Right, I’ve got a huge pile of new chocolate in my kitchen and a pad of paper in my hand, tomorrow it’s chocolate survey time. I’m not sure if going up to people on the street and saying something along the lines of:

“Would you like to try my chocolate?”

is really scary or really fun… and I wonder if anyone will take it the wrong way and just give me a really odd look. Do I need a licence to do thi? I have no idea… if my blog stops from after today it’s because I’ve been arrested for giving away free chocolate on the streets of London. The police don’t look kindly on spreading that sort of joy.

Chory’s off to Europe tomorrow morning so I’ll have time to sleep and work again rather than go sightseeing, but having said that, I think I’m getting used to not having any sleep, well, 4 hours a night anyway. I thought that last night would be horribly depressing since I arrived home completely wasted and hoping to have a good sleep, but by the time I got into bed it was 4am I had to get up for 8:30. I woke up bright eyed and sparkling at 8 on the dot and having an extra half hour in bed seemed like a real luxury… this is so wrong.

I’ve been thinking a bit more about how to decorate the shop and I’ve decided I really want to have a mangled wrought iron gate shaped into something that looks like barbed wire with planks of shipwreck lashed to the top to use as a coffee table. I’m not quite sure where I should go for scrapped victorian gates or welding equipment, but once I do this is going to be awesome. I think there’s somewhere around where I live which sells old garden furniture and scrap metal and there’s definitely a scrap metal shop up by Angel. Still I think I need to get a lot more junk to decorate properly.

I might try asking the guys at the world’s most amazing junk shop on Valance Road just off Cheshire Street. If you’re passing through go and check it out, I think it might be my new favourite shop in all the world. As you go in it’s got stacks and stacks of commercial sinks all piled on top of each other next to a mountain of urinals and metal chairs. Inside they’ve got carpet tiles in piles twice as tall as me and dodgy furniture and a broken down neon poker table and commercial cookers and freezers and old computers and dishwashers and shredders and big mantoys and deep fryers and furniture and about 2000 radiators. Make sure you take a peek into the managers office too, it looks like Mr. Bean’s house except for the picture of the Queen from when she was hot looking over everything with a disturbingly large grin.

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