Good evening, or should I say morning?
I am sitting here drowning my sorrows with a Fab ice lolly desperately trying to avoid the wet perils of my bed, after stupidly spilling another ENTIRE bottle of the damn Tresemme; upon on the sheets, on the mattress on the duvet, in fact its actually coming out of my ears right now. I may just cry.
Im begging to feel like a winer...And winers are weeners and i really dont want be a weener. So sorry.
But you really arnt hoing to belive this.
After breaking land speed record to catch a Northern rail tin of sardines, I plonk my sweaty butt on the last seat available. I pull back my steamy Raybans to reveal my worst nightmare.. some kind of pitbullish grunting and growling specimen of a dog on a ludicrously short lead. His owner complete in some kind of bin-bag black tracksuit with a face that screams hold onto your wallets. ...oh great!.
After my half marathon I was rocking the classic super shiny T-zone and mush which really didn't go with my outfit unfortunately. So I pull out my foundation and punch down on the pump, of which I was unaware the nozzle was facing the opposite direction....ARGHHH!! and in what felt like a whole 5 minutes my fawn foundation fireworked forward and smothered this delightful predator (the chav not the dog) down his forearm. ....SHIT!
Like a miracle out of scripture he didn't notice, but the other 500 commuters did and as he causally pulled his hood up (as you do on the train) the whole carriage started howling as he smudged it on his upper arm and chest.
OK...breathe.....shades back on and die!!!
Luckily he departed at the next stop and I got away un murdered, but the dog did kindly leave a souvenir of his saliva upon my peep toes!
Bad day? Bad week? NO.. BAD RAPH!
Here I am looking a little more angelic, adorning a princess dress not a straight jacket.
By the lovely Chris Harris.