So I've thought and I've thought and I've decided that I can't write everything that I want to write in one post. So I will do a lovely "oooh look at these nice pictures" post and then tomorrow (hopefully) I'll do a lovely "oooh look at what happens when I decide I'm going to drink again" post.
So I travelled down to Torquay this weekend to see my favourite cousin. I hate that I don't get to see her more often - she's the closest I've got to having a sister. Yes, ok, I do actually have a sister, but she's 13 years older than me and we have very different personalities, whereas me and my cousin are only separated by 15 months or so and are pretty much the same person. All I want to do really is look after her, I worry about her you know. I know she's perfectly capable of looking after herself but there's something about our relationship that brings the protective side of me out.
To be honest if she were any old random on the street I'd kind of want to slap her. Stupidly pretty with a grotesquely amazing figure, blonde, a freakin' Doctor, she can dance, she can cook - seriously, anyone else would be getting a poke in the eye round about now. Instead I am stupidly proud of her and would be quite happy to walk down the street with a sign above my head saying "Hey everyone! This is MY cousin!"
Things you should know about Babbacombe and Oddicombe Beach:
First impressions of Torquay? Pretty damn good. It would be undoubtedly more charming if the sun was shining and if we didn't spend most of the time wishing the throbbing in our heads would subside, but not even the old lady who was walking in front of us and proceeded to wet herself could dampen (pun intended) my spirits.