Feel it. It is here!
NO.MORE.SOFA-SURFING! I am done. Caput. Finito. Le Fin. Woop woop!
Thank you most graciously to all the friends who put me up for “just one week”… We all know that “just one week” to an African in London constitutes at least one month.
But my time has come. I am off and finally moving into Tooting Manor with my gingah surgeon loving best friend. I will have a bed! OMG!!!!! I’m so excited I may have pee-d myself a little. So far I have managed to convince her we need a Union Jack themed lounge. Long live the Queen. Rah-Rah. I am working on getting a burnt-orange coloured front door, but this is proving rather tricky. The issue with moving house in London is that there is no-one to do it for you. Unlike in Africa where you pay said removal and packing firm and go out for a boozey lunch in Sandton only to return to your new abode unpacked and shimmering. I am going to be lugging my wheelie-bags (and oh how full they are!) across London by bus, tube, boat (I may get lost…) and eventually into my Manor. Despite this. I cannot wait! It is time to take to the throne. And oh how well I shall alight to my position of monarchy as the “other” Lady of the Manor – Lady Tooter II. Also, it provides and ample double bed that needs christening. Dust of your heels ladies. Daddy’s got a brand new photographic jumpsuit and it’s hunting season! BAM!
On the goldfish front. Well, blind date went pear. Horribly horribly pear… for him! He was more queen than a tranny at a Britney tribute concert. Unfortunately, as mentioned before, there is only room for one queen in the little goldfish kingdom, and that is me! He irritated me, and then pretended I was his toy whilst he flattered me with attention and took it away at his mere whim. Unfortunately for him, I had my BAM on and proceeded to procure me two tall and strapping gents whilst out at the club – in front of him. And that put him firmly in his place. Don’t piss like a puppy if you are playing with the big dogs boys…
BAM!
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