No not really. Perhaps though.
Oh but on Saturday I did end up stuck in a toilet cubicle in a club at Charing Cross, dying on the suffocation of my own vomit (which was coincidentally purple, like my hair).
No, for once, it was not my fault.
I'm pretty sure someone spiked my drink, awfully cruel if you ask me, as I paid 7 quid to get in and saw about 7 minutes of the evening, also I had not had a lot to drink and seeing as I am a student I think I can handle a couple of snakebites without passing out. I'm sure the culprit was a bartender who gave me my drink for free for no good reason (though at the time I turned to my friend and went "SCORE!" as spending £300 in Primark wasn't my best idea and now need to save). He looked suspicously like a bohemian Oompa Loompa (Tim Burton's Oompa Loompa, not the shite Gene Wilder version, which not only I despised, but so did Roald Dahl. This not only shows that the film was indeed crapola, but that I am also destined to be as amazing as Roald Dahl, obviously).
He really did look like this but without the crazy red all-in-one.
It's ashame he didn't look like this...
because then perhaps I would have seen that as a warning and not let him serve me.
I don't actually remember much, except looking at my shoes and thinking "Hmmm...this is new". I also have a passing memory of thinking "I bet my lipstick is like, completely smudged, chuh!" which shows how shallow I am really doesn't it.
Also I was wondering how I was ever in a million years going to get home as the lady I was with was with a new manfriend and I had told her I was going outside for a cigerette therefore she wasn't expecting me back anytime soon. And I couldn't physically stand up. That is when I passed out.
But, fortunately for you, I was found two hours later, half dead in the cubicle by a German female bouncer who I'm pretty sure looked a lot like Shrek but wasn't an layered onion like Shrek, full of courage and bravery in his love for Donkey and the Princess, she was just an evil fat woman who liked to exert her small bit of power on young intoxicated girls like myself.
As I was completely fucked and she was pulling me out of the club I may have got a little aggressive and said (slurred) something like "Can you just let me find my fucking friends you fat Nazi" but thankfully a friend found me before a full-blown brawl began, which I would have lost, as I had what I think was rohypnol in my guts, and I may be tall but have spaghetti arms and therefore would have got kicked in the head by the Shrek woman.
Anyway, I think I got home about 6. No harm done really except now I'm finding it hard to eat as I hurt my throat and chest throwing up and I had the worst hangover of my life all day Sunday, which is just inconvenient as God wouldn't even help me feel better, it was his day off. I can't complain though, he didn't let any Oompa Loompa lookalikes violate me while I was unconcious. Which is fucking lucky as this would have been the result.
And what am I meant to do with that.
So God does exist! Swell.
Anyway that is about it for now. Except I only have 9 working days left before I am set free into the wilderness of Good Times again, yeeees.
Today I was looking at reviews for the hotel Lisa and I are staying in Majorca. It promises popcorn and cheap vodka. Ohhh yes, popcorn. I hope it is like butterkist and not the shit stuff you get at Bluewater cinema, yeah thanks.
Goodbile.
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