Picture no.1 is a nice little montage come breakdown of me and Gee trying to take a picture but we’re naughty wine drinking ladies and couldn’t control our limbs for very long.

In picture no. 2, I look a bit like a 70s male rocker. I do this like once a month and I’m not sure why. Kinda like having a period only more head scarfs and less hormones.

We were drinking with Rey and JB, instead of sleeping before our flight to Dublin. 

In the bar we saw Rick Edwards, who for those foreign beans reading this, is a sexy TV presenter here in the UK. Hi Rick. 

After Rick, we sang with a turnstile at Tufnell park station because it sounds like Blur, ‘Song 2’.

We got back to the Boogaloo, to realise we had about 2 hrs to pack, sleep and leave again to start our mission to Dublin. When Gina woke me up at 1.30am I wanted to fully throw myself out of my bedroom window, but didn’t want to make a scene so I just got on with things and we got three night buses to Liverpool st, narrowly dodged the Archway massive, and ended up at Mc Donalds, where we bought everything then complained, as independent women do, about not being able to use the loo at this ungodly hour. We boarded the carriage of Hades (Terravision bus- public transport for the poor and desperate) and munched on our delicious treats. (Nearly wrote, ‘teats’. Re-read with the word teats.)

On the way to our death trap bus, I took a picture of London. Ye ol’ iPhone doesn’t do it justice, but it was a nice thing to see with my eyes.

So we arrived at Stansted about 5am, checked in, then sat in total delirious silence as we waited for the gate. I bought a cuppa and a bacon sarnie from Pret. I love Pret a Manger, I really do. Their food is so good and wonderful and great and nice and good and fun. Can you tell I’m really into this blog post?…

We crashed and burnt so hard in Dublin. We slept at the McDonalds at Dublin airport for like 3 hours, after eating Mc Toasties (deffo not in England anymore). Well, when I say, ‘we’, I mean Gina slept, whilst like a loyal laborador, I watched over her, whilst a random gypsy watched the both of us. I literally felt like a dying hippo in a sandy ravine (crevice in mountain face) surrounded by hungry crows (crows? eagles? vulture, oh yeah it’s a vulture. What am I talking about? Oh yeah, I was a hippo in McDonalds and the gypsy was a vulture and Gina was my first born son baby whom I wanted to keep safe if only for a precious few more moments, before the grim reaper came to claim our lives and the gypsy…. 

Blaaaaaah de what.

We met two nice security men/ bus guard people. Dublin’s one of those places where you think everyone is so much nicer because, they’re Irish, and you’re like, “oh, Irish people are so nice, Londoners don’t talk”, that kinda vibe you know. 

So we got the bus to Dublin city centre, got lost on the way to see Dowling and his hostel of joy, then managed to find it. We had a coffee with him and chatted about life. Then my friend Strawberry rang to see if Gee and I wanted to join his band of merry Irishmen in Galway, so we did. Two and a half hours, 4 cans of cider later, one very well planned lie whereby we told Tod we got the wrong bus to Donegal and he pee’d his Irish knickers and tired beyond belief, we rocked up at Galway bus station. Then we started our 15 min voyage through the town (see pic. no.4 and witness the odd colour of my once-green-hair) to Monroe’s bar, whereupon Gee bought me a bright blue shot of somethingorother…

We then bought wine in slippery brown bags, and drank by the river with Strawbs, Golding and their fellow fellow friend, Joe. We hoppidy skippedied to Rosean Dubh (literally no idea how to pronounce this) and saw Tod play CHOICES (he didn’t play Choices, but we deffo yelled that at him, a lot. Sorry Tod.)

Fast forward, past some blurry pints of Guiness, and we find ourselves upstairs in the smoking area, where Golding was asking me if I was tired, and I was definitely asleep. We bundled in a taxi, then all ended up on Golding’s farm, I passed out in the spare room, meanwhile Gina sat through a 4 hour Irish singalong with Golding’s family, Strawbs and Joe. Marvellous!

Morning came, and oh what sunny, blue skied kind of day it was. We played with a ceramic turtle, ate sandwiches in the sunshine, sunbathed, perved on Spannish people, picked up Tod, then got in his car, to headed back to Dublin. (Pic no. 5)

I’m now writing this a few weeks in the future. By future, I mean this is now, and above the writing was from a few weeks ago. I’m writing this now. Writing right now. 

That night (not now but in the past following on from my previous writing) we all got very merry and went to see Chet Faker. After this we all went to a bar, where I tried to pay for Guiness in Hungarian Forint. Then we went back to the boys house, listened to Tod play guitar, then got in our taxi. I was totally delirious and Gina tried to take her trousers off at the security in the airport. 

Pic no.6 is something I inquired about at work in context of the new fancy printer. Follow @shitjennsayslive for a genuine live update of the utter crap that comes out of my mouth. 

I think we’ll put a metaphorical plug in the symbolic blog post. Whilst this is writing in the future of when I was wrote, and now is here and the plug isn’t real, I need to remember to write my blog so that no post can be written in the past future and present but just make sense. I must always make sense. I’m not even drunk. I’m at work listening to Red Hot Chilli Peppers, booking travel insurance for Australia. Stop it Jenn, save these goody gum drop buttons of written wholesomeness for the future blog posts that will of course be in their own time zone, unlike Australia which seems to be on the moon as there’s lots of sea, terrifying creatures and it’s always nighttime during the day. 


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