5th February 2014 and having just almost ripped my 40 denier tights clean off me on a sticky out bit of coach I was pretty pissed off. I’d been herded through the tube strike traffic from my hotel to Earls Court with the rest of the buyers who were in various states of hungover after the party at the London Transport Museum the night before. Two blokes sat behind me were trying to convince their colleague that they weren’t in fact hungover, but that they’d picked up D&V at the party and were prettypoorlyactuallythankyouverymuch whilst I tried not to laugh in the faces. I was feeling quite sprightly having not over indulged (too much) and having made sure I downed a couple of pints of water before hopping in to bed. The fact that my hotel shower was made for midgets and I had to contort myself into various positions in order to wash my hair certainly woke me up too.
So there I was in the queue for the VIP cloakroom *sniffs* *pops collar* when I realised that literally looking like I’d been dragged through a hedge perhaps wasn’t quite the professional look I should be sporting so I needed to take action. I dragged my case off to the nearest disabled toilet cubicle and cracked it open, thanking my lucky stars that I’m a chronic over packer (as well as over sharer?) as my suitcase contents spilled forth. I fished out a pair of frankly hideous 15 denier “natural” tights that I once bought thinking they might come in handy, although history does not relate how they came to be in my case.
I popped them on and then realised that my legs weren’t quite 15 denier tights ready (after what can only be described as a “booty voicemail” from the night before) so I stuck my head in my bag of tricks again and hoped for the best. I rustled up a Bic razor and some vitamin E cream and nipped out to the sinks to try and make a lather on my legs. It failed miserably and so I basically ended up doing a Bic dry shave peppered with a lot of under my breath swearing and then slopping on a LOT of cream to delay the inevitable rash whilst wincing at the thought of having to repack my case.
I dread to think what the other ladies thought I was doing in there but of course I told pretty much anyone who even glanced at my pins throughout the day of my calamity. Note to self… Zip it!
The date was important because what was I doing almost EXACTLY three years earlier? Why I was having a Bic related toilet incident in my first week as a Thunderbird of course! *rolls eyes*