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Ah Benidorm, the ultimate gals holiday. You never expect much with Benidorm lets be honest, but the reality of us three loons going abroad together was a whole lot worse. Let me explain….

Arriving at the airport:

The expectation – We will arrive at the airport hours earlier than needed, we’ll check in with ease and enjoy swanning around duty free before we board the plane where we will all sit together, looking fabulous and get giddy about what we are going to do on the holiday.

The reality – We set off late because Rosie needs to curl every inch of her hair before she is released to the public (baring in mind its 3am in the morning). We have a passport check every 5 seconds in case any of us have left it at home, we spray too much perfume in Boots and get in line to board the plane ‘smelling like a baby prostitute’ (gold star if you get the reference). In the queue, Rosie reads aloud a Benidorm meme off facebook saying ‘girls go all the way to Beni just to get jizzed on by Gary from Huddersfield’, at which point a man in front who is carrying his young child turns round and says ‘but I’m not from Huddersfield’. Ok Gary hun, you’re kidding no one. We board the plane full of shame, one sitting at the front, one in the middle and one at the back. As for looking fabulous, well Rosie’s new acryllics popped off after 5 mins of being seated so yeah, so much for that plan.

The accommodation –

The expectation – The expectation isn’t high because lets face it, it’s Benidorm. All we ask is that it is clean, comfortable and we can have a decent meal.

The reality – The 3 of us arrive to find 2 normal beds and what can only be described as a cardboard plank with a cushion on it. Unfortunately for Rosie, the criteria for getting a real bed was that you needed to be 5ft or over – unlucky pal. We arrive at the buffet to find a platter of beige food (which to be fair is a winner). The meat however looks grey so we opt for plain white bread and chips, covered in salt (#bodyisatemple). We head to the dessert counter and pick a sponge cake and top it with fluorescent yellow custard. No wonder we were smashed after one black russian (aka…vodka coke).

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The sunkissed glow and bangin’ bikini bod-

The expectation – We will look like tanned goddesses walking along the beach. It’ll be like Baywatch, but hotter.

The reality – Me and Nikki have failed again at Slimming World for the 15th time so we are waltzing round in XXXXXL kaftans. Meanwhile, Rosie has spent the holiday shoveling hot dogs into her gob but continues to be fit as fuck. Rosie, being the BTEC barbie that she is, is already glowing a bit because she’s left her fake bake on for three nights now so is practically classed as a different race. I however, head to the beach caked in white prickly heat powder looking like a snowman in the middle of summer #pricklesoverboard.

Brits abroad

The nights out –

The expectation – We’ll pre drink at the hotel at a decent hour, we’ll get fairly drunk but still be able to bust some crackin’ moves on the dancefloor til 5am. We’ll take some gorgeous selfies and everyone will be commenting on our instagram pics saying how jel they are.

The reality – We head down to the outside bar to cane it on the pre-drinks and hope to play some drinking games at the table. Instead, we have to endure an hour of the childrens disco, followed by a shit parrot show which isn’t good if you have a phobia of birds let me tell ya. We decide it’s time to leave, but the hotel has a toastie machine and we figure it’s always good to line your stomach before a big night. We envisage a gorgeous cheese toastie, oozing with cheddar and being just the right amount of greasy. Instead, Nikki cranks the machine up to 300 degrees and opens the lid to find crispy bread and black cheese smeared all over the griddle. We walk away crying laughing and turn round to see a foreign family uncovering the chaos and looking mortified. At this point we plan to make a swift exit to the strip but end up sitting in the lobby for the next hour waffling about random shite (actually, just googling Tutankhamun to be exact) because we all feel as if there is a strong possibility that we’ll poo ourselves on the strip because of the dodgy burnt cheese we’ve eaten. We take a few ‘normal’ photos of us before heading out, but once we’re on the strip, our camera rolls fill up quickly with photos of midget strippers and selfies of us with random girls in the toilets who are now are friends for life (so we think).

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The flight home –

The expectation- You’ll sleep all the way home and get off the plane feeling like a new woman. You’ve had the best holiday of your life with your gal pals and you feel so satisfied

The reality – Nikki has been fuming for the past 6 hours in the hotel because she’s lost her word search book and is convinced the cleaners have stolen it. Finally we silence the crank and find it, in her flipping suitcase. In the airport, I’m gripping on to my passport for dear life because if I put it in my bag I simply do not have the energy to rummage for it and will end up residing myself to becoming a Beni babe for life. We arrive back in England in ‘U OK HUN’ sliders and realise we have made a serious error. Andy picks us up from Leeds Bradford and realises he’s also made a serious error in choosing me as his girlfriend because I look like a hot mess. We drop Nikki and Rosie off and despite us all being glad to see the back of each other, we can’t help but start texting each other about all the funny things we have done on the holiday. Despite the dramas and the reality not living up to expectation, our trip to Benidorm was a right hoot and I couldn’t have asked to share it with two better people. Bring on the next gals holiday I say! #BeniBabes4ever

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