Paul Hot wrote:

You know it’s strange, here I am wrecking my head trying to figure what to write about, wondering what would amuse or at least keep someone reading an article. All the usual items pop into mind, convey my interests to every one and bore them to sleep, make up some erotic story to fantasize about and just upset myself into blindness or just go on a winding rambling road and redirect a hundred thoughts into an meandering document which starts nowhere and ends up nowhere, much like life really... Anyway I came to the conclusion that you are going to have to read on to find out, at least after that if you don’t like what you read I got a few lines outta yea’s all.

OK so it’s September, the autumn of the year in this part of the world and the weather, as usual, is crap. I tell yea this, summer here is now a brief day of scattered showers and intermittent sleet, if your lucky, and believe me we aren’t lucky with the weather, don’t even ask about the sun, it hasn’t been seen in this neck of the woods for a age, (ozone layer my arse, I’m still waiting on the fucking thing to break down so I can enjoy some rays...). So anyway like all the others that have gone before me I’m about to take the trek to the sun, two weeks near a beach (or so the brochure says) where there’s nothing to do except drink, watch the talent and get a tan. Now me being the proverbial milk bottle that I am I need the last part to ensure the talent is interested in my milky attraction and the drink part cant be completed when your building your tan because sitting in a dark boozer all day kinda defeats the purpose, so you can see the dilemma I’m in. Do I get that bronzed look and stay sober just for a shag or do I just get pissed as a fart for two sun burned weeks. Personally I’m more inclined to do the pub thing, nothing better then being blitzed for two weeks especially when your as ugly as me and you only get the dogs, at least being drunk means you cant remember what they look like. Some times life’s decisions are so hard.

Right here’s the plan anyway, in the airport for 10 bells Saturday morning, with all the extra security there’s more time for a few pints before take off, excellent!, flight out at 12.30, 4 hours of boredom, land at 3.30 local time. I’ve been told that the airport is only fifteen minutes away from our final destination so if that’s true it simply means that by about 5.00 Saturday evening a steady flow of alcohol will be consumed at an alarming rate, oh God I cant wait.

Did you ever notice how much time we spend wishing our lives away, I’m pleading for this holiday to come and expecting it to last forever, in for a shock aint I. I have all these wonderful plans of exploring this new countryside, learning about life in another land and I can bet you that all I’ll remember is the hangovers. Strange the way you can’t get some things outta your head, especially hangovers. I see hangovers as, quickly forgotten torture, bringing on selective amnesia, with always time for more.... Sad bastard aint I?

OK so now with all that said you know the deal, away I go on my merry way for two weeks of debauchery, fun in the sun as the man says, when I get back, sorry rephrase that, if I get back you can be sure that I’ll be telling you all about it, actually I’ll be telling everyone about it, should be good craic.... Ciao.

Email Paul here.