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Put your hands up my skirt
13 comments
The Euston Street art is all to do with the bloody digging in Eversholt Street more fibre optics so the expansion into Camden for the business zone can continue
Ah, that makes sense. It looked like there was some big project going on, or being prepared for.
>>>9am and not a single person drinking.
Get yourself to Smithfield Market. You’ll find pubs which serve the meat-market workers pints at stupid-o’clock in the morning, along with clubbers taking the edge off their narcotics before they call it a night, and black-cab drivers grabbing a burger and a beer at the end of a night-shift.
I work near there (and spent a few years living nearby at the turn of the millennium) and it’s one of my favourite parts of the city. The whole place is dripping with history.
Ah yes – Smithfield, why didn’t I think of that? I was one of those clubbers once!
Having a house within staggering distance of Turnmills was a blessing and a curse.
Turnmills! My weekend home when I lived in London :) Good grief, the things that went on there!
So lucky to be in London. Say what you want, I love it and would get on a jet from JFK if I could.
I want a pied-à-terre in Covent Garden. Is that too much to ask for our of life? Apparently, so. That’s quite a boast the tout made. Life on the hustle. I’ve never been able to do it. I don’t like working for ‘the man’ but I do like his steady paychecks. I sleep better.
It’s hard to be happy for an ex-lover but it’s the right thing to do. You’re very evolved. Much more so than I. I have loads of ill-will for the boyfriends/husbands of my cast-offs.
I don’t like burning bridges with former lovers if at all possible. Even with Donna, once a bit more time has passed, I’d like to keep in touch. It’ll be a bit more difficult with her. I was surprised how upset I got on the phone to her.
If you’ve got 425K to spare you too could live in Covent Garden. You don’t even get a separate bedroom.
Must have seemed like heaven when it was still undivided & housing association. So there is something after heaven after all.
I know. There’s a one bed flat in Judd St going for 350. The advertise it as being ex council housing, so buyers know it’s good whilst rejecting the collective state-provided ethos that built the place.
It’s always a bit of a blow when we realize the door (legs) might be closed, yes we smile and attempt to say the right things but fuck all that, don’t tell me about how wonderful your new man is, tell me you want to fuck me in the hallway or toilet… and then shuffle on back to your wonderful new man, ah well.
I am genuinely pleased for Donna. It’s just that tinge of being rejected, but I wasn’t rejected – she contacted me first and from our first email on Thursday, we were in a hotel in Glasgow on Tuesday – and she was honest from the beginning that it wasn’t going to last, because of the distance. We fucked, (and the sex was brilliant, just superb – “I love how you look at me,” she said once. “I feel adored"), we went out dancing, we got drunk, and talked endlessly. She made me feel confident and attractive, whereas with most lovers, I feel that they put up with how I look as the cost of knowing me. Donna’s a loveable woman whom I will always remember with a great deal of affection.
It’s worth staying friendly with exes because if you’re lucky they’ll introduce you to their single friends once the dust settles.
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