Went to St Paul's Cathedral the other day, and whilst walking up the million and twenty five thousand stairs in a very small and winding passage way, i managed to smack my head at least four times, quite hard, on the low roof and pipes. It was fun... i was puffing like a mother fucker, claustrophobic with no way out, my hair was in my face, i was hot as hell and i kept smashing my numb-skull.
Anyhoo... so yesterday i, like any Aussie in London worth their salt, was at the Church and later the Walkie at She-Bu. You see, i always wanted to be one of those small girls that men would pick up and throw over their shoulder. But now i'm not so sure.
There was a man... he must have been the size of the Incredible Hulk, cause god knows, i'm not exactly small... and for some reason, he was jumping, and he wanted me to jump.
I didn't want to jump, but he really seemed to want me to jump. So he picked me up and started jumping up and down, while i squealed and squealed to 'put me dooooowwwwnnnnnn! *giggle*' ...that's the way it's done, right?
After he'd finished with me, i enquired about his poor back and if perhaps he'd strained it under my (considerable) heft. He then proceed to show us all how very strong he was by picking me up properly this time... and lucky me! He managed to pick me up right under a low hanging beam in the roof.
With an all mighty THUD i was out cold and slumped arse up in the air, over his shoulder. AWESOME. My mate sees me being carried away by the Incredible Hulk and
So two things... firstly, it's lucky i've got no brain, cause if i did it'd be fucked anyway after this week. And secondly, i'm glad i'm not small... cause when you think about it; it'd be fucked to be small, cause then i wouldn't have been able to see the dirty stripper at the Church... and van dam, was she dirty.