T o o many boys

Stag-do in this week, a real bunch of high maintenance millionaires, causing continuous destructive ruckasses slicing through the blissful peace; lobbing blue cheese about smearing it into every crevice + putting the hand-break on when I'm chugging along winding mountain roads marks just a mild introduction to their madness. I found myself gazing at this view from the washing-up bowl as I waited patiently for hours at brekkie service, willing them to surface from their carnaged caves as they clasp onto weak early morning sleep attempting to recover from a messy night out at Chamonix's one + only strip club; Alp's Angels. Moments before they departed for their gallivant in the big city last night, one of the older debauched members of the party who liked very much to gloat about his gigantic fortune, pulled out a fist full of notes from each pocket; "Right- I've got euros in one pocket + pounds in the other- which one a these is gonna get me a pair of tits?" he belched out to me with sincere conviction.

It's going to be a long week?