It’s the end of the weekend and my predictions came true.

This is a accurate account of what we did yesterday:

I woke up (you can all bare witness to that part) then got ready to explore the village. Gina wanted to edit our first part of our blogging (which is fine by me) so off I toodled by myself. (Got lost on a straight road)

Once back, I decided to have a quick sandwich before heading off into London town to soak up the atmosphere, learn about something new etc… whilst down in the kitchen, Irish Landlord offered me a fry up. I accepted (how nice of me) and ate it upstairs next to beloved G as she finished editing the podcast. I shared my eggs with her as I had already eaten two that day. I also have this responsibility to share out my food to people as there’s a slight chance I might actually be Jesus Christ himself (same initials, same hair.) Anyway, the point is, immediately after said fry- up, we both passed out, until 6pm. We then bought curry ready meals from Sainsbury’s. We regretted the curries. Further napping ensued, followed by full on sleeping. 

So the first photograph I am wearing one of my most beloved T- shirts from my beloved Carpe Noctem hostel. The face says, ‘it’s Sunday, it’s 8am, and now I have to run because I ate 2.7 eggs yesterday’ (ignoring the bacon, croissants, beans, gammon etc). I write this pre- run as I’m waiting for G to wake up and come with me. I’ll give her another 15 minutes then i’m going to tickle her toes, which will result in either a giggle and a smile or a slap in the face, ‘IT’S FUCKING SUNDAY JENN’. I’ll let you know the verdict. *

Apart from the run, today the Irish landlord is taking us out for a roast dinner (wonderful man).

Tomorrow at work we have a meeting with Tin Tin and Sam about a new project we’re working on. Shaun Clarkson (famous interior designer, nice bloke, nice PA (Tess)) is back from holiday at some point so will be interesting to see what he thinks of our pitch. James Brown (Boss) (Ex editor of GQ, founder of loaded) said he thought it was good. (This blog is for my benefit too, need to remember pointless details, kay?)

Okay so just uploaded an unsightly image two* (post run). I’m sad because I swallowed flies as my lungs scrabbled for air, punishing me for giving up ballet when I was 5, cursing the day I sacked off the clarinet, accusing me of putting aside my tag- rugby dreams. The vortex has randomly decided to open on my forehead. Everybody jump in.

*Gina didn’t come on the run


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