Where romance, Bollywood, prison and Prince Harry combine.

I’m appalled, but not shocked. Failure to blog is in my top 10 New Year’s resolutions list.

Things have been evolving in my little spot of south east London.

After  naked-sleeping with my flatmate/ex-boyfriend (more than once) and a month of avoidance when I decided it was the best way to approach things, he spilled his guts. He missed me, he couldn’t live without me (maybe a slight exaggeration). Instantly that scene and song from Miss Congeniality rang through my head; You think I’m gorgeous… Long story short, we’re back on and it’s wonderful.

My Mum came to stay for a month and we hit the sights of Paris and Athens and then spent  a week on Crete, swimming, drinking cocktails and improving our tans. It was complete bliss and after having Mum here in London for a month-long visit it was the best way to spend some quality time together.

I attended my first Indian (Bollywood) wedding two weeks ago, and it was amazing. It was like everything I’d ever imagined would be included in an Indian wedding; bright, beautiful, jeweled dresses, live fire with smoke hitting the ceiling, Bollywood dancing, a DJ that made the place feel like a club in Ibiza and a cake taller than the bride and groom.

I’m currently engrossed in;

ORANGE

capital

 

 

 

Finally, a photo I came across today;

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Harry photobombing Kiwi boxer at the Commonwealths

Hazza for King.

Where romance, Bollywood, prison and Prince Harry combine.

Flatmates with Benefits

That moment when you wake up in your flatmate’s bed after a seriously boozy day and night out at the Sevens, and you go in for a cuddle to find something stabbing you in the thigh.

Then all your sound reasons go out the window and you find yourselves doing something you used to do while you were dating.

Woops.

Then we roasted a chicken together. Sex for chicken. The oldest trade-off in the land.

Flatmates with Benefits

The grown up convos of your late 20s.

My female, shy, somewhat reserved flatmate comes home drunk tonight; “oh I meant to tell you”, looking at me, “I went and got everything waxed from the belly button down!”

It’s her first time, so I’m not surprised at the fact she wants to share the event.

My phone beeps. Gay, male flatmate has text me from across the living room; “I bet it’s like an otter yawning. I’m off girls for life!”

Wine sprays across the room as I snort with laughter trying to control myself.

When I was 16, thinking of what my life would be at nearly 30, this is not what I pictured. But who wants to be a grown up anyway?

The grown up convos of your late 20s.