Gloating time

Truth be told, I only came here to spill my absolute joy of finally giggifying London.

After a completely fucked up and crap-arse day in every single way, 9pm onwards was a different story......................

Holy CRAP I had an awesome night at Blackalicious the last evening. It was so awesome, that I still have random flying bits of awesome shooting out of my ear-pores.

Ok, I'm exagerrating slightly. The sound in the Camden Town Jazz Cafe was fucking SHIT, there was a helluva lot of feedback, and the lead singer dude was far too stoned to figure out what was going on. Ear-piercingly loud squeels from the speakers weren't the highlight of the night.

But by fuck, it was fantastic. Em & I thought to hell with being tight-arses, and bought far too many drinks vs what we could afford. Its 1.09pm the following day, and I'm still feeling the effects.

The venue had this eerie Rics vs The Arena feel to it - and the photos I took really don't do it any justice. Mainly cos its a shit camera.

And I really don't have to speak any words regarding the quality of men at this event. The goosebumps are permanently prickling my neck, and they speak for all. I got a case of the scaredies and just didn't approach any of them. I was suddenly well aware of my Aussie accent, and how moronic I sounded.

In other news, my Virgin (I am Richard Branson's bitch) c'card has seen far too much movement lately. £30 was recently added to my ever-expanding debt, for a ticket to Franz Ferdinand which I am hotly anticipating, come December 1.

Ok, tis all for now. I am riding a musical high all the way to the Bank Holiday weekend, which I imagine I will spend cruising opshops. My lack of attire is distressing me, as is my need to rumage.