Joris and the Gypsies

Fucking hell. Since I got back from London my room has been an explosion of optional outfits and mini Smarties and I've been promising myself I'll tidy it up for 'when the girls come'... Clare arrived last night and Amy is coming in about three hours and it's still a horrendous mess. Luckily, they can both stay at Kayt's for the mean time, but it's so depressing having a messy bedroom. I wish someone would tidy it. But who though?

On the bright side, I have just got back from having my eyebrows threaded. I know I said I was going on Saturday, but I got really hungry and went for lunch instead, it was actually quite eventful- someone Kayt used to have sexual acitivities with was in the same restaurant, so Kayt ran out into the street and left me on my own, looking like a greedy, friendless freak with unkempt eyebrows.... But tonight I've gone from having hairy little caterpillars nestling above my eyes to, erm... well, I can't really think of an appropriate insect to compare them to. What are those very, very thin, black worms called? They are too thin, is the long and short of it. But I still love them. I can't stop stroking them in a Sinister Way. They are so smooth and perfect... shame they are as thin as a spider's thigh.

Anyway, on my way to La Chapelle (note to self: next time take a Male Escort, or at least wear a fake beard to avoid feeling like an alien on a planet full of men), I went into Naf Naf and bought some black ankle boots in the sale. I've only had them for one hour and I don't like them anymore. My idiotic spending habits are RUINING MY LIFE.

In other news, I have tried to finish telling you about New Year's Eve so many times, but every time I try to write a blog post about it I either run out of time before I have to leave for work, or I read back what I've written and it's a load of shit. I feel like I can't write anymore. Asides from my blog, I have quite a few Secret Writing Projects that I've been working on and at the moment I can't do anything with any of them. My inspiration has evaporated. But as any good doctor will tell you, waitressing really is the most common cause of Writer's Block. The only problem is, I have a Funny Feeling that I'll be waitressing for a good few  years yet...

Still. It's always satisfying to finish what you started, so I'll give New Year's Eve another bash just for continuity's sake: I think I got up to the part where the Eastender's couple went home? After that we all went back to Sophie's flat and carried on the party. From Eastender's we briefly tuned into Coronation Street... Erm, someone may have ever so slightly Kicked Off with my cousin's boyfriend... but after I eventually calmed down (oh come on, obviously the someone was me) and it was all ok in the end. Apart from there was a huge, hairy man called Jamie at the party who nobody would admit to bringing. He had a bandage on his finger and kept telling everyone it had been bleeding for three weeks.

"Do you think I should go the hospital?" he was asking everyone.
"YES, you freak." was the resounding answer.

Jamie also claimed he was born in 1974, even though he looked about twenty five, and he kept trying to take over the music and put Bucks Fizz on. I asked him how he had gotten into the party and he said "Oh I was at another party a few doors down, but it got a bit weird, everyone kept taking their clothes off."

It eventually transpired that my cousin's boyfriend Dan had brought him along, after seeing him dancing in someone's window dressed only in a pair of Speedos. Everybody else at the party had been fully-clothed. Dan invited Speedos Man, or Jamie, to our party but soon regretted it when Jamie pushed Dan into an empty bedroom and demanded a blow job.

You live and learn!

The next day I felt terrrible and couldn't face another night out. Rather unwillingly, I left Sophie and her flatmates watching films and ordering Thai take-away and got the tube to Clapham. And GUESS WHO I SAW ON THE TUBE?!

Actual real people from 'My Big Fat Gypsy Weddings'!

There were four young girls, all wearing teeny tiny dresses and holding their stripper-esque high heels in their hands. They all had very long hair and ballroom dancer-style make-up on. At first I thought they were tiny ladies but a closer inspection revealed that they were about thirteen years old. They were discussing loudly the events of the night before.

"I'm going to tell Mammy what he wa' doing to her."- There was no mistaking their Irish Traveller accents.

There was one lad with them who looked about sixteen and it was him that I recognised from the programme. When he got on the tube, I kid you not, he said:

"No, no, listen, he wasn't trynna grab her, he just wanted to talk wi' her!"

Everyone on the tube was listening intently, looking incredulously at these Real Life Specimens from 'My Big Fat Gypsy Weddings'. I genuinely love that programme, I don't watch it because I want to laugh at Irish Travellers and I was really surpised to see loads of people openly laughing at them. I looked at the people laughing on the tube and I thought 'Why do you think it's ok to laugh? Don't you respect other people's  cultures? Don't you know what Bare Knuckle Fighting is? If he sees you laughing you might find out.'

That Gypsy Weddings encounter MADE MY YEAR.

By the time I got to Ricky's (where all the girls were getting ready, maybe we should start calling it Ricky's Pop Up Make-Over Shop) I'd almost forgotten that the last time I saw Kat was in the foyer of our hotel in Ibiza, FOUR MONTHS ago! Ah. I feel like my fleeting visits to London are never long enough.

I can't describe how good the night was. No, I'm really not going to, I'm too tired to write and I need to tidy my room and get ready to go out. But you don't need me to sum it up for you with words, click here and you can listen to Simian Mobile Disco's live set from the night...

I had such a good night. My hangover miraculously disappeared as the music got better and better. I felt all Confident and Happy- I don't know what came over me. In fact, I'm afraid that I might have acted a lot like a  Dickhead all night. Although I remember saying to someone that I felt 'like a Disney princess' so perhaps my paranoia isn't completely unfounded...

But if I was being a Proper Nobhead all night- wrapped up in my own little fantasy world, where everyone liked me and my eyeliner hadn't smudged halfway down my face- then one can only hope that everyone else was in pretty much the same way and they didn't notice.





I have made up my mind to definitely move to London. But the main reason I want to move there is so I can go out every weekend and listen to good music. Is that a bad reason? Will it all end in disaster? I know so many people who have tried to 'do London' but they've lost themselves in the fabled smog and sprawl of the city...

Right, I have to go out drinking now, hold that thought.