08 September 2013

Sky's out, Thighs out

'Ello Gov'nas!
When it comes to Bank Holiday weekends, I'm in two minds. On one hand, I find them so incredibly dull & boring that attempting some voluntary uni work almost becomes desirable. Almost.
Hear me out... you wake up on the Friday with that feeling of goofy excitement at the prospect of 4. whole. days of utter freedom. That warm fuzzy feeling of euphoria is just as quickly wiped away when I realise that as a uni student on my summer holidays, freedom is served up on a plate almost 24/7. With so much excessive free time on a bank holiday, the prospect of doing that uni work becomes more of a reality. That's simply not acceptable. Nobody likes a goody-two-shoes.




This leads me to the flip side of my (rather) pointless quandary. On the other hand, when the sun peeps her sleepy head out from the fluffy pillow clouds & I receive a lavish invitation from one of the fantastic four, suddenly bank holiday weekends appear to be the best thing since sliced bread. A weekend spent getting fabulously lost in the raggle-taggle country lanes & absolutely destroying some sticky-sweet cream tea monstrosities? Don't mind if I do...


Armed for some top tipples, salty fresh sea breeze in my face & some charming company, I hopped on a train & embarked on a mammoth journey to the magical jewel nestled in the English Rivera.

Alright me 'ansum Torquay! Never met ya before but ya got some lovely beaches...



Tumbling off the train with my bag, I was scooped up into one, massive bear hug by my two awaiting munchkins & then promptly marched over to 'Albert', our wise little land-yacht love bug to kick start the mighty tour of our weekend haven.

After mopping up some old-school cheese on toast at a friend's house & somewhat indiscreetly gawking at their beauuutiful abode, it was time to trundle off to Sainsbury's & get back to the case in hand. The purchasing of some veritably filthy food & something equally naughty to wash it all down with. 


Extra mature for extra naughtiness

Whizzing round the place, tossing in all bits & bobs, we emerged with a basket piled high with the good stuff & some dirty, strapping BBQ food to slip onto the barby later. We were set for a wickedly mischievous night in.

The boys arrived, the music started playing, the drinks got a-flowing & so did conversation. As time slipped on, chef Izzy got her pinny fastened & whipped up some real rough tough man food. 



With the arrival of our final fabulous comrade, we all tucked ourselves round the table & got down to business. On the menu was sticky, crispy sausage baps, big town juicy burgers piled high with the good stuff, Char-grilled halloumi & a big 'ol bowl of the healthy green stuff. 
Surprisingly, the bowl of leafy goodness never ventured down our end of the table & remained as a permanent fixture at the boy's macho burger bar. Sadly, I never got to make my introductions to the vitamin-enriched goodness that night. Shame.


So to make up for it, I got my treacherous hands on a magnificent, pimped out Big Dog. Stacked, meaty, mouth-wateringly satisfying & oozing with saucy flavours...it was sausage sandwich perfection.
Phew. How outrageous.


Too busy getting my fill of the big dog, my camera lay on the side abandoned, single & very much alone. It was just too good to share & I'm selfish by nature. 
Instead, you'll have to settle for a little bit of this second-place charmer...



Just look at that warm, creamy, buttery puddle of perfection. Disgustingly flashy.

After showcasing some shamefully atrocious aims at the dartboard and some severely unsung pool skills, it was time to call it a night & hop into bed. I blame my substandard sports skills wholeheartedly on the ethanol. Jealous minx.

Waking with bright-eyed rigour, we lept out of bed & set off on our adventures. Only joking.
Clambering out of our warm cocoons, we traipsed after one another to get the teapot singing & to settle our less than peachy heads with some tea. 

Tea = drink of the Gods. 100% scouts honour. 

Wiggling into some shorts & munching on some old-school American  pancakes, mopped up with sticky maple syrup & lashings of fresh fruit (gracias Nigella, you babe), we were ready to get crack-a-lackin!



Izzy stepped up to the role of our official tour guide & whizzed us around in trusty 'ol Albert, showing us the hidden gems of her sleepy seaside town. 
It was of course, adorable.

It struck me how unsociable the world is round where I live. People are so wrapped up in their own worries, tasks & endless to-do lists, that we just hustle & bustle past one another without a second glance. Or care, in fact. 
What I loved about Devon was that everywhere you went, regardless of whether you were a country regular or a bloomin' stranger to the customs, you were met with a sea of sunshine smiles & chirper 'hello's!'. Totally eye-opening & such a simple way to make someone's day. 
And the best bit about it? It doesn't cost a penny.



Chugging along with music blasting, we eventually arrived at the moors with no reported scratch, bruise or injury. 
The roads here are a perpetual Labyrnth's maze...all higgedly-piggedly, scant & wind-y. Combined with far too many cars tooting about to be deemed safe, getting from a-to-b is a feat in itself! 
Gathering our supplies, we marched off & jumped our way through the long grass until we reached the stepping stones to set up ship for our picnic.





More importantly, the walk allowed me to theatrically stage my own rendition of young Cathy scampering about in the wild whilst my tall, dark, tempestuous Heathcliff charged after me in vain.

I waited, but alas he never came. 

Hearing a rustle & whipping my head in anticipation, I came face to face with this brooding dark beast instead...


Oh drats.

Growing up & dodging my shaggy Heathcliff, I scuttled over to find the others getting in touch with their inner children & having the time of their lives' on a swing. Maturity shoved aside yet again, I promptly joined ship.

Friends who play together, stay together. 






With rumbling tummies, we hopped, skipped & wobbled our way over to the other side of the river & set up our own beauty of a picnic. With generous helpings of crunchy crisps, buttery bagels, fragrant fruit & some obligatory cheeky chocolate, we nestled down to rub our full bellies in the sunshine.
Anyone notice the stellar use of alliteration there?









Chillin' out, maxin', relaxin', all cool.

Burning up from the sun, Jenny & I decided to trot over to the river's edge & dip our toes in for a quick cool off...


We got a call from Izzy's parents to pop over to their dinky beach hut because apparently that was where everything was 'appen. Clambering our way through the town & over the assorted cobblestones, we reached the famous hut & joined the pimms party!





This little nugget knows how to work the camera...

Damn Persian genes.

We also indulged in a notoriously British game of Boules. An innocent bit of fun soon became a hushed game of competitiveness...


After so much adventure packed into one day, we all piled back into the car & headed back home for tea & cake, stopping off at an old country pub tucked away in a sleeping village for some pipin' hot comfort food.

Waking with excitement & helping ourselves to a champions breakfast our proud mother's would shed a tear at, we slithered into bikini's & headed to where the seagulls were calling our names. 
Ze Beach.

Envisaging ourselves dancing about in the water, diving effortlessly & emerging with salt crusted hair, we ran down to the sands. Clearly, the sky had alternative plans for us beach babies. As the gloomy clouds skidded their way onto the scene, our mermaid fantasies were tossed, tumbled  & well & truly washed away.
Not letting the weather get in the way of our happy beach spirits, we settled for some old school fun & games with the boys...







By this time, it was blooin' a (h)ooley so we packed up & escaped off home, ready for a night out to see off our trip to Torbay in style. That meant one thing...

Drink, drank, drunk.


Tired, hungover & wanting nothing more than to fling myself (gently, of course) into a fresh, fluffy, soft pile of cushions & to wrap myself in a glorious envelope of my beloved duvet, we headed to the station.
Squeezing the life out of my munchkins, I dove onto the train & buried my throbbing head in a magazine until the prospect of shmooshing myself in some pillowy goodness was more of a reality. 

Wrapping myself in a big, fluffy dressing gown once home sweet home, I couldn't wait to relive the giggles of the weekend in some fabulous dreams.

A happy ending to a delicious weekend with my lovely ladies.



Dulce SueƱos

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