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Brits on Tour

The clock had been ticking for nigh on two years. Tick Tock. Tickety Tock. 1460 home-made beds and  2190 meal-time marathons later, the time had finally come. For a holiday. Another one? Never mind a year’s worth of maternity leave, weekend joyrides in Amsterdam or the five week stint on The Costa Del MIL (& for that I most definitely deserve a medal). No, what was needed was a belting holiday blow-out, of the bum meets beach meets balcony meets bar meets buffet meets booze meets boogie meets bed kind. And with a party of six regressing-on-adolescent adults, four terror tots, one bouncing baby and a stuffed Minion in tow, forget Anonymous in Antalya. There was no question that this was going to be a holiday to remember. And so were we to be remembered. By every other poor sod in the environs. Continue reading “Brits on Tour”