot staring back at me, twice as red and three times as sore. “Haha! You can’t get rid of me that easy! I’m here to stay and I’m about to ruin your day!”, it teased.
Undefeated, I scrambled ferociously through my make-up bag and began layering concealer, after concealer, after – you guessed it – growing more and more flustered as the redness of the spot fought its way through the multi-layers. After 30 minutes, I decided to stop fighting this unworthy cause. I mean, I looked more multi-tonal than Joseph’s technicolored dream coat. Panic-stricken, I quickly scrubbed it all off. “I doubt anyone will even notice,” I reassured myself, my spot looking angrier than ever.
I may have had a GREAT BIG crater of a spot on my face, but this wasn’t going to ruin my weekend – no freaken way!
I had missed the blogger’s bash the year before, so I was determined to make it this year. NOTHING and NO ONE was going to get in my way!
As some of you may know, I’m pretty much incompetent at travelling alone. I mean, there was that time I went to Turkey and almost jumped on the wrong flight and then there was that time before flying to Geneva when I parked in the ‘drop off’ car park and almost had to pay my life savings in car parking fees on my return! The fact is; I CANNOT be trusted alone. This is why I chose to bring a ‘travelling companion’, and who better than my oldest and best friend, kylie?
This was going to be one crazy weekend…or so we thought.
Come on! This is ‘ME’, after all, and we all know that nothing ever goes to plan. What was meant to be the best time of our lives turned into a … What the fuck just happened?!
So, without further ado. Here’s what happened in London…
Amanda and Kylie take on London: The good, the bad and the truly terrifying
After glancing over train prices, we chose to go “old skool” and take the Berry’s bus. (It might take twice as long, but it’s half the price!) And actually, with help from our pre-made playlist, time seemed to fly.
(Yes, the Spice Girls were amongst our list. No judgement, please!)
In fact, we were as hyper as a windscreen wiper on a rainy day. Literally, bouncing around in our seats while other passengers prayed for the journey to finish. By the end of the ride, I’m pretty sure everyone on the bus knew our entire life stories, troubles and …umm… sexual exploits. Oops!
Meanwhile, Kylie took a liking to the passenger in front of us and revealed her slightly odd ‘ear-sniffing’ fetish.
Kylie: “I want to sniff his ear!”
Kylie: “But he’s so hot!”
Me: “Don’t do it!”
Kylie: *discreetly sniffs ear*
As it turned out, the man in front wasn’t as hot as his ear smelt (Not that I smelt his ear because that’s just weird!) Although I wasn’t aware at the time, I think this was a sign of what was yet to come. It’s true, you don’t truly know a person until you meet them face to face. And the scariest thing was; I was about to meet a whole bunch of people who I had never met before – only ‘felt’ like I knew – through their written words. Strangers who ‘felt’ like friends, if you will.
I had been blogging for two and a half years, and there were so many people I wanted to meet in the ‘real life’ flesh; to hug, and to thank for inspiring me and enriching my life. I was nervous, though. On-the-verge-of-throwing-up nervous. What if they don’t like me in real life? What if they are disappointed that I don’t come across as my overly-eccentric blogging persona? Or worst still, what if they look at my face and think, “Ewwwwww!”. The more I played out potential scenarios, the more nervous I became.
What if I stumble arse-over-tit through the door?
What if I don’t recognise anyone?
What if no one recognises me?
What if I say the wrong thing?
What if I become so socially awkward I cannot get my words out?
By the time I had climbed off the Berry’s bus, I resembled nothing other than a dripping wreck…
The coach was a doddle in comparison to the tube. I don’t think we had prepared ourselves for – quite literally – the ride of our lives! We met ‘crazy kipper’, who muttered insanities to an innocent baby in her pram. A guy who continuously picked and licked (grossss!) his nose, and who also – when I caught him and giggled to myself – glared at me, like “You know my secret. I will KILL YOU!” I don’t know what was scarier, his death stare or the fact that he worked at a fast food chain?
And then there was the ‘claustrophobic lady’ who was squished up against the window the entire journey, face forward and eyes closed. You could almost hear her desperate pleads, “Please don’t let me die, please don’t let me die!”
That and the likes of Disco Stu and Swiss-cheese Chad…and our tube ride was a fulfilling one, to say the least.
Not forgetting the lingering odour of sweat, farts and urine.
Me: “Are we there yet?”
1 minute later …
Me: “Are we there yet?”
Kylie: “Nope, not yet!”
1 minute later …
Me: “are we…
To say we were relieved when the doors finally opened, would be an understatement. We leapt off the tube, like …
And prepared ourselves for some crazy London antics….
After we cooled down, that is!
After our body temperatures were less soaring, we found a place to grab a bite to eat….
Here, I had arranged to meet a ‘blogger friend’ before the actual blogging event. Again, I had never met him in real life, so I was pissing-in-my-pants nervous. Like, literally, rattling the table with my quivering limbs.
“There’s only one thing to remedy nerves, my friend, and that is a margarita!” Kylie suggested.
And so we slurped our way through two very strong margarita’s, so quickly our brains froze over and we were momentarily induced into a cranium coma.
This proved quite problematic when it came to eating a burrito so stuffed – with what appeared to be the entire contents of the kitchen – it was impossible to clamp my lips around.
I mean, I’m a messy eater at the best of times, but this was a joke…
Sadly, I only managed to consume a quarter of the burrito and, by this point, it was stone cold. Lunch may have been a disaster, but we were still yet to meet Frank *, a blogger I had been messaging for almost two years. Although I already ‘felt’ like I knew him, I was still really nervous about meeting him in… FIVE MINUTES!
“Oh my GOD! He’s coming in five minutes… I need more alcohol!” I panicked.
“It will be fine, kid!”, Kylie reassured me, pushing a margarita in front of me as if to say, “drink up!”
It felt like a scene out of the TV show, Catfish. I didn’t know who was going to turn up. I had only seen a few pictures of this guy, and with the more minutes that ticked by, the more anxious I grew. In my mind, I could hear melodramatic music playing as loud as my heart pounding in my chest. With every person who strolled by, Kylie would look over at me and say, “Is that him? …Is that him?…Is that him? How about that one?”
“Erm no, kid!”
15 minutes and several mini heart attacks later, and Frank arrived looking less ’90’s throwback’ than I had imagined.
Frank was nice enough. It must have been even more nerve-wracking for him – two to one. I didn’t really know how to greet him. Do we handshake? Do we hug? Do we high five? Do we fist-bump? After some nervous staggering around on our feet, we went in for an awkward hug. It felt like hugging a stranger, funnily enough.
“You look like Mia!”, Frank said, completely out of the blue.
“Umm, who?”, I questioned, with a confused expression on my face. (It wasn’t quite the greeting I had in mind.)
“Out of Pulp Fiction!”, he added.
“Oh right!” I mumbled quietly, wondering if he was trying to flatter me or not. I guess there are worse people to be compared to than Uma Thurman.
Frank liked to compare people to celebrities. Not strange at all…
As the one liners and sitcom references poured in and out of sentences, I couldn’t help but feel like Frank was trying too hard. Who was Frank? And what was he about? I felt like I knew this guy from all of our previous conversations, but now, face-to-face, I wasn’t so sure. It seemed too surreal. unnatural, even. But, to be honest, I was pretty tipsy…and when Amanda is tipsy… “anything goes!”
And to be fair, I was slightly
unnatural awkward myself. For example; when he asked, “Who is your favourite; Nev or Max?”, I eagerly shrieked…
“I’d take them both!”
It’s true! My ultimate of all ultimate sexual fantasies would be a Nev and Max c*ck sandwich, but of course, Frank didn’t need to know this. After all, I’d only just met Frank…despite knowing him for over two years (confusing, I know!)
Sausage sandwiches aside, time was ticking on. We had 20 minutes to get to the blogger’s bash. Plenty of time for people who could work Google maps, that is! Unfortunately, we weren’t those type of people. We fell into the ‘Where the fuck are we?’ category.
Google maps – the bane of my life! After travelling in circles for what felt like an eternity (We were wearing high heels!) we finally looked as though we were heading in the right direction.
“14 minutes to go! That’s not too bad!” we thought, following the red line through what could only be described as a derelict area. At that moment, the skies turned suspiciously grey and the rain began to pelt it down. We looked at the map again…
“Hold up! It says 19 minutes now. This map is taking us in the wrong bloody direction!” Kylie screeched, despairingly.
Defeated and a little wet (…and not from the sausage sandwich!) we flagged the next taxi and got him to take us to the front door of the venue.
The Driver, Kings Cross.
There was nothing fashionable about it, we were late. Talk about making a great first impression! As we stumbled through the door, red-faced and out of breath, all eyes were on us. Yep, we were the ones who interrupted the introduction speech. Damn you GOOGLE MAPS! I nervously scanned the room for familiar faces and saw Suzie smiling over at me. For a moment, I felt blissfully at ease… until I realised I didn’t know who half of these people were. No, scrap that! Quarter. Okay, okay… I knew five. I knew FIVE people (And yes, two of those people arrived with me!) You see, I made the rookie mistake of not doing my research before I went, so I was having trouble putting faces to blogs. This made me panic. This made me panic a lot.
Awkwardness aside, I was surprised by the amount of effort that went into the creation of such an event. Sasha (AKA the boss) was the star of the show, an absolute natural, in fact!
My blogging friend Hugh – who was filming the entire event – was on good form too. He managed to juggle socialising with filming without even breaking into a sweat.
And Geoff Le Pard had even dyed his beard the colour of the logo. I mean, talk about commitment! You had to hand it to these guys, they did a fine job. If there was an award for best blogger bash – this would be it! A big congrats to the ‘blogger bash’ committee for pulling off such a spectacular event. Oh, and to see who won the ‘real’ awards, pop over to… The winners of the blogger bash awards!
After the welcome speech, we were left to mingle. This sent my anxiety levels through the FRICKEN roof. And to make things worse, I could feel my spot throbbing like a hammer-stricken toe.
“Wine?”, I suggested.
Frank went to the bar to order us some drinks whilst Kylie and I went to the bathroom to cool ourselves down. Not only was I sweating from every place imaginable but I was tipsy-borderline-drunk. I was in over my head. I just knew this was going to end in disaster!
“Pull yourself together!“, Kylie scolded. “It’s gonna be fine!”.
Back in the bar, Frank had brought over our drinks. “I’ve got some catching up to do!” He exclaimed, placing his MASSIVE glass next to our dwarfing glasses (stingy much?)
We parted ways, and I started to mingle. On my rounds, I bumped into Simon Farrell (from www.universeofpossibility.wordpress.com) who had long suffered my technically-challenged ways. Yep, without him, insidethelifeofmoi would be nothing but an empty carcass. What a thought! (Thank you, Simon. Thank you for answering my hundreds of emails. Thank you for sticking by me when I made you want to hit your head REPEATEDLY against a wall. You deserve an entire trophy cabinet of awards!)
Briefly after, I met the lovely Suzie (from https://suzie81speaks.com ) who was all that I expected and more. She was a bubbly personality who, surprisingly, helped calm me the FUCK down. (Congrats on your award, my lovely. You really do deserve it…and my apologies for my non-sensible ramblings! I was nervous and, to be honest, just a wee bit tipsy!)
After some more brief exchanges, the room quieted down and Sasha introduced guest speaker, Luca, onto the stage. Luca was a little bit dishy. Scrap that! He was HOT…smoking HOT! His hair, his beard, his accent… Oh my! I liked Luka. To be honest, I think EVERYONE liked Luca. I mean, no disrespect to the guy, but I sort of switched off after 15 minutes and my mind drifted elsewhere…
I’m just kidding, I was thinking about how much my spot was still stinging from the apple cider vinegar I had marinated it in.
But Kylie, on the other hand…
“I want to sniff his ear!”
And Frank? Frank? Where are you, Frank? (Yep, he left 15 minutes ago!)
To be fair, I wasn’t the only one who had my mind in other places. I caught sight of one blogger (not mentioning any names!) who had actually fallen asleep. And of course – the complete infants that we are – found this absolutely hilarious. So hilarious, in fact, that we were sniggering and snorting like school girls. Every time we tried to pull a serious face, one of us would look at the other and the volcanic laughter would erupt once again. First, I arrive late, and now I can’t stop myself from laughing through a mostly-serious speech. It didn’t help that the speech overran a little bit *coughs* …45 minutes! But this was okay with me…
It was almost half 3 and I was yet to meet one of my favourite blogger’s, Erika. “She’s going to think that I’ve been avoiding her!”, I panicked. This wasn’t the case at all. Truth be told, I was most nervous about meeting Erika because I’ve always felt a strong connection with her. My kindred spirit of the blogging world, if you will. “What if she doesn’t like me?”, I panicked. “What if we awkward hug?” The very thought had worked me into a sweat. My heart began to thump erratically. Heck, even my spot began to pulsate.
But then I took a deep breath… “I’m ready for you, Erika!”, I said (inside my head, obviously, because ‘out loud’ would be weird!)
…but then she walked straight past me.
She had her eyes on the buffet. Dammit! “Did she recognise me?”, I wondered. And so I swam around for a bit, like an awkward turtle in a sea of not-so-awkward turtles.
The buffet did look good, too be fair (albeit a little cold) It was at the buffet where I met another blogger, Marjorie Mallon from (https://kyrosmagica.wordpress.com/) she’d actually messaged me before we met, but of course, in all my clumsy air-headedness, this had skipped my mind and I thought she was someone new. “I’m Amanda from insidethelifeofmoi!”
Sober Amanda: “She already knows, you dumbass!”
Slightly tipsy Amanda: “Oh crap! …Ground swallow me up NOW!”
Luckily, she was too busy enjoying some juicy chicken wings to notice… I
Finally, I caught Erika walking back from the buffet with a plateful of food. “Erika!”, I shrieked! “Amanda!”, she shrieked back. We hugged, and it felt natural, as though we had been friends for years. It was overwhelmingly surreal. I had lost my words. I mean, I tired to construct comprehensible sentences, but it wasn’t really happening. Erika – the sweetheart that she is – humoured me for awhile, and then we parted ways. It was a strangely beautiful moment… Or beautifully strange? Fuck knows… The whole event felt very abstract to me, almost like a dream. There were certain points when I had to pinch myself and ask “Is this really happening?” Even though it didn’t quite go to plan, I felt both honoured and privileged to be a part of it. There’s something truly amazing about the act of people from all paths of life joining together. We all, in some way, were connected to each other. We had felt each other’s words, walked each other’s paths and shared each other’s hearts.
One big extended family.
And yet, we didn’t TRULY know each other at all, only in fleeting passings of small talk and nervous exchanges. This felt very odd to me. How can you know someone but not truly know them at all? In all honesty, I walked away from the blogging bash more confused than ever. Did I feel a part of this family? This community? I’m not sure.
Okay, before I get all deep and shit…
“Let’s have one more drink and hit the road!” Kylie said. “I need a nap!”
I stumbled over to the bar and ordered some gin and tonics.
“Here we go, kid!” I said, passing over the barely-there drink. “Stingy bastards!” I scoffed, “There’s nothing to it!”
“Jesus! This is strong!” Kylie spluttered, grabbing her throat in discomfort.
“Really?”, I questioned, taking a sip for myself. “FUCK! You can say that again!” I choked, feeling a burning sensation ripping its way down my oesophagus.
“It has got tonic in it, right?”, Kylie asked, suspiciously.
“Oh shit! The tonic water!” I shouted, my cheeks glowing a brighter shade of Crimson.
Sure enough, two lonely tonic water’s were waiting at the bar.
“Right! Time to go!” Kylie ordered, downing her gin and tonic in one.
I didn’t want to leave so early, but she kept giving me those “KYLIE NEEDS SIESTA’ eyes. That, and edging further and further towards the door.
“Okay!”, I agreed. “I think I’ve done enough damage to my ego as it is!”
After saying my goodbyes, I tipsily made my way downstairs and into a taxi. We decided to ditch the tube to avoid the risk of bumping into ‘crazy kipper’ again, and I was pretty sure that if I saw nose-picker dude, he would have finished me off.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at our ‘home for the night’ in Hammersmith. It was a small apartment complete with a cute little roof terrace …
We soon made ourselves at home … by jumping straight into bed! (separately, may I add!) and having a snooze before we HIT THE TOWN! (Yep, us almost-thirty-year-olds need daytime naps sometimes!) especially as we were out to cause as much mischief as possible that night.
After a snooze, we decided that it was best that we lined our stomachs before hitting the alcohol. Our track history of drinking on an empty stomach hasn’t exactly been a great one…
In search of something to eat, we headed across the road to The Grove…
A swanky little bar with a rustic edge.
As usual, we ordered the EXACT same, which – on this particular occasion – was Thai fish cakes and mojitos (We always twin our orders!) Our fish cakes were served up by a very friendly young man, with a lovely head of curls, who also got almighty embarrassed when we made a rude joke about our desserts…
After we titillated our taste buds into mini orgasms (dessert GOOOOOOOD!!!), we headed back to the apartment to get ready for our BIG NIGHT OUT!
“I can’t wait!”, we gushed, popping open the wine and getting into the party spirit.
It took us hours to get ready… HOURS! You see, this getting ready malarkey isn’t for the faint-hearted. It takes time and dedication….but luckily, our efforts paid off and we were hot to trot!
Our original plan was to meet Frank after the football but after shaky beginnings, I wasn’t so sure… That was until I guzzled down two glasses of wine, and then I thought it was a great idea! Like, literally, the greatest idea since sliced bread.
“Frank lives in London, of course he knows all the cool bars and clubs!”, I slurred, drunkenly.
“Let’s give him a call!”, Kylie agreed.
Because, of course, inviting a complete stranger over is the RIGHT thing to do…
The football had ended, and Frank was on his way. But it was okay, we had a secret code word for if things took a turn for the worse, and that was… We were planning to get a taxi to Richmond (his suggestion, not ours!) and to be fair, we were pretty much London virgins when it came to its nightlife, so we didn’t really know where was hip and happening. That’s why we took Frank’s, “There are some really nice bars by the river in Richmond!”, and ran with it.
So as it turned out, Richmond was further away than we originally thought. By the time we got there, we had already clocked up a £20 cab fee. But hefty fees aside, we were still in high spirits and ready to hit the dance floor…
…Until 30 minutes passed by and we were still WALKING (in painfully high heels, may I add!)
“I didn’t know you’d be dressing up!”, Frank said.
“What do you expect us to wear? …a onesie and some flip-flops?”, I sneered sarcastically.
I think Frank must have picked up on the sarcasm and decided to take the cobbled route instead. Cobbles and high heels don’t really mix, and throw a little alcohol into the equation and we’ve had it!
But it was okay, we had spent so long walking (I mean, why did we even pay for a taxi?) that by the time we reached a bar, we were stone-cold sober.
As Frank led us down a dark alley, we looked at each other and mouthed…
“WAFER FREAKEN HAM!”
Thankfully, Frank didn’t drown us in the river, but he did lead us to a bar that was no longer open.
“Are you kidding me?!” I murmured, too tired to raise my voice.
“It’s okay, I know another really great bar!”, he reassured us, as we walked past a huddle of homeless people lying out in their sleeping bags.
I mean, this was hardly Soho. Hoboville, more like!
But faith hadn’t departed us yet, we kept on following. Frank – who insisted on walking three streets ahead – then brought us to …
YET ANOTHER CLOSED BAR!
“No, honestly. I know another bar!”, he pleaded.
“It’s just…things have changed since I was here last!”, he continued.
“Yes. Probably because that was like 20 freaken years ago!”, I quietly laughed.
And that’s when we arrived at the bottom of a hill (a rather steep hill, may I add!) Our hearts sunk, our feet were throbbing and we were as sober as a nun.
“I’ll just run up and see! You stay there!”, he said, striding up the hill like an eager beaver.
“Kiddo, let just do a runner!”, Kylie said, as a taxi temptingly pulled up beside us.
“It’s tempting!” I thought, “but would that be the right thing to do?”
It was one of those …. “What would Jesus do?” moments.
Run or stay?
Run or stay?
Run or …. Ah, shit! We’d better stay.
Frank came back with a smile on his face, “It’s open!”, he panted. “It’s a nightclub called Viva and it’s open!”
It was like all his Christmases had come all at once…and then we went and ruined it by saying; “Yeah, we’re probably going to catch a taxi and head back to Hammersmith!”. I mean, you have to be pretty hammered to go to a club called Viva…and hammered we were most certainly NOT! Plus, our feet hurt too much to dance…no thanks to our new bestie, Frank.
But we couldn’t knock him for trying, even on the way back to the taxi rank he was like, “What about this place? This place is still open!”
You mean this putrid smelling place with a mountain of stinky bin bags outside? This place with rowdy teenagers queuing up to try their luck at getting in? This place where I can hear the sound of glass smashing?
“Hmm. Looks a bit rough, shall we give it a miss?”, I suggested, walking past as quickly as I physically could.
With all venues exhausted, we hailed a taxi and spent yet another £20 on a fare home (which Frank didn’t contribute a penny towards, may I add!)
What a waste of bloody time!
Our wild night out in London… Ruined! £40 down and what did we have to show for it? We were as sober as a judge and had feet as swollen as the Michelin man in pair of gladiators.
As we came to terms with the idea that our night was pretty much over (I mean, did it even begin?) we dropped subtle hints that we wanted Frank to leave.
But sadly, he didn’t quite get the hint, and instead, pulled out his phone.
“Can you just read these messages from a girl I’ve been texting?”, he asked, handing me over his phone.
Frank often asks me to analyse his texts.
“If I must…”, I sighed, scrolling the multiple messages that had – by this point – all merged into one.
I wasn’t sure if this was the girl with the fake profile picture or the one who was blatantly NOT interested. To be honest, I wasn’t really interested anymore. Frank had fucked up my night…’OUR’ night. Our one and only night out in London…and the worst part…he wasn’t even sorry! In fact, he then had the audacity of pinning the blame on everyone but himself. I was so pissed off, I had to take a deep breath to prevent myself from ‘rhino charging’ him into the ground.
“Send them to me tomorrow!”, I snapped.
“I’m tired and I’m going to bed…
Frank got the hint and shortly left, but not without insisting that I met him the following day (to read over those all important messages!)
The truth was; I had no intentions of meeting up with him the next day. In fact, I didn’t want to see Frank again. Period.
“What a fucking night!”, I sighed. Disappointed was an understatement, a complete and utter shambles would be a better description. We opened the door to the apartment, and stepped sorrowfully up the stairs and climbed into our beds.
As I laid in bed and watched beams of light crawl across the ceiling, I pondered if I had been too harsh on Frank…
I mean, he did annoy the heck of me with his disappearing act at the blogger’s event, his continuous celebrity lookalike suggestions (can I please just look like MYSELF?) and his ‘Shallow Hal’ ways, but you couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy. As much as I wanted to rugby tackle him to the ground at times, there were moments when I found him both charming and endearing.
It’s strange, looking back. Frank had become a part of my life and now I was left feeling not only disappointed but also vulnerable that I had let him into my world.
It’s true, you never really know a person until you meet them face to face, and yet, a part of me, wish I hadn’t.
The next morning, we woke up feeling daisy fresh (thank you, Frank!) albeit a little deflated from the events of the previous night. But what’s that saying? “If you stumble, make a dance out of it!” To make up for the shambles of the night before, we decided to do a little bit of retail therapy. But not before we lined our stomachs with quite possibly the yummiest cooked breakfast I have tasted, courtesy of The Grove.
And so we enjoyed our day together, exploring London, looking at all the pretty things we couldn’t afford to buy and ignoring Frank’s calls.
Well, that was until Kylie walked straight into a large man’s hairy manboobs – her head, literally, being hugged by sweaty breast tissue. Yep, that wasn’t so enjoyable… For her! I rolled over and laughed.
By the time we had done 10 laps of Hammersmith, I was itching to get back home. So desperate, in fact, that I bashed my head on the ceiling trying to get into my coach seat. I may have lost a few brain cells, but I survived.
London. It’s been interesting, to say the least. I feel like I’ve been through some sort of ordeal. Like, I’ll need therapy to get over it. But despite the ‘wafer-ham’ moments, it’s been an adventure. One that I will reflect back on, in years to come, with a smile and a sweet sense of nostalgia.
Until next time, London!
*Some names have been changed.