It’s a Monday and I’ve got that horrible feeling that everyone gets where they dream of being on a beach, sipping an ice cold beer, iPod blasting Bob Marley, not giving a shit if you have sunstroke later. I’ve never been ‘travelling’, living out of a bag reaches it’s peak at about three weeks for me. However, I have been on some utterly hilarious and life changing trips and holidays. To name a few;
Salou: We booked this holiday to make up for the fact that none of us were on university sports teams and therefore never got to experience it’s majesty on ‘tour’ like every other single uni student did. It lived up to everything we had hoped for, grotty bars, punch-bag machines, cheesy music and lots of don simon. Our hotel was the worst place I have ever stayed in my whole life to the point that it was just hilarious. Highlights include, getting stuck on our balcony most nights which wasn’t that bad because of alcohol, cards against humanity and the name game (When playing the name game with my friends, 9 times out of 10 the answer is Gary Lucy as a result of this holiday). The day we spent on a catamaran where they exclusively played Pitbull. The night I lost my bag, 50 euros, my blackberry, 20 Marlborough lights and my dignity having decided to go for a midnight swim. We did however gain a paralytic Spanish boy we found on the beach, so fair trade really. And lastly, spending a particularly hungover day in Barcelona Zoo, and subsequently getting really emotional over a grizzly bear only to end up eating in a restaurant that was so bad none of us could even muster words so just sat in shocked silence unsure whether tears, laughter or vomit were the correct course of action.
Magaluf: Me and a group of school friends decided to embark on a right of passage girls holiday to Magaluf. We turned up, bought a shit ton of desparados and peach schnapps and immediately hit the strip where we were greeted by pretty much the entirety of our 6th form. Excellent. One night I was having a lairy argument with a boy on the strip, in which I ended up calling him a Nazi for reasons I cannot recall, to which he replied “go back to ginger camp” (at the time my hair was a weird shade of yellow/orange due to a home bleaching incident) but what a choice of words, point proven, right? Copious amounts of sugary shots were purchased, the plain Jane of the group threw most of hers on the floor then tried to lie about being drunk. Rude. Subsequently she no longer frequents my friendship group. On a bar crawl I witnessed with my own eyes a girl give a full on blow job to a boy with a flaccid penis and possibly chlamydia in public, just to win more shots. A lot of other dark shit went down that night that I think I’ve managed to block out of my memory. Geordie Shore, eat your heart out. My best highlights were the midget that played the bongos in Revolutions and the man I found and became obsessed with one night in BCM, he looked exactly the same as Rufus Hound but couldn’t speak English. Also, the street sellers that didn’t seem to sell much except for drugs and giant novelty sunglasses who across the board’s only English seemed to consist of ‘Hello, chicken nugget, lady gaga’ on repeat.
Poland: Ahh, Poland, the time I was supposed to be chaperoning a group of year 10 students on a school trip to Poland. I spent the whole four days inappropriately drunk. Auschwitz with a hangover and 60 very emotional teenagers is not a good combination. There was the time I nearly got in a street fight with locals because I became very attached to my beer glass and decided I was going to take it home. Luckily the dude I was with broke it up, he was a HUGE dude from Texas and I managed to get away, unscathed, I still have that beer glass, I smuggled it home in my Ugg boot like some sort of exotic contraband. Also, after another heavy night on the Żywiec I went back to my hotel room, changed down into my underwear and had a deep chat about life with my room mate. Who happened to be a friend who was in all of my A level classes. He was such a nice boy and I really think I scarred him for life. It was on that trip that I decided teaching probably wasn’t for me.
Marbella: This particular trip was for a friends hen do. One night we were in a really expensive club and our night was looking a bit bleak because we were all skint AF. With a sudden change of fate a really, really loaded bloke requested our company in a private area, some of the TOWIE cast were in there and were asked to leave for us. Which made us feel quite smug. The night changed completely from thereon, we drank magnum upon magnum of Dom Perignon and had an amazing time dancing on the tables and chairs chanting “ANDREW ANDREW ANDREW”. When we all left, he tried to make us go to a ‘party’ with him, I’m so glad we didn’t go, because looking back, he had sex trafficker written all over him. Another highlight was when the bride cried after we braided her hair in such a way that it resembled a snake charmers basket, it tipped her over the edge, the perfect ending to a hen weekend if you ask me.