The rosy pink cheeks of sin

Yesterday I 'helped' my dear friend Park pack up her flat and sell her belongings in preparation for her impending move to bro-town. I am terribly sad that she is leaving and that I will never be able to pick my way past such an incredible selection of pot plants on my way to her flat ever again.

Rather than dwell on all that is sad and final about her leaving, however, lets make lemonaids, shall we and be more upbeat and pollyanna-ish, as is our want. (All you haters sitting out there thinking "herbert = happy go lucky pollyanna?!" yo' don't know me! So there!)

Things that have been pretty awesome about 'helping':

• riding shotgun in a fancy car (it is truly one of my favouritest things in the whole world to sit next to someone dear to me as they drive around. If there is a radio playing so-bad-its-good music for me to sing along to, so much the better)
  
• Wearing enormous, diamante-speckled "wedding" sunglasses inside
  
• Taking time out from packing to sit in cafes (various) to eat cake while each of us read separate, awful, trashy magazines (and exclaim loudly over the contents)
  
• Wearing diamante encrusted sunglasses, inside, while moving things in... not just mono, not just stereo but trio-a-phone. And then making up a speaker system that means three times the fury just for the hell of it
  
• Perfecting the art of 'helping' with Hottness. We realised, as each of us found our perfect slump on the futon couch from which to watch three other people struggle with moving a queen size bed out of the way and down four flights of stairs, that together we had combined our powers of helping to new heights.
  
• Finally hearing the real version of "the first cut is the deepest"
  
• Gin and tonics and 'Dude, where's my car?'
  
• Running shrieking into the sea
  
• Finally finding some joy in knowing all the words to Rick Astley's song in a fish and chip shop somewhere in Brighton