The Kirsty Allsopp saga is reminding me of when me and my mates at 15 wanted to meet surfers but got Newquay and Torquay mixed up and went on a mid-week coach trip, we just couldn’t understand why there was no-one in the whole town under 75; the landlady of the B&B rang all our
Mams and told them she’d make sure we’d pay for lying to them about leaving home, she gave us a curfew and would wait for us in her nightie, somehow we managed to smuggle the ‘England cricket team’ back, a group of older lads who we thought were ‘pros’ because simply they
Didn’t have a northern accent and we hadn’t met anyone that said ‘bath’ like the queen before. She had a pool at the hotel but it was drained and about 14 degrees but we sat around it in bikinis anyway working out how to buy fags because she’d taken our money off us.
She knew everyone in town, who were also watching us. The lowest point was sat hiding behind a windmill in a model village in the rain with a can of Stella and a benson and hedges.
😂
😂
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