I have returned from Newquay, in one piece and only slightly sunburnt. I’ve decided to throw together one big blog in the shape of a day-by-day photo story… enjoy…
Day 1 – The Journey
I’m not sure we ever would have gotten to Newquay if it wasn’t for Dom’s superior ticket buying skills. I find the British rail ticket buying system incomprehensible so basically we just gave him all our money and he came back with tickets. Huzzah!
We got onto the train and congratulated each other on how quiet the train was… until we got to Reading and it seems every teenager in England got onto the train. It went from peace to pandemonium as they cranked the volume up to 11 and proceeded to actually cut cocaine on the train tray tables… well until one of them registered that there are actually cameras on the trains and thought better of it.
It might not have been so bad if the journey had gone smoothly but we were slowed down first by a trespasser on the track and then the train stalled on a hill, unable to get all the way up… yes really. So we had to backtrack to the nearest town… Par. In Par, which is so middle of nowhere that the locals came to ogle the “city folk”, we had to unload all our luggage and drag it out of the station to be put on coaches. Only to find out that a new “special” train had arrived and we could get on that… after dragging all our luggage back into the station. Still unsure as to why we didn’t just take the “special” train in the first place.
We eventually arrived at our gorgeous flat, unloaded and went to explore the town and find some food. It didn’t take us long to realise that all our humour in the group comes from someone mishearing something and then Lucy and I loudly repeating it with actions and maybe a short song. I am not going to attempt to explain this but… ice-pig! Soup in a tube!!!
Holidays are are hard to sustain without fuel and so on Sunday morning we set off for the local Morrisons, which is the nearest proper supermarket to `Newquay town. It wasn’t exactly local though… it was more like 45 minutes walk away. We went through highs… like when Rob became a farmer…
And lows… like when it started raining and Lucy and I advocated sitting down and crying but eventually we did get there and we took a cab back… hallelujah!
It was also the first day we hit the sea, which was cold but swimmable and we ended up on the beach by night where Sanna and Emily were so enthusiastic about their role as waterbabies that they went swimming in all their clothes.
On Monday Dom stupidly asked Lucy and I what we would do if we could be boys for a day. This lead to the invention of the willy dance… which Lucy and I did about 40 times a day for the rest of the holiday…
It was also the day we decided to go to the aquarium. Those who know me will know that if there is an aquarium in a town I will find it and insist on going, before regressing to the age of four. On the way I found this awesome beach ball, which we dubbed nippleball. The word nippleball was thenceforth yelled out at every random opportunity.
Lookit… a giagantimous octopus!
Do not go swimming in your clothes at night… you will be approached by seventeen year old boys who are convinced that despite their age, they are able to show you a good time. I declined… even though one of them assured me that he had “shagged a South African bird before and she fucking loved it”.
Had much more fun turning the flat into the spa and doing the girls nails, face masks, hair treatments, etc. Dom was deeply puzzled by the whole process… it’s a nail file…
On Wedneday we got cocky… and lay in the un for too long. Almost everyone came away with some kind of sunburn. I have a bizarre “H” shape on my back where I missed a spot with the sunblock… muppet.
We soothed our sore skins with dinner at Fistral Blu. The food was lovely but the waitress was so friendly I thought about stabbing her.
Eventually we returned to the flat for drinking games and the fines flowed almost as fast as the vodka. I am apparently not allowed to draw attention to pictures of Rob in my bra but as a good sport, I’ll show you his revenge… so here I am in Dom’s boxers.
We had to expect one day of serious rain and Thursday was it. I think Newquay was sad because Emily was off in the morning to attend her prom.
The rest of us skulked around watching daytime TV, which lead to the discovery of a fabulous show called, Wordplay. Here contestants come on to play pretty lame word games with a minimal chance of winning anything. Pretty unremarkable? Well the contestants are total weirdos, who Lucy and I made up back stories for of course and the host is a clearly drug-addled failed socialite who metes out thinly veiled insults to the contestants, while attempting to stay upright and smile…
Saorise was off in the evening so she could be back in London in time for Marxism… the event not that actual concept.
The rest of us soldiered on with more drinking games. It was here we learned that Dom probably doesn’t have a future as an exotic dancer, it scares the neighbours if you run through the communal courtyard in your underwear and when you run out of alcohol, it’s time to call it quits.
Our final evening was spent at the Wimdswept Café looking out over Fistral Beach and wondering what the hell they had done to Lucy’s tomatoes exactly.
This is also the evening where Lucy and I invented the jingle and actions for the Prehistoric News. The less said about that the better, but these are our presenter faces. Badadedadedahdah, News News!
The journey home included all our lovely teenage friends from the trip there. They were much subdued, however one of them seemed to think it necessary to express every single one of this thoughts. Including his discovery of a turd on the train tracks. Ah… poo…
The rest of the pictures are here.