It’s 9am and I am on a train to Cornwall for a three day girls only weekend.
I’ll be honest, I might not survive this.
Also, I am a bit unsteady about walking up to a small town (population 100,000) with a proper born and raised East Londoner and a small town girl from the city we are going to but is now covered in tattoos and probably won’t be recognized in her own hometown.
It’ll be one for the history books.
These are the kinds of girls that when you think you’ve had a bit too much, they hand you a shot. The kind of girls that don’t stop and offer you a mimosa at 8 in the morning.
No, I am not exaggerating.
It’s simple. If you are able to handle your liquor then you were welcome to the weekend. If not, please try again next year.
I passed the test.
However, I am not big on drinking but with my departure rapidly approaching, I could not pass up a weekend with the girls who were there at my lows, at my highs, occasionally being my eyes and ears and knocking the sense back into me when I was hung up on stupid boys.
They are the kind of girls you’d like to have around.
Also, a born and raised east Londoner will have your back in any situation though I have to give a bit of credit to one of my Irish housemates who when he thought I was upset over a boy, was waiting for a cue from another housemate in case he had to walk in with his bottle of alcohol. It might not be the healthiest method of recovery but we are in England, what did you expect?
Now only a few hours before we walk into our chalet for the weekend.
Cornwall, you do not know what is going to hit you.