11.05 am. Island Magee. Ireland.
Jenn, and I like to Nicoise.
has been very normal. A bit clichéd. Clichéd rain, clichéd grey sky… although something
happened in London on Monday that was very un- cliché.
Cliché drumroll plz…
When I got on the Victoria line at Euston (my nearest stop is Oxford Circus. If
you’re planning on stalking me you could 100% piece together this blog and have
me killed off before tea time) this Irish business man, who we later found out
lives in Finchley, started chatting to this young guy who we sooner found out
has just moved here this very day from Manhattan and is looking for a job. Any
job. It was the perfect start to a clichéd chick-flick. They may make it some
day and I reckon the extra who plays me will be a right babe. All fake tanned
whilst dramatically squinting at her e-book reader pretending not to eavesdrop
(great word) on the NOT-CLICHED conversation on the tube.
me smoothly onto my Nicoise (it doesn’t but if I say it does then you’ll think
it does.) On Tuesday I trekked (walked approx. 0.1km) through the rain in Soho
to grab some Tuna for my NEWLY APPOINTED LUNCHTIME CEO NICOISE SALAD.
normally get faced with either [insert shitty supermarket name here]’s own
brand, or JOHN WEST, who apparently really digs being a tuna farmer (farmer?
Excavator? Do you excavate fish from the sea? Or do you harvest it?) because
it’s the only other TUNA brand I’ve ever seen.
it’s over farmed so I always want to buy the fair-trade– banana equivalent- you
know the type where the fish was happy to die, the farmer asked it’s family if
it was okay to take granddad and they were like yeah go for it.
thing that confuses me somewhat is the dolphin friendly bit. What, did the
dolphin also give consent for the murder of granddad tuna fish? Or are the
dolphins just happy knowing that it’s the tuna for the chop and not them? Of
course it’s dolphin friendly, the dolphins couldn’t give a shit as long as it’s
not them mashed up in a can. I bet the dolphins are fucking ecstatic. It should
be ‘Dolphin’s Throwing a House Party’ tuna.
If I was a
dolphin on the board of British food labeling, I’d be like ‘yeah, the
crabs and the cod are pretty stoked too. Take all the fucking tuna you
want and TELL THE PEOPLE of Britain how delighted the rest of the gang are.’
So this is
totally gross but I had a weird mark on my back chopped off a few weeks back,
then on Friday I had the stitches removed. I know it’s minging, but I initially
started writing this damn blog so I could remember what I did day to day. But you
guys, it’s kind of cool because I’ve been having lots of anxiety problems
lately (or ‘Wizard Angst’ as Sarah likes to call it) and I felt like a fucking
Storm Trooper as I left the Doc’s, just having a big ol’ needle of anesthetic
shoved in my back, without any Wizard Angst at all. I genuinely had a mini
panic attack in a magazine shop the other day. Whilst my brain was preparing
itself for the imminent death-by-Cosmo, I was like ‘wtf brain, you’ve had minor
surgery, yet it’s the magazines that make you freak out.’ Humans are weird.
I flew to
Dad’s this weekend from Stansted airport. I had a coffee from Harris and Hoole.
It was ridiculously good. I’ve never seen that brand before so it might just be
in Stansted airport.
let’s cut back to last week’s post. Remember I mentioned a certain Nathan that
cancelled on me? Well HAHA because he did it again on Friday night. But ‘he’s
super busy and ever so sorry’, so we shan’t be annoyed, because we’re grown up.
Isn’t that right Jennifer?
it’s for the best- I had to get a taxi at 4am on Saturday morning. The taxi
driver kept talking to me the whole way there. And I fell asleep sideways, so
cut off all the circulation to my legs which resulted in exiting the taxi like
Bambi on crack.
fan-girl moment this week, Emma Gannon who writes the blog called, ‘Girl Lost in the City’,
tweeted about my blog. Hehehehahahahohooo.
life- going to the Grump club with Gerry and CA soon to talk about life things.
Gina and I
had a rather impromptu night on the tiles/ Soho cocktails on Thursday with
Royce. Hey Royce. We got Subways and then I made Ovaltine (obvious drunk snack)
but because I was wasted, I tripped on the stairs and sloshed it all over
myself and woke up smelling like yeasty milk.
Oh and today’s picture is one I just took as I post this
out. My Dad wants to go to TK Maxx, and I’m like, Daaaaad whyyyyyyyythat’s FINE
I’m 24 let’s gooooooo.