In the summer of 2011 I flew to the Greek island of Rhodes with the intention of spending the summer in the party resort of Faliraki working as a PR, (standing outside a bar or club trying to tempt people in with promises of cheap drinks and a good time). My friends were playing in a cover band every night in the resort; I was unemployed at the time so to avoid a lonely, idle summer I decided to fly out there two weeks after their departure to join them for a summer of fun.

Five weeks later I was on a flight home having drunk every night for the duration of my stay. As well as being malnourished, over-worked and under-paid, I left with mild depression, a feeling of guilt and in a state of confusion.

To work in one of these resorts is to become part of the fabric of the place.

Runaways from their homeland the workers find themselves in a fictional limbo; everything is well rehearsed and repeated daily for the benefit of the constant cycle of tourists, and with this role-play as their backdrop they make a life for themselves, divorced from their roots and adopting their equivalents as a new, surrogate family. Tailored to be an escape from, as well as a caricature of the UK, they become a fixture of the resort; picking up the slack where the adverts, flashing lights and music fall short.