I AM ON HOLIDAY (special)

I do not like going on holiday. I like working and staying at home and stuff. Holidays are for chumps who love to waste their money on fleeting things and feeble memories of forced happy times. Saying all that, I still have to go on holiday sometimes, but I have found a holiday that even I can stand. Centre Parcs, and I have got to say that it is AWESOME TO THE MAX.

Number one: I get to take my bike with me. Everyone is forced to ride bikes, even big fat 4x4 driving important business types who look like walruses having sex with a metal  super skinny supermodel with wheels as they puff red-faced up the almost vertical hills. 

Number two: Cars are banned, and anyone found driving one there is nailed to the road and people on bicycles can ride over their groins over and over again.

Number three: All the animals there are alive and not flat with their insides outside and they run up to you and talk and stuff.

You just crossed the line Flatso!

Number four: it has the best swimming pool in the world. It is just a shame they get all shirty when you try and ride your bike down the rapids when you've had too much booze. Those life guard guys have no sense of humour.

They really should put a sign up to say you can't do it, the fiddlewonkers.

Number four: if you live in a tiny crap hole like my house, well the Centre Parcs chalets will seem like a fonking mansion. They have everything you need and are so lovely I have to be pulled kicking and screaming outside every morning I am there. I will admit that is a bit like when I am at home, but then I am being pushed outside to face the horrors on The Route (to work).

Number five: No Dogs.

Number six: No Crusty Jugglers (they can't afford it. Anyway their whole life is like one big holiday at tax payers expense, eh? Am I right? Yeah, a holiday with very little food, no hope of an end and constant misery, like that time I was forced to go to Minorca.)

Number seven: There's a big sports thing there to if you're into that kind of shit. I stay well clear because that is where the very few undesirables who have slipped the net somehow and got in, hang out, drinking and hitting balls with sticks.

Number eight: The Pancake House. If you try and tell me there is a better place to eat on this bollock ball of a planet you are a liar who should stop lying, because people are starting to notice.

House of heavenly delights, sex with eggs.