My First Holiday Away With Mates


Recently I have been laughing out loud… on my own at certain incidences which occurred when I was 17 and embarked on my first holiday away with my friends. This was a time before mobile phones became integrated into our daily lives, Facebook was non-existent and the only thing I used the internet for was to occasionally check my new Hotmail account with the oh so hilariously juvenile email address ‘rudegal’. 5 school friends heading to Portugal for 2 weeks of high jinxed fun. Fucking car crash…

I am bamboozled over the fact how our parents allowed us to go away for a fortnight with little experience of… well anything! And my parents are Christians. Pretty sure my Brownie Girl Guide survival skills would come in handy for jack shit when approached by a dirty married dude from South London who kept calling me ‘Brown Sugar’ (Like did he think he was on the set for a 70s Blaxploitation movie?!) Oh and let’s not forget the ‘glamorous’ outfits we used to wear which were nothing short of looking like a shite hooker who got dressed in the dark... whilst consuming magic mushrooms.  In fact the 5 of us were just a Crime Watch reconstruction waiting to happen… and if we got Rohypnoled within an inch of our life… we would have nobody to blame but ourselves! Yeah I said it.

My friends and I rented out a villa near the marina in Vilamoura and for approximately 2 days into the 14 of sun, sea and prick teasing… it was happy times! Strutting around the place like we were formidable specimens created by the gods themselves. Eating all the food and drinking ALL the drinks whilst partaking in odd karaoke anthems. (I was made to sing Bob Marley because the Portuguese bar owners were trying to make me feel at home!) The ‘fine’ dining we all were excited to embrace before we left home lasted for not even one night as sampling the local cuisine consisted of McDonalds and this great Chinese restaurant called The Ming! Clubbing was also a big drunken haze of smoke machines, shit music, inappropriate touching and some bell end accidentally putting out his cigarette into my arm. Brilliant.

We were loud mouthed British birds on tour and loved it. That was until I accidentally stepped on my friend’s new designer flip flops as we were out walking one day… and it broke. She gave me a death stare followed with a fake ‘don’t worry about it Shem’… and so the division within the group commenced.

Like why would anyone in their right mind put 5 immature but sexually developed girls in one place and not expect shit to hit all the fucking fans! All of them. There were tears, tantrums and diffusing of situations by me pulling a moony at every possible opportunity.  There is actual video footage of one of my friends drunkenly screaming at me from the window in the villa, and to ‘help’ settle the argument I stand aloft on a bollard in the road, pull my pants down and insist I am going swimming. My mother would be so proud. The thing is we were all in the throes of trying to figure ourselves out and hurtling towards being ‘grownups’ at such an alarming rate but still trying to be innocent teenagers. Catastrophic bullshit my friends!

The issue of boys was also interesting. Everyone copped off with a fella and I was left with a dude called Steve from Watford who looked like a rat. He kept touching my ass and I would often vomit in my mouth at the thought of him kissing me. It was only a couple of years later I realised my traumatic disgust for ‘rat boy Steve from Watford’ was because he happened to have a penis. Awkward. The rest of my mates however got it on with their respective Scouser holiday romances with little fuss… or persuasion! Slags.

However amongst the fighting and making hysterical tearful calls to the parents in phone boxes with those shitty cards you had to scratch and sniff (the sniff part I just made up) wanting to go home, we did in fact have an excellent time. We mostly came away from the holiday unscathed/un-date raped but sweet Jesus there was so much drama! If I ever lost my mind and had a child… there is no damn way the little hussy will be going away with her mates on ‘oliday! Not under my roof! What a carry on…

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