OH SHIT WE'VE BEEN KOH-LANTAED

was our reaction to being shipped to Samui; even watching a few rounds of Whales in the Wind on the boat couldn't cheer us up (think J.Lo in her wind machine in On The Floor, but replace the wind machine with the inability to balance up on deck and swap sexy Lopez with swollen American tourists - don't judge me, this was back when I was skinny enough to to be a bitch). A massive life comedown had hit the size of Andy Dufresne's on his first night in Shawshank. Except we weren't after redemption, rather we were ravenous. After eating nothing but the ice in our Sangsom buckets for a week there was no time to wash off Phi-Phi, we headed to the nearest 5* resort for some munch. We ate all we could eat at the all you can eat (say it ten times) and after this return to the magnificent food of our glorious middle-class upbringings, we ate Maccies every night... and yes it was just as good (better).

BEACH REPUBLIC, KOH SAMUI

Lord, I've made Samui sound dull, only because when I wrote about it I was sat smug as Mayor McCheese (surely the smuggest of the McDonalds characters, and definitely the one who wants to make me fat) on Koh Tao my new favourite place on the planet with a chocolate milk from Seven Eleven. More on this heaven on earth, full of greased up, fire-dancing adonises, later.

Ungrateful as ever for the honeymoon-worthy beaches and scenery, we realised there were places to go out on Samui; head to Green Mango y'all if you're ever on this island. Word of warning, it's dark in this club, so make sure the boy you're snogging has all his skin before you dive in for a smooch. When he steps into the light, in all his house-fire third degree sunburnt glory, after hours of rubbing up against him to Swedish House Mafia, your face (AND HIS) isn't going to be picture.

Samui; all very Magaluf without the Shag (thank the Lord).