An Ace Bit of ‘Party Party’

When you can’t actually move your legs from celebrating the life of a friend by the name of ‘Dale’ who not only has been blessed with a delicious 30 years on the planet, but you have known since your late teen years and with the chosen art of celebration being ‘drinking from noon-til 3am’ in Leeds…then you know you’ve had a GREAT night. I loved it. I had the best time ever and i actually didn’t feel one bit hungover. I drank from 12noon and found myself still merrimenting at Not bad for a Glamour Puss in heels. Everyone went. Everyone loved it. Everyone got deliciously drunky and well when you’re night ends in a Pizza shop at 3.15am, with your friend ‘Chris’ trying to beat the balls out of a ‘Punching machine’…and being called a ‘Willy’ by a blond, after not knowing how to literally FIND the punching ball, let alone, *punch* it. He kept asking me for money for a Fanta, and everytime i’d give him a pound, he’d just get up and put it in the ‘Punching machine.’ Hilarious! Then i looked to my left and saw Wazza having a conversation with a chavy girl, with a mouth like a bin man, who not only had no shoes on, yet also decorated her feet with boils. We thought we were waiting for a Pizza, but really Wazza just wanted to socialise. ‘Pizza, what Pizza, i’m just here for the crack!’

I woke up this morning, in a baby pink jumper dress, and a pair of navy blue trackie bottoms, in Wazza’s bed, and with a medal around my neck. I mean you KNOW you must be Greatness, if you wake up, feeling lovely on a beautifully warm

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