Jubilation

It's here. The super long 4-day Jubilee weekend. Thank God. And HM the Queen.

And what a weekend it's gonna be. Whether you're heading to a cute and quaint village fete or battling the crowds and elbowing small children out of the way to catch a glimpse of her Maj on the Thames, it's going to be a serious social whirl. Personally, after dealing with London's traffic on a random Monday the other week, the mere thought of going within 100miles of the capital gives me palpitations (although the promise of backstage passes to Coldplay tonight naturally was enough to change my mind this evening. Don't get excited, it fell through).

My weekend-longer-than-the-working-week is looking a little lot like this: fizz, union jacks, sauvignon, some sort of carb-based sustenance, polo, laughing (a lot), dancing in my Chloe-esque boots and getting silly at The Wheatsheaf in Northleach's RoyalPalooza (come along, it's gonna be rad). The only bleak cloud on that horizon (bar the actual rain clouds that is) is the dreaded MOT which I'm keeping everything crossed will go OK tomorrow. I've just had an astronomical post-Miami phone bill so I'd prefer the limited bank balance not to be hit by something mechanical too.

Enjoy a fantastic weekend with friends, family and plenty of rose and Jack Daniels. Let the good times roll.

The worst jubilee joke I've heard so far...I don't know why the whole country gets excited about the Queen's Jubilees.
Those tits are well past it.

And this may be my anthem for the weekend. Even the video is cool. Credit where credit's due: Vogue, Tatler, me