I spent week 4 in London and I haven’t been very kind to one of my good friends, Credit Card. So in honor of you CC and your amazingness, I will dedicate this blog to you. Sorry for being such a user, I hope we can still be friends. Seriously… I have a week left in Tokyo.
It was London fashion week this week, I celebrated it by making up my own fashion week and going on a shopping spree with friends. Notting Hill has a lot to answer for… so does Westfield at White City.
The giraffe onesie purchased in Glasgow made an appearance for its own fashion week photo shoot. Giraffe sleeping, giraffe looking in mirror, giraffe telling the stoned neighbors to pipe down so it can go back to the jungle and sleep. I’m sure they will wake up in the morning and say ‘we got so high, we saw giraffes’.
I need prior warning for entering great shops like Paper Chase, because I will in fact spend at least a half hour smiling, squealing and spending in a stationery store.
It is not a good idea to skull back some champagne, then try and navigate your way around the undulating streets of London and on the tube in your sky high heels; when you really don’t know where the eff you are going in the first place.
While vintage shopping, my friend and I actually found a raspberry beret. You know, the kind you find at the second hand store.
Buying a new scarf and adding it to your dress for the day makes you saunter. I have now become the queen of sashaying.
Did you know that it’s sunny in London? Yes, really!
I think I’d like to sit on the tube all day and write after being inspired by; Irish musicians, are you really wearing that? and maybe you should close your mouth when you yawn. I’ll call it ‘A Day on the Tube’.
Food markets are a market for extremely good banter. At the South Bank I had an entree, main and dessert of random chat. It started with a sign that read ‘Come and try the best sausage…’, that lead to the roast pork sandwich man who followed through when I suggested that he should ask customers if they’d like a good porking. The icing on the cake was brownie guy who told us about his 50 shades-esque one night stand, earlier that week. I still bought the brownie and managed to smash it back while we were off on a talking tangent.
It’s hard to give up the ‘merci’. It just flows off the tongue and now I really sound like a French wannabe.
Buying shoes is dangerous. I witnessed a woman face plant while wearing her own shoes, in Harrods.
Wearing a flashing ‘Itsmybirthda’ badge will get you ‘happy birthdays’ and a shot of tequila.
I highly recommend seeing the stage show Wicked. It actually is as the name suggests, wicked.
I have discovered that the last day of a trip before flying out is either spent; in a mad rush, sifting around or hungover.
I talked to a posh person who told me that eating Nandos was the equivalent of dining at McDonalds <insert slight guffaw with British twang here>. I was tipsy off a glass of champagne and my stomach was growling because I hadn’t fed it yet. I politely smiled (which probably looked like a grimace), and refrained from making my own handburger.
And I swear that all the shops had signs in their windows saying: Leave self-control outside.