Chopstuck
By now it’s dark and I’ve begun to imagine what my new life in a Chinese refugee camp will be like. Will I learn the language? Might I fall in love? Will I finally learn to cook rice?
By now it’s dark and I’ve begun to imagine what my new life in a Chinese refugee camp will be like. Will I learn the language? Might I fall in love? Will I finally learn to cook rice?
It’s the last day of my 20s. The title of this blog has been unashamedly borrowed from Douglas Adams and here I’m going to borrow another of his deliciously pithy phrases: Don’t Panic.
The day starts properly when Chandler, goofing around, cuts his face on the salt of his giant pretzel and bleeds on it. The first injury of the day — and there will be many.
That’s right, it’s almost October so it’s time for…
Say what you like about wealthy Moroccan nightclub-managing, boat-owning party boys, but their hosting etiquette does their mothers proud.
This… this is how all Friday’s should look.
Which involves a little bit of Harry Potter and a little bit of Jane Austen.
This weekend we went to Riga. As you do.
Mixing friends is chemistry. Add people to a beaker and wait. You usually get a reaction. Sometimes it bubbles along nicely. And sometimes it blows up in your face.
…and then we all felt brilliant the next morning and did heaps of really dedicated sightseeing and decided that that was way better than drinking anyway so stayed in the next night and played cards instead.
Lies.