Looking hot on my holidays is something I’ve always
struggled with...Nope, In fact scratch that, ‘HOT’ is something of which abroad, I am the fucking queen...crispy
cheeked, puffy faced, sausage fingered, and fat footed with a whopping ‘fro rivalling
that of Don King, and more sweat patches
than you can shake a stick at. Beautiful.
It’s the usual practice by the pool, slump on my sun lounger
in burkini-esqu lycra ensemble. Unable to avert my gaze from those leggy Swedish looking birds, bemused as I tuck into goods
from the all inclusive burger bar. Surrounded by hoards of horny hunks in
trunks, their shimmery golden skin glistens, posing perfectly pouted like posh,
flirtatiously flicking their golden manes with not a single strand out of place...breakfast
club eat your heart out, any second I’m expecting a spritely John Hughes to emerge
and yell ‘CUT’ and the beauty and wardrobe department will roll on in for touch
ups.
Pffffft.
I bet I
could be a celebrity, I‘ve always fancied myself in a glamorous girl band, or
sod it why not even the next bond girl “Mr Bond I believe you’ve been
expecting...let’s face it someone a bit fitter probably” Still, whilst a handful
of boots beauty products and helping hand from the high street won’t work
miracles, i do expect they will help to channel my inner Hollywood goddess this summer.
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