Saturday was spent with my rabble-rousing blud, Hunter. We wiled away the afternoon by chasing the ghost of student protests. On the way to join the anti-capitalist march, we stopped off at Topman so Hunter could try on a snazzy skinny fit suit. He was keeping pace with the students on Twitter
“They’ve smashed up Vodaphone” he said with glee. “And they hassled Topshop.”
I bet Gap and Starbucks are really happy now that shouting about foreign problems has become passe.
The closest we got to disorder was a hen night shrieking on Deansgate.
Here’s what we missed:
I love the ‘Down with Stuff’ sentiment. Nice and vague.
I’m actually more gutted that we missed Bryan Ferry in Selfridges:
How bored does he look? I would have cheered him up by saying stupid jokes like “Do they sell fridges in Selfridges?”
fast forward a few hours, and me and Hunter start to drink. Things are a little hazy after this point, but I remember calling a chav girl a C*^* and then working really hard to convince her that it was term of endearment. She believed me too, the fool!
I also remember 2 house parties and the next thing I know, I wake up in Hunter’s mum’s bed.
Thankfully for all concerned, she wasn’t there. It took me several vacant moments to figure out where in the world I was.
The next surprise was that I had lost all of these things:
- Bag including ipod, shortcake biscuits and jelly babies AND midget gems (because I forgot about the jelly babies), phone charger and diary with all my work appointments which exist NOWHERE else.
This really is a record for me. A new stupidity high. So now I had to make my way home like one of those people you hope don’t sit next to you on the train; the smelly, red eyed, muttering figure who breaks social codes with every frazzled second of public appearance. This walk of shame lasted 2 hours and took in the ‘I’m so perfect’ hills of the Peak District (meh) , Carphone Warehouse (what is a car phone?) and McDonald’s. A chavtastic end to a lost weekend.