Swimming, Assassinations and Ice Cream

So, I’m writing this in the back of Ian’s Dad’s car, which is good news as it means I haven’t pucked and been banned from it forever.

The south was great, and I discovered I’m a bad person because I desperately want Ian to inherite his grandparent’s house.

They have many rooms, a lovely garden (Though I couldn’t help but think ‘Oh god. The maintenence, it must take hours to cut. You can tell you’re an adult when thoughts like that cross your mind. But that’s a crises for another time.) And even their own swimming pool.

Ian has asked me politley not to kill them off, but I can’t call the assassins now, they won’t give me a refund.

I do think if I had my own pool I would be much healthier because I love swimming but hate public pools. It’s the only exercise I enjoy. But my generation is doomed to never buy houses, so I will be a poolless widow forever unless we inherite thiers. Ian won’t ask for it though. He still has a thing called pride, whereas I’m happy to grovel at their feet and tell them all the health benefits it will give me.

Whilst we swam, I asked Ian to take a photo of me on the whale. (Not real, you fools. Inflatable.) He had bought me a Little Mermaid bikini the day before and I have become obssessed with it. I asked him to take a nice, elegant photo of me. But instead he captured this monstrosity:

Thankfully, he had accidentally changed the video setting so it’s only a second long. I thank God for that every day.

Aside from swimming, we went into Brighton where I stuffed my face with sandwiches, ice cream and Shakeaway.
We walked through The Lanes and had a stroll along the beach.
There are only 2 big cities I would ever live in; Edinburgh or Brighton. Though the crowds at Brighton startled me a little bit.

Have you ever tried to eat a meatball sandwich gracefully, with the wind blowing your hair all over the place?

You can’t. It’s impossible.

So many people witnessed a stumpy ginger troll destroying a sandwich, leaving hot sauce on her forhead and chunks of meatball in her hair. Luckily Ian’s family had decided to stay home, and he already knows I’m a monster so it was fine.

Overall, it was a great getaway and even my attempted skin care got complimented.

What I mean by that, is that the day before I left, I mushed a banana up with oats and honey and smothered it on my face before placing cucumbers on my eyes. That was when Ian came home and found me laying on our bed with half of the breakfast aisle dripping from me.

I tried to explain that I’m too poor to buy facemasks but he didn’t understand.

The good news is my skin has been lovely and soft since so I totally reccommend it.

So that’s pretty much all I have to talk about this week. Now, please excuse me. I have assassins to tend to.

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