Chapter 2Graham
“f**k!” I stormed out of the hotel’s bar, my fists clenched in anger. “Stupid uptight bloody Yanks!”
For the second time since I’d begun my coach tour of Florida, I wished I’d not won the bloody competition. I couldn’t get a bloody drink cause the stupid American laws say you gotta be twenty-one to be served alcohol. I mean, what a bloody stupid rule. I could get served down my local at sixteen though that’s cause my uncle Pete would slip me a drink when the landlord happened to be looking the other way. But twenty-friggin-one, that is just, well, stupid.
Marching into the hotel lobby, I couldn’t be arsed waiting for the lift, or elevator as the damn Yanks called it, so I decided to use the stairs. Pushing open the heavy fire door, I wondered why they just couldn’t call
