the rash saga, part two

Oops, don't quite know what I've done but I managed to delete nearly all of my original post and have somehow lost most of the videos etc so I'm splitting the post into three. Oh why oh why oh why am I such an IT div???!!!!!

Anyway, after the prawn/chardonnay feast, Tom and I wobbled back to our room and pretty much just collapsed. I woke up in the morning to discover two horrible things which both just spiralled out of control. The first was that I was covered in my awful porridge rash and the second was that I'd left my bag under the table in the resturant!

I decided to rush down to the restaurant and see if anyone had handed my bag in but then I ralised that our one and only hairbrush was in the bag and that if I went downstairs with my hair styled by Captain Chardonnay and his team of hangover stylists then I was likely to be chucked out of the hotel. So, I woke Tom up and despatched him on handbag hunt whilst I inspected my rash and wondered how on earth I looked human pebble dash.

Unfortunately the bag hadn't been handed in so I had lost my camera, my make up bag, my hairbrush and all of my make up. It was a holiday disaster.
I'm sure the people in the room next to us must have thought that Tom and I were into something very kinky or that I had at least had my head wedged in a crusher as the wail I let out when I realised I had no camera, no make up and no hairbrush was a little loud.

Luckily, the bag turned up later that day -a waitress had put it somewhere safe and gave it to teh Concierge who returned it thank god. So, luckily there was only a short time in which I was comitting crimes against hairdressing.

However, my rash was not solved so easily and i spent most of the rest of the holiday swathed in acres of thin cotton looking like something out of some biblical epic. It really is no fun being bundled up in long shorts and long sleeves on a beautiful beach or having people flinch when they see you strip off into your bikini. I can also categorically state that calamine lotion is not half as glam as coconut oil to rub on your skin whilst sunning yourself. In fact, looking like a cross between an Egyptian mummy and a five year old with chicken pox is probably one of the most depressing things on a holiday.

I have now decided that I'm never venturing further than my postcode ever again as things seem to happen to me. I knock about here, bored off my gorge with nothing ever going wrong but as soon as I cross the LE postcode boundary then the forces of medical evils seem to conspire against me and I end up in a right mess.

The rash still hasn't gone either. I'm on enough anti histamines to fell an elephant and weigh half a stone more than usual due to the weight of the calamine but it's still no better. Looks like I'm going to have a summer of long sleeves and floor length skirts. Oh well, it'll save the neighbours from having to look at my dodgy legs!





oops,