When Reggae Got The Better Of Us…

Woke up on FairField Avenue, Pontefract, in a peach lace dress, a weave, and a pair of ‘too big for me,’ navy tracksuit bottoms, that i had managed to steal from a boy, in order for me to beable to have a better nights sleep. I promptly went back to sleep, due to ‘still feeling pissed-ness’ after a text message from Harriet informing me of her utter state of ‘rough’ and hearing the boys (Wazza & Dobbo) downstairs grumbling like they were…’still feeling pissed-ness.’ Most AMAZING night in Leeds ever. Madness, silver stilettos, Reggae dancing, RUM, birthdays, graffti, train journeys and that almost unbeatable, good old Yorkshire humour.  You know you’ve had a good night, when everyone who went to the ‘shindig’ felt AWFUL the next day. I did the walk of shame, covered in cat hair to Asda. Wazza called it ‘surreal’ to be grocery shopping with Me. (If there was drunk slag Barbie….You KNOW it bitches!) One party goer, was at a chip shop having people believe that, fully grown 12 year olds, we’re her children, one drove to

3 thoughts on “When Reggae Got The Better Of Us…”

  1. Look at how much fun we are clearly having.

    AND I didn’t vomit on my own face. Good night all round.

    (I did insist on eating my chicken nuggets naked on the bed while Dan died inside because he has to put up with this for the rest of his life. I think he was secretly disappointed that you didn’t storm in and beat him up with your handbag while screaming at him).

  2. The last thing i ever heard Dan say to me was ‘DO NOT COME BACK TO MINE AND BEAT ME.’ I’m not really gonna go with the he was ‘secretly disappointed’ option.

    Chicken nuggets naked in bed. You kinky little so & so


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