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What I didn’t do on my holidays

Me complaining about life, again.

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What I didn’t do on my holidays

year it was an easy decision. Lack of funds and owing my dad the hideous amount for V tickets meant that I was forced to dig out the walking boots and the Mac coat. This year’s destination was Ireland, apparently a lot like Scotland, a location which we had visited as a family around eight years previously, leaving me shall we say unimpressed at the constant rain, the crumbling cottage we stayed in and the delights of local Scottish broadcasting, meaning we were forced to watch a Harry Potter video the whole week. Such events led me to never want to return to Scotland again. So, what do my parents do? They send me to a place exactly like it. Scotland’s clone, if you will. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, however there is no doubt that there are many destinations I would have rather visited (New York being my number one). But, a holiday in the rain was better than no holiday at all, and as an avid trend follower, I was looking forward to breaking out the tweed jacket and the checked heritage style shirts, of which I was sure would have an ideal backdrop in Ireland, with all the green and the sheep and such, very country indeed. Well, Ireland is definitely filled with sheep. You would think that being a girl from the country it would be easy for me to adapt to surroundings where there is no phone reception, no internet connection and little evidence of civilisation, but no such luck. With the rain hammering down, I often forgot it was August, and despite my horse obsessed mother claiming that this holiday wasn’t about ponies, I think I saw several too many of those four legged animals she loves so much. The holiday however did have its amusing side; donkeys wandering in the middle of the road, countless dodging of sheep on the mountain side, and of course, spying on the locals to see which of them resembled Father Jack from Father Ted (there were several Father Jacks). And of course, there was the wardrobe I had planned to wear. The perfect combination of what I liked to call ‘heritage chic’, with combat shorts and leather boots, maxi dresses mixed with a tweed jacket, Barbour shirts teamed with battered Converses. But, of course, being as the weather was the sort you would expect in February, I was unable to display my outfits for all of Ireland to see. Instead, it was frumpy jumpers all the way, a Mac permanently attached to my head and walking boots weighing me down. The highlight of the trip for me was buying a vintage waistcoat, the highlight for my brother; the Sky TV we had in our self-catering accommodation. So, what have I learnt? Well, don’t drive too fast down Irish roads in case there is a donkey in the middle of one, but mostly that although I may have been born in the country, I am certainly a city girl. And, that despite not being able to wear them, a good wardrobe can get you through anything.

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