The Cani Invasion: Day 2 (ish)

Pictorial evidence of drunken behaviour - always the most positive way to commit a good evening to memory. On Cani's second day here in Londinium Town, Loaf and Willis joined us for an evening of alcohol and far too much food, packed tight in my miniature flat with glasses of vodka and (once Willis arrived) champagne.

There are plenty of pictures with which to bore you because Cani and I were enthusiastic subjects (unlike poor Loaf and Willis, who very patiently wielded the camera and were thrust in front of it while we insisted on endless angles and poses for everyone).

Still, nothing wrong with a good set of shots, eh? Our day of drinking began suitably early, with a vodka and coke thrust towards Loaf the second he walked through the door, our glasses refreshed constantly as we watched silly movies (Doom might be daft, but Karl Urban needs to give me babies), administered to our hair (that would be Cani's dye-and-straighten extravaganza) and ate muffins and Rolo doughnuts (best invention ever? I'm thinking so).

At some point we wandered into Second Life for a discussion about the relative merits of skins and eyes, as you do, and spent some time shouting drunkenly at Thema and Autumn (and others, but my memory is a little fuzzy).

Eventually Willis arrived, and had to be fetched from the station. Nobody fell over on the way, not even Loaf. Absolutely not, no stumbling at all.

We headed - after a phenomenal amount of fussing and photo-taking, into Kingston, the idea being that we show our faces in Oceana, a huge club I've never actually been to but boasts a French parlour room, a New Orleans lounge and lots of other swanky bits and pieces that I took to imply sofas to collapse on and more alcohol.

Our plans were very slightly scuppered, however, when I tottered off to the bathrooms, managed to slip on a wet patch (I'm trying to avoid guessing what it was, if that's all the same to you) and knocked myself out on the way down. At least a thousand people woke me up asking if I was alright, to which I replied a thousand times that I was absolutely fine and staggered to my feet. Promptly passing out again for a little nap on the floor. The lengths I'll go to to nan are obscene.

So that was that, sadly - no clubbing for us, just a gentle bus ride home supported by Loaf, who may very well be the loveliest man on the planet and deserves yet another medal (thank you Loaf!). I was fine, you'll all be very relieved to hear, but a little woozy and sporting a cute little bump on my forehead (still bloody hurts).

So, like the fashionable set we are, we ended the night with The Devil Wears Prada in our jim jams. What better way?