Hypothetically, if I had tits, would you fancy me?

Beautifully articulated. It was a sign. The brunch had gone off well. Champagne flowing from 10am to 4pm. Wingeing about the crap English weather between puffs of rolled tobacco on the fire escape, 5 stories up. Frying up bacon, eggs and sausages for over 20 guests on the electric stove-top, hot oil spattering the tiled walls. Arguing about who has dibs on the big round cactus. Cameron calling the cabbage - no arguments there. Sarah branding me "vindictive" as Josi, Christophe, Andrew and herself loll about on the bed, attempting to theoretically decorate her room. Waking up for a late afternoon nap to go to a skeezy pub full of hairy old men to answer trivial pursuit questions and drink John Smith's. Did you know that Prince Charles was the first royal to give blood?