Bloody sightseeing. Who goes on holiday, wakes up at 5am, bounces into a pair of walking boots and starts studying at a fucking itinerary? Twats, that’s who. Oh but it’s cultural they will say. Ohhh you simply must experience the lives of the (insert outlandish tribe name here). No, I must not. I must lie on the beach reading a crappy novel in which girl meets boy and they live happily ever after, having encountered a few stumbling blocks along the way. At lunchtime I’ll probably eat some chips. Then I’ll get pissed on cocktails thrice the strength of the ones I have at home. And I’ll fucking enjoy it. Not once will I think to myself… oh what I wouldn’t give to be looking at a big old waterfall right now. Not once.

And to all those who’ve ‘found themselves‘ in some far flung island you can drive across in thirteen minutes, know this: you are the worst kind of human.

Behold: A Twat Up A Mountain

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