Hollyhead, December 2004  
Travel Writing
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  Amazingly we weren’t the last to arrive, Pants and Ross had been frolicking with the Welsh Border Police’s rubber glove unit while Sal and Vera stopped at every fire station between Cambridge and Hollyhead to ask for directions.  
  Evening turned into night turned into early morning and we hung out in the living room talking, drinking, smoking, all that good stuff.
Pants now has a collection of at least a hundred Sally’s Backside photos, to go with the artistic, more nature-orientated pictures he already had on his camera.
Much fermented beverage was consumed, in fact nearly all the beer for the weekend disappeared that evening; Mark tempted the girls with a hint that he might go out back later and chop some wood for them.  
  Greg and Andy trapped the beautiful Jasmine in a pincer movement, executed at glacial speed, exposing her to their not inconsiderable combined charms and oozing debonair sophistication.    
Well, Greg was oozing something just before he fell asleep at her feet, but the less said about that the better. Trust in me, just in me, shut your eyes and trust in me. Slowly and surely your senses will cease to resist. Hssssssss
Ah the stories we could tell, but all good things must come to an end and by 4am most of us were running on empty and we hit the hay.
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