**A Night Out**
“Let’s go on an adventure!” declared Emily to her best friend Grace as they tossed their suitcases into the train’s luggage compartment. The train departed exactly on time and arrived precisely at eight in the morning, not a minute late.
But let’s start from the beginning.
Summer was in full swing. June had zoomed by like a jet, leaving nothing memorable behind. The first month of summer had melted away like ice cream, vanishing into a whirlwind of mundane worries. Life, after all, moves swiftly—fleeting, ephemeral, and full of little distractions. Before they knew it, July crept in through the door, unannounced, settling into their lives without a warning.
Anyone working a five-day week knows the agony of waiting for the last few hours before a holiday—your mind already on the beach while your body remains trapped at work. Emily had spent those final moments staring at the clock, convinced someone had glued the hands in place. “Why won’t time hurry up?” she sighed.
Grace, meanwhile, had spent the afternoon daydreaming aloud. “I fancy some sweetcorn, pickled mussels, and prawns,” she announced after yet another customer left. The two friends had often indulged in fine Scotch whisky, enchanted by its rich aroma and lingering aftertaste. Though, as they well knew, pride comes before a fall—though no one ever remembers the second half of that saying.
“How about a swim?” they mused over lunch. “What could possibly stop us?”
With funds tight and overseas holidays out of the question, the choice was obvious: the English seaside. “Let’s keep it quiet,” Grace whispered. “No need to invite envy.”
Packing was another ordeal entirely. How does one cram an entire wardrobe, cosmetics, and an assortment of “essentials” into a single suitcase? A Herculean task, yet somehow, they managed.
Now, here they were—sand between their toes, the crisp sea air filling their lungs. Waves lapped gently at the shore while gulls wheeled overhead, their cries piercing the quiet. Sunbathers lounged lazily, cracking open cold beers and snacking on salted crisps, while children devoured greasy fish and chips with glee.
“Stand straight—chin up! Perfect!” Emily directed, snapping photos of Grace by the water.
“Now with this melon. Gorgeous shot!” Grace beamed, wiping her brow.
A seaside photoshoot was practically a rite of passage. Sun-kissed, toned, and—preferably—without the puffiness from last night’s lager. (Though who could resist a cheeky pint on holiday?)
“Grace! Look at this!” Emily groaned, examining the pictures. “Why do I look like I’m baring my teeth? And what’s this—is that cellulite? Honestly!”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Fine, take your own then. I’m going for a swim.”
But Emily wasn’t done. “Oh, don’t sulk. Come on—one more with the lavender and wine glasses. Smile! Perfect.”
To their surprise, the photos turned out rather well.
“Shall we celebrate with dinner?” Grace suggested.
“Brilliant idea! Seafood and sparkling wine—yes!” Emily was already picturing herself in a chic restaurant, sipping bubbly in elegance.
That evening, dressed to impress, they set off.
The restaurant was quiet.
“How about that table by the window?” Grace pointed.
“Apologies, ladies—that’s reserved,” the waitress said. “Would you like this one by the pillar instead?”
Grace sighed. “And here I was hoping for a sea view. Probably just an excuse to charge extra.”
Emily scanned the menu and nearly choked. “Two-hundred-seventy grams of grilled scallop salad for the price of my old hatchback?”
“Rocket and prawns—two hundred forty grams? At this rate, we could’ve bought plane tickets!” Grace muttered.
They turned to the wine list. Silence.
“One hundred fifty ml for £90? That’s daylight robbery!” Emily groaned. “We’d need three rounds just to feel a buzz—and I refuse to dip into savings.”
“Let’s just sneak out,” Grace whispered. “I’ll go first.”
Outside, they burst out laughing.
“We’re hopeless,” Emily said. “Come on, I saw another place down the road.”
Their second attempt fared no better. The menu prices made Grace blanch. “Right, I’m off to the loo. Grab our bags in five.”
Third time lucky?
“Look—this place is packed! Must be affordable,” Emily declared, tugging Grace inside.
They were seated by an aquarium, its golden fish blinking mischievously at them.
Emily huffed. “Unbelievable. Well, if we’re going down, let’s go down in style.” She flagged the waiter.
“Darling,” she purred, closing the menu with a flourish, “bring us a Petrus Pomerol 2001 to start. And for my friend, a Château Mouton Rothschild Pauillac 2000.”
Grace nodded gamely.
“Then beluga caviar, two bluefin tuna steaks with sesame oil, and oysters Kumamoto. Oh, and a carrot cake with truffle mousse. Chop-chop—the tip depends on it.”
The waiter gaped before scurrying off.
“Emily, what are you doing?” Grace hissed.
“Relax. The way out is the same as the way in.”
Moments later, the manager approached, flustered. “Ladies, I’m afraid we don’t carry those items. Might I suggest—”
“No matter. A Lokoya Cabernet Sauvignon Howell Mountain 2007, then?” Emily cut in.
The manager blanched. “We… don’t stock that either.”
“Pity. We’ll take our business elsewhere,” Emily sniffed, sweeping out like royalty.
Outside, Grace groaned. “We could’ve had free champagne!”
“Nothing’s free, love,” Emily said.
“Home, then? We’ll grab some instant noodles, prosecco, and a tin of tuna. At least your acting skills were impressive.”
“Who knows? Maybe next time.”
At the supermarket, they loaded up on plastic wine glasses, crisps, chocolate, and a bottle of whiskey. The cashier eyed their glum faces. “Ladies… pace yourselves, yeah?”
Kicking off their sandals, they sprinted down to the beach.
As the stars emerged and the distant hum of an ice cream van played its tinny tune, they clinked glasses under the moonlight.
Life, they decided, was best enjoyed with good company—and a little mischief.
After all, a nation with women like these can never truly be defeated.
