Hilarious Holidays: Part 2

Because my life is clearly too fun to condense all my favourite trips into one blog post, here is part deux of my holiday instalments.

Barcelona – The time me and an old house mate hopped onto a plane to Barcelona for a long weekend, checked into our hostel and didn’t return for about 72 hours. The events that followed are a bit of a blur but we met some awesome people, watched the sun rise from a strangers balcony, and slept in the park, like homeless people. All I know is that there was a lot of male nudity and dancing along to ‘Freakin’ It – Will Smith’. We also adopted a French Dude called Pierre, we lost him, I hope he got home safe. A snippet of evidence can be found below.

Corfu – The last family holiday me and my sister were ever invited on. The holiday that started my downhill spiral on life. Age 14, blind drunk, kissing a dude that looked like Martin Fowler… in front of my family. I swear to god my sister made me do it. Passing out eating cheetos whilst my sister incorrectly sung along to Paolo Nutini ‘lay down inside me’ (she genuinely thought they were the lyrics, she wasn’t trying to be funny).  Waking up with a gob full of disintegrated cheesy puffs, surfacing to face my family mid-afternoon and having my Dad sing the Eastenders theme tune at me for the entirety of the holiday.

The night after, drunken Lexy and her sister strolled into town to the nearest discotheque  where I decided to fall in love with the Albanian boy who worked at our hotel. After sinking a large amount of tequila for a child I proceeded to kiss him a lot, this time only in front of my sister. He proceeded to text me weekly for the next two years until I finally lost my pink Motorola Razor along with his number. Such a tragedy, with Romeo & Juliet undertones. Lexy & Nikos 4EVA. No?

Kos – There was the time me and some girlfriends went away to Kos for the week, we fully intended to get as much sun and alcohol down us as possible but I don’t think we could have anticipated the sheer amount of carnage that ensued. After a truck load of Gyros and questionable holiday romances me and a friend thought it would be funny to get henna ‘tramp stamps’ that read ‘Wolverine’ and ‘Old Spice’. Mine didn’t wash off for at least a year, while my friends washed off immediately in the pool. I was branded. Lesson learnt: Don’t fuck about with henna. Try living a normal life with ‘Wolverine’ etched onto your lower back. You’d be surprised how often it can crop up in conversation. Highlights included a underarm wax, a broken sun lounger and a chap that wrote and performed a rap for me by the poolside. I still rate that.

Jamaica – My cousin is a Virgin Air Hostess, she also happens to be my best friend which comes in handy when you feel like sneaking off to Jamaica to play with dolphins, drink red stripe, eat Jerk Chicken and listen to Eternal for A WEEKEND. Anyway, I really offended a bunch of women I was sat next to on the plane on the way there when they asked me to guess their ages, to which I guessed wayyyy to high.  This was before we took off so all I could do was drink an excessive amount of free Gin, watch Frozen (which was class by the way) and then pretend to fall asleep for the remaining 7.5 hours I had left of the flight

Croatia – The best five days of festival fun of my life to date. I spent most of the trip in a confused state, wearing a poncho with that feeling that you really picked the wrong day to go to Thorpe Park. We stayed in a little old Croatian lady’s B&B and she was so sweet that I almost felt bad for the things we put her through and the amount of her rules we broke.

The festival itself was pretty small, so small that by the time we left to go home we were in several high school esque cliques. There were the German Dentists, The Drug Dealers, The guys who worked the Photo Hut, The people who hung around the Henna Tattoo man (you think I would have learnt my lesson, but no.) And the people who were at the 80’s  pop and 00’s R&B and Hip Hop tent every night religiously until 6am. It was heaven on earth. My spirit’s reflection. Ha

Highlights Include:

  • Drinking amazing grapefruit flavour beer all week, feeling absolutely fine then on the last day realising it was only 2.5%.
  • Meeting a man who was ‘ketted’ off his face and carrying a kitten around in a sling, he was certain he was going to take it home on the plane and wanted to call it Tabitha. Also, the other dude who took too much ketamine and walked around barefoot, wearing a cape and holding a broom for the week solid, I never saw him with anyone except the broom.
  • SEEING CHIC & NILE ROGERS and feeling disco AF.
  • Maggie, the semi-retired judge who appeared to be at the festival alone, she was also wearing wristbands for Hideout, Dimensions and Outlook, sooo, hats off to her really. Every time we saw her she had taken so much MDMA that she looked like she was about to jump out of her own face. Oh Maggie.
  • Wearing a disposable poncho with a bikini underneath for a week solid and looking like some sort of exotic Klu Klux Klan member.
  • Making friends with the only group of black people and openly naming then ‘So solid crew’ because racism (they loved us, it was OK).


I need to book a mini break immediately and this sunshine is not helping the situation. But on the flip side I should probably try and organise some sort of savings to enable me to move out of my parents house before I hit the menopause. Life.

Hilarious Holidays Part:1

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.