My lovely friend Megan is heading home to Canada on Thursday (boo! I'm going to miss her so much that I'm following her hahaha!) and last night we had a leaving do for her at
The Defector's Weld in Shepherds Bush. It started off as a rather sedate affair but six bottles of wine later became rather raucous.
I should point out that - if you look closely at the above picture it shall provide proof - I was strictly on orange and cranberry juice as usual. There was much photo-taking of cleavages, mainly because our friend Kat has an incredibly impressive one. So impressive in fact, that at one point, that in the spirit of frivolity and in an attempt to prove that not drinking does not equal boring, I buried my head in it.
It was very comfy, so I think Cornershop were probably right - everybody needs a bosom for a pillow. Anyway, later in the night two classic drunk scenarios occurred: firstly, Megan spotted a man in a kilt and decided to see what was underneath it.
The usual. The second involved the misappropriation of a traffic cone for comedic purposes. Ah the old ones are the best, are they not? A jolly time was had by all. The only thing that was bloody annoying was that somehow I managed to get a sodding parking ticket, so my otherwise frugal night actually ended up being more expensive than if I'd taken a taxi and got plastered. Bugger.
My lovely friend Megan is heading home to Canada on Thursday (boo! I'm going to miss her so much that I'm following her hahaha!) and last night we had a leaving do for her at The Defector's Weld in Shepherds Bush. It started off as a rather sedate affair but six bottles of wine later became rather raucous. 
I should point out that - if you look closely at the above picture it shall provide proof - I was strictly on orange and cranberry juice as usual. There was much photo-taking of cleavages, mainly because our friend Kat has an incredibly impressive one. So impressive in fact, that at one point, that in the spirit of frivolity and in an attempt to prove that not drinking does not equal boring, I buried my head in it. 
It was very comfy, so I think Cornershop were probably right - everybody needs a bosom for a pillow. Anyway, later in the night two classic drunk scenarios occurred: firstly, Megan spotted a man in a kilt and decided to see what was underneath it. 
The usual. The second involved the misappropriation of a traffic cone for comedic purposes. Ah the old ones are the best, are they not? A jolly time was had by all. The only thing that was bloody annoying was that somehow I managed to get a sodding parking ticket, so my otherwise frugal night actually ended up being more expensive than if I'd taken a taxi and got plastered. Bugger.
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