My parents sold me to one direction for a weatherspoons pitcher

Sex on the beach

Listen to let's talk about sex baby let's talk about you and me

We got on the bus and walked past a chav with five children and two crackheads to get to our favourite seat. Dave the bus driver tipped his hat at my mam as we walked past. I sighed. He's probably another one of her special friends. We moved the can of lager that was on the seat and sat down. I braced myself for another night in the pub, just like every night of my life. Staring out of the window until the scenery blurred, I put my earphones on and blared my favourite underground unknown indie bands: Arctic monkeys, the 1975. They understand me so much better than my parents do. My mind drifted elsewhere as I listened to the dulcet tones of the arctic monkey and tried to ignore my mother. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, something caught my eye. Among the shoddy buses and old cars, a shiny limousine! Wow! Which celebrity or politician or socialite occupied it? I sat up straight and focused my eyes on the shiny black vehicle. There emblazoned on the side of it was an unmistakable name: One Direction. There was no mistaking it: stopped at the traffic light next to my city bus was the limousine belonging to my favourite boyband. I gasped, and suddenly could see Nial sticking his head out of the sun roof as though he were a dog. His eyes, green as the Irish flag and a four-leafed clover, locked with mine and I felt sparks fly instantly. Then he disappeared out of view. The traffic light flashed green and their limo sped ahead of my bus. Would I ever see my favourite boyband again?