Cambridge, Pimms & punting

06 May 2017

If you hadn't already guessed by the consistent and pretty unassailable theme that underlies the majority of this blog: I love a good cocktail. Always and all ways. And in a variety of different locations (e.g. LondonMargate, or going internationale in Paris, Berlin, Venice and Budapest). So a few weekends ago, we decided to push the boat out once more (punting pun for the win) and take a little mosey up to Cambridge, where we washed our cocktails down with The Official First Pimms of 2017. 

Some initial Cambridge observations: what a true English beauty in the sunshine, pimms and punting makes an undeniably splendid lil twosome, cracking selection of boat shoes and blazers, pretty sure my IQ level increased by just being there.

Now to spend the rest of my weekend: going for lunch with Mama Leask, cooking up a kick ass chicken caesar, getting a spot of culture in at Brooklands Museum tomorrow with Mikey, and chilling the F out in my pyjamas. Amen.

Birthday boozer in the New Forest

25 April 2017

Oi oi. So I just got back from a 10/10 weekend in the most beautiful little cabin in the New Forest for my gawj Sophie's 27th birthday. To give you a summary of how this weekend went I'll say this: we definitely put the 'hang' in hanging out...but, boy oh boy oh boy, did we put that 'hang' a little more forcefully into 'hangover', 'hanging eachother out to dry' and 'hanging our heads in alcohol-induced shame'. 

If it's true what they say about laughter being good for the soul, then my soul is currently sipping on a mojito in the carribean eating grapes from the hands of a ravishing, tanned muscle-man wearing nothing but a loin cloth. He looks like a mash up between Justin Bieber, Beck's and Brad Pitt-fight-club-era. And he has impeccable fingernails. That's how good my soul is right now. 



I am now left with happy visions of dancing around to Pochahontas at two in the morning, trying not to wet myself over Mark's dedication to the "Act It Out" round of Head's Up, and, finally, mourning the way in which Recovery From a Sesh used to be one lucozade and a packet of pringles away...but is now a whole 2 days spent horizontal, not getting dressed and eating all the food. Damn you, aging process.

Tweet me *wink*.