Sri Lanka’s diary entry #1: You just can’t trust road signs.

.9th of February 2019.

Dear diary,

I was on the M50 heading northbound on the way to meet the girlos in town for a mid-to-late lunch and an ol’ gossip.

You have to be careful on the M50 as it has a total mix of people driving on the roads. I read somewhere that there’s like 10 commoners for every 1 pure-blooded South-Sider.

Because of this, I have to drive with 6 armoured support units behind me. Ya like it’s expensive, sure, but like nothing beats blowing up a few commoner cars that get too close. After all, my father is the Minister for Private Schools.

For example; John, my explosives specialist like literally blew up this embarrassing Ford Focus in the overtaking lane.

In the confusion and joy of blowing up cars, I may have taken a wrong turn. I thought the exit sign said ‘Young, Handsome Leinster Academy Rugger Players’.

I was separated from the rest of the convoy. But screw it, I was on my way to find the man of my dreams, probs a 6 foot 6 stunner.

Ya, well, I ended up at these like, traffic lights. A man came over in a yellow luminous vest. I was like to myself, “Yas, omergod Sri, that vest could just be the new jersey for the U20’s team”.

And guess what? It was actually a guy trying to sell me newspapers! I nearly puked. Like omergod, just no.

Then the ‘Rover broke down. So I continued on foot to try and find wherever these Leinster Rugger Players were at. I tried cracking open a tub of whey protein to get them to come out of their habitats.

However, after a good few hours of searching I simply gave up and I went to find a hotel to stay the night. I ended up at a massive hotel that had multiple levels of parking. I needed somewhere to stay. I needed a private room.

In the reception, one person was being carted in by like 10 people to their own private room. Like this place was state of the art! 10 private servants? Back at the monsion we only have 1 per room!

Like, what kind of a hotel was this? Especially with a name like ‘A & E’. It sounded fancy.

The receptionist was like “what’s the injury? why are you here? do you need help?”

I was like “Ya I do actually need help, mental injury like. I’ve overdosed on disappointment. I’ll take a room thanks” She was like, “Sorry you need a real injury or life threatening issue in order to stay here”. I left the hotel. . .

The father told me over the mobile that I was in an area that’s not even on the Monopoly board! Ew.

Ya, well I just slept in the ‘Rover out on the street. So, just saying like, it’s deffo Ireland’s worst hotel.

Like, what kind of a name is ‘Tallaght Hospital‘ anyways?

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