Run.

After an exhausting evening shift at work, I spilled onto Fulham Road as if I had no vertebrae and was desperately trying to hold my head, body and limbs together.
It was hilarious as always to see bands of complete strangers absolutely drunk to a tee whilst I couldn’t be more sober than…a rabbit on speed! (I didn’t want to say judge…).

Despite having to work, today was particularly relaxing; I spent a considerable amount of time in Habitat and Heals looking at and buying new things for the flat, items that inevitably redefine the notion of student living; gorgeous plates with French swirl designs, colourful peacocks emblazoned on terracotta plates among others! Buying things for houses and flats is one of the small things in life I do enjoy as it permits one to admire the items for many years to come, their life spans extend well beyond that of a vodka shot purchased on a hazy Saturday evening.
Anyone with the displeasure of popping round to see me at the flat will at least be compensated with a lush cup of tea with its water boiled from a crème and chrome kettle with the insignia-esque label, ‘Prestige’ conspicuously inscribed on its front. HOW PARFAIT.

I exited to Tottenham Court Road and hailed a taxi to shove my 3 bags of shopping into. I did mull over catching the tube but the thought of being pushed and shoved and not to forget mention of those nosy little somethings who spend their tube journeys peering into other people’s shopping bags and eyeing up their clothes, was not particularly appealing. Not to forget, on my way home I was sat next to a very interesting girl but interesting in the vicious sense. She had bright goldish blonde hair, a white dress with frilly detail at the ends and a chunky gold belt slung around her waist. But her most intruding feature was just how ORANGE she was. I was just sat there thinking, ‘YOU’VE BEEN TANGOED’ and ‘There’s a fake tan…and then there’s a fake tan…’. She looked as colourful as an orange bowl with ‘TANG’ in it (Tang is an Arabic orange powder you add hot water to and hey presto, there’s one cuppa orange juice).

Gush, well I’m completely stoned on the smell of pot emanating from the living room. My flatmate does enjoy a hench spliff. I think I’ll sleep with both windows open.