Oxford Street And Why Everything I Like Turns to Gold.

Yo. One has been quite busy, and a post is sorely needed.
So, yesterday, Leela and I hit Oxford Street hard, Livin It Up in jean shorts, Hilfiger rags and shades. Since it was a day so packed with laughs, wouldn't-stop-for-a-war-veteran-traffic and dead-leg-shopping, here's a rundown of the kick-ass-day

• The two of us observing an incredibly awkward train conversation, in which a Scottish lady got completely left in the shit by a hacked-off-mum. We laughed our asses of, and tried to diffuse the situation - 'Hey Look... CORN!
• Walking into the Pret A Mange kitchens, thinking it was extra seating. 'Oh, right. Well, now I can complain about this crappy sandwich much more directly'.
• First time I've ever entered a shop in which they take the clothes away after you've tried them on.
• Commented on a shoe, turned into some sort of racial appreciation. 'I like the black one'.
• A tubby American Fat Fighter in Selfridges, wearing shorts WAAAAY too small for her physique - 'Please, you gotta gimme something, I'm gonna BREAK OUT!'
• A Camden Brevrin inviting us to his couzns b-day bash in 2 weeks. 'Are you 2 an item my man?', 'No, no we're not mate', 'Ah, then you'll be pleased to know that the turnout for the party is often 75% bootifool ladeez'. Leah didn't respond well to that fact. No-sir-ee. We were half-tempted to reply, after his 20-minute speech, 'Excuse moi monsieur, we are from errr, Marseilles. We come only for weekend. Merci. Au revoir, err 'bledren'
• Zombies on the Tube. No Joke.

Oh, and the Black Eyed Peas hit the record for 20 weeks at Number 1 today. Loved em when they were underground ;) I'm proud.