Dating, drinking and (bad) decisions: the story of the twenty-something girl in London

I first decided to write this blog almost four years ago, at around the same time that I’d first decided to try and “be a proper grown up”. I’d just moved from Deptford to East Dulwich, I could still get a seat on the train out of Peckham Rye in the morning and I was on the precipice of being able to drink Prosecco rather than Blossom Hill’s finest rosé, even mid-week…

You can see it went well.

Back then (as you might have guessed) I was prone to statements of intent that were rather grander than my actions (read: absolutely no follow through) and, as a result, it has taken us a while to get here. But here we are! – and I say “we” deliberately, as I have, in essence, called in the cavalry. These words are – and will continue to be – a result of more than one frantic WhatsApp conversation, the genuine promise of psychological support and many, many bottles of wine consumed between at least two, and sometimes three of us. The result is, I hope, something you will like.

I can’t promise that it will be any less awkward to read than my recently rediscovered LiveJournal (“This is the story of a girl, who cried a river and drowned the whole world…”) (I know!) but at the very least, it will be honest. Here follows a record of the drinking, dating and (bad) decisions of a twenty-something girl in London.


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