Job for the buoys? Busty’s prized assets save the day…

busty idolAnd so to Soho Farmhouse – where else I hear you ask? – for my rearranged “meeting” with the dashingly handsome hairy-arsed-printer-turned-data-guru Drop Shadow Dickie, and specific instructions from my esteemed boss to come back with some ad revenue.
As regular readers will no doubt recall, I have had the pleasure of the Farmhouse Cowshed before, when my afternoon with Marauding Mike gave a whole new meaning to the term “lapping up the cream”. But Dickie’s invitation was, dare I say, even more appealing as I actually got to stay the night and everything.
And, as it happened to coincide with National Fitness Day, we made sure we had an amazing work-out, followed by a very relaxing spa at the Steam and Sauna Island.
Thankfully, there weren’t too many fellas fashioning skinny jeans, shoes without socks and ridiculous beards – they seem to confine themselves to Shoreditch House – but soon we were joined by a couple of Dickie’s key contacts, we’ll call them Tom and Harry for argument’s sake, who, as we were in the countryside, insisted on wearing tweeds and wellies. Bless ’em.
Anyway, the Languedoc Merlot flowed and flowed and we all filled our boots until Dickie’s chums suggested we head over to the “disco” at the other side of the lake (as you can tell, they were men of a certain age; the last time I went to a “disco”, I was at school). As I was wearing my Louboutins (I’m not a country girl as you can probably tell) Dickie offered to escort me along the moonlit path, with the help of his huge torch, but his pals had the bright idea to take one of the rowing boats over the lake.
Oh how we laughed, until the still night air was punctured by a massive splash as the boat tipped over, plunging them into the depths of the black lagoon. At which point Dickie went white as a sheet. “Shit,” he exclaimed, “I am on the verge of signing a huge deal with them. If they snuff it, we’re all buggered.”
Shit, indeed, I thought, and with scant regard for my own personal safety – but plenty of regard for the safety of this organ’s ad revenues – I stripped off immediately, and dived in Baywatch-stylee, leaving Dickie clutching his torch.
Luckily, back in the day, I was a promising young swimmer until my 38DDs took hold. But they certainly came in handy at this point, I can tell you, as, when I finally reached Dickie’s mates, they looked in danger of going down for the third time, and not in a good way, either.
It’s all a bit of a blur as by then the adrenaline – and the Merlot – had kicked in but the next thing I knew I had flipped onto my back, enabling them to grab a handful each and “breast-stroke” back to terra firma. If that doesn’t land me the $25,000 Pornhub Cares Scholarship, nothing will.
Until then, I am pleased to report that Dickie was so grateful for my life-saving endeavours that he offered me a huge package – hopefully he might buy some ads, too.
But just one note of caution, I don’t get my buoys out for any old Tom, Dickie and Harry…

You can also follow Busty on Twitter @BustyIdol

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