Whilst many of you think that I am in London every spare minute that I have, or even live there, [if I had a pound for each time someone asked me how long i've been living there, I could probably actually afford to move down], this isn't the case. I'm usually in a room in Croydon playing keyboard [true] and singing my way to a billion pound record deal [definitely 1oo% not true].
This weekend however saw me fully embrace a side to London I have yet to experience.
I learnt that:
ONE] The phrase 'nothing comes for free' is a big fat lie. Innuendoes aside, I fully believe this phrase to be untrue
when:
a] this is the second night of free entry/free drinks in a club where jeans to the bouncers are like
wrinkles to Katie Price.
b] those four bottles of champage with sparklers coming our way are actually coming our way.
''My entourage is larger than yours yo.''
This is not to say that somewhere down the line, someone has not compromised their position[s] to allow
this to happen on a regular basis OR that I would necessarily normally venture into places like this,
however, with the former remaining forever unknown to me and the latter being most definitely true, I decided
to completely enjoy every moment of my free time in freedrinkopolis and dance wholeheartedly to mixes
that I have no recollection of ever hearing.
TWO] Every girl from Geneva is h.o.t. This weekend I saw myself surrounded [literally] by six foot, fair
goddesses [I think at one point the tally reached eleven] with nothing but my relatively high-heeled, trusty
black boots as a saving grace. Not only were these ladies:
a] toweringly stunning, and
b] incredibly lovely [is there even room for anything else?]
but they had ridiculously interesting jobs. How often do I get to pick clothes from classy designers for
magazine issues? Never, that's when. On the plus side I stuck out like a sore thumb when we went out.
Oh, wait...
It was actually like being surrounded by lots of Lara Stones. Minus the fixed pose, because that would just be awkward, and quiet.
THREE] Printing photographs out or, if you're feeling REALLY adventurous [it's not that adventurous], using film is
one of the best things you can start doing. Think of it as an early New Year's Resolution.
I've always tried to take silly little disposable cameras out with me to different countries or even to the
local pub, but i've never really looked past the quality of the photographs to justify this; however after
what can only be described as a brilliant Sunday, i've realised that keeping photographs in shoe boxes
[or albums if you're feeling particularly organised] is a guaranteed belly-achingly genius way to have a
good old laugh at yourself and other people [but mainly onther people]. This works particularly well
when:
a] you're in a room with three generations of the same family.
b] most of these people were teenagers in the eighties. [hello shoulder pads, stripes and Borat
moustaches]
c] favourite recurring hairstyles included mohikans and mullets. [solely for the BABIES. Cruel,
cruel parents]
a] why would you do this to your poor, helpless child, and
b] why on earth would you put it on the internet?
That's not a real smile, it's just wind.
So basically my top tips for eternal youth include being surrounded by Genevan women giving you drinks whilst laughing at old photographs. I don't think i've ever sounded more like a p.i.m.p in my life.
x
pee.ess Happy Twenty First Xenia! Bring on Kyriaki's!
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