Find of the Year.

After a lot of blog talk this afternoon with my housemates in this living room..
I have decided that I am going to post to this blog a lot more often. 



So, last week I took a trip back to family home in Luton. It was nice to go back to a warm house and have my parents cook for me and ride in nice cars, among with all the other pleasantries associated with the return home. The downside of the whole visit was me getting a cold.

Either way, no matter what the night did for my swine-cold, it doesn't matter. Because, thanks to the carelessness of a group of drug dealing pals, I picked up a real life £50 note.
The pals danced happily with their wads of fifties, when one escaped to land, almost like a delicate swan.. (albeit, one whose feathers were tarnished with the seedy grime and grit of the coke dealers pockets) onto the sticky floor of 'the Edge.' I swiftly handed the note over to Matt, who scurried away with it to check it's authenticity away from prying eyes.
[... I would like to mention...that the said note was lying on the floor looking incredibly lonely for a good 1minute and 5seconds before I summoned the courage to pick it up. I gave them a chance to reclaim it, and at this stage still suspected it to be a fake. I did not steal it...]

The night progressed with a joyous memento when Matt returned to rejoice in the news that the note was real. We celebrated with a dance to 'Read My Mind' and made our way to the chip shop, to change and split our findings. I was overcome with guilt when the 'happy pals' stopped to speak to me and Jade as we waited for the chaps outside the chip shop. They complimented our outfits and, my personal favourite pal, said that he liked my scarf and wanted to buy it off me. I was tempted to name a high price, knowing he may as well have had a gold brick tucked inside his coat pocket. Alas, I said it wasn't for sale, and they left. Earlier that night the same 'pal' had told me he liked my hair, and I returned the compliment. It was long with a fringe. He looked like a cross between a stoner from the 1970s and Hugh Fernly Whittingstall, it was cool. He had nice pointy shoes as well, not your stereotypical drug dealer. In hindsight, he and his pals, may have just preferred to deal with all their financial endeavours in cash. Instead of plastic debit cards, they choose to carry their 'current accounts' with them at all times. Their savings, tucked neatly into an old shoe box safely at home in the bottom of their wardrobes. Oh hell...maybe keeping it was a bad idea..


With that, and my cold.. I suppose that my karma is balanced again.