#NeverSleep
This… this is how all Friday’s should look.
A short history of trains*
*Disclaimer: not much about trains in here at all.
Duck, duck, haggis
Which involves a little bit of Harry Potter and a little bit of Jane Austen.
What time is it where you are?
It’s only in typing this post out that I realise I might just be a little homesick.
How about a snack Scoob?
Two vulpine greeters dressed in sleek black take in my outfit from top to toe….
Smashing.
In which we think about the elusive and fickle nature of love.
‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown
“All wrong, all wrong!”
Well, great. Just what you want to hear whilst naked and vulnerable on a table.
It’s like seventh grade with bank accounts
LB and I descend into the pit down a flight of steep, wide steps and I laugh under my breath that it feels like we’re Cinderellas entering the ball. I’m not overexaggerating much. LB attracts male attention anywhere she goes and here men outnumber women at least five to one.
Get get get get over it
I am fuming. It’s half past ten on a steamy Thursday night and I’m miles from home on a terrifyingly overcrowded dark platform. The next train isn’t due for ages. The tube strike has broken London’s transport system and everyone is miserable. At least I’m not alone in that.
Cucumber gin & blazers in the west; vodka & grit in East London.
At Henley, as at Ascot, the spectrum of different British classes are laid out like a rainbow. If I was on the very royal Violet end of that rainbow Ascot, I’m towards the cheap and cheerful Red end for Henley
An unsettlingly big place 