Friday, August 27, 2010

girls gone guernsey

Can you say, what the fuck did we do in Guernsey last night?

Arrive on the island to driving, pissing rain and wind. Umbrella immediately turns inside out.

Go on cute coastal walks, check out the war barracks that the Germans put up when they occupied the island, went shopping, ate a fuckload of seafood.

Went around this random manor (everything in Guernsey is random. It's Guernsey), where this dude showed us around and gave us a ghost tour. All very pretty and quaint, giggling the whole time.

Then went out last night and thought I didn't have gas left in my tank now that I'm almost fucking 30, and discovered that I was pleasantly wrong.

We met these random people, one dude reckoned he was famous becuase he spins the wheel on the national lottery at 1am in the morning, but bought all of us bottles of Moet.

Therein lies the craziness. Saffa girls on tour, gone wild. On a Channel Island.

Christ I'm hungover.

We kidnapped this dude from his sister's birthday party, made him buy us a shooter, and then delivered him back to his table (wtf?), and then got invited to a lock-in.

Now a lock-in is a very very cool thing to be invited to.

The pub owner chases everyone else out, doors get locked, music gets pumped, everyone smokes inside - unheard of in normal circumstances in Europe - and he hosts this private party. We were bouncing around everywhere, one of my mates carrying some dude's wallet around with a pair of tongs (wtf?), Poen and I doing that drunken 'I love you so much you're my best friend ever' hugging, me rolling off a chair.

And this all started with them insisting we celebrate my 30th early and therefore had to choose one of four dares. ("Chaps this isn't my hen's party. Fuck off.")

The dares:

1) Stand up in the middle of the cocktail bar and say Bridgette Jones' speech about the launch of Kafka's Motorbike. ("The greatest book of our time. Yours wasn't bad either, Mr Rushdie. I'll now introduce you to Mr Titspervert.....because...that is his name.")

2) Leopard crawl along the floor of the cocktail bar. (I was keen.)

3) Walk up to a bunch of dude's and get their digits and ask what they think of Chechnya.

4) Go behind the bar and make my own cocktail like I owned the place.

Got the digits, we joined their party and henceforth got hammered.

We all thought we were hilarious. I haven't laughed this hard in ages, fuck it was cool.
Especially to jam with my mates on some random island called Guernsey that's definitely not exotic and beachy like Spain.

Tonight I go to Stockholm for some Scandi fun with my boy.

Best I smash a pie and sort myself out first.

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