The beach is awash with pebbles as the calm ocean brushes lazily up and down the shore. The sounds of the abnormally large seagulls caw noisily, their voices laughing along the seafront as if mocking me. I’m in Eastbourne, a small town along the south coast of the UK, visiting friends.
A cool breeze blows in through the window and I wonder what it would be like to be here in the summer, it’s a Hakuna Matata sort of place with no worries and not really much of anything going on and for the first time in a while, I feel at peace. I don’t have to worry about work or anything for that matter, I’m on holiday.
I drift in and out of sleep, unable to wake properly, the memory of copious glasses of wine and that stupid, blooming Vodquila does not help my hangover. I feel tender, sipping at my water like I’m stranded on an island and the liquid is precious. It helps my head.
I feel spoiled by my friends, they feel like family. They are people who help pick me up when I feel down and try to beat that blasted Peggle level when I get stuck and although none of us are perfect, I like my little-mismatched group of friends because for the first time I have found a group of people who like me for me, without passing judgement.
We each slowly munch on our Domino’s pizza in a mass of pjs and bear onesies, unable to do much else than moan and chew. Moan and chew in the hope the hangover will fade sooner rather than later.