A night at Box. JagerBombs, White Russians and Jack Daniels to boot.
Yet another example of the fact that when you can’t be bothered doing something, that you should go for it. If I hadn’t dragged myself up Sauchiehall Street, I’d never have ended up meeting the lovely Cassie below; nor found myself in her flat listening to vinyl and drinking vodka and (freshly squeezed) apple juice.
In the interests of full disclosure, I didn’t take all of these shots, as must be obvious given that I’m in a few of them. This may sound obvious, but you’d be surprised.