We're all going on a summer hol- Oh hold on...

You know you shouldn't have started to write blog entries if when you read them back they make you depressed. Why remind yourself of how crap things are by writing them down and saving it for future perusal, it is self flagellation and navel gazing of the worst sort. You could even send yourself into a self-fueling spiral of depression ending in complete breakdown, all because you thought you should start a blog.

Facebook is bad enough, even although no one reads these words I'm going to be a massive hypocrit and say; who fucking cares what you had for dinner or how it made you feel, who fucking cares what new band you discovered and how that made you feel and please, please; if you've been on a gap year or had a life-changing/affirming trip to Goa or South America; shut up, no one cares except you and your mum. We weren't there and unless you have the rare, I would say almost impossible coincidence of having a person who wishes to live their gap year vicariously through your experience, then just shut up.

Before you produce your laptop or ipad ask the assembled company if they are interested in seeing some pictures, but listen, even if they say yes, they actually mean no because no one will be interested, any interest you see will be feigned or put on in order not to offend you. Personally if you approach me with an ipad and utter the word pictures you're going to have an ipad shaped lump in your throat because that's where the fucker will be going.

I apologise, I'm being ill-tempered and my language is disgusting. I don't do holidays as such, no trips to Spain or The Canaries, I wouldn't know what to do with myself, perhaps that is what people do when abroad, take pictures so friends and relatives can be bored on their return? It used to be that I couldn't afford to go on holiday, this is no longer the case, I don't like to fly and am generally not keen on other people unless they are devastatingly attractive to look at, are wearing very little and don't spoil things by talking too much. I don't like hot weather because while attractive people do wear less, less attractive people also wear less. Being a self-conscious chap around town having as I do Vicotrian values, I wear my boots at the height of summer regardless of temperature, you'll see none of my pale doughy flesh on display, I wouldn't subject you to it so its on with the duffel coat & snood.

I suppose I'm being grumpy because people are coming back from or going to summer holidays, they talk of x number of 'sleeps' till Magaluf or of having a stellar time in Kos, well ok; stellar might not be the word they'd use but if your stuck here in what I hesitate to call Scotland's summer time, listening to all those tanned people who've OD'd on sunshine and are flying on an excess of vitamin D is a bit annoying. Also, this new thing about having a sunbed before going on holiday? Not content with having an unseasonal tan to show off at the nearest Lidl, some people claim that looking like a cooked tomato before going on holiday actually means you won't get burnt? Correct me if I'm wrong, I'm no cook (seriously, I'm not, I'm convinced you can do pasta in the kettle) but if you put a bit of bacon under the grill for 20 minutes, then put it under the grill for a fortnight, it'll be burnt to a crisp?

Ok, not a good comparison, maybe it's about acclimatising your skin or something or a grasping desperate vanity perhaps. I don't have to worry about these things what with my deep natural tan, oh hold on that's just the side effects of the liver damage... I jest, once when abroad as a child I fell in a Spanish street grazing my knee, a friend of my parents came to pick me up (which is difficult since this was just last week... I'm joking, I was about five) but was shoo'd away by several Spanish Ladies who thought I was a local boy. Just think, I might have had an alternative life in Spain, after the Senorita's first aid for my injured knee, not knowing who I was or where I came from; they would name me Manuel...

I also upchucked on a glass bottom boat on that holiday, lent on a tree that was infested with giant ants (well, they seemed to be giant at the time) and nearly drowned in the complex pool that's deep end seemed to be completely bottomless. Listen to me boring you with my holiday tales, what a massive hypocrit I've become, don't worry though, I have no photos to show you and I never did a gap year.

Gap years weren't fashionable when I was a school leaver, also air travel was something you still got dressed up for, most of my pals had been abroad but it still wasn't cheap. I remember sitting uncomfortably in the airplane chair as a child (if it felt tight for me, I have no idea how my dad got his fat arse into the seat) with the hard folds and seams of the brand new clothes bought just for this occassion digging into every part of my body, the chafing was especially bad where I'd over done it on the sun beds. I never got into the Uni set going as I did to college, a far more low brow experience that suited me well, people there were more likely to be called Tyson than Mungo, a holiday for them was seven days at Seton Sands or if their parents had done some over time perhaps Haggerston Castle, living in a plastic van that moved about as you went from one end to the other, gap years were a million miles away from this crowd. I'm glad too because I'd hate to be a gap year bore, you know the type, they're back in body but not in mind, even although they've started the job Daddy arranged for them (excuse the illogical sweeping generalisations, I don't believe them myself but they do add to the monologue nicely) they're still stoned on a beach in India somewhere and talking like a 15 year old skateboarder. You just want to give them a shake, or a slap. Yes, a slap would be best I think...

I sound sour but I'm not, I never caught the travel bug because I'm lazy, I know what I like and I like what I know. I would be that person sitting staring at the beans on my toast with a look of horror as I realise they aren't Heinz or the one going into withdrawal because I don't recognise any of the brands of bread on the shelf in the supermarket, I'm just not that adventurous. It's all relative, throwing yourself of a bridge attached to an elastic band in NZ for me is like having different beans on my toast or Sprite instead of just lemonade or, or... There, I've ran out of example of foreign things already so poorly travelled am I.

If you've got down as far as this then I have successfully lured you into my anti-gap year/holiday chat trap. I've managed to distract you up to this point, actually, if you could just wait a second while I... Hold on, that was the door bell.. Ocht, I'll be back in a minute...