It's not been a great week. It started off promisingly, really promisingly in fact. My sister organised an AMAZING hen party. As someone that swore they never wanted a hen party, who found the very concept of hens naff, this was quite a U-turn, and, many would argue, another example of my indecisiveness. At 3am on Sunday morning I found myself on Faces nightclub dancefloor in Essex, at my own The Only Way Is Essex-themed hen, with a huge hairstyle somewhere between Cheryl Cole and Barry Gibb, and a sash emblazoned with TOWIE Mark Wright's torso. And although (regrettably) none of the party managed to cop off with Antony Costa or Peter Crouch, a great night was had by all.
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