Today started off fairly classily in a ProdigyRed maxi dress, which was a bargain at £20.
I was all set for a day of nothingness but before we’d even made it to breakfast it was clear that today was not a day for nothingness at all.
Police were all over the hotel, paramedics shortly joined them. Each floor was being covered. Interviews were being conducted. Girls giggled at the sight of men with guns. A child, who may or may not have been with me, suggested the police must be here “about the Germans stealing all the loungers”.
Growling sounds were heard. Excuses were made to hang around. Bikinis were changed into (Topshop, natch) in the vain hope that we’d be allowed to hang around longer. We were.
Eventually the “drug couple”, as the children refer to them, emerged looking somewhat devil possessed. In nothing but underwear and blood. Lots of sobbing. More growling. Shouting. Sedation. Handcuffs. Pity (a smattering of).
After an hour of high drama the woman was carted off in her bra and knickers, boobs a-bouncin’. The gent remains in his room with police guarding the corridor. His growling being drowned out by the impersonations of his growling by every tomito, dickito and harry-o in the hotel.
My neck is 97% rubber. The children have vowed to never touch drugs. The verdict? More entertaining than last night’s magic show.
Updates on Twitter, as and when they happen. It’s almost as gripping as rolling news footage from Wapping.