Don't Tell Mum: Hair-raising Messages Home from Gap-year Travellers
Simon Hoggart, Emily Monk
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The email home is an essential part of every gap-year traveller's journey. Where once the news of narrowly surviving a bus crash on the dirt-roads of India, waking up to gunfire in Honduras or fending off marriage proposals from complete strangers would have made it home only on the back of a slow-moving battered postcard, these days those tantalizing details and terrible mistakes are now recorded immediately and distributed liberally for every friend and family member to wince at.
In Don't Tell Mum, Simon Hoggart and Emily Monk have collected together the funniest, most surreal, most alarming gap-year emails into a treasure-trove of correspondence. Accompanied by their wicked commentary, Don't Tell Mum gives the aspiring traveller the low-down on what not to do when trotting the globe.
short of it is that I now find myself living with just Peta, the 20-year-old bisexual, dress size 22. I have, however, established that she does not see me ‘in that way’ so it’s all quite chummy. I ply her with leftover brownies, which keeps her sweet. My chalet is palatial, all the mod cons. In the past month the hot water has gone twice, the oven’s broken, the bath doesn’t run, the dishwasher is clogged and last week one of my guests came down the stairs looking somewhat pasty having been
the documents through again? I am not sure my flirting is up to them not telling my boss. Suggestions please. My happiness, and therefore your happiness, depends on me keeping this job. All love, a desperate and soon to be unemployed Jessica. This girl got a job in a London department store. Hey, all, you’re probably wondering why I am emailing midday. Well, I have been sent home from the shop, after an embarrassing but mildly funny morning. Got so plastered at Baz’s bar last night that while I
rewarding, except the children are reminiscent of the devil and the teachers have the same warmth towards us as an Arctic glacier. I have taken to teaching my children the most useful things they need to know about English culture – last week we learned about Sloanes, pikeys, Geordies, wide boys and lager louts. I have become the chief slayer of insects, having combated cockroaches in my sleeping bag, wash bag, pants, loo seat, hairbrush, as well as taking on a spider the size of a small
trekking for 12 days, but group underestimated food rations rather badly as we couldn’t be bothered to carry them, so pretty much was starving after 12 days of plain porridge and plain crackers and plain rice for dinner, eeewww, anyhow last night we went out for dinner and three of us ate so much they threw up, and no one could move after dinner, very amusing!!! Now off to go diving for a week on desert island!!! Wahooooooo, where there is café so no more shit shit shit food!!! Mozzies not so bad
we reached the top, then proceeded to walk down through the heart of the favella! You can really see the vast difference in wealth in Rio, we walked down narrow paths with water literally flying past our feet, as they don’t have any decent drains, water was gushing down the paths, through some people’s houses, yet the locals still remained friendly, happy to have their photo taken, apart from the drug dealers, when we had to put the cameras away (we were perfectly safe, Mum, I promise). Yeah,