I love the summer

In the summer, something magical happens. For around 6 weeks, the population of the UK suddenly drops, as, inversely, the average IQ rises. This strange event happens because a large proportion of the country finally steals or syphons off enough of their kid's dinner money to inflict them and their dreadful offspring on an unsuspecting Greek or Spanish town for a fortnight. It is then the turn of our European cousins to deal with the very worst of us. God help them.

Repugnantly fat and puce-faced, the patriarch of the family (if there is one) spends the entire 2 weeks completely plastered and fighting, as he drags his massive frame from one English pub to the next. His knock-off XXXL Manchester United shirt heaves with the strain as he pours a gigantic fried breakfast down his gargantuan gob, which is at least some relief as when his mouth is not occupied with devouring a pig's worth of food he will be spouting racist expletives at the top of his tar-riddled lungs or threatening to punch his wife or kids in the face.

And speaking of his wife, she spends her time clipping various members of her massive brood round the ear or trying to do her level best to give herself multiple forms of cancer, spending 14 hours in the sun and smoking 100 fags a day, while gorging on biscuits and the kid's sweets. She will have a fake pink Gucci suitcase, which is large enough to fit an oven in; but will in fact contain the most inappropriately skimpy attire for a woman of her girth, and approximately 2000 duty free Lambert & Butler, which will probably do her for a week, seeing as her bloody kids keep dipping in too.

Then there is the leather-faced old hag of a gran, who at the grand old age of 42 will unfurl her depleted bosom as soon as she gets within 200 yards of a swimming pool and flirt mercilessly with the poor waiters who will be swallowing their own sick until she covers up and leaves them the fuck alone. She will be the colour of mahogany, despite blaming all the troubles in the world on brown people. The Irony will escape her though because she doesn't understand anything that she can't have sex with, shout at, or fight.

As for the kids, there are just too many to count. The parents lose count after screaming for Taylor, Carly, Kylie, Wayne and Rory to 'fucking pack it in'. But most of the time they clearly don't give 2 shits what their kids do, as they let them run around the hotel harassing everyone and smashing things up with impunity, until the hotel manager finally intervenes and is beaten senseless for his trouble. If there is a daughter over 13, there is a 50% change that she is pregnant, or will be by the time the holiday ends, as she seeks out the hotel worker with the lowest standards and rapes him.

Despite missing the people who generally make the UK such an unrelentingly depressing toilet to live in, there are upsides to their absences. For one, there are not quite so many idiots clogging up Britain's roads with their awful driving as they ferry their fat little shits into the schools unfortunate enough to have to teach them. The white van count takes a hit too, meaning that travelling on the motorway becomes relatively safe, without wannabe-boy racers thrashing their transits round bends in the fast lane doing 120mph while smoking, demolishing a bacon sandwich and shouting on their mobile. And, best of all, detestable little cuntweasel Jeremy Kyle has to take a break from his show, as there are simply no guests around for him to humiliate. Instead, they show a schedule of repeats which they might as well call 'Britain's stupidest people'.

And then, like, that, they are back. The people all over southern Europe breathe a collective sigh of relief. Why? Because the last of the brits are now back home, safely behind their garishly painted cages and velour tracksuits. The foreigners can now rebuild their shattered, vomit-coated high streets. They can remove the blockages in the drains caused by the consumption of several million fried meals and used condoms. They can scrape the last traces of blood and detritus from their various monuments. And as for us? we're stuck with them for the rest of the miserable year, hoping that next time they go abroad, a referendum is passed and they are not allowed back into the UK.


  1. Where are your holidays planned for then? Greece or Spain?

    - Gareth

  2. they are both very nice places, but ruined by the kind of cunts who are smashing up London as we speak. Embarassed to be English.