Why are so many people in this country obsessed with heading to Southern Europe and consuming 2500 calories of greasy shit for breakfast in 35-degree heat?

Why the hell are we obsessed with spunking three grand on a week’s all-inclusive in Turkey and then getting the royal arse on Tripadvisor when we get to the hotel and discover that the TV in the room doesn’t provide the full Sky Family Pack with movies and sports?

Why do we all gripe about ‘forreners’ ruining Britain before returning from two weeks in Gran Canaria looking darker than the people who apparently should be ‘sent home?’

I made a fascinating discovery in Spain once. They have Spanish food over here, and Spanish Spaniards have been consuming it for many, many years.

The continental breakfast is an amazing thing. It allows you to start your day without feeling the need to pass out comatose afterwards in front of the pool for five hours.

My all-time Brits abroad holiday moment came a few years back when I went to Kos.

This lobster-faced Scouse tourist, Michael Palin she was not, waved her arms wildly at one of the hotel’s waiters and bellowed, ‘Oi Pedro! Dos beers pour favour. Kalimera.’

This was the ‘trifecta’ of British holiday f*ckwittery.

Forget making border arrangements for after March 2019. I wouldn’t be surprised if the other 27 just build a sodding great wall.