"What I do isn't upto you & if the city never sleeps, then that makes two."

I've said before that when things get tough, I run off to London. I spend hours sat on my best friend's sofa, eating this amazing toast that only tastes right if her Mum makes it, drinking alcohol at 1pm with her lovely boyfriend while she's at college and just having a blast.
There's nothing negative about it; we could be sat in complete silence watching football (definitely not my favourite thing) and it's still perfect. She doesn't believe me when I say that it doesn't matter what we're doing, whether we're running around London together watching live music or sat in her conservatory playing Bomberman, but I genuinely enjoy myself. I love the atmosphere her house holds and more importantly, I love her family. I feel so comfortable around them that I've pretty much elected myself as part of their family and they don't get a say in the matter.

There's not many people that I feel comfortable enough around to sit with while wearing embarrassing pyjama bottoms, no make-up and a hoody emblazoned with their least favourite football team's badge. Although they say they've accepted the fact that it means nothing to me, football wise, and it just keeps me warm, I'm pretty sure her Dad's been plotting how to burn it. They are strictly a Chelsea/Arsenal/Spurs household.


I have too many memories of their house; 5 years old, pretending to be The Spice Girls (I was always Posh Spice, because we have the same name, and Helen was always Baby as she has blonde hair and is ADORABLE, even now). 9 years old and fighting over which member of Westlife we were going to marry. 13 years old and talking about boys while cuddled up in her single bed. 17 years old, getting back to her house at 1am with Morleys takeaway slightly tipsy after the Frank Hamilton gig...I could go on for days, there are that many but I'm losing track of what this blog post was originally supposed to be about.

Regardless of what we do, we always have the best time. That's why I run away to her house when things get a little cloudy in my small town. Don't get me wrong, I love seeing her and I hate having to say goodbye, but I feel so at ease when I'm at her house and that's what I love more than life. Because it doesn't matter what's going on in our heads or in the world around us because when we're sat in her conservatory, surrounded by music magazines, old photos and childhood memorabilia, everything is fine...well, for me at least, Helen's usually annoyed by my constant chatter.

I'm going to be spending about 12 nights being pushed off the sofa by one of two cats (if I'm lucky, both) and just enjoying myself. My train tomorrow is at 9.39am and although the early start is going to kill me, I'm pretty excited. Roll on the next 2 weeks because I can't wait to annoy Helen, get drunk with her boyfriend, act in an inappropriate manner with her Mum, watch music documentaries with her Dad and have the offside rule explained to me by her brother.


Seeya later Eastbourne, it's time for me to show London who's boss xxx