The ridiculous bed of sleep

This Monday was Let's Have A Holiday In August Day here in Britain, so it was time for the famous Notting Hill Carnival. It's apparently the biggest street festival of its kind in Europe, and seemed to be something like the Mardi Gras in New Orleans except it was complete rubbish and only the muddy men were topless.

I celebrated Carribean culture in my own way and downed a can of Red Stripe Jamaican lager as well as a Brazilian soft drink that seemed to be guarana flavoured. Also, feijoada is not lemonade made with feijoa juice. Not at all.

Highlights of the weekend:

• Following random Icelanders to a goth/metal club in Camden Town complete with dancing cage girls
• My first meal from the famous Brick Lane (Britain's curry capital)
• Drinking at The Ten Bells, once frequented by Jack the Ripper's victims

Also notable was the three-in-a-bed romp with Bob and Barnesy, in which our collective heterosexuality faced its toughest challenge yet: proximity. It all ended in tears and cruel words, of course. Or awful poetry and French Scrabble. I get those confused. I'm sure I got to use the word camwhore either way.