ireland & shorts

Flight was delayed by a few hours yesterday.

When I'm in an airport, with nothing to do, I do either one of two things:
1) Shop
2) Drink

If I can do the two at the same time, then all the better. (Drinking + shopping is the best way to have instant fun and spend your pension! Totes irresponsible! Totes amazeballs!)

Anyway, so I went and bought myself a ridiculeux pair of tweed shorts from Ted Baker.

These exact ones. Fuck. Yes.
It's a small miracle that I only walked out with the shorts and not a pile of other shit that I probably don't need, but had to have in that moment in time.

I blame Aer Lingus (Cunnilingus? You guys didn't think of that in Ireland?) for my hasty spending in the Gatwick airport branch of Ted Baker.

The shorts are totes amazing though. Am wearing them today. In cold, grey Dublin. Tweed is so hot when it's cold. Let's be honest.

So I'm at this conference, and there are 3000 people here. All from my company. After a few sessions yesterday, the bulk of people - myself and my team member included - were shunted over to this ginormous Georgian warehouse, somewhere in Dublin.

Therein we had a few well-earned Guinness' (Guinness in Ireland tastes dreamy. In WeightWatcher terms, it's the equivalent of a whole chocolate fondant.

Bitch please. I know this. I pay ten quid a month to use the super duper 'food tracker.'

A pint of Guinness is also the same as one serving of roast potatoes. Or two servings roast chicken. Or a pie.

And I had three last night. Feeling like a donkey's scrotum when I woke up, and almost stayed in my bed, laughed off the conference, and ordered in a bowl of potatoes and watched Irish TV.

But I would've got into trouble for bunking, and besides, my tweed shorts won't get to shine inside a hotel room. These motherfuckers need to be seen in public.

Huge eighties party tonight. More Guinness I suspect.

These tweed shorts might not make it to the end of the week at this rate, what with all the potatoes and black beer.