Like the drink, only not spelled the same.

So... Raphaella Dearest, what's the fecking story?

Well you may or may not have heard, that things have been a smidgen Mc-Shitty over at camp Raph? Yes that’s right; castle 'Withlove' was well and truly under attack on the thirty first day, of the Emerald gem month. Goodbye Macintosh, memories and all things under the modelling vs. relationship umbrella since 2010.

I’d  really love to say, that im ready to peel back the emotional aid. But the sobering truth is, I can't seem to look past the fact, my front door looks like it’s had run-in with a JCB.

Do I feel violated? Damn straight I do. 

I actually feel a little wrongfully prosecuted, by the whole ordeal. It's as if, im awaiting some God awful, Alabama torture-tank sentencing. Whilst the real McCoy offender, sits upon his cesspit, stenching of my partner’s favoured cologne, masturbating over a slide-show shrine, named me.

Well...It’s kinda like death-row, minus the forthcoming, immanent 'death' part. (Well for now that is.)

But, I’m if I’m to whip out the 'Texas-chainsaw' bread-knife, on Mr. exasperating Locksmith again, I could quite soon be cuddling up to John Coffey. (*Moral of the story:  Choose your method of knocking carefully...if your aiming to similulate Krakatoa, you WILL get a kitchen knife to the anus.)

My lady lumps however, do appear to have 10 rounds with the Corporal Punishment practitioners already. After my overly ambitious bod, fell from what seemed like a happy-to-hang-from type tree (no pun intended) on a most-excellent recent Yerbury workshop.

Oh and then there’s this yee old (self diagnosed, I must admit) diabetes rash that has been accessorising my right Tibia, for a rather significant 6weeks now. I wasn’t en-facto aware that I was Diabetic, I guess I should probably triple jump my way into the GP's office, on the double.... but I think I’ll go for a picnic instead. I mean Jaysus, who wouldn’t  wanna go for an outdoorsy  whirl, with a backpack full of finger-food, when you’ve got a push ironing as freaking cool as this?

Well you know, it’s not (how do you say it?) 'literally' mine. I kinda did some serious purse plunging in aid of the handsome, other half’s 22nd birthday bash. But I’m pretty sure I can hitch a ride upon his meaty shoulders, for the mere 8mile migration to the park. Teehee!

Anyhow back to the story...  I guess the 'sophisticated' thing to say around about now, is that im just thankful, that neither I, nor cute boyfriend, where present at the time of the attack (well 'burglary' technically, but that doesn’t sound quite so blockbuster). 

OK, so the horrid news was impeccably timed in its pursuit of my attention; approximately 4.4minutes before I boarded my 24hr flight back from the other-worldly British Virgin Islands. (Yes the flipping Virgin Islands!). Which made for a rather tearful/stomach churning, slog of a journey home, to say the very least. The fact that my seat was dismissive in my heartfelt plea of its recline, for much of the flights entirety. In addition to the, sods-law botched monitor, I was regretfully granted; that resembled something like, a cross between, the Teletext holidays & Poltergeist....really wasn’t of much help, on the emotional wellbeing front and all.

And as for you... Mr. Servant in sky!... Next time ill just take the pretzels, thanks. You can leave your luscious servings of patronization and ageist, ego-distichal tendencies in the overhead lockers.

AHHHH.... American Airlines, the armpit of Aerospace since 1934.

OK, well Im developing a hernia, just thinking about those trans-Atlantic hooligans and the home-sweet-home looters. So here's some of the Va-Va-voom, born in June, beauties, created last week in the beautiful South of France.

Copyright: The Magnificent RBB2.

Stay tuned next week, for more Caribbean Island lowdown-ness and all that other pretty European jazz.

WithLove and Hugs Raphaella x