Saturday, 10 September 2016
Holiday? You're 'Aving A Laugh!
I ain’t never bin on a n’oliday never. I bin places an’ I done stuff but I ain’t never bin on a proppa’ roliday.
What’s the point of it? Know what I mean?
You gottu pack all your fings in a bag and most fings you don’t need and then you gottu go somewhere strange and pay to go there an’ pay to stay there an’ you can’t even get a proppa cup of tea there probably and even if you could get a proppa cup of tea it costs a bleedin’ fortune. And there ain’t a comfy chair to sit on and the bed? Well, it ain’t noffink like your bed at home ‘cos your bed at ‘ome ‘as got all the proper lumps and dent’s in it wot you fit around perfect. And you ‘ave to get up in time or you will miss breakfast and if you don’t miss breakfast you ‘ave bacon and eggs an’ fried bread every day during yor ‘oliday and at the end of yor ‘oliday wot you got to show for it? Constipation that’s wot ‘cos you ate all those fried breakfasts every day ‘cos you paid for it and you might as well get yor money’s worth. Serves you right really that does.
An’ then you sit on the beach with people laughing at yor white body, especially yor white legs which from the back look like a pair of white tapes hanging out of yor bathing suit and you roast in the bleedin’ ‘eat covered in factor god knows wot sunscreen so you don’t get burnt. An’ you get burnt anyway ‘cos you bought sunscreen cream from the pound shop and it don’t work ‘cos it’s cheap so what did you expect? An’ sand gets everywhere too an’ it sticks to you ‘cos of the suncream. Even in all yor fatty bits, ‘specially between yor buttocks.
If you don’t sit sweltering on the beach all day you go sight-seeing. On a bleedin’ coach probably with lots of really fat people who smell quite ripe ‘cos of the ‘eat an’ farting ‘cos of tummy upsets caused by the drinking water being full of shit. An’ you all troop off the bus together an’ go and look at some brick rubble and then you all troop to the toilets together an’ the women complain ‘cos they only got two toilets between the lot of them but the men have got urinals and they can all pee at the same time, an’ it ain’t right and then troop back on to the bus together.
An’ at the end of it all yor glad to be back ‘ome to yor own bed ain’t you? An’ you can show all yor friends the photos you took of yor ‘oliday. Photos they could all see on the bleedin’ internet if they was at all interested, but they ain’t.
Look do yorself a favour an' stay at 'ome next time and 'ave a really nice rest. I mean, that's what an 'oliday is about. Know wot I mean?