Okay it’s that time of year when everybody goes absolutely fucking balmy and starts dieting, buying crap clothes and getting brochures… yes it’s holiday season. Tacky glossy junk mail comes flying through your letter box like an elephant shitting through your door, your email inbox gets flooded with deals and testimonials from faceless happy customers and the adverts on TV brainwash you into thinking that if you go on holiday your gonna get laid.
I hate packing for a holiday! I’m not a big procrastinator, but for some reason I will find 1000 other things to do rather than pack a suitcase. I have friends who really enjoy it and take great pride in starting their packing a week before they leave for a holiday. I, on the other hand, often leave packing until the last minute. Sometimes I get lucky and do it the night before, but there is more chance of me drinking a strawberry milkshake through my cock.

Now I don’t mind holidays at all, sometimes it’s good to just fuck off for a week, but the thing that pisses me off about some cocks is that they are fooling themselves into thinking that they are “getting away from it all!”… What the hell kind of statement is that?

When you go on holiday your still you, you still have the kids siphoning your cash every two seconds and your still with the partner you hardly speak to… your still in debt, you still have a crap job and your still going bald. The difference is your doing the same bullshit but in another place, the only difference is that your getting sun burned and coming back a hundred times more skint than when you left.

I never pick my holidays either, never have done. If I go on holiday it’s because friends, partners or family have already decided where I’m going and I simply tag along happily, and that’s out of choice. I don’t trust holiday brochures and I believe in them just as much as I believe the Sunday Sport found a double decker bus on the moon.

The whole brochure thing just stinks of bullshit from the first page, golden sunsets, sandy beaches, perfect people all noncing about swimming pools and dining in posh restaurants with a smiling waiter… I mean seriously… a smiling waiter? Fuck out!

What they don’t show ya in brochures are the pissed drunk chicks flashing their tits, the drunk guys in A and E with a handful of teeth and the old couples spread out on sun beds looking like someone’s drying out a melting rug. All you see are perfect people without baldness, cellulite, orange peel skin, varicose veins or any rolls of hanging fat like an upended water bed. The only time you see a Grey hair is when they are showing you either a golf course or a ballroom dance.

Another funny thing about us Brits is that we spend all year wrapped up like bloody cocoons, hiding our blubber under layers upon fucking layers of clothes, jumpers, jackets and coats… but as soon as we land in another country we are stripped off and in the sun like a ten penny whore, lubing ourselves like a dildo in a gay club, cooking and sizzling like a cow with foot and mouth. Why? So we can come back and wrap ourselves up like loft insulation for another year of cold weather and self image paranoia.

There is one funny thing I love doing when on holiday and I suggest all of you try this because it’s fucking hilarious and a proper good chuckle. When you land at your destination, get your ass through customs and all that bull and find the departures lounge and head for the queue of depressed Brits heading back to England. As you walk past them say something like “I wonder what it’s like here? I hope it’s good, we are here for the next four weeks!”… as you walk off listen carefully and you can hear the men cussing, kids start crying and the wives start bitching and throwing wobblers. It’s evil I know but it’s fuckin funny and it’s what I go on holiday for.