All / Originally Posted on Skirt


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I went out for what I planned to be a festive Saturday at the Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. Though it was mobbed by crowds I still managed to have a charming time with a friend wandering around the booths of strange presents (two words: wooden ties), taking photos of unintentionally innuendo-ridden signs at the fair rides (cute spinning penguins titled, of all things, “Chilly Willy”) and drinking quantities of mulled wine in the Bavarian beer hall whilst listening to oompah music.

Just as it began to rain and my companion for the afternoon had to go, I was summoned to join some other friends I hadn’t seen in a while at “a pub called the Blue Posts behind the Ritz.” Oh yes, because I lead such a high-flying champagne lifestyle that I frequently use four-star hotels as compass points by which to navigate. I found them in the end, whereupon the evening proceeded to become increasingly fantastical. This somewhat undermined my sarcasm, as shall be seen.

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