As I stared at the male genitals drawn on my forehead, I am reminded of the tequila shots and Jager bombs I so graciously consumed the night before, their flavours still manifesting on my tongue.
My tummy is grumbling, but how could this be? Every night in London consisted of drinking and eating. After a night at the pub, my friends and I would stop off at the local takeaway shop to satisfy our drunken needs. It was your number one choice for anything greasy, hygiene not so much, but they did make the BEST ¼ pounder I had ever had. This was no Macca’s burger it had all the usual suspects plus chilli sauce and jalapenos.
However on this particular night I did not have my burger. I remember having my first tequila shot and the second. I remember talking to the man with the lushly long hair and running my hands through it. Awkward! I remember walking into a metal club, I didn’t quite fit in here everyone wore black, I was in a zebra print dress. I remember being groped on the bum by a female. It was different. I remember showing the cab driver everything that I drank that night.
Apparently I had passed out when we got home. So my friends thought it was only fair to eat my burger until I woke up demanding it, I whinged and cried for an hour because they had eaten my burger. Then I officially passed out and became a canvas.
“Welcome to London” is the response I received from my friend in the morning.
I still dream about that burger, as for the shots NEVER AGAIN!