Shishtini's Birthdini

So Friday started out as a tough day but I’m lucky enough to have such wonderful friends and family that remember Mum as fondly as I do that it was nice to reminisce with some of them and talk about her with those who never had the opportunity to meet her. Humph put a message on Facebook that summed up our thoughts, “Thanks to everyone for helping me and my family through a difficult day. Your kind words and fond memories help immensely. I feel sad for the people that didn’t have the opportunity to meet mum, she would have touched your heart and left a lasting impression. Thanks again, love you always mum xxxxx”

Friday morning brought tears but by the time midday rolled around I’d had my fill of crying and decided it was time to get up and get on to head to London for my lovely friend Shishtini’s 30th birthday bash. I drove up to Clammers’ flat in North London and we hung out at the flat for a while mainly watching BBC News 24 about the unfolding NOTW drama and she cooked a delicious dinner before we got glammed up and headed out. I say we got glammed up, Clammers looked absolutely beautiful with her gazelle like legs on display and I was massively underdressed and feeling frumpy but looking forward to seeing Shish and the others. As we were heading into central on the train Clams and I were talking about her run of bad luck she’s been having recently and I was telling her about the cheesy chick flick ‘Just My Luck’ with that skank Lindsay Lohan in. The basic premise is that this chappie has really awful luck whereas Lohan is blessed with everything going her way but then they kiss and the luck swaps between them. It’s pretty dire but perfect for a lazy Sunday hungover afternoon. Anyway we’d just come off the escalator and I’d finished telling Clammers about it as she walked past this lady, the second they crossed each other the woman’s purse exploded and all of her cards ended up spread ALL OVER the concourse at Picadilly. It was too coincidental to be anything other than the bad luck demon being passed over to somebody else and actually from that moment on things seemed to start going her way. Whether it was just a change in the way she was perceiving things or some kind of weird juju mumbo jumbo heebie jeebies magic, it worked.

We went to Graphic in Golden Square which is a fairly standard Soho trendy bar tucked away from the main drag so it wasn’t overly rammed which is a good thing because it was so humid I thought I was going to die. I was wearing a cardigan over my top however because I was having a wobbly arm bad day and didn’t want to deal with getting my bingo wings out in front of the skinny beautiful meeeeja types I kept it on and just dealt with a sweaty fringe and oily face. So attractive. Graphic’s gimic sorry, unique selling point, is that they collaborate with different artists so the interior feel of the bar changes every few months and they also sell cocktails in paint tins. I had to have a few normal cocktails before I felt unselfconscious enough to order a tin, I know it’s ridiculous but I had this horrid feeling that the bar staff would point and laugh at the imposter trying to be cool. Once I’d had several fruity cocktails, a mojito and a shot of glittery sambuca I was back in the game though (i.e. couldn’t feel my face) and ordered the first of several red paint tins. At £7 a pop they weren’t cheap but they were really good so my idea of staying vaguely sober in case I broke down in a sobbing mess went out of the window. Clammers made a new friend who looked like he should be in a boyband and who claimed to be Jason Orange in a Take That tribute before asking if she was fertile. He also started a conversation with a man stood outside by saying ‘You’ve got to be a taxi driver right? No? Well then you’re a drug dealer, got any heroin?’… Unsurprisingly Clams didn’t give him her number. I’m not sure whether it was the excess of cranberry juice in my red paint but I got a stomach ache and started to feel a bit sick (read: drunk) and so although Shish wanted to gather the troops and head back to the ‘rave room’ at her house we decided to call it a night and head home to bed, via watching ‘Swagger Jagger’ video or as I like it to call it ‘WHAT THE FUCK’.

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