It’s Saturday morning here in Los Angeles and once again, I’m blogging from my hotel room. It’s my last day on work-cation and I’m going out with a bang ~ the one truly scrumptious junk food addiction, KyoChon Fried Chicken (the other KFC).

Doing it the American way, I’ve been indulging in the not-so-healthy gourmet delights of this vast country over the last week. I had the obligatory In-N–Out Burger (which is every bit as simple and tantalising as I expected) and will have KFC today, but before either of these, there was Pizza Port.

Me and pizza and beer for dinner. Can you just imagine.

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There are only really three things I want to say in this post:

1) I must seriously love you guys. Either that or I’m a complete blog nerd with no life because here I am, on a work-cation and again, I’m blogging from my hotel room. Say it with me now, de-di-ca-tion. Yeh.

2) The photos in this post are blurry. It wasn’t because the light was bad. We did have fairly dim mood lighting, but I’ve shot far better in far worse conditions. There’s no excuse really, the reason the photos are blurry is because I downed a spiced pear martini minutes before the food was served and Cadbury kid me, my heart was thumping so wildly I struggled to hold the camera, let alone hold it still. Apologiez.

3) I love being corporate-ly wined and dined.

Indeed I do.

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Last week, I gave y’all a lesson about crabs and their hepatopancreas. Ok fine, I didn’t give a lesson I gave a link, but whatever, you’re now more knowledgeable than you were before so I rest my case. All that talk about hepatopancreases (my new favourite word) pulled at my heart strings, which I know sounds weird, like why would crab “mustard” make me all sad, but it does. And it does because…

I miss my daddy.

And his chilli crabs. (in that order).

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** note: Eastside Inn is now closed.

I bought these new tights from M&S the other day. The fact that they were 100 denier and reversible (in purple and black, no less) sent me spiralling out of excitement control. Disproportionately so, but sometimes, you just gotta take what you can get.

So here I was, excited to wear these tights for the first time. They were comfortable and all, and totally groovy in their reversible-ness, allowing me to traipsed around town like hah, you don’t know my secret, you don’t know that the insides of my tights are purple! Purple! Do ya hear me? Purple!

… Does anyone actually care?

Probably not, but stay with me, I will get to the Eastside Inn part of the story.

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Somehow, some how, we made it to Chamonix last week. After spending a gruelling 16 hours at Gatwick Airport due to flight delays (I think I topped up my frequent flyer points from the number of loo visits I made) and then being cancelled again at the end of the 16 hours, we somehow managed to make our way to Stansted Airport, and then to Chamonix, albeit 27 hours later than planned.

We were all cranky and tired and quite possibly very smelly, but arriving in Chamonix was like one of those lightbulb moments. Not so much like we had a great idea, because believe me, our brains were not thinking, but more like ah-haaaaah… ahhhhhhhh (that’s the glorious sound of me realising something).

The wondrousness of the place, the snow capped mountains and seemingly endless runs of white powder ~ it is seriously mesmerising and a natural upper like you can’t imagine. After the 27 hour commute, we arrived and literally picked up our skis and hit the slopes straight away.

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So we just got back from our ski trip like two hours ago, but I can’t think about that right now because if I do, I will swell into a bulbous monstrosity and before you even have time to wonder what the hell is happening, I would have water-balloon-exploded into a mess of salty tears.

I don’t want to be home right now, but since I am home, I’ll tell you about the most awesome thing I have ever been gifted.

Ever.

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