What I did on my holidays

This weekend I go away on my first ever holiday on my own.  Actually that’s not strictly true because when I was seventeen I went alone to Morocco. I’d recently ended a relationship with a man who later went on to be a (not the) manager in Sainsbury’s and whom my mother liked very much.   I had inadvertently forgotten to save any money and managed to survive for a week thanks mainly to the generosity of Lloyds Bank, but I had to supplement my meagre overdraft by begging in Tangiers.  Back then (it was the olden days) the flight cost £18 and I managed to find a series of « hotels » which were very cheap and totally justified their inverted commas.  I had a ball.  I travelled from Marrakesh to Fez with a donkey on my lap (it was a very full bus), got pulled over by the police for wearing shorts, and…

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