New Year. Oh dear.
So, having had the debacle of Christmas with all the ups and downs of Sylvia, Mart suggested a good old fashioned knees up for New Year’s Eve might be in order. Great idea. Disaster in practice.
It all started to go wrong after we downed a spillage of some non-descript lager in Covent Garden. Hard to tell but I think it was Stella. Guess that was our first mistake. One beak full lead to another. Absolutely off our tits. Falling all over the place.
Anyway, one minute we’re on our way to some random event in White City, the next we wake up in Newquay. What the fuck?
Somehow we got ourselves onto a train at Paddington, fell asleep somewhere just past Ealing Broadway, and traveled all the way to fucking Cornwall. Twats.
We sobered up straight away, and wished we hadn’t.
This was the only roof left in the whole fucking town:
Sea view my arse:
And it gets worse.
This was what was downstairs.
Bunters. What the fuck?:
Next door to some shithole called Flounders Fish & Chips:
Which would have been a right result had the joint not been closed for the whole of New Year.
By now, I’m despairing.
Mart is trying to calm me down. I try chatting to one of the locals asking him to recommend a decent local throwaway…
He fucks off mumbling something I don’t understand:
By now I’m on it for a stun gun. Shoot the fuckers. All of them.
Finally, a bit of sanity courtesy of a slightly better shithole called Berties famous for its chips, and it delivered. Full on fat fried potato slices done over to within an inch of their lives.
Bring it on:
Got back today.