I Wheel Survive #Friday13th

I have literally just come back from a belly busting session at Las Iguanas on the South Bank, and all the anger I had towards Dick Tator (background post coming soon) and my week at work is now postponed for tomorrow morning's aquatic rehydration time (ie soaking off of all the rhum which escaped the burrito and went straight to my head).

In the mean time, here are some shots of a wheel that is happy to go round in circles, unlike my neurotic self.

But uuuugh, why the fuck do I end up working in the wierdest workplaces?? Seriously, one last word before I drag my spicy arse to bed: how the fuck do I end up working with a sales director who shits himself and merrily goes back towards the office like shit didnt happen?? Did you know that when a kind soul pointed out the dung nuggets splattered CSI style on his shirt and told him to go back to the bathroom, dude actually said "Can you remove it for me?". Yep.*

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!! 

Oooh look ! pretty wheel!

Trees and sh.... Ugh

*And no, I never shook this dude's hands.

#Hangover #NextDay #WTFIsThisDude

Last night must have been a good night...I woke up to find this in my bag.

Thank fuck it wasn't in my bed!

Afternoon Tea : the T(ea)tty Resolutions

Ooooh who'd have thunk that I'd ever spend a Saturday around a teapot instead of  slumped next to a glass of Glenfiddich and a lamb kebab? Actually, one of my best friend did.

...for I got invited to partake in afternoon tea for said friend's birthday. We went to the Ampersand Hotel in South Kensington and had a grand old fabulous time; sipping exquisite caffeine out of the finest teapots and smuggling tantalising scones and cakes down our rumbling proletarian stomachs. 

I totally had my pinkie up whilst scoffing my gluten free macarons and I "yah, yah" 'd a lot. For those who don't know what I am talking about with 'yah yahing', this is to do with the English version of Jar Jar Binks, which are known as the 'Yah Yah Binks'. The people of this disposition are filthy rich, Cumberbatchy looking and can only affirm positive statements by looking Forrest Gumpish in the face and saying 'yah, totally, yah' 6 times in a row.

We followed up with a Chelsea bar crawl, expecting it to be a glamorous Made in Chelsea style evening. It turned out to be more Muck in Chelsea, but fun nonetheless. The Beaufort House was a good place for a nice glass of prosecco‎, but boring as fuck for atmosphere. Who the fuck plays The Stereophonics 'Handbags and Gladrags' on a Saturday night?! It is bad enough that I suffer from depression time to time, but to feel like wanting to top myself after having spent £12 on a glass of prosecco is damn right worthy of me coming back from the dead to haunt this freaking bar for a refund.

Something we hadn't thought about though, was that going out for afternoon tea meant that we were dressed like grannies on a day out to the church confessional, thus rendering the odds for a hot potential romantic encounter as high as a castrated ‎dildo.

A resolution was made to be more glamorous next time, and especially with regards to getting the Weapons of Mass Deception out (yep am only a B cup).

Looking forward to making a tit out of myself.