In Nairobi, Nairobi, Kenya.

Woke up in the morning smelling like Victoria’s Secret and grass.

So last night we went to Qué Pasa again. Lost my leather jacket there last Friday night, but I made friends with Grace – the manager of the place – and she called around to anyone who was working that night. The guards, the waiters, the cooks and finally we found out that the DJs had my jacket.

I felt so relieved because mom had hand-picked the jacket from a boutique in the outskirts of Rome. So happy that the manager remembered me and knew who I was because I’m “always walking in here beautiful with gorgeous dresses, heels and just lighting up the place”. Compliment overload.

There were two interesting jóvenes of the night. One Kenyan dude who was studying in Beijing who had been to Mongolia for vacation and a Swedish dude who’d never lived in Sweden, was studying in France and vacationing in Kenya. And as always the girls flocked around him, because Swedes are attracted to Swedes. Always. I’m looking at you Agnes! (Killen i London och de enda killarna vi tyckte var snygga i Opium liksom…)

Cuba Libres are still the stimulant beverage of choice. Plain Mr. Walker tasted so revolting last night that I took some chocolate souffle with vanilla ice cream to get the bitter away from the bittersweet taste in my mouth and just leave it sweet. I finished the meal with the main course like always – 300g of rare steak with pepper-sauce and fries.

As per every night someone puked, someone was in a fight and someone was hitting on someone else a bit much. And then I did the can-can to house for the shortest hour of my life with darling Lovisa. If all else fails I could apply for a job at the Moulin Rouge, because I can… can-can.