3. Mrs. Craig David

I’m still working on my vegan empire; so I decided the best way for me to champion said plant-based plight was to purchase some outlandish fruit & veg themed ensembles & pose awkwardly along the Mallorcan coastline?!

Look, I don’t know why. I had the vague notion, possibly due to absorbing one too many Instagram influencer feeds, that I wanted to “be the change” & possibly too literally (you think!?) that resulted in me dressing as a runner bean. You are just as puzzled as I am.

Anyway please do take a moment to enjoy the FRUITS of mine & my Mums Samsungs labour whilst staying at their heavenly little idyll in Majorca.

Goodness gracious grape ball of <fire emoji>

I enjoy a couple of days lazing in this lavish lap of maternal luxury, adjusting to my slower pace of life, mainly just staring out at the view. 13 years I’ve been frequenting this magical isle & not once have my eyes or connected brain matter bored of THE most magnificent panorama I have ever witnessed. I actually attempted to write a descriptive passage worthy of Mrs Tyler, my year 8 English teacher, but quite frankly the scenery renders me speechless so here are a 1000 words via this picture.

#nofilternecesario
Sangria counts for at least 2 of your 5 a day

Despite the hardcore posing, it’s a glorious couple of days’ respite after the mania of the previous week. But if you didn’t already know, the E of my middle initial stands for Extra, and it’s not long before I’m hitting the skies once more. Yes, a holiday within a holiday. The decadence of it. Austerity is officially over. I’ll be returning to Mallorca in a couple of days, but first a mini break in Barcelona to see my good friend Michelle in one final hurrah (final used in the loosest possible sense).

Spanish measures are more than a little generous & the first night continues I find myself swaying front row, gazing at the one & only Craig David, who is doing a PA in a local nightclub. NEVER have I been so starstruck. I’m going to blame it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol because not once do I even turn around to interact with friend Michelle or her pal. I’m in serious slackjaw mode & I have clear recollection of chiding myself internally for not taking advantage of “our Craig” several years earlier when his career was suffering in the Bo Selecta aftermath. At his lowest ebb I reckoned to myself I could have gotten in there & seduced him; whilst he was more accessible, crying into his comparatively piss poor Brighton MTV crib, prior to his prolific TS5 resurgence.

This gives you some indication of where my inebriated mind was at. Consequently it should be of little surprise what I discover the next morning. I crack open my eyes & do that thing we all do when we wake up stale with sweat & a hazy memory. Still in last nights make up, with a mouth drier than Gandhi’s flip flop we stretch out our arm & begin sweeping the floor with our hand searching for a device/wallet/handbag… anything that will evidence that we didn’t sustain any long term damage. Oh actually tell a lie, that’s not technically the very first thing, if I’m being hand on bible honest. First thing you search for is your dignity… yep you know, the intrepid look left & right, whilst holding your breath, listening out for a life-form with which you have shared a bed. This can be especially harrowing if you fail to recognise the room you have just woken up in, & worse still if you are then unexpectedly confronted with a hairy back or other alien feature. In that scenario there is nothing for it except to extend south to feel for evidence of underwear. Am I right? For the love of god please let this sound familiar to someone… anyone?? Oh god Craig can I get a RE EE WIND? Dad this is hypothetical. I swear. Look at this watch. You are feeling very sleeeepy…. Anyway, thankfully on this occasion I am sharing a bed with Michelle so her hairy back is the only thing I have to worry about (joke Michelle you flawless belle.)

So with step 1 complete, next the elephant trunk of an arm goes out blindly hoovering the floor whilst strategically keeping my delicate hungover body as still as possible. I find a shoe, a clutch bag which contains some euros & a debit card YES I think, then, what’s that? Yes, bingo the familiar feel of an iPhone 5. SCORE!

Right, so dignity intact – tick.

All possessions seemingly still in possession – tick.

Now for the biggie… who did I message & what did I post on social media….?

Given the enamored state I was in, it shouldn’t have surprised me but here’s precisely what I discover on my instagram feed…

Innocent enough right, perhaps, maybe… iiiif you take out the nod to insemination of the uterine cavity, along with the boink ref, which admittedly for a brief moment did elicit a smug smirk for its sheer brilliance. Even when paralytic it seems I can hashtag with the best of them. Could have been a bit more sophisticated sure, but hang on… whats this… not only a bloody response! AAAAAAHHHHHhhhhh! OMG Hallelujah!! Praise the lords! Craig David read MY actual tweet! I’m now sitting up rigidly in bed, aware of my heartbeat, my breath quickening.

He “loves” that I enjoyed it! “Lovessssss” With a gratuitous bit of extra emoji sparkle! He didn’t have to do that. Could this be the start of something…. But hang on wait, there’s more… Encouraged by this response from Craig himself or more accurately his PA, or PR team, I continue…

Woahhh there. WOW. Just WOW. You have his attention & this is how you classily use it? WTF Jade are you effing jeffing serious?! My eyes are popping out my head & I feel a wave of nausea come over me as I realise my moment is over before its even began. I had my chance & I squandered it in the most ridiculous fashion, innit. Thinking of what could have been for a moment I swallow hard…

But it doesn’t stop there sadly. Presumably after not getting the response I wanted the bombardment continues, buoyed by the fruitshoot earlier in the week…