the first "proper" weekend

"Proper" is a word I've heard more times than I can remember this week. I've learned that you can't say it with an American accent and not sound awkward. If you are unfamiliar with this lovely term, it means "actual" or  "genuine." At least from what I can gather. I've heard it used to say things like "proper tea time" or "you need a proper set of cutlery, not your Winnie the Pooh children's set". 

I've become a cesspool of disease and misery. I haven't really been sleeping because I've been spiraling into a more and more severe cough every night. As soon as I lie down, it's cough city. Despite that, I tried really hard to not let that ruin my weekend. Do I get points for effort? I spent Sunday having a "proper" lazy Sunday. I did nothing but be sick and buy groceries and drink soup and warm tea. But here's the weekend rundown via pictures:

Mattie, Anna, Jessica, and I went to the Bristol Museum and Gallery. Free admission is always fun. This is where we spent an hour or so escaping the downpour. I hope you can see Mattie's face. Miss Grumpykins.

Everything was so cute. This tea room was so cute. Look at the color of that table. Like really look at it. And all of our teacups and teapots were different from each other. The mismatched and quirky cutlery and the little fireplace and the little buntings tied up around the room. I had to unleash my inner photowhore - I have no shame.

3 o' clock was decidely too early to start schmoozing, but these were tempting.

Yes, this was all mine. I ate it all. 4 kinds of cake, salad, clotted cream, jam, and cheese and chutney finger sandwiches. #fattylife

I had one finger sandwich left, so I took home in this bag.

brb dying from the cuteness of this print.

they had a record player.

That night a bunch of us girls went to Syndicate. Syndicate is a club that is less than a five minute walk from my flat. I can see it from my window as I'm typing this, and for the past weekend, have heard its clients walking to and from it. We had mixed feelings about going. A lot of people had warned us of its shittiness, but a couple people were more ambiguous saying it could be good or really awful depending on the night you go. Iliana's flatmates each had differing opinions about it, but all agreed that despite it all, droves of people always showed up. Throwing caution to the wind, we dressed up and went out. I froze to death. What you see in the picture is all I wore. In 30 F weather. That's what I wore. While sick. I deserve everything I'm feeling right now. The verdict for the night: go to this club once, and then never again unless super desperate or super wasted.

That is a fishbowl. Presumably, it was supposed to be filled with an alcoholic beverage. It did not taste that way and while I was appreciative of that fact, I suspect there was also no alcohol in said beverage because Mattie and I were still wildly sober after. Worst money spent on a drink ever.

My Saturday was so tame. I did nothing all day but read the copious amounts of reading I already have. I'm still supposed to be reading, but whatever. I'm going to blog about having to read instead and cry about it sometime in the middle of this week. I did, however, have proper fish and chips. The English are the kings of fried food. Truly. Too bad they don't have Sriracha sauce anywhere.