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.
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