It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. An age of burrito.
I suddenly thought to myself ‘is this all a burrito has to offer?’ I looked at the choices in front of me and had decided I’d made every sort of burrito combination that was humanly possible for the price range I often set to during my lunch periods.
Then I got asked a curious question. ‘Do you want guacamole?’
I stopped and pondered at the idea….I mean, I like guacamole don’t get me wrong, and I’m sure the quality of their guacamole is top notch, but is it really worth a pound?
Maybe it was the chill from the winters air or maybe the fumes from the freshly steamed veg, whatever it was I said ‘yes’. At that point in time the price didn’t even matter. I was looking forward to a whole new burrito experience.
I fear that now I have experienced it I may never change my ways. That is to say now I have gone guac, I am never going back!
(I’d pay up to £1.29 for it in my burrito in future.)
P.S. Billy also says ‘holey guacamole’ but that’s less cool.
Last night we went in out Camden to celebrate my 25th birthday…I’m an old girl now.
We graced the usual joints; The Ellies Head, The Good Mixer…I enjoyed a lovely cold pint of Guinness (see the unflattering and slightly drunk snap) with my wonderful mate Daisy. She will one day be an amazingly famous actress. She has an awesome old man dog who wears polo shirts.
By mistake I upset a young lady who was doing her make up in the loo by calling her (iTunes) DJ boyfriend a miserable selector…ooops. He was actually using iTunes to DJ off (for real) and playing awful mopey music. Cheer up lad!
Today, like most Sundays, I woke up feeling that familiar zombie-esque numbness caused by the tequila from the night before. Last night was a fun trip to Forest Hill to see The JJs and a very good friend of mine spin some Rocksteady in a nice little pub. This morning I refused to let the Guinness get the better of me and hopped on a train to Soho. To fuel my desire to beetle about a grey and rainy tourist location I decided a bit of spendiness was called for. Two new Dancehall albums, two centres, two slip matts, 3o sleeves and 1 Oi DVD later I sat in Bar Italia, dying.
1 Cappuccino, Italian football and a Bradley Wiggins moment later it was home time. Victoria line, Piccadilly line, Mama’s pizza with extra jalapenos, chocolate, pyjamas, vinyl playing…bed.