We Got Here Without Killing a Single Sheep

We Got Here Without Killing a Single Sheep


This is why I shouldn’t write when I’m hungover: I come up with titles like THAT. It’s not exactly catchy. And I just had to re-do that sentence at least five times so I’m guessing that this is going to be a long, vodka shakey process.

Fasten your seat-belts folks.

I’d apologise for not writing last night, but then I’d be under the misconception that I actually have readers other than my mother and I whatsapped (is that the technical verb?) her yesterday to tell her we’d arrived safely. Although, I really did plan to write last night, but one cider led to another which led to another which led to another which led to vodka which led to me forgetting my own name so the chances that I would have been able to write a coherent piece were extremely slim indeed.

Anyway,very little mishaps occurred on the journey. I could even go as far to describe the journey to Tesco in Inverness as blissful. I got a bit cocky, actually, and parked only nine rows away from the entrance. If only my instructor – or those examiners that failed me four times – could see me now.

Anyone who has ever experienced a blissful journey, however, knows that it is doomed to fail, which, after leaving Tesco, is exactly what happened. I had to accelerate away from a petrol station in blind panic (which is the worst sort of panic when you’re driving); I got beeped at at a roundabout (I’m still turning it over in my mind, I just don’t understand what happened); I almost killed a sheep (that wouldn’t have been too bad actually – I could have just dragged its carcass home and made a nice sheep stew), and everyone’s music playing devices were too modern for my car so we were stuck listening to News of the World’s “Summer Grooves” and “Top Gear Classics” for FOUR HOURS.

On the plus side, we got to enjoy some really lovely scenery:


But then again, the really lovely scenery all looked the same:


So we were very happy to finally arrive at our destination which is the most beautiful house IN THE WORLD and it’s right by the beach! I’m sitting in bed right now, with my window open in the hope that the bracing sea breeze will arouse me from my hungover stupor. The sea cures all. We actually went swimming yesterday and thankfully, it wasn’t as cold as I thought it would be. This is probably down to the sexy wet suits we wore:


Being so tight that all of our fat oozed out of the edges, they were bound to keep us at least a little warm.

Then we drank and played board games late into the night since we’ve all known each other for far too long and are just like an old married couple who have absolutely nothing to say to each other.

I’m not sure what today’s activities will encompass: possibly another swim, a little reading, a nice walk, trying to come up with something more insightful than this hungover dribble for tomorrow’s blog… At some point I’ll have to make a big pot of chilli, which I was actually quite nervous about, but since last night’s dinner consisted of chicken and red onions coated in a bottle of “Reggae Reggae” sauce, I don’t think my meal can be much worse.

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