Do you know where Bali is? I do coz I’m here now, shame.
Anyway, it’s safe to say I can class myself as a professional holiday maker. I am very good at doing nothing and basing my days around meal times. Rather than expertly wasting my time at home putting cello-tape on the cats paws, I am in beautiful foreign lands, lounging, eating, drinking, sleeping and getting massages.
I have literally just arrived back into bed after a Balinese massage held inside my hotel and only a few doors down from my room. Perfect.
This was most probably likely the best massage I have ever had. It was incredibly extensive and her little muscular tropical fingers were magical. She massaged every part of my body minus my growler and boobs. My ears, eyes, fingers and toes. She even flipped me over and massaged my stomach, I was hoping she would unfurl my belly button to hop inside and give my organs a wee rub down. Needless to say I was well oiled, relaxed and in that moment I knew I was a professional holiday person.
(I fell asleep before I finished writing this, that just shows you the extent of my relaxation)
Last night I dreamt about patting tigers and lions and riding elephants off into the sunset, I was awake at 4am with intense excitement stomach cramps because guess what, that’s the kind of activity a pro holiday maker would do, so it’s happening today ya dummies and you can be jealous of my awesome life after I write a shitty blog about it.
Watch this space….

I am going to a tropical area of the world where I will be tanning most areas of my non tropical body but whilst I am doing so, I would like some tips on radical things to do and see. I have 15 days. BALI – READY GO!!

I was feeling a little wild this morning so I didn’t order eggs but an intensely sweaty and sweet stack of French toast with crispy bacon and sloppy bananas instead.
On my way to do my all important errands for the day, I did 3 crimes all at the same time and Snapchatted it (cool, I know).
I went and had a Chinese massage which surprisingly included an extensive ass massage (pants on). It was good.
I then went back to the car and witnessed an incredible scene where two fat dudes with bags of McDonalds in their hands, climbed and squeezed their rolly polly pudding and pie bodies into the small Toyota Corolla windows of the driver and passenger seats because the doors obviously didn’t work. I made no effort to hide the fact I was laughing at them hysterically.
But Karma was swift – on my drive home, I sneezed so hard I smashed my head on the steering wheel.
Today was a good day…

Studies show if you eat 1,200 cheeseburgers by the age of 27 u will not look like Carmen Electra on your Bali holiday #thatswhereiwentwrong

Sitting at the doctor and some little fat headed shit bag keeps coughing and spluttering. He then sneezes managing to spray snot and thousands of child size diseases all over the show and all over me. I don’t give a shit if your poor excuse for a child is sick, can I elbow him in the face and shove that toy train in his mouth so it doesn’t happen again? I’m sick too bitch.
Thanks.

From the four times (approx) I have been to the gym this year, there has been at least one thing each time to keep putting me off going. These four occasions have only been over the last few weeks because I am cramming. I am going to Bali in 3 weeks time and I want to look like Carmen Electra on the beach, not a blindingly white beluga whale.
So this one time, I went to a yogalaties class. Yoga mixed with Pilates. I had the stereotypical floaty frankincense and patchouli instructor, who could probably bite off her own vagina with her extreme flexibility but not a lot going on between the ears.
The class was great until one of the ladies relaxed so much in the pose that she farted. I understand the ethos behind such classes but that does not make it ok to inflict your poo particles on others.
Needless to say I ditched that class and tried my hand at the cross trainer. Looking like a retarded Olympic walker on hovering stilts is great to get those sweat beads a rollin, but what isn’t great is the fact my gym plays cooking shows on the TV’s. COOKING SHOWS. Nigella, Jamie Oliver, the old angry English mate who pronounces restaurant, Ress-trint. The whole shebang, on repeat. Oh yeah, that’s a great incentive to lose weight and tone up when I’m watching that shit whilst working out. So of course I go home and smash a tub of Nutella whilst shaving inches off a block of chocolate in and around my mouth.
I should have known something was up when I saw the trainers who worked there. Slim toned healthy….far from it sweetheart.
Speaking of the trainers – every single time I am in the changing room, getting my kit off and putting my work out kit on, they are in and out, in and out and leave the god dam door open for all to see. Now, I don’t give a shit about flashing my little pork roast body around in there, it’s a woman’s gym, who cares! But I’m thinking of others, I don’t want the ladies to bring up their protein shakes and carbless bars all over the show if they got a glimpse of me in all my beluga glory.

I think I’ll try the air and dust diet to see me into Bali body 2013, or do most people love a good pork roast?

Some homeless people baffle me…. Maybe their ways are obvious but I only take notice on occasion. Like this occasion in particular, the man sitting outside the supermarket who asked me for money. Now there were a few points to my confusion about the whole situation….

1. Said homeless man was extremely fat, he had a gut on him that could conceal a small vehicle. How you can be that fat and homeless confuses me. No money to pay for housing sort of goes along the lines of buying other life necessities right?
2. He was listening to an iPod. He must be bored sitting on his ass all day asking people for money, so music would certainly get him through until he can go home, charge it and update his playlists whilst eating 300 cheeseburgers, 180 boxes of fries and 28 thick shakes from McDonalds.
3. This man had a dog. Dogs eat a lot of food. The dog was skinny. The dog looked sick. This concerned me the most.
In the supermarket I purchased two great handfuls of roasted chicken breasts from the deli and a finger of bananas. I presented them to the man on my way out rather than money. He asked what I was giving him and after telling him, he turned his nose up at me and said “I don’t like that kind of chicken”
Well MATE, I will happily take your starving dog with me to live long and prosper right after I shove the bananas in your butthole and hide the chicken breasts under your revolting gut until they go off and flies and preying mantises eat you to death and lay eggs in your eye holes.
Yeah, I’m an asshole. Get a job.