Relax, don’t do it

I’m just back from my annual break and this year was a whole new experience for me.
I went away with my best friend for a sun soaked five day break in Tenerife and I already know what you’re thinking, girls gone wild! No boyfriends, endless cocktail bars and days lounging around hungover were surely going to happen, especially as we had gone through University together which comprised of all of the above.

However what materialized could be nothing further from the truth. We were both lounging by the pool and discussing what we wanted to do for the short siesta of a holiday. Slowly floating the idea of not going out to the bars my friend turned to me and said “Do you really want to go to the strip?”


I coyly respond in case she really wants to go but isn’t saying. “Erm, I mean not really but if you want –”
I’m cut off.  “No I don’t want to either!” my friend proclaims.

Nice. We are both on the same page of the sunscreen stained book left by the pool.

The fact we had made the right decision to not go out clubbing was reinforced to us when we walked to the beach for lunch the same day. Two of the club reps stopped us and in the worst Keith Lemon impression I have EVER heard we were invited to a beach party and an ‘exclusive bang tidy night in a club’. Our faces dropped. I sighed and shook my head, much to his distain.
We laughed with this rep and politely said no, we weren’t looking for that sort of holiday.

“When did you arrive? Our beach parties are chilled! Have you got a fella back home?” he asks my friend. She replies “Yes we both do”, which prompted him to turn to me and say “…what even you?!”

Unbelievable! Yes even me!

He insisted he didn’t mean it that way but it still made us both crack up laughing and stop listening to his endless list of top shelf shots we could get if we went to this party.
His sales prowess had a lot to be desired and we slipped away laughing at his mutters of “you two are weird” as we had explained that the idea of drinking Aftershock out of someone’s navel isn’t how we would choose to spend our Thursday evening.

And that was that. Chaos did not ensue. No wild antics or drunken memories were created.
We even exercised.
In the sun.
On holiday.
It was bliss! I became accustomed to my 6pm shower to wash away all the sweat, sun cream and saltwater from my noticeably pale skin (my friend went the colour of a deep mahogany coffee table on day two) and felt rather bizarre showering when I first woke up today.

Despite us not doing the usual routine of clubbing, tripping over, staggering back to the room, sleeping in late and laughing about how we had embarrassed ourselves the night before, it wasn’t boring at all.
We got up at a reasonable hour, watched BBC World News (obviously- the only channel in English!), strolled down to breakfast and was poolside by 09.30.
Getting up early made the days seem even longer so what was in effect a mini break began to feel like a full on vay-cay. We had lunches by the beach every day, sampling the Paella and Sangria and meandered around the shops at leisure laughing at all the phallic bottle openers and t-shirts strewn with broken English slogans. ‘My love feel you for the way you do seem’ was a personal favourite.
Our trips to the beach ended up with us constantly avoiding the looky-looky sales men (who were way better at the reps) who were thrusting endless CHANEL bags and sunglasses and ROLEX watches in our faces while shouting ‘ASDA PRICE!’ or ‘BUY NOW PAY LATER’.

One evening we were wandering over to the supermarket to get more water (for our workouts) and we hear a cockney accent in the wind.

“Girls we got apple sourz for 1euro and jacket potatoes in here if you want English food”
Why would I go to Tenerife and have a jacket potato?

Having said that I’m pretty sure I saw a hen party sat in the pub garden tucking into bangers and mash arranged in a suggestive manner on the plate.

But I have discovered the fantastic invention of the grown up girls holiday.
Sun, sea, spa and sleep! Perfect!


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