Some girl in the queue for the loo, full face on, calling my dress tarty. I smiled, took a photo anyway, and posted it before last orders. She can cope.
Tag: nightlife
Afters With No Speakers
Ended up in a warehouse kitchen in Hackney Wick, twelve people, one Bluetooth dying, someone’s Deliveroo arriving at 6am. I still call it a party. Sophie calls it a cry for help.
He Called Me By Her Name
I still finished. Then I told him. Then I put it in the blog. Honesty is my vice, remember?
I Ghosted Him Mid Sentence
He started explaining tokenomics at 1am. I went to the loo and just… left. Peak self-care. Also peak content.
Last Tube Then Walked
Missed it on purpose because he lived in Bermondsey and the night wasn’t finished. Blisters, a stolen espresso martini in a plastic cup, and a sunrise I will absolutely post.
Cloakroom Queue Was Criminal
Soho, Saturday, one toilet cubicle with a lock that actually worked. We still managed. I lost an earring and gained a story. The attendant definitely knew. I tipped her anyway.
Walk Of Pride In Daylight
No jacket. His socks. Sunglasses I found in the Uber. A woman with a pram looked at me like I’d invented sin. Morning.
Mia Booked A Surprise Stripper
For my “un-birthday”. He was late, polite, and ended up drinking our wine. I tipped him in leftover pizza.
Toilet Stall At The Standard
Queue outside, his hand over my mouth, my back against the cistern. Lipstick everywhere. Walked out like nothing happened and ordered another dirty martini.
He Brought A Toothbrush
That’s when I knew he’d decided this was more than afters. I hadn’t. I let him stay anyway because the lighting in my room is flattering at 8am and I’m weak.