I thought I ought to send you a quick note. You may or may not have noticed that I have been writing to the postman recently but today I thought I would take a break and pen you some words instead.
I am not sure if you have realised but we are ‘abroad’. That grainy stuff that keeps scratching at you is called sand, and signifies that we are indeed on the beach.
I know you recognise the signs, we have been away together before.
So, for the love of god, can you please get with the program and change sodding colour.
Your mates up this way, back and boobies, have embraced the holiday concept with unrestrained enthusiasm. Back (despite being caressed with Factor 50) went to town on day one and is sporting a nice burnt orange look. Boobies have opted for a more rainbow look, and start with a deep red than slowly turns into a big brown freckle.
For chuffs sake legs, even nose and brow are making more of an effort to tan.
I know it is not easy, being legs that belong to a head of strawberry blonde hair, but if the rest of me can try surely you could have a go.
I have tenderly stroked you with factor 15 each day so you don’t feel any pain. Every other piece of me has had the factor 50 treatment but still I get nothing from you, nothing.
I don’t want to throw insults but if I get too close to a white wall people may mistakenly think I am literally legless.
We have three days, the forecast looks good. I am going to treat you to Factor 10, c’mon legs, let’s do this.
To read more Postcards From Portugal check out these post’s:
Day One: Needles and Vino
Day Two: Raining on our parade
Day three: Thongs and arse cracks
Day four: Beating the kids
Day Five: How a skinful leads to Agadoo
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