After passing the perma-tanned packed beaches of St. Tropez and Cannes, the first campsite we found was practically on a building site. Either side of it for mile upon mile was nothing but a cheap casino and swathes of harsh pebble beach. After cooking our dinner of tomato and potato stew, washed down with ten of Lidl's cheapest beers, we went out to sample the night life. The night life happened to consist of sitting on a rough built rubble pier, listening to a coach load of Young Americans. Sat in the middle of Europe thousands of miles from home the most fascinating thing they could find in common was how, like, incredibly different their own accents were, "I do not, like, sound like that," "You, like, so totally do," "I do not, like, totally sound
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