As I have previously mentioned, if I had the chance I would so totally allow Peter Jones from Dragons Den to do bad things to me (and then sue him for billions)... imagine my surprise when we get a job shooting Peter Jones in the studio at my work.
All week I have been planning what I'm going to do on Peter Jones Day, what I'm gonna wear (1980's powersuit with shoulder pads) how I'm going to corner him to get him to give me £200,000 (ideas book) how I'm going to entrap him into touching my boobs... basically my whole week was spent trying on glasses frames to look smarter and coming up with entrepreneurial ideas to throw at him, so it's just typical that the night before Peter Jones Day we go out for work drinks and I get so beyond maggotron that I can't even function on Peter Jones Day and have to hide at the other end of the building because I look and smell like a hobo.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this!!!!!!!!!!!!! I don't know what happened?? Except that every time I turned around there was a free drink in my hands. Laughing, Drinking, Planning future drinking, then cue the taxi ride home.
Taxi's get me every time. Especially London Taxis because they have those fold down extra seats so you are traveling backwards. Backwards. Car Motion. Drunk Beyond Belief. Not going to end well. Not to mention the fact that I am sharing the cab with my Senior Producer and want to brown nose as much as possible with this woman.
And then I spew a bit into my mouth... and I'm thinking, there is no way I can roll down the cab window and spew down the door like I normally would, this is my boss in the car here! not Mark! she doesn't need to see my wagamamas spew all down the side of the door. So I just sit with the spew in my mouth for awhile, until the thought of the spew really makes me want to spew more, so I wind the window down a bit and hock it into the street.
Now that I've done this I don't even bother pretending that the only thing on my mind isn't projectile vomiting everywhere.. so I tell the cab driver to pull over because I am going to do an Exorcist, I quickly fall into the gutter and projectile all over the bus-stop whilst the cab drives off. Awesome! Except I have left my jacket in the cab, and now I'm freezing and covered in spew and having to walk down my road and the pavement is moving like a Jetty Wharf in the middle of a 6 foot swell.
I finally get home and I know that Mark isn't going to be happy about my spew mess, so I trick him by getting undressed really quickly and jumping headfirst into the shower. Whilst in the shower I spew a bit more all over myself, but unfortunately the plumbing in my building is crap at best and my drain can't handle the Wagamamas mushrooms that are plugging it up so I am now standing in an ankle deep pool of rankness. But the most important thing is that Mark doesn't find out about this.. I am actual in denial that I have been spewing at all and covering it up with long over elaborate coughing fits.. then I start to scoop out the wagamamas from the drain and mark's like "is that spew??!" and I'm like "no way *cough cough* just pulling hair out of the drain"
Finally I make it into bed, but the urge to spew won't leave, so I give into it and carry my lamp with me whilst I bump into walls naked so I can spew some more. I do naked lamp trips up and down the hall all night until the morning.
Now, all week I have been planning these shmick business outfits, and now morning is rolling by and I haven't had any normal non-spew sleep all night, so I just get dressed in the dark and hope for the best. It takes me about 20 minutes to find my skirt and I consider leaving the house in my ripped tights and flannelet shirt. This is so not how I imagined my Dragons Den Day beginning.
The tube ride is not fun at all. There is a clearly homeless man sitting opposite me who can barely keep his eyes open and there is a huge golly on the floor. I can barely hold it together without spewing everywhere again, and the only thing that gets me through is imagining the big bucket of Dirty Bird KFC I'm going to get as soon as I get to work. I meekly sip the Gatorade I brought at the Tube Station like it is the essence of life.
Once I am free of the Underground, I walk to work and have to jump into some bushes to hide and spew because the Gatorade is not going down well, the most important thing I decide is to keep the vomit out of my hair, so I sacrifice getting it all over my boots instead.
When I finally walk into work, I have spew remnants on my boots, my hair is a mess, my makeup is running from the spew tears. I look really hot. Totally ready to meet Peter Jones!!!!!!
I collapse into a heap on the work couch and make someone bring me a bacon sandwich and a lemonade, and about an hour later I can move again. Peter Jones arrives and I hide behind camera equipment. I catch a glimpse of the back of his head, and that is enough for me.
When lunchtime rolls around everyone decides that they are going to order in Wagamamas, and I look as if someone just said they accidentally killed my cat in a hit and run accident. Don't mention Wagamamas to me. Ever.
Peter Jones Shmeter Jones.