Badonk-a-donk

I wanted to try and post this yesterday but a double whammy hangover left me feeling a bit delicate and not very capable of doing much apart from sleeping and continuing to rehydrate my weary body. Today has been pretty much the same, a bit of reading, a bit of eating and a lot of sleeping, I’m too old for this social life malarky.

On Friday I went for dinner with the ‘Urban Family’ a nice chance to catch up before the round of stag and hen madness followed by the wedding. The last time we went to the same restaurant was in May 2008, the day I had my consultation with Mr Shaw Somers the surgeon who ending up saving my life. Fast forward almost two years and instead of being there sharing the news that my life was going to be changing immensely by way of some staples I was sharing the happy news about signing the scary contracts I had recently received from my agent! I may or may not have been a little bit twaddled, the bottle of wine I’d inadvertently drunk before leaving the house may have influenced my speech a tiny bit. Only a tiny bit though. I did wake up on Saturday morning feeling like arse however and spent most of the day lying on the sofa trying not to move.

Like a brave little soldier though I put my war paint on, got my glad rags on and dragged my sorry hungover bottom into town for dinner and cocktails to celebrate the arrival of PG’s brother to town. It was BOGOF on cocktails and having promised my guest blogger Lorns that I’d have one for her it would have been rude not to so I got stuck in. Dinner passed by in a bit of a blur however I do remember bundling into the corridor by the toilets and asking a random passerby to take pictures of us all, a fairly normal occurence however this ended in us all naming as many different types of bodily discharge as we could…. Yummy.

In the mood for a boogie we headed for somewhere that usually has the good tunes pumping out and were sadly greeted by wall to wall chavs watching the boxing. Having paid to get in though we persevered until the fight was over and…. the entire place emptied. In some ways it was a relief, there were no queues for the bar and we could hear each other chat over the roar of the crowd however there were about twenty people in there. So much for finding a man to take my mind off Scooby!

I didn’t think I was that drunk but when the music ramped up a gear it was me who was itching to get onto the dancefloor, even with nobody else around to hide my dancing sins. Bells and I were trying to cover as much of the dancefloor as possible and without realising it at the time I wasn’t self conscious about the size of my arse or worrying about my flab carrying on jiggling long after I stopped dancing. I’m proud to report that I actually worked my booty like a Jamaican dancehall queen, in yo face skinny butt girls *pow pow*

Of course then PG and his brother started throwing some shapes and absolutely wiped the floor with Bells and I so we retreated back to the safety of the flat, drunk as skunks. The night ended with my taking PG’s clothes off whilst asking him stupid questions about whether he would have CG’s face tattooed on his body, whether I could put fake tan on him and how much he would need to be paid to kiss CG. (£200).

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