I am gutted this morning. Do you know why? Because I am not well enough to attend the anti Trump march in Central London this afternoon.
Did Emperor Small Hand, aka Donald Trump, tampered my Victoria sponge at Albion on Boundary Street? Or all those BBQ chicken wings and nachos I grazed during the England’s 123 minutes nail-biter did the damage already to my normally clean-eating digestive system and the cake was the last nail on the coffin? Oh, I still feel my stomach being not very happy as I recall what I had during the past 36 hours.
Come to think of it, the cream tasted a bit off…
I was dying for cake and latte then so I cleaned the plate pretty quickly.
I haven’t been giving up about joining the march yet. If my condition improves during the next few hours, I will make my way to Piccadilly Circus.
It’s gonna be a spectacle!
I am raising my fist to the giant Trump with a nappy in the sky!!