First things first: shout out to best friends who spend their entire weekend rolling around like a fat shit with you when life gets too much, who help you eat through more than 6,000 daily calories completely devoid of judgement, who spoon you in the middle of the night without even realising it and, most importantly, who stand behind you in every decision you make even if it involves being dragged around hobbycraft looking for plaster of paris because you've decided you want to make hand sculptures (don't ask - it's been a weird weekend). Laughter really is the best medicine and between the tears and mini mental breakdowns, Lydia - you've been a shining beacon of light, laughter, atrocious smells and questionable fashion choices. I would be a lot thinner without you, but also miserable as fuck. 💛 you a LOT. 

Secondly, as well as living for every single photo of Timothée Chalamet in existence (anyone else!?), I am also currently living for quality time spent with gal pals. So can we please take 2 mins to reflect upon the RIDICULOUS healing power of spa weekends?! According to a statistic I'm about to make up, a spa weekend can make you feel 100% calmer, 200% happier, and a whopping 300% fatter. Amen, science.

But for real...if I could blueprint my ideal heaven it would be pretty damn full of steam rooms, facemasks, afternoon teas, massages, moisturing foot booties, and neverending sweets. There'd be lots of shit-talking, far too much alcohol, and Rach, Charley and Mary-Kate sippin' glittery prosecco in nothing but bath robes and slippers 👌 #dreamy 

The rollercoaster that is my life doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, but fuck me am I glad to have so many beautiful humans along for the what I would say if I was lame as fuck, but instead I'll just say cheers ladies, you guys are fucking awesome ♥♥♥

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