Work, as I'm sure you're pretty tired of reading about because I'm pretty tired of writing about it, has been manic. Yes, it's doing so well, and we're getting more press than ever since I started heading up their PR and marketing *puffy up feathers like a proud pigeon* and new opportunities are opening up etc etc but it's come at a cost where I feel drained at the end of the day. Regular late nights and far, far too much Red Bull have left me more knackered than a sloth being chased by a panther. Maybe I'm getting old. No. No it's YOU that's the problem.
So, making the most of a sunny afternoon and some free time, David and I decided to whisk ourselves away for a day and head on down to London Town for some retail therapy (and perhaps a cheeky glass of prosecco).
My first stop was Karine Jackson's by Covent Garden. Ever since I first met Karine just under a year ago I haven't trusted anyone else with my locks. My hair is awful, thinning and broken, so I need someone sympathetic who can work wonders with what's essentially, nightmare hair. Like, Edward Scissorhands hair. Professor Weetos hair. The salon is literally a five minute walk away from Tottenham Court Road and minutes from Covent Garden itself, although you do have to question the sanity of anyone using Covent Garden station for, well, anything.
While I discussed all things hair, David treated himself to a Cornish Rattler and a Wetherspoon's breakfast. Because nothing says morning treat like a beer with your banger, right? That's not rude. Maybe a bit rude.
Once I was finished getting my tresses cared for (see sneak preview of tomorrow's review), we took a stroll throughout the side streets with the aim of heading to Covent Garden market. Yes. You read right.
Now, I'm not a fan of this place. At all. During the week and working hours it's tolerable. But at the weekend and after work it's full of tourists and day-trippers with all their kids and buggies and elderly folk strolling along taking up the whole pavement like they're back in 1950 and people didn't have to be places... being in London for so long I've perfected a hasty, mildly threatening pace of walking. It was IMPOSSIBLE to walk at anything other than funeral pace. This is how I feel about kids, and this place was enough to make me wish various forms of death on everyone and myself. And especially the man spray painted silver in silver pants standing still.
We had a look through a few stalls before heading to the confines of the Apple store, whereby we promptly embarked on a tour of every shop David NEEDED to go to. Fossil, Schuh, Office, TK Maxx x 2, Boot's. For a man, he makes a very good woman. Note to retailers: MORE SEATS FOR POOR GIRLFRIENDS BY CHANGING ROOMS NEEDED.
After David had bought yet another pair of shoes, we were getting pretty tired of people. I wanted to make one quick top at Spitalfields market, firstly because it's right near Liverpool Street and Liverpool Street is how we get home, and two because it's never nearly as crowded. Tourists must not be able to venture this far east, I guess (good).
After a pit stop at McDonald's for a chicken mayo we soldiered on and had a proper gander through the stalls. Sophie and Luna were away at a festival so I couldn't thank them for the flowers, but all the other usual stored were there. We ended up leaving with a gorgeous wedding ring, and two paintings of London that I just fell totally in love with.
Sensing grey skies we hopped back on the train and went home to covet our purchases. It's been an age since we had nothing to really go out for and no aim. It's something I need to do more often - even if certain parts of London are crowded.
Just kidding tourists, I do love you really.
It started out so well. Blue skies and flies...
In the Fossil store. Notice the equally as bored dude with his hands in his pockets. We shared a look of boredom.
One of two bags while waiting for my fiancé to finish shopping. Again.
This guy thought I was taking a photo of him. Notice the creepy gaze, then imagine his embarrassment when he realised.
The Apple store's roof after climbing all the stairs to get to the bit I needed.
My crooked photo, how this place didn't have laptop cases is beyond me. 
Not every men's retailer had changing room seats, but this one had a working piano with, most importantly, a stool.
Also drum lights...
And a wall of stuff.
The guitar was real. I sound checked this.
David, looking at someone who resembles his boss, also called David.
Shoes. I think this was actually an accidental photo but it's staying. Because that's how I roll.
Liverpool Street. We were held here for ten minutes while football fans/hooligans were ushered out of the place, or fed to the Creep, either's fine with me
More tube bits.
An arty train.
Spitalfields. Thank goodness it wasn't rammed or I'd have screamed (not really).
More of the market, it's definitely worth a visit especially if, like me, you hate the public.
Because we both refuse to allow each other to take decent pictures of ourselves 
Around the corner, and more stalls
Beautiful bunting strewn about the place
David, haggling with the art lady to get two paintings for dirt cheap (£40)
The hipster's wardrobes. Forget Ikea, just get an old classic car!
By the amazing Traffic People
Grey skies started to head out way, it was time to leave
The city has to be my favourite bit of London. The old with the brand new.
More grey clouds
Such rain and a kid in a fedora. Parents, why do you make this happen?
And the last train home.
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