Thursday, 26 July 2012

Besides the Seaside: Part 2

It's so... fucking... hot. I'm melting. Don't ask me what I'm doing in my roasting tin room, writing a blog and occassionally stroking my eyebrows*. It's just too hot to be outside.

Hold on! I've got some snide Cornettos in my freezer!

Two minutes later
Shitting hell- left the freezer door open, didn't I? The 'ice creams' are now 'cold creams' and it dripped all over my leg as soon as I opened it. Now I'm sticky and annoyed as well as being too hot.

I was going to finish telling you about my trip to the seaside, but I've been reading over my recent blog posts and they're all quite boring. Do you get fed up that all I talk about is getting drunk, spending too much money and then crying remorseful tears about it afterwards?

Maybe I should go back to how it used to be, when I just talked about getting lost in Paris and trying to prove the existence of mythical creatures. (In case you're a New Reader, let me sum up my sound scientific discoveries: dragons are extinct and mermaids are the missing link)

 Last time I got up to the point where me and Olivia went for a nice meal, then went back to our room to drink wine... So we drank the wine, then at about 11pm we wandered down to the beach to see the Bastille Day fireworks (I don't know why they had fireworks the night before, either). It was pouring down with rain, which is maybe why we didn't see any of the 'bad men getting drunk and having fires' that the mum warned us about. In truth, I was disappointed.

After the fireworks we kind of followed the crowd as everyone left the beach and we ended up on a big street that leads out of town. That's when we noticed something- there were LOADS of scallies in Seaside Ville (that's what I'm calling the little town for reasons of anonymity). I didn't think the au pair family would go somewhere chavvy, but I think they must have had the apartments for generations, back when the area was fashionable and before all the ruffians decided to holiday there. It is literally the Blackpool of France.

There were groups of scallies lurking around, throwing firecrackers at people. We saw one really big group walking towards us and we could hear them firecrackers, even though there were two fire engines driving down the road, really slowly, kind of like they were in a parade or something, even though it was past midnight. We crossed the road to get away from them but we could hear the firecrackers on the other side of the road as well... it was then we realised that it wasn't the scallies throwing the firecrackers, it was the firemen! Just casually leaning out of the window, laughing and waving and throwing dangerous explosives at people. Great job, lads.

After a bit of wandering and singing (we made up a song about the scallies after seeing one with a baldy head and a very tall, white wooly hat balanced on the top. It basically went 'Chavvy McChavversons everywhere... Chavvy McChavversons what do they wear? Tracksuits and trainers and long chains of gold. Drinking and smoking, you're fourteen years old.'

(ALTHOUGH let me stress that I try not to use the word chav because: number one, I've always thought of it as a Southern Word anyway and- as I might have mentioned before- I'm not Southern, thank you very much; and number two, I recently discovered that 'chav' comes from the Romani word for child- chavi. Therefore it infers that all young Romani people are scallies, which obviously I don't agree with because I'm not a racist.)

 Do you know what? My laptop is doing that thing again where it runs painfully slowly and doesn't do what I tell it to do. Please don't tell me I've got another virus, already!

I really can't type anymore it's driving me mad.

*BROW NEWS: They're currently a little bit uneven. Lauren once wisely said to me that when eyebrows are involved (and they nearly always are- I don't think I've done anything in the last 23 years when my eyebrows weren't there, sticking their oars in) you have to think 'sisters, not twins'; but at the moment they're verging on estranged husband and wife, so I have been trying to restrain myself from plucking. I'm glad I stopped having them threaded as, looking through old Facebook photos, I can see that although they were super smooth and neatly defined, they made my face look like a big, pale potato.


  1. Your posts aren't boring. And they always make me laugh.