Holidays From Hell

I’m tired.

I collected Sister and The Boyfriend from the airport on Sunday morning, on their return from Tunisia. The flight got in at around 3.30am, in the end, and I got to bed at about 4.30am.

Very tired.

“Well, did you have a good time?” I asked as I drove around a roundabout several times in a confused manner.

“Huh,” grunted The Boyfriend.

Sister shrugged. “It was Okay…. except that everything in the brochure was a lie. It said there was fantastic entertainment. There was nothing. Everywhere was closed by 6 o’clock, so a crowd of us just sat in the hotel bar getting drunk every night. It said there was a hairdrier in the room – there wasn’t. I dried my hair by hanging my head over the balcony every time there was a breeze. The staff were horrible. The rep was completely useless. We all had to rally together and pool our resources. It was like… like…” she paused, her hands waving excitedly. “It was like wartime, Blitz spirit and all that!” Quite. Sister can be quite melodramatic at times. Fortunately I have escaped that particular family trait.

“However,” she added, brightening considerably, “I was up on a camel for about an hour.”

So very tired.


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