The weather forecast is giving you a hard time, the Girls’ WhatsApp group is seething with tumultuous mentions of mushy and sunshine and you totally accept that your bank holiday weekend will burn you in many ways. Bank? We don’t know her.
Grab a friend (or a friend of friends) with a Soho House membership and your prettiest, floral gingham dress to cry out loud, the August bank holiday is finally here. And we’ve obviously devoted all of F. Scott Fitzgerald to you and written a modern-day love letter for the occasion. If it’s not like McDonald’s and BeReal, we don’t want it.
Lay-in. Drinks of the day. Speak up too soon. Sunburnt shoulders. Would you like me to assist you? Reserve beer garden. Looks a bit gloomy. Last minute trips. Dont worry. Bracelet around the neck. Roar ‘I love you’. Immaculate clothing dwarves. Make a Pimm’s 5L jar. Doritos green and dipped. Eat out. Crispy fries. Direct passing music many roads. Group pic, everyone! All seasons in a weekend? Yes, that sounds like a British bank holiday. Seventeen snacks later and you won’t remember one of them. Wait, is that rain? *puts out hand to feel* Panic buying a paddle pool, just in case. Fry with all kinds of shredded meat. Does anyone have portable speakers? Going picnic In the park. Cider? Maybe. Search Tesco of all its news. And its umbrellas. Oh, soon my BeReal will be up and running. Pringles, Pringles everywhere. Incorrect bbq. Playlist jailbreak. Balmy . Beach day. Blurry wine. Repeat Break My Soul. Potato salad with every meal. Compulsory family outings. Cleaning out the whole house so you have something to show off for the weekend. Floating dress. Tear into a cocktail sausage packet. Dig deep into your close friends. Maybe even the wine tops them a bit. Sunday roll into a sleepy Monday. The stories narrated through many hard-to-hear voice notes. A pile of lost possessions at someone’s house. A shoe. One vape. A bracelet. Ink marks on wrists. McDonald’s? Clear.