32 Quotes by Saira Viola

Nick sat alone reading a copy of The Independent. Cocaine socialists were trying their hardest to juice up Britain’s economy with super casinos.

Poncho was in a red mood slanging with rage and needed to cook himself out of it, while shoving handfuls of salted peanuts down his gullet and slurping ice cold Fanta.

Reality Tv had become the preferred drug of choice for the George Clooney obsessed housewives strung out on empty promises and splintered dreams.

He was a boom boom shake the room ” kind of guy.

With him big Phil from Notting Hill an old “face” from the sixties a pin up gangster with a “mars bar” weal scraping his left cheek and of course two “wag” slags in tow trussed up like French Poodles with “Bratz babe” stares and Gucci Handbags.