21 things girls do when their period is late

I’m just going to put it out there that I recommend any men reading this should stop now. Firstly for your own mental sanity, and secondly, no ovaries, no opinion, okay?

So for the last month or so my ever trusty ovaries have decided to fuck with me. I’ve glided through 24 years of life practically able to run a German train schedule around my period. Even coming off the pill didn’t phase my iron man pelvic organs. *makes fighting sounds*

And yet here we are. Last month I waited four days for things to, er, get going, and this month I’ve been waiting six. Not only that, three of my girlfriends are also late. Okay, I’ll admit, the female ability to sync up with your squad has always fascinated and amazed me, but cmon little uteruses (uteri? uteruen?), we’re all set to go. We’re moody, emotional, and our clothes are all a lil tight from the sassy bloat we’ve got going on. Stop making us raid the chocolate draw at work and let’s get this show on the road. Until then, here’s some anecdotes that I’m sure I’m not alone in enduring from the past week.

And before we begin, no I am definitely not pregnant. Amen.

1. You count on your calendar in excess of 59 times trying to prove to yourself that you’re actually just dumb and you’re not due for another week.

2. You calculate how many tampons and/or sanitary pads you’ve wasted trying to will your uterus to get shedding.

3. You put on your prettiest panties in hope you’ll trick your uterus into thinking it’s getting one over on you by staining your finest undies (because why the fuck does that always happen). Spoiler, in this instance it didn’t work.

4. You go for a run or do some star jumps in hope of shaking your pelvis enough for some activity.

5. You’ll spend too much time inspecting used toilet paper hoping for a slight glimmer of blood-tinged hope.

6. You head to the store and buying any vitamin or supplement you can find just incase that gets things going. Spoiler number two, it does not.

7. You brew up mug after mug of ginger tea because Google search result page 19 said it might work. Spoiler number three, it does not.

8. You want to punch people who ask you if you could be pregnant. Like C’MON OBVIOUSLY I’VE THOUGHT OF AND EXCLUDED THAT.

9. And when people ask if you’re stressed. Yes but I’m always stressed soooooooo?

10. Your recently visited looks like this (and yes the links are all that awkward purple because you’ve READ THEM ALL):Screen Shot 2016-05-03 at 14.38.33

11. You run to the bathroom after realising you’ve actually forgotten about how late you are for about 18 seconds and wonder whether that’s relaxed you enough into coming on. Spoiler number four, it hasn’t.

12. If, like me, you’ve been lucky enough to have a support team on hand who are also waiting for their monthly treat, you’ll send snapchats like this:

image1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

13. You start to feel like you’re neck deep in calories and guilt for all the chocolate you’ve been scoffing and justifying with ‘I’ve got PMS’ and fear you’re an utter fraud.

14. You start to picture your life in twenty years when you’re still this bloated and moody and your boobs have swelled up to the size of watermelons and wonder if you’ll still be holding out hope for this one period.

15. You start initiating sex more than ever before, like some kind of porn star, in hope that you can, ya know, poke it out. Spoiler number five, you also can’t.

16. You lay in a foetal position and have a little cry at what your life has become.

17. And react off-the-scale mental at anything that goes wrong.

18. As the days pass, you start to worry that your mood swings aren’t PMS and wonder whether you’ll need to be put in an anger management home.

19. You decide you’re 100% definitely infertile and/or dying of ovarian cancer.

20. You get excited when you start to feel things occurring ‘down there’ but are sadly faced with the reality that you’re nether region is just sweaty.

21. And on that note, you’d actually take a public unexpected-period-arrival-while-wearing-white-jeans moment over waiting ANY longer for it.

 

Anyway gal pals. That’s that.

Peace, love and tampons.

Coco x

Why you have to try this peanut brittle | The Australian Sweet Co.

Hey there,

So this week my pals at Australian Sweet Co slipped a morsel of happiness through my letterbox to brighten up my Friday. And by slipped through my letterbox I clearly mean I got a missed delivery card and had to head over to the industrial estate where dreams go to die to pick it up. But yeah.

I’ll be honest. I don’t usually like peanut brittle. Every time I’ve tried it in the past I’ve had to forage about for tools just to break it in half, and then wonder ‘hey, do calories even count when the entire thing is lodged in my molars?’.

But the Salted Caramel Peanut Brittle and the Chocolate Covered Peanut Brittle from The Australian Sweet Co was actually delish. It shattered easily so you can, you know, actually chew it, and the hint of salt was delicate and not at all overpowering. It’s quite sweet, but that’s actually pretty good for me because if something can be consumed in one serving, I will consume it in one serving – so having this little slab of joy on hand for an afternoon tea break was ideal.

Thank you Australian Sweet Co! (p.s. they do personalised rock candies too. So if anyones birthday is coming up, you’ve been warned.)

Screen Shot 2016-04-19 at 11.13.43

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This product was gifted but all opinions and brittle love my own. 

23 things that prove your school years were your sassiest.

Because life was well tough back then, it was no wonder you had an attitude, right?

1. Going full Kourtney Karashian on your Mum after she has the audacity to suggest that your last year’s Withit pencil case ‘will do’ for another year. Ummm, no Mum. 

kourt

2. Not being able to decide between your pink DCs or your black Duffs for your prime hottie outfit for mufty day, so nipping onto the dial up internet for a group opinion on MSN the night before.

3. Being sure to wear the correct number of shag bands on your wrists to reflect your level of uncompromised sluttiness.

shagbands

image via snopes.com

4. Whipping your flip phone out of your inner blazer pocket and feeling like a hot mix of James Bond cool and Lizzie McGuire swag.

5. Sticking dream catchers, mini mirrors and spare lip gloss in your locker to ensure you remain as Mary-Kate and Ashley as possible at all times.

6. …And assuming your parents want to see said locker at parents’ evening. FYI, they do not.

7. Leaving as many shirt buttons undone as you could get away with to not-so-subtly allow all the boys to sneak a glimpse at your raunchy M&S Angel bra.

Angelbra

8. And if the top of your Girl Boxers could peep outta the top of your boot flare trousers from Tammy, that’d be just swell.

9. Pouting your perfectly glossed lips in anger when the bell rang and class wasn’t immediately terminated like the American sitcoms let us believe it would.

10. Swagging round school for the entire week post-BCG jab showing off your war wound and making the lower year levels feel medically inferior.

11. Watching Skins and immediately deciding that the drugged-up-sleeping-in-your-own-sick life was so you.

skins

image via skinsmusic.co.uk

12. …And subsequently trying to make out like every sleepover was a mad rave by taking scandalous pics in your lounge.

12. Never being more than an inch away from your Dream Matte Mousse.

14. …Which was obviously about four shades too dark because duh nobody wants to be Ivory.

15. Making your Mum late for work because you’re busy applying Wella gel to get that perfect slicked back, bump free, skull exposing pony tail that brings all the boys to your yard.

sportyspice

16. Spending a good ten minutes perfecting your MSN screen name, making sure that you’ve 1) named your crush with a code name and 2) chosen the perfect passive aggressive/emotional song lyric to sum up your misunderstood life.

17. Spending all your credit on that awesome polyphonic ringtone so having to call your bestie on the landline before school to check whether you’re bringing lunch or buying it.

18. Making sure that Becca was aware she totally crossed a line today by rearranging your Bebo friends grid (and your ‘other half of me’).

19. Settling for nothing less than the chunkiest of shoes from the Bootleg section at Clarkes.

bootlegimage via amazon.co.uk

20. …And the ridiculously pointless free gift that came with them. #tbt to that weird purple box that was possibly meant for pens?

21. Carrying one of these hotties round like it was the new season Birkin.

Janenorman

image via femalefirst.co.uk

22. … And you got that bag from investing in one of these versatile little puppies.

cardy

image via stylight.co.uk

23. Walking around feeling totally irresistible in amidst a choking haze of Charlie So…Kiss Me, and never being surer that you were a solid 10/10. 

And now, all these years later, we look back and realise that between all the blue mascara, Charlie body spray and aspiring to be fictional drug addicts from a TV show, they were some of the best days of our lives. What are your funniest memories from your school days? Cmon, share your sass tips for future generations….

My Aussie-versary | One Year in Melbourne

So this week, my Australian life turns one. I’ve survived as an Aussie for one whole year. Yay me! I’ve tolerated temperatures of 46 degrees, cooked on barbecues more than I ever thought possible, developed a weird awkward mini Aussie accent and even eaten wallaby. Oh, and the word heaps is legit part of my daily vocabulary. For this I will be eternally sorry.

So yeah, this time one year ago I touched down in Melbourne with nothing but 27kgs worth of my old life, a working holiday visa and a heart full of hope that I’d done the right thing. If I’m honest, moving to the other side of the world for a BOY wasn’t exactly something I EVER saw myself doing. And by that I mean I was probably more likely to become a Jehovah’s Witness than succumb to that thing people call lurve. 

But somehow, here I am, one year on. And in terms of how the relationship is going, last night I chugged in excess of 6 glasses of champagne at a wedding and sang Horses by Daryl Braithwaite at the top of my lungs with my boyfriend’s entire family into my Snapchat camera, before preceding to adopt a ‘no sitting’ policy and physically DRAG said boyfriend’s dad and sister onto the dance floor because an Australian song I’d never heard had come on and I wanted moral support. So yeah, I think it’s going pretty well.

In all seriousness, yes, I completely did the right thing. Do I miss home? Of course. Did I cry when the song ‘Home’ by Michael Buble was played at the aforementioned wedding? PERHAPS. (No, you’re pathetic.) Do I have weird emotional days near-ish to my period when I get all freaked out at the future and picture us getting deported from every country and wind up living in a tipi in Utah on a ranch with nothing but tumbleweed to amuse us? Sometimes. But really, none of that matters because I know it’ll work out somehow, and even if we do end up in Utah, we’ll totally get an online Kmart order delivered and make it homely with some Pinterest-worthy photo frames and maybe a marble soap dispenser or twelve.

In no way is this meant to come across totally narcissistic, but if you’re ever found asking yourself, ‘do long distance relationships work’?, take a step back. Long distance relationships have such a bad rep, and I really don’t get why. For one, it’s totally outdated. Okay yes, if this was the 1920s and I had had to spend 2014 waiting for a telegram to clarify whether Jess was dead, alive or sleeping with a ho-bag from Uni, yes that would’ve been hard. But nobody has taken the chance to factor in Skype, FaceTime, WhatsApp, Viber and the retained eternal magic of snail mail (hand sent Valentines cards are the best Valentines cards. Just sayin’).

If you really, really want something to work, it can. Sure, you have to live in this weird limbo life that’s just one amalgamation of the loneliness of being single without actually any of the fun parts, with a bit of tiredness from late night phone calls across time zones and a big phone bill thrown in for lols. Oh, and you’ll spend a fortune on postage. Did somebody say £55 to send some Christmas pressies? Oh yeah, those hot figures were part of a sweet December serenade I received from Royal Mail. Thanks for nada!

If you’re willing to commit 100%, your long distance relationship CAN work. And it can even be better than any other relationship you’ve ever been in. That’s right kids, you too could see the look on your friends and relatives faces when you tell them you’re dropping everything to move 11,000 miles for a boy (banter) and YOU TOO could spend $7000 on a visa just to be together. Oh it’s such a magical ride. Soz.

FYI, right before you plonk the $7000 on your MasterCard, it is also 100% okay to flick through all the hot clothes you could buy instead in your head, and all the hot islands you could prance around on, and consider sacking the whole lot in for about a nanosecond (sorry, Jess love you).

But the best feeling, really, is knowing you wouldn’t take any of that. The reality is, that person marks a start in your life, rendering everything prior a distant memory.

Sure, you might have to drop everything and move thousands of miles, you might put flight after flight on your credit card, you might spend money that was earmarked for a house deposit on trips just to be together.

Would I want it any other way? Of course not.

Never ditch someone or something because it seems too hard, or because someone somewhere once told you that they knew someone who knew someone who’s long distance relationship went down the shitter. For every LDR down the pan, there’s a thousand ‘normal’ relationships down there, too. Don’t blame distance for a decision you’ve made yourself, and don’t make distance question anything.

Get yourself a hot chocolate, watch Going The Distance with Drew Barrymore and everyones favourite weirdly-ugly-yet-somehow-still-hot dork, Justin Long, and repeat after me. Fuck. The. Miles.

I’m off to eat vegemite, watch Seinfeld and practice verse two of Advance Australia Fare and pray The Queen and the corgis can one day forgive me.

Toodles xxx

 

9 reasons why it doesn’t matter if you haven’t got your shit together yet

  1. Nobody ever truly has their shit together. You could be riding your unicorn down Old Brompton Road with ten trillian quid in the bank and you’d probably still be having a meltdown about what kind of brie to buy at Waitrose.
  1. Just like your tastes change with age and status, so do your worries. Just because you think you’ll have your job, finances and relationship ducks in a row one day doesn’t mean you won’t have other (likely more important) things to worry about. Can I get a ‘fuck no’ for mammograms, menopause and the three yearly treat from mr postman that is your smear test reminder? I think we all thought once we get that first one at 25 out the way it gets easier, but I’ll bet ya it doesn’t!
  1. It turns out your twenties aren’t what we thought they were in our teens. If you’re thinking SHIT I thought I’d have kids by 27 at the latest, you ain’t alone. But next time you start to think you and your aging ovaries will die alone, eggless and childless, toss on your heels and go have an espresso martini and ask yourself if you really think you’re ready to be at home playing with megablocks and arguing over who’s meant to be on pooey nappy duty.
  1. Even when you do start to get your shit together, you probably won’t even realise it. Tbh I’m not entirely sure when I stopped spending nights in clubs with my head over the toilet before rocking back out like a wounded donkey for one last chorus of I Wanna Dance With Somebody, and when I started working freelance and living in a beautiful apartment with my boyfriend that has a marble bathroom and an infinity pool (soz and that)…. And I’m still all over the place.
  1. There’s always somebody worse off than you. Whether it’s through fault of their own or not. Okay sure, so you’re actually considering paying for Tinder now instead of spending weekends at farmers markets in matching tweed like you dreamed it. So what? At least you’ve got a job and you’re earning a living. You’re not on the streets, and you’re lucky enough to have your health. That’s some metaphorical shit, metaphorically together, right there.
  1. The news isn’t necessarily true. Now this is a bold statement for me, as I am one to immediately vow never to touch something like blue tac ever again if there’s the slightest possibility that it’s been proven to be carcinogenic. But in my clear mind, the news really is scaremongering us about having kids. “Women who wait until they’re over 30 for kids are at risk”. YEAH YEAH okay but when am I like, meant to travel the world and find myself or spend all my money on Asos or pay a small fortune to live in London only to end up moving further out to commute on a stinky train every day. WHEN WILL I HAVE TIME FOR THAT? Now. Do it all now. My mum had me at 33, I’m an only child and I turned out just about okay – and she’s still kickin’ too. Having kids later in life might be more risky, but so was that 80th tequila at Freshers week, and you survived that.
  1. You just might be on the path to something you’re meant to do. You might be sitting at your desk at a job you hate, waiting for this ‘shit’ to be ‘together’. Trust me, just wait it out. I always say the worst paths lead to the best people – and the best things. If I hadn’t made some of the stupid mistakes I’ve made in my time, some of the amazing stuff wouldn’t have happened to me. I once turned town an amazing marketing job in London where I basically would’ve schmoozed with One Direction on an average Thursday, based on a gut feeling I shouldn’t do it. For a while I wondered if I’d made the worst mistake of my entire career, but I found my way and I’ve never been more sure I did the right thing.
  1. Other people probably haven’t got their shit together either. Much like my previous post on social image, we only really know the very best of other people – because that’s all they tell you. Everybody worries they’re not where they’re meant to be, even if they’re already there. That mate who’s up at the crack of dawn for spinning before high tailing it off wearing a Zara pant suit and power bun to her managerial role could be neck deep in Big Mac’s by 9pm and swiping right to anyone who’ll have her, for all we know.
  1. At the end of the day, things’ll probably never work out exactly how you thought they would. Stop wasting time trying to press the fast forward button. Just enjoy life on pause for a second. Unforch, Netflix don’t yet stream reruns of your twenties, so you’ll have to enjoy them live instead. Live? Imagine that. Chances are, wherever you’re at right now, is exactly where you need to be right at this very moment in time. One day, you’ll realise.

Until next time,

Coco x

 

Here’s why you actually CAN get good at running.

Think you can’t run? I feel ya, believe me. For years I chunked about thinking my size 14 curves were just part of who I was, and that my thunder thighs were incapable of transporting my body at a fast enough pace to call it a run.

I was the slowest runner known to man (and my PE teachers enjoyed pointing it out to me), and I seemed to get left behind even doing simple things like trotting across the road (true story).

I’d see people out running on Saturday mornings and literally feel the jealousy penetrating my bones. I’d always wanted to be a runner, but for some reason my wobbly legs said it wasn’t too be. I truly believe some people just have the ability to run and some don’t. For all my trying, I’d never been able to break the barrier, yet there I’d be, cowering in the corner of the gym sulking on the cross trainer when some newbie would hop onto a treadmill on her induction and casually jog for 15 minutes straight declaring she hadn’t run since before her kids were born. Like seriously wtf.

I’d been flumping around the school track for years and nada. I remember one year, year six to be exact, I thought I’d made a sublime escape when somehow my teacher managed to assign a sports day event to everyone but me. There I was fist pumping to myself in the assembly hall thinking HELL YEAH I can just sit on the sidelines like an untameable badass scoffing mini rolls and dairylee dunkers and nobody gon’ tel me no.

Nah.

Somehow she realised and plonked me on the 400m sprint. SPRINT. Ummmmm what? My poor Mum. The poor little lamb had to leave work early to come and endure sports day with all the other Mums cheering on their little Olympians while I was incessantly lapped by my fellow competitors. When I finally flopped across the finish line the entire event had practically been packed up and everyone sent home. No sticker for Emma. No trophy for Emma. No participation award for Emma. No, niente, nish.

I actually have a vague memory of being told I ‘just had to try a little harder’. TRY A LITTLE HARDER? Are you kidding? I can assure you I was trying so flippin’ hard I honestly felt like my thighs were going to pop out of my pelvis and continue running off on their own. Try a little harder. PLEASE.

(Personally I think this is bullshit because if I’d gone into the dumbo class and told the kids they weren’t trying hard enough at maths I’d probably have become very acquainted with a scraper and the underside of a gum-ridden table. But yeah sure I’m just not TRYING hard enough in PE. Okay.)

So yeah. That pretty much scarred me for life and I had a fear of running ever since. I sort of accepted that it wasn’t for me, and that my poor body just couldn’t haul weight around for longer than a few minutes.

Turns out, people like me actually CAN run. And so can YOU. I actually regularly get told ‘I wish I could go running too’. BABES YOU TOTALLY CAN. If anyone knows the feeling of not being able to run it is me. Need I tell you another of the school stories? I’ll save you the pity. But let’s just say when we went to high school and met the infamous 3500m part of the athletics term, well, I pretty much had to be called in from the depths of the track as I’d ‘miss my next class if I didn’t keep up with everyone else’. PE teachers, hey. WANKERS.

I’d actually love to rock up to my old school head to toe in Nike waving a giant flag (perhaps with a marching band behind me for emphasis) and say through a giant megaphone “To all my PE teachers that taught me here between 2002 and 2009, FUCK YOU. I just ran 10k.”

Yep, it’s true. I can run now. Some days it’s 3k, some days it’s 10k. But I can run. Like the effin’ wind (ish).

The key, I think, is to let go of all the reasons you think you can’t run. Whether you’re like me and you’ve been scarred by a lifetime of jibes about your sporting abilities, or perhaps an injury or weight loss/gain, let it all go. Forget the bad memories. It’s just you and the track now.

Start small. You can only run within your means. If you can run 1k, run 1k. If it’s 500m, run 500m. When you feel like you need to walk, walk. But always keep going back to running. Some of my favourite ways to get started are these intervals:

  • 30 seconds run, 1 minute walk
  • 30 seconds run, 30 seconds walk
  • 1 song of running, 1 song of walking (if listening to music)
  • run until lungs feel ready to burst, walk for 1 minute
  • 30 seconds comfortable jog, 20 seconds harder, 10 seconds RUN LIKE MO FARRAH (repeat 10 times)
  • 30 seconds easy, 30 seconds hard

It sounds lame but these little intervals actually build you up really really quickly. Run at least 2-3 times a week and you’ll see a difference so fast I promise. Oh, and get decent running shoes. I’ve learned the hard way that Nike Roshe’s (while totally babetown with a pair of ripped jeans and a striped tee) ain’t a runner’s friend. I’m now rocking the ugliest, chunkiest New Balance kicks (New Balance 1260 V5 Stability to be exact), but they give me the support and shock absorbance I need to not, well, shatter my knee caps.

The Nike + Running app is also my best pal. It shouts out when you reach a certain distance and tells you your pace at the same time, so you can monitor whether to kick it up a gear or slow it down to preserve energy while you’re training your endurance. Oh, and when you’re passing a group of onlookers scoffing a Nandos in the park and it shouts out that you’ve just nailed your 4th kilometre, it sorta feels like you’ve just won gold at Rio16. Just sayin’.

If you like to run to music, go for it, but I’ve actually learned I prefer silence. I can nosey into other people’s conversations in the park, let the wind catch my hair and sort of pretend I’m Delta Goodrem in a music video, or day dream about a load of fantastical shit that’ll never happen like winning American Idol or bumping into Richie off The Bachelor and having an impromptu coffee while gabbing about life. It’s a great mind cleanser, especially for the uptight like me for whom meditation and other relaxation techniques are pretty much useless. Haven’t heard about my meditation experience? Have a read here.

Trust me, you CAN do it. And it feels really awesome when you do. Let go of everything that’d ever stopped you, lace up your hawttt running shoes and stick your middle finger up to everyone that ever told you to TRY harder, BE faster or that you’re anything less than totally rad. RUN THE WORLD, GIRLS.

Peace,

Coco xoxo

 

The Juan and Only Mexican for Me

Okay so let’s get this straight. I effin’ love Mexican food. Partly because it’s all carbs and cheese and spices and more cheese and allll the avo and sour cream I could dream of, and partly because of the plethora of puns that come hand in hand with Mexican chat.

So today I’m gonna taco ’bout some rad Mexican food I scoffed last week. See what I did there? Dw, I’ll stop now.

So last week Jess and I went to the Gold Coast, and somewhere between acting out all the scenes from the Inbetweener’s movie we managed to squeeze in a dinner at Beach Burrito Co. in Coolangatta.

Coolangatta by the way is well worth a visit. When people think of Gold Coast they think of Surfer’s Paradise. Take it from me. It ain’t paradise. Paradise to any self respecting female is chilling on a hammock in Bora Bora while staff fan you with palm tree leaves while sipping mojitos. Surfer’s Paradise is basically the Southern Hemisphere’s answer to Magaluf. Coolangatta is way more up my rapidly aging twenty-something’s alley. Plenty of pensioners, not a nightclub in sight, and a dessert bar IN THE APARTMENT BUILDING. Yup, Max Brenner. You dawg.

Anyway Beach Burrito. With an insane view of the clear blue ocean, the European style white decking and Corona laden interior, it was the ideal place to refuel after a mental day basically having Wet ‘n’ Wild to ourselves (and me nearly peeing my pants after having to be launched backwards down a vertical drop in a shared dinghy with Jess on one of the slides).

Jess had bribed me with the Mexican feast to get me on every ride he could at Wet ‘n’ Wild to relive his childhood (while I almost burst a tonsil screaming at every twist and turn), so I’d already earmarked the chorizo and halloumi plate for starter.

Beach Burrito Co Chorizo and Halloumi Plate
Processed with VSCOcam with f2 preset

While not what I expected, it was delicious. It was sort of like an open wrap. I even ate some of the corn which was inconveniently hidden in every crevice of the halloumi goodness – and for those who know how much I hate corn, this is a milestone. FYI I really hate corn. The cheese was as springy and salty and omg so good – as I’d want halloumi to be, so I was happy.

For main we had burritos. Big, foil wrapped, juicy, can’t fit my chops round it burritos. There are few words. I couldn’t get a decent Instagram worthy snap of it unfortunately, though if I’m honest I only gave it a few trys before I sunk my orthodontically offensive gnashers into the mighty diameter of my Tofu and Bean babe. I had tofu because I’ve sort of given up some meat because I don’t really know why but yeah. Lol yes I know, I had chorizo for starter, but whether or not meat causes cancer, soz life but chorizo is where I draw the line.

I washed this down with a larger, cos, ya know, when in Rome and all that. Aside from the burps that followed my lad style pint was a delight (might I add, Jess had a lemonade, so I did fully embrace the butch beer drinker image). I woulda had a Corona but frankly I find it weird when I sip it and the lemon touches my lip so yeah, went for the Cooly beer on tap (Cooly being the irritating abbreviation of Coolangatta).

All in all, a top place for a Mexican chow down. The tacos looked incred as well and I kinda wish I’d had a few of those instead as they were little tapas-y ones, but… next time! The nachos and loaded fries were all too tempting, but they’ll need to go on the wishlist, too. Even my appetite couldn’t stretch *crys*. I hear there’s one in Fitzroy so yeah, you’ll find me there (this time, taking better pictures!).

Beach Burrito Company
Image via http://www.beachburritocompany.com

Adios amigos

Coco x