An unscientific little pole (sic)

I am not hav­ing any mat­ter of get­away, bar­gain break or £7.50 Sun offer to But­lins in Bognor Regis at all this year. So please keep writ­ing and keep me company.

I don’t know about you but I am going to spew my woe­ful little brains out all over sunny stink­ing August.

And then, I’m going to go on hol­i­day in (gasp) September.

Hur­rah, Jack. I knew I could depend on you. Another bowl of gruel-like por­ridge, dear?

Oh, my sad social inad­equate — you were doing so well until you men­tioned the Septem­ber hol­i­day. That’s just let­ting the side down, you know.

I have fond memor­ies of But­lins. I won first prize in their fancy dress competition.

{I was dressed a Knight. As I went up to col­lect my trophy, they asked me to make a speech. I shook my head vig­or­ously and ran away. But I did not cry!}

the glor­i­ous des­tin­a­tion of Londinium-On-Thames. Um, and Mar­gate For One Night Only.

The big sum­mer hol­i­day exodus thing is rather like Christ­mas, a little. yuk.

Do keep writ­ing. Espe­cially por­ridge. Or in purple. However.

Andre — Did you have a white char­ger? And a big sword? Or is that too per­sonal a question?

Miles Away — I have happy memor­ies of the Chas ‘n’ Dave hit Down to Mar­gate all of a sud­den. I don’t think this is neces­sar­ily a good thing.

Yes. All the best people spend warm sum­mer days indoors.

… and writ­ing fright­en­ing verse to a buck-toothed girl in Lux­em­bourg, perchance?

No, it’s just you.

Off to the beach for me.

Bohémi­enne — I have no idea what a beach is. The last sand I saw was in a sand­bag, try­ing to pre­vent somebody’s Axmin­ster car­pet becom­ing water­logged with raw sewerage.

Sorry, binge drink­ing will win over sad social inad­equacy every time. Whatever the climate.

pos­sibly not — no buck­ets, spades, jel­lied eels, swim­ming or beach, sadly. They do exist, albeit dilapidatedly.

“For people lookin fur a knees up an a point a ‘gan­net, there aint no plaice be-ahh than the oil­and ov Fan­net!” (sic)

[/estuary eng­lish]

social inad­equate — You’re classy. Binge drink­ing is an even greater Brit­ish sum­mer pas­time than vomit­ing and get­ting lobster-coloured sunburn.

Miles Away — Your detailed know­ledge of Chas ‘n’ Dave lyr­ics is oddly dis­turb­ing. You’ve got more rab­bit than Sainsbury’s, why don’t you get it off your chest? ;)

Yes please. I’ll bring the twigs for self-flagellation.

Jack — And there’s another great Brit­ish sum­mer pas­time. Self-flagellation with twigs. Although to be hon­est, that’s quite enjoy­able the whole year round. Erm.

I knew right off when I first met my eyes on you, but how was I to know you’d break my ear holes too?

France or navel-gazing, I can’t decide.

Would you kindly stop rub­bing your north­ern hemi­sphere sum­mer into my cold anti­podean nose, hands, feet etc.

Miles Away — Gert­cha. That’s all I have to say on the matter.

Cal­listo — Apo­lo­gies. If it’s any con­sol­a­tion, we had the afore­men­tioned bib­lical floods last week. Glor­i­ous, it was. A national crisis, wreaked on us by Beelze­bub him­self. It was wonderful.

Hm. I seem to be integ­rat­ing quite nicely, in that case. Which of course, can only mean that I can no longer read your site. It appears I have been cured. :P

Oh thoughts of Ben­idorm are enough to send any­one run­ning for the shade and solitude of indoors.

Little bri­tain on every corner com­plete with shitty fried break­fast and cop­ies of The Sun.

look, i’m with you usu­ally, but in recent (single) years I’ve been out to a greek island with a girl­friend for a week (but we ate and sun­bathed and drank and that’s it) and am off for a week with friends but with a baby and it’s grand­mother too.

I just want the sun

shit I wrote “it’s”

If it makes you feel any bet­ter I booked my christ­mas mar­ket city break to Nurem­berg today. Unseasonal enough for you?

Note to Self: Return Som­brero to shop and find altern­at­ive late birth­day present for Mr UW.

I’ve just got back from one hol­i­day and I’ll be spend­ing August going “urgh” in an attempt to recover from the latest in a nev­erend­ing series of house moves.

I shall also “work­ing” from home in my new role of “per­son who “works” from home”.

And, in fur­ther dis­ap­point­ing non-news, I have yet another hol­i­day booked at the end of September.

Cam­ille — The Unre­li­able Wit­ness Club 18–30 hol­i­day to Ben­idorm is now board­ing at Gate … er, no, it isn’t.

Anonym­ous Com­menters Suck — Ah, since you’re con­tinu­ing to curse the plague of anon con­tri­bu­tions, I shall merely wish you a lovely hol­i­day (as long as you’re not going to Benidorm).

Caite — Oh yes, Christ­mas breaks are far bet­ter. Con­versely, you see, I can ima­gine noth­ing bet­ter than get­ting as far away as pos­sible from the UK at Christmas.

Anxious — Work­ing from home and going on hol­i­day are to be recom­men­ded, how­ever, as a dis­trac­tion from the tedi­ous busi­ness of work­ing, definitely.

*weeps uncon­trol­lably*

hol­i­day?!? hahaha

whatever makes you think that i would par­take in such a bour­geois activ­ity? hol­i­days, like sleep, are for the weak, sir!

Mmmmmm. The sun here on the beach is so lovely and sooth­ing. White sand as far as the eye can, etc. Shall take a dip now.

fear­ful of wasps — Wel­come, and I do apo­lo­gise that you’re weep­ing. My posts tend to have that effect on people, though.

Ker­mit — Bour­geois! Yes! The bour­geoisie must be wiped out with extreme malice! Onwards!

Bohéi­enne — Wish you were etc. The weather here is etc.

Never cease the navel-gazing, because the way you do it is noth­ing to feel ashamed for.

I’m not going any­where and fur­ther­more I have noth­ing in my head that’s the least bit bloggable.

I’m rely­ing on you for August and, prob­ably, beyond.

I know just what you mean — I live in the sun­drenched anti­podes and long for clouds and rain so that I can stay in a be cosy. Every morn­ing I look up at the wide blue sky and say oh no not another sunny day.

It is August! Now! Are you given up?

I can­not stand the tension.

oops, sorry, for­got I’d changed my name to Anonymouse Com­menters Suck

I am going to eebeefa

but the nice bit

prom­ise

oh come on you know me a BIT ;-)

oh bloody hell I wrote “anonymouse”

It seems I have caught your lurgy UW

Dear read­ers one and all — Thank you for all your views. Hav­ing taken into account your views, as well as remembered the vital fact that I have no life to speak of and *sniff* the inter­net is my only friend (this is not true, incid­ent­ally; I am merely milk­ing the point in order to gain pity), I have decided that I will keep blog­ging dur­ing August.

How­ever, if I start hear­ing an echo when I’m typ­ing, I will stop.

You have been warned.

Dear Unre­li­able

I am glad to note you don’t do August awaydays.

Me myself and I, also prefer to abstain. We thought we’d been rather clever in avoid­ing the School Hol­i­day period this year, only to be stalked by the ter­ror that is, the School Sum­mer Edu­ca­tional Trip.

Note to self: avoid Museums and Castles at all costs.

my favour­ite is dry and partly cloudy with a chilled breeze from down the moun­tains. or in the moun­tains, with dry snow air.