Category Archives: Corsica

A collection of travelogues from my trip to Corsica, peppered with reviews and recommendations of accommodation, walking tours, restaurants and pubs.

Travelogue Corsica 3: Bastia


01 – 04 October 2022

Mapping our route around Corsica, we had stuck mostly to the coast, picturing a beach holiday and visiting most of the main cities which must have been built around the commercially-necessary ports.

The exception was our final leg back to Bastia where we would be traversing the island through the mountains, through a town called Corte, which was reviewed to be a lively town thanks to the University and resulting energy of the student population.

What we hadn’t realised (basing our itinerary on blogs and reviews rather than a contoured map) is exactly how mountainous Corsica is. The majority of the island is one big mountain range, save for a relatively narrow strip around the coast.

Thus, our journey from Ajaccio to Bastia started almost immediately with a climb into the mountains and a corresponding change in scenery and in climate.

Soon back in the ‘head of broccoli‘ (as I had likened the terrain; florets of dense green forest), the roads were so windy it was as if their architect had dropped cooked spaghetti onto a map and then built the tarred road accordingly. Twists and turns as we climbed up one side of a mountain and then descended down the other, our little Fiat 500 feeling every inch in both directions.

The view was sublime. So picturesque. Very hard to describe in words how epic the vastness of the panoramas were. Climbing walls of mountains from where you could see an endless green blanket of forest and a hazy horizon, the blinking blue ocean.

We passed through a few small towns, with welling excitement as each approached; a collection of multi-storey stone symbols of civilisation, staked into the rocks and poking through the trees. Again, hard to describe adequately since ‘old buildings’ and ‘tightly packed enclaves’ hardly sound worthy of any emotional attachment. And yet the views weren’t getting tired and the little towns not getting stale, and we still had the compulsion to point out every single boulangerie we saw, as if gathering points on a treasure hunt.

Corte was immediately noticeably different from the other little towns. It was multiple times the size and as we entered the town there were sports fields and other telltale signs of the university campus. Driving through the Centre Ville, there were countless cafes and restaurants doing a roaring trade.

Being model citizen tourists, we ticked off the sites first – most notably the famous Citadel, built on the edge of a crag that as a literal cliffhanger allowed it to oversee its dominion in all directions – before rewarding ourselves with lunch.

Normally struggling with choosing a restaurant with so many options and usually only a single meal in each town, we were instantly drawn to a place called A Casa Di L’Orsu (House of the Bear, or similar) which had numerous wild boar meals on their menu display board outside. Being a speciality in Corsica and especially inland, we were sold!

With a bargain set menu (no doubt intended to appeal to a student clientele), we were able to sample a number of dishes including the peasant soup, a wild boar pasta dish, wild boar vol au vent (really just a fancy open pie; stole the show) and local cheeses and fig jam for which the inland is also famous.

Fed and happy, we finished off the journey, with Romesh for company until we were descending into Bastia and needed our GPS to guide us to our hotel. 

We had booked 3 nights at Hotel Le Bastia so were very pleased when it exceeded our expectations. Besides having secure and spacious basement parking, our room had double French doors with wooden shutters to keep out the light and with a magnificent sea view when they were open! The hotel also had a fitness gym room and a large basement swimming pool that was heated and enclosed so it doubled as a sort of sauna vibe with loungers.

After our quick tour of the hotel, we hit the streets. 

On arrival, while pleased for the view from our ridge, I’d been concerned that we may be a bit far from the action. N’est pas! We discovered that while it would be quite tiresome trekking up and down the zigzag roads to the promenade, there were stone step alleyways at regular intervals that allowed us to descend more directly, taking no more than a few minutes to get to the town square or the Old Port.

Bastia was preparing a Beer Fest in the town square which I am almost ashamed to say that we did not attend thanks to our lengthy no-sundowners the night before, the cross-country mountain-climbing traverse of the day and the knowledge that the next day was to be a long one.

We did toast our new homebase though, with a jug of sangria (the most fruit we’d had all holiday) and some croquettes, calamari and nachos tapas.


Sunday was designated for our road trip around the Cap Corse, dubbed ‘an island with in an island’ because it is an index-finger peninsula poking out of the top of Corsican mainland fist.

We approached the road trip in an anticlockwise direction, as per most of the itineraries we had reviewed online. The rationale was to drive from east to west, following the Sun. 

The first stop was a mere 11km from Bastia, a tiny town called Erbalunga, which was no more than a small ring of buildings hugging to a miniature marina on the sliver of flat(ish) land carved out of the mountains behind.

Within 20 minutes we’d covered the town end-to-end, enjoying the character of the narrow alleyways, steep stone staircase and random low archways that melded together the tatty-chic apartments in which people still went about their daily lives (as many generations had before them).

With a surprisingly lively town square with 7 or 8 restaurants, a handful of the essential shops on the high street and so close to Bastia (and its airport), Erbalunga would make an ideal Work From Anywhere town! 

We got out for a quick trot around the next two or three towns and beaches, but it was quite windy so we didn’t stop for very long in any one place. Ironically when we stopped at the landmark Mattei Windmill it wasn’t moving, while we very nearly got blown off the koppie by a gale force gust of wind!

Any collection of words would not do justice to the spectacular panoramas – both inland and out to sea – to which we were treated as Chris zigged and zagged us along the coastal road.

Some parts were very steep and narrow with no barriers to the sheer drops beside us. Chris noted that if this trail was at home in South Africa there would be railings, warning signs, speed cameras and who knows what else, where in Corsica it was left to the driver to self-regulate in order to avoid tumbling off the cliff to a fiery death. 

He negotiated the ups and downs valiantly as I click-click-clicked photos out of the passenger seat window, capturing at least some of the essence of the experience that I anticipated I would not be able to verbalise. View the Facebook album.

We had pencilled the idea of lunch on the road but not defined where we would like to stop. While we had looked at a few menu boards, nothing had grabbed us; too windy, too sunny, too busy, not busy enough. It had gotten to mid afternoon and we resigned ourselves that we’d missed the boat, everywhere would be on siesta and we’d have dinner on our returns to Bastia instead.

Then, best left in fate’s hands, we rounded a random bend between Centuri and Nonza and were faced with the perfect scene: a small wooden deck terrace with dainty wrought iron furniture, hanging so far off the steep hillside that it looked to be floating on the endless azure ocean on the skyline. 

Chris parallel parked the car like a local, ie single smooth twist of the steering wheel to place our little Fiat 500 inches from the stone wall on the passenger side, and right in the middle of the cars in front and behind with no more than a half metre either side. THAT is how much motivation our little terrace provided!

The waitron at L’Auberge du Chat Qui Pêche (The Inn of the Chat who Fishes) welcomed us and ushered us to a table right at the edge of the terrace, from where we could see the terraced gardens (citrus and veg) below and of course the massive magnificent ocean that stretches as far as the eye could see in either direction.

Expecting to pay a premium (which is saying something considering the normal price of things), we were surprised when the daily menu board was presented to us and left on an easel for our inspection. Everything was easily €5 cheaper than in the cities, which is crazy since the view alone was worth multiple times that!

We shared a juicy 300g pork chop with sautéed potatoes complemented with fried calamari for a sort of surf n turf combo, washed down with a (small) beer to toast our good fortune that this slice of heaven had presented itself so clearly to us.

Wishing we could stay to enjoy the sunset, but knowing how treacherous the remainder of the drive would be in the dark, we called for our bill. Shock, horror, the restaurant didn’t accept credit card! Only cash and cheque. Cheque? In 2022?! Anyway…

With our broken French and the landlord’s broken English, we found a third option of mutual benefit. PayPal. Jumping onto their wifi I attempted to transfer the Euros from my PayPal account. The transaction required an OTP delivered by SMS, which was proving troublesome since we were in stone building in a thicket in the middle of nowhere.

The landlord didn’t even raise an eyebrow at my raindancing like a mad thing on the terrace, waving my phone at the sea trying to get the damn OTP. When it eventually came, he gave us a warm and friendly “Merci. Bon journée!” which is exactly what we’d had. A good day!


As the last day of our trip, we’d left the itinerary completely open so we could fill in the gaps for anything we’d not gotten to.

Since the sun was shining and the sky was as blue as the day is long, we decided to drive across to Saint Florent, a little coastal town at the westerly base of the Cap Corse route we’d driven the day before (but cut slightly short having spent extra time at our terrace restaurant).

Saint Florent as a seaside holiday resort town offered a stretch of beach, a marina with a broad selection of restaurants and, of course, a citadel. We figured we could easily entertain ourselves for a couple of hours with the combination of walking tour, sea-slothing and/or eating something delicious.

We easily managed all 3 in Saint Florent with a courtesy nod to culture by way of photos of the square, monument and citadel + delicious ice cream cones (from a store that had more than 50 flavours so it was very hard to choose) + a couple of hours of soaking up the soft Mediterranean sun and splashing around in the warm Mediterranean Sea.

We had seen some vineyards on the way in so fancied our chances of a wine tasting and light late lunch / charcuterie board on the way home.

Finding the wineries was very easy; they were lined up along the road through Patrimonio. Choosing was a bit of a crap-shoot since we hadn’t heard of any of them. We stopped in at a few, muddled through the obligatories with the hosts (none of whom spoke English; clearly this is not a big tourist activity) and didn’t find anything that tickled us (especially not the sweet muscat wine!) nor any with a kitchen or snacks of any sort.

By the time we got back to Bastia we were ravenous… but still had an hour to wait until any dinner restaurants opened at 18h30. We passed some time having a glass of wine on the town square before going for dinner at a grill house famed equally for their magnificent rotisserie chicken and their large portions. Parfait!

At least doing everything on foot means that each activity is equally about the journey and the destination and we soaked up our last sunset as we walked hand-in-hand along the promenade past the Old Port and the citadel for the last time.

Travelogue Corsica 2: Ajaccio


29 September – 01 October 2022

We checked out of the lovely Grand President Hotel in Olbia needing to retrace our footsteps back to Corsica. We would drive to Olbia Airport to return our Mini rental car, catch the 10h40 bus to Santa Teresa at the Airport terminus and, on arrival, expected to be just after 12 midday, would need to hightail down to the port to catch our pre-booked 12h30 ferry.

Empowered by predictable and efficient public transport, we disembarked the ferry in Bonifacio just after 13h30.

We were a bit nervous as we walked along the promenade in front of all the shops and the hotel we had stayed at the week before, as we approached the parking lot, hoping and praying that our car was still there in one piece.

Hallelujah! It was still there.

Absolutely delighted, we exited the parking lot and hit the road in the direction of Ajaccio.

Since we still had the Corsican Sim card we were able to do some googling to decide on our stops along the way. Knowing we would not make it all the way through to dinner time on our early hotel breakfast alone, we decided to stop in Sartene, which had great reviews on a few sites we checked .

It was a very scenic drive as we drove inland from the coast and with the blue sea minimising behind us we became engulfed in the greenery of the mountainous terrain we were traversing.

Arriving in Sartene at around 3pm, we anticipated parking to be an issue, so we took the first available spot we saw, at the base of a steep hill at the entrance to the town, and advanced on foot. 

The reviews never really give a sense of magnitude and everything in Sartene was smaller and closer than anticipated. 500m later we were at the central Piazza Petro photographing the panorama, crudely translating the inscription on statues and looking for somewhere to offer a quick bite.

As with most piazzas, there were sidewalk cafes dotted around the edge. We were keen to get back on the road though, so not in for the long haul matching the existing patrons in their lounge chairs watching the day go by.

We thus picked the low-key take away kitchen at the entrance to the square which, with its couple of barrel tables and chalkboard offering panini and burgers, seemed like they’d be able to turn us around fast and happy.

We ordered kebab galettes – a choice made infinitely more simple since it was all they had left of the list of lunch specials on the board – and were soon chomping away happily on fat, neatly stuffed wraps, and commending ourselves on the sensible choice since the crunchy fresh garnish was the closest we’d come to veg in days!

Fuelled and motivated to complete our journey, Chris negotiated the narrow and winding road down through valleys and up around hillocks while I admired the Vistarama and remarked at the pinhead-sized towns that popped up here and there on the hillside. 

With sturdy grey stone structures hinting at a lot of history behind those walls, we wondered how those random settlements had come to be, who lived there… and whether it would be worth planning a Work From Anywhere trip to really test the ‘remote’ in remote working.

The surrounding area was so thick and green and so contoured and textured – only punctuated with brown splashes where steep rock faces broke through the forests – that I suspect that if you were looking down on this area, zoomed in from the satellite or something, it may like a head of broccoli!

Our route (The Only Route between Bonifacio and Ajaccio) wove us back to the coast and past a small town called Propriano that we had seen on reviews while we were planning our itinerary and had been a strong contender for an overnight stay. We could see the appeal of the magnificent clear blue bay with cheerful multi-coloured buildings cuddled onto its coastline and yachts bobbing around the marina, willing holidaymakers to take to the seas.

I kept looking over my shoulder and out the back window to catch a glimpse of the little bay, vowing that should we return to Corsica, we would add this to our future itinerary.

All the while, with Romesh for company, we were making headway towards our ultimate destination, Ajaccio.

It was a stark dose of reality, after being on holiday for a couple of weeks already, to get a taste of the real world again; approaching Ajaccio we got caught in the end of day traffic!  Worsened by an accident on the marina close to our final destination, movement had slowed to such a point that we were estimated to require 26 minutes to cover the last 2 km of a journey. We were tempted to leave the car (again) and walk the final distance!

Nonetheless, with nerves of steel, Chris got us to where we needed to be. Our patience was rewarded when as we were checking in to Le Dauphin, a car pulled out of the parking bay right in front of the hotel, providing us with a free parking bay that would save us €10 of paid parking per day, as well as the 200 meter walking to and from the parking lot. 

Eager to see a little of the town before it got dark, we headed straight out and directed ourselves along the water’s edge and citadel wall, through the old town and up to the Place Charles de Gaulle and its statue of Napoleon Bonaparte, who was famously born in this town. 

After a cursory wander around to get our bearings, we happened upon an Irish pub, where we could continue our quest for culture by adding a listing onto our Guinness index.

Since we had had such a filling and late lunch in Sartene, and with no compulsion to force a dinner we rather enjoyed soaking in the old town atmosphere, browsing the restaurant menus and stopping in here and there for a drink.


Waking to a grey sky, we wasted no time donning our runners and doing a lap the full length of the promenade to the beach at the far end; the same section we’d first walked the previous evening. 

Ajaccio really was a picture postcard coastal city, that looked very tropical with all its tall mature palm trees along the promenade. It had a lot of old world charm with its restored and renovated pastel buildings curving along the shoreline and must have been a heavenly sight for the weary sailors coming in to port for the last few hundred years, looking for a good meal and a night on the town.

We had decided to forgo the breakfast at the hotel since experience had told us that they were all the same very continental offering with a hot drink, a cold drink, a pastry and jams. We decided instead that we would pop our heads in ear one of the many boulangeries we had seen and leave the menu in the hands of fate.

Heading up into the old town, we skipped the first bakery because there was a long queue at the door and there was no shortage of boulangeries so a wait unwarranted. We went into the second shortly thereafter and grabbed a pain au chocolat and a sugar crested brioche to get us started. 

At literally a couple of Euro, we applauded our adventure as well as our economy, as we chomped on the fresh and light baked goods.

On a good wicket and not quite sated, we thought we’d stop in at the next boulangerie, and were soon trying another local store where we ordered a ham and cheese pie. With a smooth cheese sauce filling and lumps of diced ham, the pie was light and flaky and would have been a perfect 10 if only it was heated.

Still talking about how clever we were to have found two great boulangeries, we stumbled across a third, emitting such fabulous aroma that we could not help but enter. This one had pizza sub sandwiches on crunchy French loaf (probably just called ‘loaf’ in Corsica), which we had to sample. With great restraint we ordered one to share.

By now we’d walked almost to the other end of the promenade and were approaching the docks so there was little more to see. With the weather still miserable our initial thoughts of beaching the day away were also dashed. As it started to drizzle, we sought solace in a massive Carrefour supermarket.

It was very easy to wile away an hour of grocery tourism in the store that was so big it has TWO wine sections, each a double sided aisle running the length of the store!

Chris also got to demonstrate to me all the self service checkout technology in this store that he’d experienced on his visit to Paris a few weeks prior. Such clever tech and so user friendly!

Thinking we’d out-waited the rain, we emerged from the store. We were about halfway back home when the clouds opened properly and we were absolutely drenched in a flash cloudburst! 

This time we hibernated back to our hotel and didn’t come out again until we were surer than sure that the rain had dried up.

Emerging again, we made our way up to Old Town for some sundowners, feeling perfectly justified at starting early since the sun hadn’t actually had the good grace to come out in the first place. 

We used the downtime to research dinner options; a mean feat since there were SO many restaurants to choose from. We eventually settled on one recommended by our trusty travel aid app, The Fork, and then settled in for the wait until our reservation (19h30, earlybirds special by Corsican standards) rolled around.

Committed to having anything but pizza and pasta, we enjoyed a fabulously French snails to start, with Corsican sausage bangers ‘n mash and a beef joulet for mains and a cracking bottle of local Red to wash it all down.

Travelogue Corsica 1: Bonifacio


19-22 September 2022

After a couple of years of lockdown keeping our feet on the ground, we were both eager and anxious to get back to our formerly regular adventures in the world.

Being a bit out of practice, it took the prompt of a business trip for Chris to get us plotting and planning again.

He had some work to do in Paris and London at the beginning of September so the thinking was that it would be ideal to tag a couple of weeks leisure travel onto that. We’d been working on our French on the Duolingo app throughout lockdown so the French connection prompted us to consider Corsica, a French island to the south of the Côté d’Azur.

Engulfed in the zeal of holiday planning, Sardinia (an Italian island) was soon latched onto the itinerary when we realised that the two islands were connected by a short ferry ride. A two-for-one road trip? Yes please! 

This now required at least a two week stay; impractical as an extension on Chris’s business trip which was already 10 days. But too good to put off for much longer, so pegged for September nonetheless. Chris would just have to go and come back, only to go again.

Tickets were booked, routes planned and hotels reserved. All systems go.

It was quite a trek to get there: drive to OR Tambo airport, 8 hour flight to Dubai, 3 long hours from midnight to 3am (thank heavens for free lounge access!) in Dubai Airport for our connecting 6 hour flight to Paris, with 3 hours to get our luggage, cross terminals and catch our 2 hour connecting EasyJet flight to Bastia, in the north of Corsica.

But then we were there. Picking up our little Fiat 500 to hit the open road!

Bravely, we had made the decision upfront to suck up the driving on the first day while we were in motion anyway, so to speak, which meant that first order of business was to drive the length of Corsica to our first home for the holiday, Bonifacio.

Although traversing Corsica was little more than 150km and a single road, it was national road at best so speed limit varied from 70kmph (mostly) to 110kmph (best case) and 50kmph through the towns dotted along the route. 

Even though we were tired, the drive was still enjoyable. It was easy to see how Corsica is fondly dubbed L’Ile Beauté (the beautiful island) as we moved through fields and hills and tropical vegetation, with the azure ocean popping up on our left every now and then. We also passed a few vineyards offering tastings and sales rooms and noted to visit a few on our return journey, when we had more time.

On the outskirts of Bonifacio, you’d be forgiven for thinking you were in Cappadocia in Turkey. The road we were travelling on seemed as if snaking through a valley that it had outgrown and consequently there were cave-like single garages cut into the high walls of sandy-coloured rock, presumably to service the shops opposite or unseen residences above.

We would need to have a closer look later; for now the mission was to get to our destination while still light.

Bonifacio took us a bit by surprise as we rounded a corner and were met with a marina heaving with fancy yachts and catamarans, twinkling lights along the promenade from the row of waterfront bars and restaurants servicing their sunset trade and big, brown and ancient citadel standing proudly on the hilltop backdrop, filling the horizon as it had for as long as it had.

Of course we took a wrong turn and ended up in the citadel itself, holding our breath as our tiny Fiat 500 squeezed along the tight roads never meant for cars and wheezed up the steep hills that one can’t imagine having to do daily without a car!

At the tippedy-top of the hill and suspecting our hotel to be down below on the promenade, we quit the confusing GPS, negotiated the twists, turns and tourists on instinct alone and sought solace in the parking lot of the Spar we’d noted on our way in. 

The security man, knowing exactly how precious parking real estate was on the cramped peninsula, was wise to our game and rattled off some French that was clearly “Oi! Customers Only!” or similar.

Tag-teaming the mission, I slipped into the Spar to buy <anything> while Chris set off on foot to find our hotel.

The upside of the cramped town was that nothing was far, so he was soon back with a hotel room key, a simple touristy illustrated map and a parking card for a lot nearby, circled on the map. 

I had bought a simple bottle of red wine purely for the label which illustrated in pretty watercolour that it was from our current locale. From the entire aisle of local wines, not a one had a screw top lid so it was very possible this souvenir may make it home for tasting if we couldn’t get it opened!

Our hotel, the Best Western Hotel du Roy d’Aragon, was no more than 100m from our Spar parking lot base station; located conveniently at the near end of the marina and at the base of the (steep) road that led up to the citadel.

We checked in and wasted no time getting out to get our bearings while it was still light. We were able to get a few sunset pics in and survey the meal options. 

As much as we had planned to have a local favourite for our welcome meal, we succumbed when a man with a large pizza box passed us and the delicious aroma emanating from the box drew us to the place a few doors up where he must have bought it. The allure of the melting cheese gave us the courage to negotiate a menu and an order in French, which we decided made the entire experience perfectly authentic. 

Despite the economical proportions of our hotel room (in stark contrast to the price!) we slept like the dead after a very long travel to get to this wonderful destination.


We had chosen our hotel for a combination of the location (rated 9.9! Fabulous!) and free parking (reviewed as a must across booking sites and, if anything, was understated since parking was so scarce and so so expensive), but hadn’t extended to the inclusive breakfast feeling that any continental couldn’t justify the charge.

Although the foyer smelt good enough to eat as we left for our morning run (combining exercise and sightseeing, some sweaty photos indeed!) we didn’t regret our choice as we sized up the numerous bakeries and supermarkets on our route.

Feeling justified, we grabbed a fresh pain au chocolat on our way back in to snack on while we were making ourselves presentable for the day. 

Hopped up on sugar, we decided to take a walk to the beaches to the north of the town. We’d spotted the signage on our run so knew where to go.

We negotiated the pebbly path in our flip-flops and trekked to the farthest beach first, Plage de Paraguan; a cove with a spongy beach of sodden leaves – unusual but not unpleasant – underfoot. The water was streaks of colour from transparent to turquoise to a deep navy blue and was cool and welcoming to our journeyed feet.

There were only 2 other couples on the beach and a few small boats bobbing close to the inlet of the cove. 

Rested and refreshed, we turned to make our way back, skipping the second beach and stopping and the beach closest to town, La Plage Cayenne.

With little more than a sliver of light soft sand, we went straight into the water which was again worthy of a postcard with the depth of shades of blue and smooth as glass. 

Having worked up an appetite, we returned to the marina and settled on a Croque Monsieur for lunch. Essentially a toasted sarmie with ham on the inside and cheese and creamy sauce melted on the outside, what was not to love?!

We had been propositioned a cruise as we passed through the marina for our beach walk earlier. Now, at 2pm, with nothing but time on our hands, a cruise seemed like a swell idea.

Negotiating the ticket purchase in French (not necessary but well done us anyway!), we were soon aboard the bateau and headed off to sea.

Our prior exploration of the citadel and our beach walk added to the tour since we were able to match the view of the land with the mirrored view we’d experienced from the land. The boat also took us into a few caves, with the bluest of blue waters. Hard to get decent photos though, with all the other passengers having the same agenda.

The perspective of the citadel from the open sea side showed it to be even more impressive than that on the side of the marina. I’d love to share the dimensions and history that our tour guide narrated as we sailed, but I think it would be close to fiction with my limited French and the story I patched together from the intermittent words I knew.

Arriving back at the marina with renewed interest in the citadel from some of the things we’d seen from our ocean-side vantage point, we headed up the hill.

Instead of entering the citadel on the right, we took the pathway to the left which provided a close-up view of the high craggy limestone cliffs and hints of the caves etched into their base.

Touristing being thirsty work, we celebrated our accomplishments with a couple of cold cans of Pietra from a little Spar (there really is a friendly one wherever you are) and a large bag of Bolognaise flavour crisps, inhaling the carbs after a very active day and enjoying the pause on a bench overlooking the sea.

We slowed the pace considerably, ambling through the rest of the citadel, all the way to the cemetery at the end, and then wound our way slowly back down to the now-familiar Bar du Quai at end of the promenade that ran in front of our hotel. 

With an hour or so to kill before our intended dinner time, we took a breather on the promenade to do some people-watching and then procured some local tinnies which we enjoyed at the end of one of the jetties; dangling our feet off the edge, basking in the last slice of sunlight and the shadow of the opulent luxury yachts (and super yachts and mega-super yachts) marvelling on how The Other Half live.

Quite by contrast, we’d nailed our dinner choice quite early on as modest but mouthwatering kebab galettes. Life was still pretty awesome for This Half as were chomped away on the delicious wraps washed down with ice-cold Serena lager.