Showing posts with label shit got real. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shit got real. Show all posts

Wednesday, 29 October 2014

Coque au vin


Shit has been going down round here as we gear up big stylez for holibobs. Outlandish culinary adventures, new turntables, going round markets looking for cheap shit, pension plans and running (again. zzzz) have all bee upside the mix...

New deck - right heavy

Toilet issues

The bible

David Cameron at home

BBQ - outside - in October - stick that in your gob Michael Fish

Scrutton Street - aka Chug avenue

'ello hun

Only 32 years until retirement - half way there

The secret detective

Fuck off mate

Santino Rice
The Winchester - now flats. Standard


Sweaty (podgy) betty

Sunday, 16 January 2011

Shit's got real



Chaos has reigned of late - Thursday nights have become THE night to drink everything in sight - meaning the Fridays of the new year have been character building exercises in endurance and stamina. Despite any efforts to cover up the night before, the red eyes always give the game away. Rats. Last Thursday culminated in giving a man with a beard a phone number in local late night haunt the Dolphin. 'Why?' is a question that will hopefully never be fully answered.

Elsewhere we ventured down the London Fields birthday for a messy 40th, acquired a new flat mate and sourced and subsequently purchased a bottle of Buckfast - the de rigeur drink for the Scottish alcoholic. A sampling session is imminent as the first pay day of the year is still more than a week away...



No



Losing one's edge



It's a Batty Rymer birthday Buckfast kinda ting



Wonky shit



When collaborations go fucking weird



Thursday night whine



Welcome to Hackney



Bargain business