Monday, 5 October 2015

A suprise date, hot sauce and a new skill.

Thursday 17th September

Waking to the sound of a persistent alarm was not at all soothed by the sight of my fellow roommate's package.  I sincerely doubt that a view from a Hostel bunk bed will be getting a high score on Trip Advisor anytime soon. Despite the view, I was more than happy to be waking up in Chicago.

Once I had returned from the bathroom, the package guy had put on more clothes and we bonded over discussions on how to cure hangovers effectively. We agreed to meet for a drink later on so we could check out the local bars in the area. Given that I was proudly wearing my Gryffindor pyjamas and hadn't recently brushed my teeth, I didn't even consider the fact that he may have been asking me out on a date. I later found out that I definitely should've considered it, which I'm using as a huge ego boost.

I spent the day roaming around the city. I quickly discovered that whilst Chicago may be architecturally beautiful, it sincerely lacks in public toilets. Even when I finally gave in and purchased a ridiculously expensive coffee from Starbucks just so I could use their toilet, they gave me a gigantic key of shame to unlock the door with. Walking to the toilet with that gigantic key was worse than any traditional walk of shame that I've ever encountered (and that includes the walk of shame which crossed counties and incorporated various modes of transport, a pit stop at my friend's house and even a drive-by from my own dad).

After enjoying a lot of the food Chicago has to offer, I made my way back to the hostel and I met the package guy for a drink. Turns out that instead of heading out to the local bars, he had drinks for two planned on the hostel's rooftop terrace. That was the first sign that it may have been a date. The second sign was when he clearly began trying to block out the other guy that was attempting to talk to us. The third sign was when he confirmed how single I was. In hindsight, I probably should've made out that I have a boyfriend back home who I madly love instead of making it explicitly clear how single I really am.

Brutally, it was the most boring conversation that I've ever had in my life. I would ask him a simple question and it would result in at least a fifteen minute monologue. Unfortunately, I have a very short attention span so I literally had to cause myself mild physical pain, through the act of pinching, to stop myself from falling asleep. If I had been in a bar, I would've made a polite excuse and I would've left that bar very promptly. It's extremely difficult to bomb someone off when you're staying in the same hostel as them, especially when you're actually still at the hostel.

 Eventually, he agreed to make like a baby and head out so we could check out the local bars (like we had originally agreed to). We both agreed that we needed to change our shoes and visit the toilet, so we decided to meet downstairs in 10 minutes.  He left first and I simply never followed. I didn't intentionally stand him up, I just ended up having a great conversation with the other guys that were on the rooftop terrace. Looking back, it probably would've been kinder to have told the package guy that I simply wasn't interested. It also probably would've made it less awkward when I bumped into him downstairs a few hours later. Remembering his name might have also made the situation less awkward.

In fact, a friend recently told me off for my inability to reject people when I informed him of my usual method of rejection. Apparently, really going to town with the garlic mayo at the end of a night out isn't an explicit, or socially acceptable way, to tell a guy that I'm not interested. Instead, the only thing that it guarantees is that I'll gain a garlic related nickname amongst the guy and his friends. This night in Chicago definitely taught me that it's extremely important to be confident enough to inform someone that you're not keen in pursuing anything with them. It may be brutal but I guess sometimes, honesty really is the best policy.

Friday 18th September

Once again, I wandered out and explored the city. I stumbled across the French Quarter, which had an amazing selection of food. There were actually too many delicious options, so I ended up panic picking from a Thai stall. I panic picked incorrectly. All I gained was an intense after-taste and a noodle-spray stain on my t-shirt (not an innuendo). 

When I was on my way back to the hostel in the evening, a woman tried hustling me for money and my phone by claiming that she needed urgent medical assistance due to her being pregnant and bleeding heavily. Not only did this woman and her friends lack any convincing acting abilities, the woman hadn't even gone to the effort of making herself look pregnant. So instead of giving her any money, I ran away. OK, I didn't run but I did walk in a very brisk manner back in the direction I'd come from. 

Finally, I made it back the hostel and actually ended up checking out some of the local bars with some guys I'd met the previous night. We headed to the Emporium Bar, which was great because it's full of old school arcade games. I discovered that I'm actually genuinely incredible at playing Street Fighter, which I'm pretty sure now makes me 100% more employable. It was also a great bar because it seemed to have a strict dress-code requirement of double denim and moustaches, so I instantly fit in. There was also a genuinely great band playing, although nobody else seemed to dance as enthusiastically as I did. I did enjoy the fact that it was a woman's actual job to create the special effects using a projector from the 90's and various arts and crafts materials. Despite what the unemployment figures suggest, there really is a job out there for everyone.

After heading to a few more bars, we ended up in a Mexican Bar. Bizarrely and amazingly, this bar seemed to offer a free buffet at the end of the night. Naturally, I headed over to take full advantage. It turns out that the buffet was for employees only and my friend and I had to leave the bar pretty promptly. Thankfully, there was a street cart outside selling tacos and I took advantage of that instead. Although I probably shouldn't have taken advantage of the hot sauce. Ending my night by simultaneously crying and sweating was not a proud moment for me. There was probably enough liquid coming from my face to solve the drought problem in California.

Saturday 19th September

Originally, I had planned to check out the beaches in Chicago but the weather was still pretty bad so I decided to head to the zoo. On my way, I came across an arts and crafts street festival which emphasised how people will buy anything if you market it correctly, including guitars made out of old matchboxes.

Once I got to the zoo, I didn't really enjoy it. It could've been because I was hungover or it could've been because the enclosures seemed particularly small at the Chicago Zoo. Even though I normally love the punderful opportunities a zoo provides, I don't believe that animals should be kept in unsuitably small enclosures. This may seem hypocritical to some given that I'm more than happy to tuck into 'surprise meat' at the end of a night but, as the clearly profound Hannah Montana would sing, nobody's perfect.

When I was making my way back to the Hostel, I indulged in a bagel from the Chicago Bagel Authority. Not only is the menu incredible, but the guys that work there are ridiculously hot. Although this poses as a problem for me as I'm apparently unable to communicate effectively with people if I think they're hot. This meant that when the guy gave me my bagel as a take-out, instead of eat-in, I felt way too awkward to correct him and simply left with my bagel in a bag. I ended up sitting on a nearby bench, like a gremlin, trying to eat my bagel without spilling avocado everywhere. I failed.

Back at the Hostel, I packed up my bags and made my way to the subway. When I was leaving the subway, I was faced with the option of a lift or the stairs. Cockily, I took the stairs. That was an error. Instead of feeling like Rocky when I got to the top, I felt a lot like Simon Pegg's character in Run Fatboy Run. Slightly out of breath, I made it to the Greyhound Bus Station so I could begin my overnight bus journey to Nashville, Tennessee.  It was my first overnight bus journey since I went on a school Ski Trip. I quickly realised that whilst it may not have been as fun as travelling with my friends, people were less likely to hate me (mainly because I wasn't waking them up constantly by letting off a whoopee cushion in their face). Also, despite the fact that there was more of a risk of being mugged on a Greyhound journey, there was also more of a guarantee that I'd keep my trousers on and my dignity in tact. 

Even though I gained an extra few pounds and lost quite a few dollars, Chicago was a great city. When I next visit, I'll probably spend less time eating biscoff & banana doughnuts, and more time perfecting the art of Street Fighter.

Wednesday, 2 September 2015

To date or not to date? That is the question.

Before coming out to America, I was firmly against the idea of dating. I know, it's easier to say that you don't date than to admit that, despite lowering swiping standards on tinder, the offers aren't rolling in. As mentioned in a previous post, my game is seriously lacking and I'm incapable of flirting without someone thinking that I require a permanent carer. Also, I find the idea of someone knowing that I like them more horrifying than when I open the camera up on my phone and I'm confronted by all of my chins (I can often put the thumb man to shame).

This summer, I decided to put on my big girl pants and actually go on a date (yes, it was a tinder date). It quickly became apparent that he was an extremely successful and well-accomplished adult. Naturally, this made the date very awkward at first given that I'm currently avoiding even the smallest of responsibilities and I have no career prospects. Luckily, we ended up bonding over ridiculous videos that we'd both seen and urban dictionary (who ever said that the internet has killed the art of conversation?). Although the hug he gave me at the end of the date indicated that it hadn't been too much of a success. I may not be a connoisseur of dating but I am pretty sure that closing a date with a hug is merely a polite way of saying  'sorry, but I'm not that keen'.

Surprisingly, we did end up going on another date a few weeks later (the dating pool is very small in this town). This date was a lot more fun because he took me out on his boat. This meant that once the conversation started to run dry, we could avoid the awkward silence by going for a swim in the water. In hindsight, cannon balling into the water might not have been the most graceful approach. Although the cannon ball can't have bothered him too much as I received three separate texts from him later that night. I'm often unaware of social norms but even I know that triple texting is at least one, if not two, texts too far.

Although I didn't have a great summer romance, I do now understand that dating can be a great way to meet new people and to experience new things. Despite this, I think it's time to put my tinder swiping days to bed. As unconvincing as it sounds, I'm genuinely not looking to date anyone. I'd much rather spend my nights causing general mischief with my friends than trying to convince someone I barely know, or particularly care about, that they should see me again. Plus, I'd only really feel comfortable going to dinner with someone who I know would tell me when I have a herb stuck in my teeth (my front teeth are unfortunately close together, which means they often act like the filter for herbs I never wanted, or needed). Besides, it's actually become quite embarrassing how many times I've completed tinder and have had to extend my distance setting in order to reel in new potential fish. Turns out that the app isn't as much of an ego boost as my friend promised it would be.

Although a friend did tell me this year, rather brutally, that I have been single long enough and that it was time for me to settle down. I personally believe that this advice was more ridiculous than Kanye declaring that he will be running for President in 2020 (even if, as Jimmy Fallon pointed out, you can't spell Amerikanye without 'Kanye'). It's ridiculous advice because I don't feel the need to 'settle down'. This might be because I'm lucky in that I already have people in my life who I know I love (even if they are mildly attractive, at best).

In fact, they might be the true loves of my life because they genuinely seem to enjoy my terribly niche jokes and my awful Terminator impressions. I also know that I can rely on them to sooth my hangovers and that they would never judge me for eating two takeaways in one day (it's happened). What's more, they would never tell me off, although they probably should sometimes, for rolly-pollying during a gig or for demonstrating how strong my lunge is in a highly populated area. Most importantly, I know that they'll always dance ridiculously with me no matter where we are. Really, that's all I want from the loves in my life. Unfortunately, they also have an outrageous collection of potentially life ruining photos and videos that they could release into the world at any point. This means that I have to keep them in my life and that's already more commitment than I can truly handle.

So, to the guys on tinder: don't worry, you're safe for now.

Sunday, 23 August 2015

Pass me my zimmer frame.

Another birthday has been and gone. It's now becoming increasingly more difficult to use my youth as an excuse for my terrible decision making and my lack of financial security. However, I do enjoy taking advantage of the fact that there is one day each year where it's a requirement to be fed cake and to treat yourself. To me, treating myself involves ensuring that all of my friends hang out with me and encourage my need to act ridiculously. I see it as the hen party that I'll probably never have.

Last year, I got quite stroppy with some of my friends for not making an appearance on the actual day of my birthday. The strop was a definite mistake because they decided to more than make up for it a few days later at Reading Festival. It started off quite innocently with them buying me a birthday cake (they know cake is the way to my heart). It escalated quite quickly when I was funneling a beer and they thought it would be hilarious to simultaneously poor a bottle of vodka into the funnel. I'm pretty sure instead of being hilarious, it actually counts as a severe crime given I had to sit down and give myself a pep talk on how I was going to survive the night. 

At first, it appeared that my pep talk had done the trick. My main crime was smushing my birthday cake into most of my friends' faces and for some of them, that's definitely not the worst facial they've ever had. The havoc didn't come until we went to visit another camp. I had never met the people at this camp before and within less than half an hour, I'd rolly-pollied through their campfire because I'm apparently Evel Knievel reincarnated when vodka kicks in. I then proceeded to break a few of their campchairs because I heard that's a good way to make excellent first impressions. Being the fatty that I am, I also stole a sausage and swallowed it whole. The sausage didn't stay down for long but it did still remain whole (which I'm worryingly quite proud of). Eventually, my friends hauled me back to my own campsite and folded me into my insanely small tent.

Ridiculously, that isn't where the havoc stopped. I woke up in the early hours of the morning and somehow managed to locate the toilets and purchase a cup of tea. When I went back to what  I though was my tent, I found a boy sleeping in my place. It was like a festival version of Goldilocks and the three bears. Naturally, I began shaking his legs and shouting, "get out of my tent, boy!" whilst simultaneously scolding him with my tea. Fortunately, it only took me a minute or two to realise that the boy was sleeping in a copious amount of bedding and I had hardly brought a sleeping bag with me. Awkwardly, I zipped the poor boy's tent back up and stumbled back to my own campsite and my own tent. 

This year, I might have managed to avoid rolling through a fire but my birthday was still quite ridiculous. The day started off quite respectably given I mainly spent the day treating myself. I even treated myself to a pedicure which, if I'm being honest, was probably more of a treat for the people of St. Michaels who have to see my feet regularly. 

In the late afternoon, Steve the local pirate offered to take my friends and I on his sail boat. Steve might have failed as a pirate to supply rum but my friend had bought me wine and cake so I was more than happy. After an hour or so of sailing, and enjoying how ridiculously gorgeous the view was out on the bay, we decided to get in the water. Despite not having any appropriate swimming gear on, I jumped in right after my friends because I've never really understood why it's deemed as unacceptable for people to see you in your underwear. Although I do believe that jumping in the water with eye-liner on should definitely be deemed as unacceptable. Smudged eye-liner is not a good look and I don't want people thinking that I'm taking my new love for Giant Pandas too far.

After a while, our stomachs were telling us that we needed to head back to land and get some food. Although it was delicious, the cake I had proudly scoffed wasn't really substantial. Despite this, when we docked the boat and went to get some food, I decided that I was no longer hungry. Not eating was definitely my first mistake. Some might say that eating is cheating but sometimes, eating is actually a necessity. 

My second mistake was playing a game with my friend that resulted in me drinking two buckets of rum in under ten minutes. Seriously, there was no rum left at the bar because I had literally drank it all. Before I knew it, I was ordering my friend to pass me the mini american flags that were decorating the bar so I could be toplessly patriotic. If class was a requirement to stay in this country, I'd definitely be on the next plane home. 

The rest of the evening is hazy but thankfully, my friends are more decent than they make out to be and made sure I got home safely. Their efforts were slightly wasted though because I didn't stay at home. I had an extremely short nap and woke up thinking that my friends had sent me to bed early. Given I suffer terribly from fear of missing out (FOMO as it's known amongst professionals), I decided to cycle back out again and meet my friends out. I'd failed to take a light with me so naturally, I swept up a garden light as I was cycling. I then proceeded to hold the light as if I was Aragorn leading the Host of the West into battle. Luckily, I realised before I got to the bar that it was actually gone three in the morning and my friends were already in bed. Awkwardly, I turned my bike around and cycled home. 

Finally, I ended up in bed but still continued to make ridiculous choices. I thought it would be a great idea to message an old friend and tell him that he was shit for not remembering my birthday. I then proceeded to tell him that he'd changed. When he asked how he'd changed, I merely sent him a stream of poo emojis. Unsurprisingly, he hasn't replied. The internet may have made a lot of things easier in my life but it does mean, even when there's an ocean separating you, it's still easy to drunkenly harass someone. I can move to a different country but if you're in my contact list then you're at risk. You've been warned. 

Despite the minor theft, indecent exposure and brutal hangover (they really do get worse every year), I had a great birthday and I'm grateful that I still have friends that don't mind hanging out with me. I'm looking forward to avoiding coming of age for another year. 

Monday, 17 August 2015

I didn't choose the push bike life.

And the push bike life definitely didn't choose me.

In order to avoid walking this summer, I bought myself a fixie bike from Walmart. Buying a bike from Walmart was probably my first mistake.When I was first riding the bike, I thought I'd just purchased a bike that was single-gearedly trying to ruin my life. It was so difficult to ride, crawling everywhere probably  would've been easier and quicker. It wasn't until my friend offered to swap bikes with me for a little bit that I realised I'd actually been conned into buying a bike with a punctured tire. I guess I can rule out becoming a bicycle mechanic as a future career.

Buying a fixie bike with no lever brakes was definitely my second mistake. On my first day on the bike, I nearly cycled directly into a car because there was the slightest of ramps and I hadn't quite figured out how to stop the bike. Instead of reversing the pedals like a normal person would've done, I flung myself off the bike like the amateur stunt woman I'll never be. This was the first time I fell off the bike and it wasn't to be the last.

Okay, I doubt even having lever brakes would've helped that time I cycled directly into my friend and bounced off his wheel onto the floor. Nor would they've helped that time I cycled into a ditch and crashed into someone's mail post. On reflection, maybe purchasing a push bike at all was my actual mistake. My knees have been grated this summer more than a block of cheese.

Even though my bike has let me down sometimes (due a damaged kickstand, it's even let itself down occasionally), I was devastated when I found that a true scoundrel had stolen my bike in the late hours of last Saturday. It's true that you don't know what you have until it's gone.

Luckily, I have been able to 'borrow' a bike from work (who said that two wrongs don't make a right?). Yet I doubt my thighs would agree with the use of the word lucky given they have become a serious victim to an intense level of chafing. I would prefer to think the chafing is because of the wide bike seat rather than all of the second helpings I eat. Although maybe chubby chafe is better than regular chafing because, due to the amount of friction between my legs, I'd definitely be a cycling fire hazard if oxygen could reach the inside of my thighs.

Embarrassingly, in order to minimise the pain from when my thighs touch each other, I'm having to walk like a cowgirl who had too much fun on a Friday night. I'd really like my old bike back before the chafing gets so bad that I end up becoming temporarily immobile and have to genuinely call in sick for work. No one needs to have 'a serious case of chubby chafe' on their personnel file.

Yes, I'm taking the search for a crappy Walmart bike international. Watch out Interpol.

Sunday, 9 August 2015

Giant pandas and a full moon.

Last week my friends and I ventured out of the small, fireball-whisky drinking town that we've been staying in and headed to Washington D.C. It was definitely more educational than any organised school trip.

I've finally learnt that I should not be given the responsibility to book accommodation for other people. A few years ago, my sister and I were interrailing around Europe and  I had been trusted to book the first night of accommodation. The hostel ended up being located in the outer Bronx of Paris and the owner had no recollection of our reservation. This resulted in her putting us up in a room that required my sister and I to get way too close to an Italian Stallion who refused to acknowledge either of us. Seriously, Freddy Krueger would've been more approachable. In D.C, the hostel I dragged my friends to also had no record of our reservation. Although unlike Paris, I awkwardly realised (after insisting that I had made the reservation through the hostel's own website) that I was actually causing a scene in the wrong hostel.

Once we reached the correct hostel, my friends and I decided to spend our first day exploring the National Mall. This highlighted how important it can be to think through your clothing choices. Wearing your bumbag with true tourist pride might make you feel like the King of the Mall but nothing will take the edge off like wearing a thin shirt in over 30 degree heat when you have very heavy hair. My back was so sweaty it was like Niagara Falls and everyone in D.C could see it. Although unlike Niagara Falls, I highly doubt my back will become a tourist destination anytime soon.

I've also realised that tourist attractions can very disappointing. Visiting the White House was incredibly underwhelming and in my opinion, borderline creepy. I'm not sure when it became socially acceptable to stand outside an attractive man's house and take pictures through an iron gate. There are a lot of tourists out there, myself included, who are probably now due a restraining order.

Visiting the National Mall also reinforced the brutal fact that dreams rarely come true. Before visiting Washington, I'd always dreamed of re-enacting the scene from Forest Gump where Jenny runs through the reflecting pool. When we finally reached the reflecting pool, that dream quickly vanished. The only thing I would've gained from getting in that grotty water would've been genuine sick days off work. Although Lincoln's memorial must have provided some inspiration as I decided to try and overcome my fear of birds by taking a selfie with a duck. Okay, it might not be as impressive as issuing the Emancipation Proclamation but everyone has to start somewhere. 

When you're exploring the night life of a city, it probably is better to visit that city on a weekend. It turns out that on a Tuesday Night, Washington D.C. can provide nothing but karaoke (I obviously wan't complaining). Although a few guys in Nellie's Sports Bar (a gay bar) did apparently have something to complain about when my friend and I got on stage. Nothing puts you off your Dirrty by Christina Agularia rendition quite like people trying to hustle you off stage for not being gay. All I wanted to do was entertain the bar whilst showing them that I'm too dirrty to clean my act up, jeez.

For our second day in D.C., my friends and I decided to take advantage of the free activities on offer and visit the Smithsonian Zoo. The Zoo is where I learnt that no matter how excited you are to see giant pandas for the first time, it is not acceptable to push small children out of the way to gain a better vantage point. I still maintain the fact that the judgemental looks from the parents were worth it because I was able to witness a giant panda re-enacting an 80's workout video. The panda had an impeccable crunch technique so all he was really missing was the fluorescent socks and a high-waisted workout thong.

My friends had to leave D.C a couple of days earlier than I did and that is when I began to learn more about hostels and exploring a city on your own. It's true that hostels really are a great place for meeting new people, although not all of them will be the greatest people you'll ever meet. After forgetting to pack my pyjama bottoms, I obviously include myself in this category. When people say that full moons are beautiful I sincerely doubt that they're referring to my bottom as I'm climbing up and down a bunk bed ladder. Unsurprisingly, the guy sleeping in the bed underneath me refused to say a word to me throughout the entire duration of my stay.

On the other hand, you can also meet the greatest people in a hostel. A few guys I met actually encouraged my love for organised fun and even let me create the rules for a bar game we found. Yet this could've only been because they'd already had a few cocktails and the actual rules took a long time to read. Even if that is the case, they still seemed to enjoy some of my museum puns the next day and trust me, that's rare. Although, I don't think we quite reached the stage where it would've been perfectly normal for me to have asked them to photograph me whilst I pretended that a replica dinosaur was eating my face. That requires true friendship.

Even though my toes may have been crippled from walking so much and my skin may have literally been fried (I wouldn't recommend putting baby oil on instead of moisturiser), I loved D.C. and all of its lessons.

Monday, 20 July 2015

I'm sorry but you appear to have a vagina.

Throughout my childhood, I wasn't even aware that were gender stereotypes or things girls can't apparently do. On a Saturday morning, my sister would go to gymnastics and I would go to football practice. Although that could've simply been because I really did suck at gymnastics and given my dad was a coach, it was probably highly embarrassing for him to have me anywhere near the gymnasium. Apparently I've never been one for grace and control.

When I was growing up, I was never once told 'you can't do that because you're a girl.' Apart from maybe when I wanted to learn how to pee standing up. But now with the invention of shewees, I've even mastered that art (although I doubt my friends who had to witness the 'mastering' would agree). Equally, as far as I know, my younger brother was never told 'you can't do that because you're a boy'. He wasn't even told this when we were playing fancy dress and he would claim first dibs on the best dresses. If I'm  honest, he really did rock a frock better than my sisters and I did anyway.

Throughout more recent years, I have been fortunate enough to make great friends that do not conform to gender norms either. My best friend went to Scouts instead of Guides when she was growing up and now she is a boss bitch in the world of science (which is good because I'm planning to live in her garage conversion when she finally qualifies as a surgeon). My male friends would never exclude me from an activity because I'm girl, but that might mainly be because I often don't give them much choice. Nor would they ever censor their conversations because they are around a girl. But if they are censoring their conversations, they should all definitely be in jail.

This summer, I'm working and travelling in America and I've often read that you're more likely to learn if you travel on your own. They were right. I've learnt that I was extremely lucky to have a childhood where gender norms were irrelevant. I'm fortunate in that it's taken me 23 years to truly experience for myself how different things can be when people realise you do in fact have a vagina.

For the first time in my life, I've been questioned about my abilities to do a job because I'm female. Having to persuade someone that my lady arms can carry things is probably the most ridiculous thing I've done recently (and I ended my 4th of July celebrations by walking into a lake on my own and trying to part the water like Moses). I've also been excluded from adventures and conversations because I'm female.  When discussing this recently with a friend she replied with, "I love proving boys wrong." This friend spent a few months last year killing poisonous fish in Yellowstone National Park. Yes, she is a total badass and it's insane that there is a need for her to prove any guy wrong due to gender stereotypes.

Oscar Wilde suggested that women have more fun because there are more things in this world forbidden to them. Even though I probably love to have too much fun, I'd much rather have true equality and acceptance for my vagina and puny lady arms.

Friday, 17 July 2015

Short shorts and a flimsy bikini.

Sometimes it pays off to ignore the fact that there's a high chance you're probably gatecrashing a 'lad's day out' and just get in the back of their car. If I hadn't, I'd have just spent the day on my own in the shade (I'm probably paler than some corpses). Instead, I got to spend the day playing at the beach (yes, I'm aware that I'm probably too old to use the verb 'play').

I managed to resist the urge to suggest typical car games throughout the entire car journey because I now finally understand that not everyone shares my love for organised fun. Once we finally made it to the beach, we headed straight for a dip in the sea. Almost immediately, my friend traumatised most of the children there due to a strong wave and very short shorts. Sometimes, in order to benefit the general public, it's important to accept that you have actually grown since you were fourteen years old and buy bigger swimming shorts. 

After mocking my friend, I followed pretty swiftly with some indecent exposure of my own. It turns out that bikinis aren't really designed for waves and karma really is a bitch. It's also not that easy to readjust a bikini whilst  you're being hit by more waves. Ultimately, I spent a lot of my time in the sea looking like a beached whale trying to recover from a very unappealing strip tease. Maybe next time I should just avoid this problem and bring back swimming costumes from the 1920's. 

Once we had swallowed enough salt water and filled up on questionable Mexican food, we decided to play a round of crazy golf. Although I'm not sure if it counts as crazy golf if the crazy simply comes from having to walk through a plastic cave mid-round. In fact, the craziest part was probably when I bent down to pick up my golf ball and half the Atlantic Ocean ran out of my nose. Apparently my brain cannot store my own telephone number but it can store a vast amount of sea water. Even my own body is out to mug me off.

After heading back to the Sea and continuing to traumatise the other tourists with our various indecent exposures, we decided to head home. There's only so long you can spend pulling up your bikini before you become at risk of being arrested. I might be a fan of Orange is the New Black, but I don't think prison life is quite for me.