Olivia decided to move away from her boring corporate life and blossom into a bohemian badbitch in old London town. She got a 2-year work Visa and repeatedly told London to “get in me” with all the confidence of the best looking cousin at a Tasmanian family reunion.
For the first month, she embarked on a Contiki tour getting cooked and spit-roasted like she was the centrepiece of a Hawaiian Luau. Her savings took quite the hammering too.
Back in London, she smashed originality boundaries by moving into a share house in Clapham. Although due to having the fiscal restraint of a One Nation candidate at a strip club, she soon realised she couldn’t sustain the lifestyle. She needed a job.
Unsurprisingly, her attempts to just waltz into an art studio and be hired fell flatter than the brim of her recently acquired felt hat. So she pulled another move out of the Aussie playbook and got a job at a live-in pub.
After lasting 1 week living in squalid conditions she quit and shacked up with a posh lad whose teeth looked like a facefucked pack of Liquorice Allsorts. She had found her Prince Harry <3.
That romance ended after she became unsettled with the relationship he had with “mummy darling”. You could cut the breastfeeding separation anxiety tension with a knife. So at the 3-month mark, she decided to pull up stumps and move back to Australia.
Like the proverbial dog licking its own cockney in the living room, everyone politely ignored the fact her much-hyped new life only lasted 3 months. That was until she refused to drop her newly acquired “accent” and started with her constant bullshit.
At her homecoming she disagreed with the girl’s notion to get a bottle of vino, “to be fair, wines a bit boring innit, when I was lived in London we were all about the jug of Pimms or Aperol Spritz, bitta culture never hurt you”.
Months passed and her attitude never improved. Almost every activity or purchase was measured against the whirlwind 3 months she spent abroad, “what a rip off a pack of f*gs was only 8 quid when I was living in London, it was proper lush”. Oh, shut the fuck up Cuntmilla Parker Bowles.
Every time she banged on about her UK adventure she had people rolling their eyes like an overdosing cookie monster.Even after a year of living back she still drags out that shocking accent when she tells a story about living in London.
Which, unfortunately, is like every fucking day, innit?
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?
or PayPal innit…