Quiche 'n' Shisha Night

Six sarong-ed sixth-formers in a room swirling with smoke and rippling reggae. Snapshots of familiar faces cover every inch of wall, with scraps of NME articles and stubs of tickets stuck to the ceiling,,, Noel Fielding smirking as I blow smoke-rings up at him. Peering glumly through a tank of murky water, Holly's two remaining fish look slightly disapproving as the evening's antics unfold...

After a week of working like some sort of essay-churning android, last night was just what I needed. A few gathered friends, chilling with Francis Hookah, a couple bottles of Cava and a few Co-op quiches. As Patrick said, pouring bubbly into a smily-face mug whilst switching Bob Marley to Bare-naked Ladies and adjusting his Leprechaun hat, "Its like the 90's again. Or is this what they did in the 80's?... (Pause for thought) Well, I feel fucking retro anyway."
I don't know about retro. But it felt right.
So jealous of Holly having a balcony. Must have been a classic sight; Six of us, clambering out the window one by one to huddle together in the three-man tent, just enough of the flap open to see the stars; trippy, high up, spaced.

Waking up this morning to the thought of a half hour walk home and three hours of babysitting wasn't so great. But I'm feeling mellow and happy, and this weekend should be the chance to catch up on much needed sleep. I also need to finish the whole of To Kill A Mockingbird for our bookclub on Tuesday,,, a soiree on spark-notes will be the end of this endeavor, I foresee. Though a long, hot bubblebath and a full-on book-absorption is tempting...
 

British piss-take standup = excellent for comedy munchies

 

Ps. I miss my One Love. And I'm not just talking about Mr. Marley.