Not really. I can't talk. I don't even have a home. And it was only 20 minutes walk from Dolly Day care ston. It's obviously time to leave the sanitised sceneland of Charterhouse and suck it up in a place where Harrie's friend saw someone stabbed at 11 am, and I personally was asked roughly for 50 pence for sweets by a tramp. As if mate. I told you, I don't have a home either. But if I did round here it would be twice the space of Islington, at half the cost. With exposed brick and wooden floors throughout.
So Mark and I oiled on our Shackleton jackets and made the short scenic journey to Alex and Tom's new super apartment just off Mare Street. It was a beautiful evening with beautiful food, delightful company, and the amount of wine that I'd forgotten
Alex can put away without forgetting the whole evening like me and only being able to piece it together from blurred phone photos and ten status likes on facebook.
I'd be careful I don't get too comfortable boys. Unlike Oates
I may not be some time getting back. Yes, this photo is your new bedroom.
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